Shadowbane

CHAPTER EIGHT

22 KYTHORN (NIGHT)

Considering the two battered men sprawled before her, Myrin reflected on this odd turn of events. She couldn’t say for certain what she’d expected when Toytere had told her of the infiltrator who’d come to Luskan. It might be a bounty hunter, assassin, wizard-anything or anyone following her trail. Not a day had gone by in the past year that someone hadn’t been after her. But the last person she’d expected was …

“Kalen?” she asked, startled. “How did you get here?”

“Gods,” Kalen murmured.

Myrin stared at him where he lay on the floor and he stared right back at her. Breath was hard to come by. They might not have seen each other in a year, but in that heartbeat the connection between them came back-every smile, every kind word, every argument.

She saw in him the man who’d carried her across half of Waterdeep, faced a lich to get her back, and thrown himself off a building for her sake.

She also saw the man who had, a year ago, killed her kidnapper in cold blood and that cooled her growing ardor. The memory snapped her back to the present.

Kalen was hurt, Myrin realized, and badly. She started forward, wanting nothing more than to tend to his wounds, but stopped, reconsidering. The Dead Rats were staring at her, waiting for a cue. After that outburst, she could not pretend that she didn’t know Kalen. Still, she could be regal about it-acting in a way befitting the leader of the Dead Rats.

Befitting the Witch-Queen of Luskan.

Kalen stared at Myrin-startled, confused, and yet somehow, not as surprised as he might have been. It was not just the hint his spellscar had provided when it seemed to draw toward her: it had recognized her. Rather, since they’d met that foggy night a year ago, Myrin had shown a talent for defying expectations. Going from hostage to queen was more of the same. Kalen rather admired that about her.

He wished she hadn’t surrounded herself with so many snakes, however. The Dead Rats stared at her with equal parts deference and wariness. Kalen saw more than a few look not to Myrin but to Toytere for a sign as to what to do, including Sithe. Clearly, Myrin’s position was tentative, and she would lose it if she did not act the part.

By her eyes and the way her expression became masked, Myrin knew it, too. “Stand him up.” She waved dismissively. “Blood on my floor simply won’t do.”

“Aye, Lady Darkdance,” Toytere said and signaled to his men.

Darkdance? Kalen pondered.

Two of the Dead Rats came forward-including the one Kalen had stunned with his sudden attack-and hauled Kalen to his feet. They grasped Rhett as well, though the boy hadn’t moved. “She’s very pretty,” Rhett observed quietly. “Or is that an illusion?”

“No, that’s not an illusion,” Kalen said.

It was true. A year had turned the waifish girl of his memory into a striking young woman. Her almond tan skin had grown warm and dark. It brought out the vibrancy of her shocking blue hair, which fell to the middle of her back. Her bright blue eyes seemed the same as always: sparkling and thoughtful.

“You certainly know your share of lovely ladies, Saer Shadowbane,” Rhett said.

“Stop calling me that,” Kalen said.

It was flattering that the boy used that salutation-for a noble of unknown rank or a common knight acting particularly well-but he didn’t feel worthy of either part of the moniker.

One of the thugs raised a club to silence them both, but Myrin put up a staying hand. “Who’s your flattering friend, Kalen?” she asked.

“He’s nobody,” Kalen said. “Just a boy.”

“I can speak for myself,” Rhett countered. “Dark Sorceress, I am Rhetegast of the House of Hawkwinter-” His words cut off when the thug hit him anyway.

“That,” Kalen murmured, “you probably should not have said.”

“Point.” Rhett groaned.

The two thugs guarding the prisoners raised their clubs, while several others in the room eyed Rhett with considerable interest. They were, after all, thieves, and naming oneself a noble scion among them was not wise. Kalen looked to Myrin, hoping she would do something to quiet them before violence ensued anew.

Either she got the message or had thought of that herself, because Myrin immediately raised her hand and sent forth a fan of flames to lick at the rafters. The Rats shied away from the magic. Blades disappeared into their sheaths and clubs lowered. Toytere, who had been reaching into his vest, relaxed.

“Now then,” Myrin said. “I will take the prisoners to my private chambers. If anyone objects, kindly make yourself known, so I can burn you to ash on the spot. No one?” Myrin smiled. “Outstanding.”

She rose, and they all bowed to her.

“Bring them.” Myrin turned to Sithe. “I’ll take the sword, please.”

The genasi cast Kalen and Rhett a look, but she handed Vindicator over to Myrin.

Rhett’s eyes were wide indeed as the guards seized their arms. “That’s some lady you know, Saer Shadowbane,” he said. “Who is she?”

Kalen smiled despite himself. “She’s Myrin.”

The trek to the chambers of the Witch-Queen was a brief one: she had the largest quarters in the tavern, which must formerly have belonged to Toytere. The room was bare of decoration, its walls were peeling like dead skin, and its furnishings were limited to a single narrow bed and an end table with a single shelf.

Myrin gestured and a chair obediently rose for her to sit in. She set Vindicator down and settled in, straight-backed and regal, like a queen ought to be.

The guards pushed Kalen and Rhett to their knees on the rug then looked to Myrin. She waved them away. They were out of the room before her hand moved more than a finger’s breadth. That hand was dangerous, Kalen thought.

The door closed and the three of them were alone in Myrin’s chambers. Their heavy breathing seemed deafening in the charged silence.

“Myrin,” Kalen said, even as she started to say his name, rising as though to approach. They both froze, neither ready to speak over the other-neither knowing what to say. He stared at her, hundreds of words wrestling in his throat and getting stuck. Her eyes sparkled and her mouth formed words she couldn’t quite speak.

“So-” Rhett said.

At that single, unexpected syllable-Kalen had almost forgotten the boy was there-the moment broke. Kalen drew into himself, suddenly self-conscious. Myrin shook her head as though to clear a fog.

“Darkdance?” Kalen asked, unable to bring himself to say anything else.

“My name,” Myrin said. “I found out more of it a tenday or so past. Myrin Darkdance. What do you think?”

“It suits you,” Kalen said.

Myrin smiled and turned to Rhett. “You were asking a question?”

“Who are you, lady?” Rhett then looked at Kalen. “Who is she?”

“Not the gang leader of the Dead Rats, last I checked.” Kalen faced Myrin. “How exactly did this happen?” Myrin’s face colored slightly. She seemed a little embarrassed. “Well …”

17 KYTHORN (NIGHT)

Myrin awoke in a bare prison cell that smelled of rot, excrement, and worse things she chose not to identify. Her only pillow was stained gray stone, which made most of her body ache when she tried to move. Myrin didn’t remember much after the attack-her mind felt fuzzy and disconnected.

“Hmm.” She climbed to one knee. A sound outside the wood door drew her attention and she crossed to it. “Well met?” she said. “Hail?”

A metal viewing panel slid open in the door. A pair of jaundiced eyes peered in at her, belonging to a grizzled, weedy man of dubious hygiene. “Aye?”

“Where am I?” Myrin asked. “Or possibly some other basic information?”

The man’s nose twitched. “Shut up, you blue-haired wench,” he said.

“Hmm.” Myrin pursed her lips. “In that case, may I please have a cup of water.”

“I’ll say it slower, then,” the man said. “Shut up. You. Blue-haired. Wench.”

“As I thought.” Myrin put her hands on her hips. “You should know that I am a great and powerful wizard. You should do this little thing for me, before I make you-all of you-very sorry for not doing it.”

The man stared at her for a heartbeat, shocked, then roared with laughter. “Heh! That’s rich, lass! Rich!” He shouted down the hall. “Oi! Lads! Come hear this!”

Two more rogues appeared, each of them as ugly as the first. The second had an over-large eye-or perhaps the other had shrunk-while the third had three separate scars across his mouth that looked a bit like red stitches.

“Oi!” the guard said. “This one say she’s to make us all sorry.”

The thieves looked at him, then one another, and then laughed wildly. They slapped each other on the shoulders, bending over in a vain attempt to contain themselves.

“Ha ha!” said the yellow-eyed one. “Whatcha gonna cast your magic with, eh, wench? This?” He drew from the chest pocket of his leathers a long gray stick.

Myrin recognized her wand. “Yes, actually,” she said, extending her hand as though to take it from him, should he offer it.

They paused, then laughed again. “Aye? Aye? And how’s that, you fancy?”

Myrin shrugged. A blue-glowing rune appeared on the back of her right hand.

A flicker of magic and the wand pulled free of the guard’s hand, floated through the viewing window, and set itself in Myrin’s fingers. “Uh,” said the guard.

Thunder cracked. The ratty door exploded off its hinges and crashed against the opposite wall, shattering into a dozen pieces. The three knaves drew steel, shouting for aid.

“Now,” Myrin said, stepping through the cloud of dust, her wand held low. More blue-glowing runes spread across her skin. “Where’s your captain?”

22 KYTHORN (NIGHT)

“It was very diplomatic.” Myrin grasped one elbow behind her back and dug the toe of one boot into the floor. “Not at all violent. Promise!”

Rhett accepted that, but Kalen knew that posture only too well-it was the one she assumed when she was nervous. Myrin had changed over their year apart, but she was still as easy to read as ever. He smiled.

Myrin saw him studying her and looked at her feet, her nervousness redoubled. She mustered her courage. “Kalen, I-” she said. Then she saw him wince-saw the blood soaking his leather hauberk. “You’re hurt.” She came forward to inspect him.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

That, he realized too late, was the wrong thing to say.

As though he’d struck her, Myrin stopped. Her expression went from an ambivalent mixture of joy and anxiety to a more certain look of irritation. In the face of her anger, he felt frustration stir in his belly.

“I can help, Kalen,” she said. “My magic can make a difference-”

“Your magic has done enough,” Kalen said. “Look where it’s landed you-Witch-Queen of the Dead Rats? Even a fool can see you’re a prisoner, not a leader. You’re a lamb encircled by wolves.”

“Your analogy is flawed,” Myrin retorted. “I’m in control here, through the proper threat of magical ruin-not that I’d want to hurt anyone, obviously, as that would be conterproductive. King Toytere saw through to ceding me his power when he recognized how much damage I could do both to him and his organization. He practically begged me to take over the gang.”

“I’m sure you think that,” Kalen said, “but the fact is-”

“And you’re more versed in the facts than I?” Myrin said hotly. “King Toy-”

“I bet he loves that nickname,” Kalen snapped.

“Apologies for interceding in a lovers’ argument,” Rhett said, “but what in the Nine Blazing Hells is going on here?”

Both Myrin and Kalen stared at him.

“You, you’re queen of the Dead Rats, at least at the moment,” Rhett said to Myrin. “In that case, thank you for not killing us.”

“You’re welcome,” Myrin said.

“And saer.” Rhett turned to Kalen. “With all due respect, why not accept her aid? Lady Darkdance must have cowed Sithe. You’ll recall that demon creature nearly cut you in half.”

“Not helpful,” Kalen murmured.

“Not accurate,” Myrin said. “Sithe is a genasi, not a demon. Or at least not entirely-I can’t be quite sure.”

“What’s a genasi?” Rhett asked.

“Like a human with the soul of an elemental,” Kalen said. “But she’s not like any genasi I’ve ever heard of-what’s her element, darkness?”

Myrin shrugged. She acted as if she’d quite forgotten that they’d been fighting only five breaths ago. She stepped forward and pulled open Kalen’s tunic, revealing the livid scar of Sithe’s assault. “Healing magic,” she said. “Glad to see you’re still a paladin, considering.”

“Considering?” Kalen grimaced. “What’s that supposed to-?”

“That was me, actually,” Rhett said.

“You’re a paladin, too?” Myrin asked.

“Apparently.” Rhett spread his hands. “Only for the last hour or so-I think Vindicator’s more the paladin than I.”

“Huh.” Myrin considered this. “What are you doing here?”

“Myrin, we’re wasting time,” Kalen said in a rush. “Every moment we delay is a moment Toytere can prepare an ambush just outside that door. We need to go right-”

“I wasn’t talking to you, actually.” Myrin looked at Rhett.

“Oh-me?” Rhett said. “I came to give Saer Shadowbane back his sword.”

“I see.” Myrin turned to Kalen. “And why are you here?”

“I came to”-he paused-“to rescue you.”

He expected her face to tighten and her next words to berate him. Instead, Myrin regarded him blankly. “Well, many thanks-but as you can see, that’s not necessary.”

That took Kalen by surprise. “Not necessary?”

“I’m doing quite well, you know. I’m Witch-Queen of the Dead Rats gang. I can leave any time I want. I just don’t want to.”

“You-” He remembered Rhett standing beside him and bit his tongue. He didn’t want to have this argument in front of anyone-he wanted to be alone with Myrin, where they could talk. Though if that were the case, he couldn’t guarantee he would use any words. He might just embrace her, or kiss her, or-

The door opened behind them. Kalen turned and interposed himself between Myrin and some new attacker. He expected a dozen Dead Rats to flood in, blades drawn. Instead only Toytere entered, his cane tapping the floor. Rhett also stepped toward Myrin, and Kalen was pleased to see the training of the Guard at work.

“I be but checking on Her awe-inspiring Majesty,” the halfling said.

“I’m well, Toy,” Myrin said, emphasizing the nickname with a glance at Kalen.

If the name grated on the halfling, he took it in stride. “Well then, I’ll leave you be,” he said. “Though-apologies for overhearing, but be assured the lady knows of what she be speaking. Where is she safer than here, among her loyal subjects, no?”

“No, indeed.” Kalen met the halfling’s cool smile with one of his own. “Then you won’t object if we all take our leave-Myrin, too.”

“Kalen, don’t,” Myrin said.

He saw that she understood his game. If the Halfling refused, it confirmed Kalen’s belief that she was a prisoner. He knew how her mind worked: one could lie to her, but once she knew the truth, she couldn’t just ignore it.

“Well?” Kalen asked. “What of it, Toy?”

Toytere had eyes only for Kalen, but he nodded toward Myrin. “Such a suspicious brightbird this be, me dear queen.”

“Brightbird?” Myrin furrowed her brow.

“Sweetheart, paramour, betrothed, or the like.”

“Oh.” Myrin reddened a bit. “He’s not my brightbird or any of those other things.”

“Good to be knowing.” Toytere noted her blush then smiled at Kalen. “As to your question, Little Dren: nay, I’ve no objection, not even a little. You be free to leave whenever you wish and I’ll not stay you. Villain I may be, and a thief, but I’ve manners. However”-at this, he looked to Myrin-“I be thinking the lady knows her own mind, no?”

“Yes, I do,” Myrin said. “And no, we aren’t leaving.”

“But-” Kalen said.

“Always a pleasure, me lady.” Toytere’s smile was smug. “I don’t need the Sight to be seeing angry words to come.” He left and closed the door.

Rhett spoke first into the silence. “Sorry my lady, but we aren’t? Leaving, that is?”

Myrin looked at him as if he’d just materialized from the air. “Who are you again?”

The youth bowed gallantly. “Rhett Hawkwinter, my lady-your loyal servant.”

“Charmed.” Myrin raised one eyebrow. “Or possibly evoked. It depends.”

“I’m-I’m not sure I know what that means, Lady Witch-Queen.”

She shrugged. “As to your question, you may leave, but I’m needed here.”

“What do you mean?” Kalen asked.

Myrin squared her shoulders and faced Kalen without hesitation. “This city is sick, Kalen. It needs someone who can help feed the people, put a stop to the violence, and start rebuilding. Why not me?” Myrin put out her arms. “Here I am, a queen-one of the Five High Captains of Luskan-with a powerful gang at my disposal. Why should I cast that aside, when I have the opportunity to help so many people?”

“Gods,” Rhett said. “That’s … well said, my lady. What courage-what nobility!”

“What naivete,” Kalen mocked. “You can’t think you can fix Luskan. You can’t-”

“You say that as though you were an expert on what I can and can’t think,” she retorted. “I’ve already started paring back the Rats’ burglaries and begun rebuilding some of the nearby houses. I plan to disperse food from the larders next. And then-”

Frustrated anger filled Kalen, even as Myrin enumerated her plan. She was smarter than this-she had to see the jaws of the trap closing around her. And yet she persevered in the deception-a happy victim. Was it willful blindness?

Rhett was listening to it all with a beatific expression on his face.

The whole thing made Kalen sick to his stomach. Myrin had to see it. If he could just explain it fully, she would understand.

“Look into his mind,” Kalen said. “Steal his thoughts. You’ll see that this is a trap.”

“Steal his thoughts?” Rhett looked warily at Myrin. “You can do that, my lady?”

“She’s spellscarred,” Kalen said. “She absorbs magic and memories.”

Myrin glared at Kalen. “It doesn’t work that way,” she said. “And even if it did, Toytere’s done nothing against me. I’ve no reason to breach his trust.”

“Trust?” Kalen grasped his head. “This is a trap. You must know that.”

“No, actually.” Myrin looked at him, all innocence. “I cannot imagine why you think I ‘must know’ that, much less believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Kalen said below his voice.

“What are you saying, Kalen?” Myrin’s face went red. “That I’m being a foolish girl for believing I can make a difference? Is that it?”

“Lady,” Rhett said diplomatically, “I’m sure he would never imply something so-”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” Kalen grasped Myrin’s arm. “You’re being a fool.”

Myrin tried to pull away, but Kalen held her fast. Her motion ended up drawing them closer together. He could see her nostrils flaring in anger and the blood beating in her throat.

“Look,” she said. “The simple fact is, I’m staying. There’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, short of taking me out of here by force or trickery. Is that your plan? Kalen?”

Kalen breathed hard. She was so close-their faces almost touching. Her breasts swelled against his chest. From her eyes, he almost thought she wanted him to grab her and haul her off. His mind reveled in the possibility. The thought dashed all sense from his head.

“Myrin,” Kalen implored. “He-Toytere is using you. To what end, I don’t know, but you need to come with me. I want-” He trailed off.

Myrin did not waver. “You want what?” She looked him right in the eye.

To that, Kalen had no response.

“Good,” Myrin said. “Glad we had this talk.”

They broke apart, both of them breathing hard. Rhett stared at them, his eyes wide.

“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Luskan has been an overflowing latrine for a century. Hundreds of folk far better than you or I have tried to save this city and failed.”

She rose to the challenge. Runes of blue fire appeared on her skin and flames started crackling around her fingers. “Better than you, perhaps.”

“Please, just listen to me.”

“I’m staying.” Myrin turned away, then spoke over her shoulder. “And if you really want to help me, then you’ll just have to stay, too.”

Kalen stared at her back. He saw her shoulders trembling, though with anger or something else, he did not know. She was being stubborn to a fault. It reminded him of Cellica, and why not? The two women had been the best of friends, for the short time they’d known each other. Then Cellica had died and the very same assassin had kidnapped and almost killed Myrin. Why couldn’t she see he only wanted to protect her?

“Rhett,” Kalen said. “I’m leaving. Come with me or stay, it’s all the same.”

Myrin stiffened at those words, but she stood firm.

Rhett, on the other hand, loosed a groan of frustration. “Enough,” he said. “I don’t know what passes between the two of you and I don’t care. But for the space of ten breaths, will you listen to a compromise?”

Try as he might to dismiss the boy as an empty-headed noble fop, Kalen found that Rhett often made a great deal of sense. He nodded.

Myrin too was looking at Rhett with an expectant gaze. “Go on,” she said.

“Right,” Rhett said. “No one can leave anyway, what with the plague.”

The plague. In his drive to find Myrin, Kalen had almost forgotten about the plague. He saw again the dead Dustclaw with risen welts and rotting flesh and the things moving under his skin.

“The Fury,” Myrin said crisply. When Kalen and Rhett both looked at her blankly, she explained. “It’s what the people of Luskan call it. No one knows how it spreads, but once you catch it, you go mad-trying to kill anyone and anything in sight. Eventually, you die in a fight or the plague consumes your mind.”

“Right,” Rhett said with a shiver.

“You seem to know much about it,” Kalen said, struggling to keep his voice calm.

“Toy told me.” Again, Myrin seemed to have left their argument completely behind. She spoke efficiently, as though reciting from memory. “It leaves skeletons of all different races, bleached and stripped of any remaining flesh. Some believe it’s a magical malady.” She shrugged, as though that were not just possible but likely.

With a chill, Kalen remembered the skeleton he’d found in the butcher’s shop, wedged into the closet. Had that also been a victim of the plague? And what of the rat, trapped with the bones, who had perished only heartbeats after attaining freedom?

“I propose that we find the source of the plague,” Rhett went on. “If it’s a natural malady, we find out where it comes from and how it spreads. If it’s a wizard, we stop him. In this way, we help Luskan-which makes Lady Darkdance happy.” He looked at Myrin, who nodded. “With the plague gone, the quarantine will end, which makes me happy. I can go back to interesting duties, if Father can get the Guard to take me back.” Rhett smiled. “Also with the quarantine gone, we can leave Luskan, which makes Saer Shadowbane happy. All three of us get what we want. Right?”

“Right.” Myrin looked positively delighted by that suggestion.

Kalen couldn’t help shaking his head, frustrated but impressed. Perhaps there was something to this boy after all. The sword had chosen him-no doubt it had a purpose. But could Kalen take that chance again, after what had happened to Vaelis? He didn’t often pray and he’d sworn never to beg, but right now, he felt like doing both.

Mercy, Threefold God, Kalen said silently.

“Very well,” he said finally. “If Myrin really is in command, we can do this thing. But”-he fixed Myrin with his gaze-“will you promise to leave with us when it’s over?”

“Very well.” Myrin nodded. “That’ll give us, me, plenty of time. To make a difference, I mean.”

Suddenly suspicious, Kalen scrutinized Myrin. She was not saying everything. A year ago, she’d worn her thoughts on her face, but now he couldn’t read her as easily.

“Very well,” Kalen said. “Rhett, you’re Myrin’s warder.”

Myrin’s smile evaporated. “What? Sir Reginald?”

“It’s Rhett, actually,” the lad said. “And me? What about you?”

“That’s the bargain,” Kalen said. “Until we find the source of the plague, he’s your guardian. I’ll do what I think best. Or do you refuse?”

Myrin stared at him for a long moment, then she nodded hesitantly. “Very well.”

“And what of that?” Rhett pointed to Vindicator.

“I told you that was yours,” Kalen said.

“Aye, Sir.” Rhett nodded.

Myrin glared at Kalen. This deal did not please her, and he took some satisfaction in that. “Well I, for one, am tired,” she said. “On my seer’s word, I’ve been up all night waiting for some sword-wielding madman and fancy that! Here you are, Kalen.”

Kalen ignored the barb, but it did remind him of the halfling. “And I will watch Toytere,” he said. “When he turns on us, we’ll be ready.”

“Mystra, Kalen! You’d think he was plotting some imminent betrayal right now.”

“So, about that betrayal.”

With practiced grace, Toytere lit his pipe and puffed out a smoke circle, squinting at the Coin Priest-Eden-who sat across from him.

“There be a … complication,” he said.

“Oh, don’t leave it there,” Eden said, sipping her fire red drink. “Say on.”

The dark and loud Whetstone made for a perfect place to meet and conduct business. The festhall catered to those who wanted their primary senses dulled as they took their pleasures. An absence of light dimmed a patron’s sight, a persistent cacophony of horns and drums (enhanced and maintained by magic) shattered the ears, and a steady supply of strong wine and brandy took care of the wits and nerves. The darkness and hanging curtains of opaque fabric hid the more deplorable acts committed among its sheltered tables. The effect allowed festhall patrons to focus on the other aspects of the experience-smells and tastes, sharp pains and pleasures-and to do it in complete privacy.

The halfling and the human, both in cloaks to hide their faces, sat to one side in intrigue-laden privacy and talked. Many betrayals were schemed in such places, and Toytere had come prepared. One did not become chief of one of Luskan’s Five through carelessness or an abundance of trust. These two did better than most through their alliance: Toytere with his Sight, Eden with her considerable power base. He relied upon his usefulness to her, but only to a point.

“Perhaps you’re reconsidering the bargain we made?” she said. “Or perhaps the coin and alliance are not enough? You want more?”

“Nothing like that, me dear.” Toytere narrowed his eyes. “Another player be entering in-Little Dren. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

“Perhaps.” Her eyes glittered-gray and platinum-as she considered this.

Toytere always had difficulty reading Eden’s face, which obscured her thoughts so well. He’d first met the woman when she arrived in Luskan five years ago, but her toughened visage suggested she’d lived here her whole life. Not that he would ever ask, of course-it would not do to seem too interested.

“The crusader should prove no concern,” she said at length. “Only the girl matters.” Eden leaned closer to Toytere and he smelled the thick perfume and blood on her skin. This was a dangerous woman-and very enticing. “How are you handling her, by the way?”

“With utmost hospitality as I bide me time, awaiting the opportune moment,” the halfling replied. “Brandobaris! She actually believes she be in command. What a jest!”

“You always did play the game with a casual hand,” she said.

He grinned with his sharklike teeth. “You’d be surprised what me hands can do.”

“Little surprises me.” Eden rose and proffered her hand. “In that case, my fellow conspirator, I leave you in the goddess’s grace. Do not spurn her gifts.”

“Me lady.” He took her hand but did not kiss it. “Never would I do that.”

She walked out, her braced leg making her limp. The patrons of the Whetstone moved out of her way with palpable respect, fear, or both. Back at the table, Toytere smiled and drained the rest of his ale. This tenday would be a good one, Little Dren or no.

He only hoped that when the time came, he got to kill Kalen Dren himself.