She recoiled when she saw what she thought was her own reflection in the floor, peering back up at her, was actually a man entombed in ice. A rotund little man with specs askew, an expression of shock frozen on his face. When a pair of shiny black shoes came within inches of Karigan’s nose, she glanced up at Amberhill looming over her.

“Do not be concerned,” he said, indicating the man in the ice with a nod of his head. “That’s just Yap.”

THE THREE-FACED REPTILE

“Yap?” she asked.

From nearby, Silk hissed to silence her, but Amberhill seemed undisturbed by her speaking out of turn.

“Yes. He was . . .” Amberhill paused as if trying to remember. “A servant. Friend. My conscience. My enemy.” His voice changed as he spoke, uncertain, then wistful, then angry. “I keep him here because he reminds me . . .” His shoes retreated. “Rise,” he ordered.

Karigan scrambled to her feet and sidled away from the poor man trapped in ice beneath the floor.

“So, Doctor,” Amberhill said, “you have brought me one of your relics of the past.”

“Yes, Your Eminence, a Green Rider.”

“I know what she is.” Amberhill’s voice slithered out as he stared at her with darkened eyes. “I defeated your king, Green Rider. What do you think of that? And I defeated more. This continent is mine. All of it. Did you know that?”

Karigan was well aware of what he had done, but she knew better than to answer.

“How do we know she is of another time?” asked one of the Adherents. “Besides the distasteful display of her face and the wearing of trousers.”

“It is actually quite fas—” Dr. Silk began, but Amberhill cut him off.

“I knew her before. Back in the early days before I came into my power. A messenger of Zachary’s court lost in Blackveil, or so it was thought.” The intensity of his expression turned to one of befuddlement and he shook his head. “The disappearing lady. How did you come to be here?”

Dr. Silk answered for Karigan, explaining what she had admitted to him the previous day, while Amberhill paced muttering harshly about the interference of old gods. Karigan did not remember the Lord Amberhill of old being so erratic. In fact, she remembered him being intensely single-minded. He looked the same as she remembered, but he had changed. He was . . . a different man.

“Unbelievable,” the Adherent said when Silk finished his account, but none of them appeared shocked or, really, all that impressed. Having an emperor around for almost two centuries must have inured them to such an oddity.

“But very true.” Karigan recognized Silk’s father as he stepped forward. “Congratulations, my son, on your find. Well done.”

Dr. Silk looked stunned to hear such praise from his father.

“Not to mention, as I hear,” said another of the men, “coordinating the quashing of a rebellion in Mill City.” There was applause muffled by gloves and mittens. Dr. Silk nodded in acknowledgment.

Amberhill paid Silk scant attention, which couldn’t have pleased Silk since it was the emperor’s approval he desired above all else. Instead, Amberhill gazed at Karigan and she crossed her arms, chilled by the cold room and his regard. She could almost see some decision spinning in his mind, his lips moving with unheard words.

When the applause faded away, he spoke. “All I see is this useless, weak girl. No, no, a Green Rider. I’ve known her. They are not weak, I assure you. You did not know my Hilda. She makes this one look a scrawny infant.”

He was having a conversation with himself, was the only way Karigan could describe it. Who was Hilda? The Adherents looked on as if they were accustomed to their emperor’s digressions.

“Or Yolandhe. There was no one like Yolandhe, was there, Webster.”

“No, Your Eminence,” the elder Silk replied. There was something false about his answer, made to please the emperor only.

Then Amberhill’s more serpentlike voice hissed out: “The Green Rider is the blood of the betrayer, an old enemy, and avatar of a dead god.”

Avatar of a dead god? It sounded impressive, but she didn’t understand.

“You mean the stallion I saw that night in Teligmar was real?” Amberhill asked himself in surprise. The dark look in his eyes returned, and he nodded to himself.

It dawned on Karigan then that she was not dealing with Lord Xandis Pierce Amberhill alone. This was him, but not entirely. There was an aspect of his personality that was too familiar, one she had known intimately. The only one who would call her, “betrayer.”

Mornhavon. She shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold of the room.

“The Green Rider recognizes me,” he whispered. Then he added, with a moderation of his voice, “But not all of me.”

Mornhavon inhabited Amberhill’s body, but there were nuances, words, traits, that did not fit either of them. Could it be there was a third personality, as well? The three-faced reptile. She recalled the riddle from Captain Mapstone. Karigan had found the scything moon in the prison of forgotten days, located within the den—or palace—of the three-faced reptile. The dragon symbol of the empire must represent the “reptile” part of the riddle.

Learning the meaning of this part of the riddle did little to reassure her. She’d seen Mornhavon inhabit the bodies of others before, including her own. The last had been poor Yates. It explained much about what Amberhill had done to his country, but who was the third aspect of his personality, and how and when had this all come about?