“Who my papa is,” I corrected him.

“You’re absolutely sure about that?”

My father was alive. Nine hundred years’ worth of alive. The last year or so had been inside the Saghred, the other eight hundred and something years the result of an extended lifespan from too much contact with the Saghred. A fate I really wanted to avoid.

“Unfortunately certain,” I said.

“Poor bastard.”

I nodded in agreement. “His daughter’s not in too great of a state, either. But at least I’m not sharing his accommodations—or his roommate.”

“Sarad Nukpana isn’t someone I’d want to spend eternity with.”

I didn’t have a response for that.

I’d been in the Saghred once before. It had only been for a few moments, but it’d been enough time for me to see that it wasn’t a vacation destination, more like someplace you went after a lifetime of pulling wings off of flies, then working your way up to things that screamed. A Sarad Nukpana kind of place. I had met Sarad Nukpana up close and personal last week, and was in no hurry to repeat the experience. It was looking more like I was my father’s only chance at freedom—or resting in peace.

“Girl?”

“Sir?”

“Let’s keep that bit of information to ourselves for now.”

“Nukpana or my father?”

“Both, but especially who’s little girl you are. That doesn’t need to leave this room.”

“I wasn’t about to yell it from the battlements. I’m not sure how I feel about it myself.”

“Contrary to how old I look, I’m not old enough to have known your papa in his early Guardian days. But history’s told me plenty about the bastards he was up against. I’m ashamed to say the archmagus back then was one of them; and a couple of his top mages were a few more. History has an annoying tendency to repeat itself. I’m going to see what I can do to keep that from happening. The Conclave did your papa wrong. I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it.”