"Peturabo?" Mors rolled the name over his vocal cords and drew a card with his left hand.
"I did not want to deceive anyone, including myself. So you were right, Master of the Sigil. Overall, meeting Peturabo on Olympia made me feel fortunate."
The Master of the Sigil's surprise vanished in an instant. "I have not heard such frank words in a long time. Five, four, six, stop."
Mors tilted his head casually, accepting the praise.
On the scoreboard beside them, three tally marks already stood beneath both the Master of the Sigil's name and his own.
He paused there. Considering what a valiant and fearless chancellor the Master of the Sigil was, he decided to give him another point.
"Six, nine..." He drew two cards first. Anyone whose total exceeded twenty-one lost immediately, and drawing again now carried a higher chance of defeat.
"What do you think I am, Master of the Sigil?"
The young Master of the Sigil leaned forward. "You are a man shrouded in mist, Mors."
"I am full of mysteries to you? I'll draw. Three, making eighteen."
"I believe it is not only true for me."
"Well, I must admit that across all of Olympia, perhaps the one who knows me best is my private storeroom among the cliffs. Two, making twenty. It seems I should swear that I am not in the habit of cheating at games."
"Perhaps that phrasing came from another person we both know," the Master of the Sigil hinted tactfully.
Mors frowned slightly and silently drew another card from the top of the deck.
"One." He gathered the remaining cards with one hand. "Twenty-one. Blackjack. This is not my luck. You are here, Emperor."
He turned toward the mouth of the grotto. Ripples stirred within the golden light, and a