Thief of Lives

Chapter 20

Magiere studied Welstiel. He looked much the same as he had in Miiska, composed and controlled. She looked at his black leather gloves and cloak, and his voice echoed in her thoughts.

A moment, if you please.

Lord Au'shiyn's dead face surfaced in her mind. His murderer had used those very words to draw the Suman's attention.

"You," she whispered aloud, still uncertain what her senses now demanded she believe. "Your voice… your hands."

He was calm and detached, still the cryptic mentor he'd played for her back in Miiska. Magiere tried to find the hunger inside that always warned of an undead's presence, but it wouldn't stir.

"Did you follow Ratboy here, or did he follow you?" she asked.

He frowned as if such a question were childish.

"I am not one of them," he said. "I have been preparing you for what lies ahead. You would have never battled these creatures without inspiration, and now look what you've become. So much more than you were, even since your awakening in Miiska."

What did he mean by inspiration? Nausea threatened to creep in upon the tail of Magiere's bewilderment.

"You arranged this?" she asked, a sickening awareness growing. "And what happened in Miiska as well?"

"A simple matter," he answered, "of making sure you were the one to purchase the vacant tavern."

Confusion began to feed slowly into outrage.

The council of Bela, Chap's hidden manipulations, the elves seeking Leesil's life, and now Welstiel. How many had played Leesil and herself like puppets, tugging their strings from both near and far?

Welstiel waved his hand, apparently growing frustrated with her. "All but a means to an end, and you have nearly reached that end. The rest you will learn on our journey, and so I've come for you. The conjuror is unpredictable, and I wanted to be present in case he became a true danger."

He was mad, but Magiere was uncertain what to do. Her gaze kept returning to the black gloves.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said.

"You haven't heard where we are going," he responded.

"I don't care."

The torchlight flickered off his smooth face.

"I watched you at your game on the open road. Not often, but enough to follow your progress-and ambition. You are not like other mortals-you do not think like a mortal. When forced, you do what is necessary. What you earned from those peasants was a pittance. What the council offered you is nothing compared to what I seek, and that which I trained you to achieve."

Magiere flinched as he pointed a black-gloved hand at her.

Her shoulder still bled, but the wound was not threatening. Her thigh was more of a concern, as she couldn't put full weight on her leg. Looking at Welstiel, she remembered how undeads seemed to heal themselves through sheer will once they had fed. She focused her thoughts on the slash across her thigh.

The bleeding stopped, though she could still feel the open wound, and she tentatively settled more weight into the leg.

"I am not speaking of money," he went on. "But power. In the ice-capped mountains of this continent is an object long forgotten, guarded by ‘old ones'-possibly the oldest vampires in existence. You were bred to be a hunter, but you will learn nothing more battling these city-dwelling Noble Dead. I must teach you how to truly use the raw skills you have acquired."

His voice, words, and manner recalled her visions and the sensations of Chesna's and Au'shiyn's final moments.

"I know you," he said. "You take risks if the reward is enough, but you have no idea what I offer to make you a part of."

After all she and Leesil had been through to track down the murderer, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly pointed elsewhere. It should have been Chane. The gloves, the dark cloak, and the noble bearing all fit. Even the voice she'd heard in her vision could have been his. Perhaps even the formal words were but a coincidence.

A moment, if you please.

Magiere looked into Welstiel's composed and stern face and remembered the impressions she'd felt in Chane's presence. The mage undead reveled in the kill, enjoyed the death of his victims.

But the killer had not.

Magiere looked to the crossbow's quarrel. Like all those prepared by Leesil before their hunt, it smelled faintly of garlic. There was one way to settle this mystery.

Leesil ran behind Chap, and the tunnel again seemed endless. He had to trust that Chap could pick up Magiere's trail once they reached the house of the undeads. How the dog could follow anything in this stinking sewer was baffling.

Chap pulled up short, and Leesil stepped past him before stopping. The hound stood poised, staring down the tunnel, and before Leesil could speak, he took off again at a run. From a distance ahead, Leesil heard splashing footfalls. When he saw Wynn coming, relief filled him.

Glowing crystal in hand, she stumbled to a stop and let out a shallow whimper before rushing toward them. Robe soaked to her thighs, she gripped Leesil's arms with her small hands.

"Hurry," she gasped out. "I think Magiere is in trouble."

"Chane?" he asked.

"No-he escaped."

A rush of panic struck Leesil.

"What happened to Magiere?" he asked more harshly.

"She is all right," Wynn replied. "But there is someone else." Her hands squeezed tighter on his arms. "It is Welstiel, and I think Magiere is troubled. She told me to run and find you."

"Welstiel?" Leesil answered with puzzlement. What was that deluded man doing in Bela, and why had he followed Magiere into the sewers?

"Come quickly," Wynn urged. "She is down this tunnel."

Chap bolted ahead. Leesil followed, pulling Wynn along behind him as he called out, "Chap, stay in sight."

The dog paused, yipped once, and continued at a slower pace. Wynn's fatigue and soaked robe slowed them too much, but Leesil wouldn't leave her behind. The three of them moved as quickly as possible.

"Not far now," Wynn panted once.

Ahead was an opening in the runnel that flickered faintly with torchlight.

Chap stopped there, staring off to the right. But it was from the left side of the wide crossing of tunnels that Leesil saw Magiere inching forward through the shallow water, crossbow pointed in the direction the hound gazed.

She was soaked, and her hauberk had been severed near the left shoulder. The wound bled, and there was another gash across her right thigh.

Leesil handed off his torch to Wynn and pulled both his blades as he came up behind Chap. To the right on the far-side walkway stood Welstiel. His striking face, dark hair, and white temples were unmistakable even in the dim light.

Magiere's eyes flicked briefly in Leesil's direction and then back to Welstiel.

"It's him," she breathed. "He killed Chesna to get us here."

Leesil didn't understand any of this. An undead had butchered Lanjov's daughter, not this obsessive man who babbled about the Noble Dead. Leesil glanced at the topaz upon his chest, but there wasn't the faintest glow coming from the stone. Chap didn't react as if a vampire were present and merely stood with his head swiveling between Magiere and the black-clad gentleman.

Welstiel looked at Leesil with a slight frown.

"She is distraught. I was simply here to make certain she was able to handle the conjuror. I have assisted you in the past. Now, I am here to make you both an offer."

Wynn listened as well, but she hung back as Leesil stepped into the intersection toward Magiere, watching her closely.

Her eyes were intense and unblinking as she watched Welstiel. She gripped the crossbow so tightly her fingernails were whiter than her skin.

"Magiere," Leesil said, stepping closer. "He's not the one. It was Chane."

She sidestepped away from him and took another advancing step toward Welstiel, who began to back away.

"Magiere…" Leesil said gently, and pointed to the topaz with the tip of one blade. "No light, see? And Chap, he would know."

Her eyes flicked only briefly toward him and the hound.

"One way to be certain," she said, and her grip closed on the lever.

"No!" Leesil shouted.

He slashed at the crossbow, but the quarrel was already away. It struck Welstiel in the chest. In panic, Leesil turned to rush toward the man.

Smoke curled up from Welstiel's chest as he stumbled back against the tunnel wall.

"No," Leesil whispered.

"Take his head!" Magiere shouted, her voice echoing through the sewers. "He murdered Chesna."

Chap snarled, crystal-blue eyes turning to Leesil.

How was this possible? Leesil had seen no glow in the amulet. Chap hadn't sensed this. Even Magiere wasn't afflicted with the rage she succumbed to in the presence of an undead. But only an undead burned at the touch of garlic.

Leesil rushed at Welstiel as he shouted to Chap.

"Take him, now!"

Chap lunged out, splashing past him. Welstiel's hand clamped over the quarrel, and he jerked it out. Leesil saw Welstiel's lips move, and strange words buzzed in his head. Welstiel's free hand snapped out, scattering a fine white powder into the air. The smoke around the man grew in a billowing cloud that welled out to fill the tunnel.

It thickened around Leesil until he could no longer see beyond an arm's length. He tried striking at Welstiel's last position, but his blade only clanged against stone. Then he saw what looked like the quarrel floating in the smoke, and it suddenly shot past him.

A cry of angered pain came from behind.

"Magiere!" Leesil shouted, and he spun about, thrashing his way into the clearer air of the intersection.

Magiere had dropped the crossbow and now gripped her upper arm below the wounded shoulder. She was still on her feet, but slumped as he reached her, head dropping upon his shoulder. Leesil quickly lifted her hand. The quarrel had grazed her, leaving a bleeding gash in her arm.

Gray smoke boiled from the tunnel, and he heard Chap choking inside of it.

"Get out, Chap," he shouted. "Back the way we came."

"No," Wynn said. "To the ladder and up to the street."

"He'll get away," Magiere said, choking. "You can't lose him."

But Leesil stared into the billowing gray cloud rolling toward them and couldn't tell if Welstiel was even in the tunnel anymore.

Wynn waded across to the ladder, urging them to follow, and Chap came lunging out of the smoke. Leesil sheathed his blades and guided Magiere to the ladder. She seemed able to climb well enough with one hand. Leesil reached down and lifted Chap and proceeded to climb as well.

The shaft was tall, and its narrow width helped steady him as he climbed the rungs with one hand, holding on to Chap with the other. Three times the sack of heads at his back caught on the wall, and he stopped to twist himself free of the snag. When he reached the top, Wynn and Magiere grabbed hold of the hound and pulled him through the open grate, and Leesil crawled out to lie panting on the street's cobblestones. He gulped in mouthfuls of fresh air.

Magiere stared down at the ground, expressionless. The sound of running feet and voices traveled up the street, and Leesil rolled to his knees, hands dropping to this blades. But it was only three of the guard rushing toward them.

"Chetnik's men," he said in relief. "I'll have them fetch a wagon so we can get you back to the guild."

Magiere neither looked up nor answered.

Chane limped through the shadows of the residential district near their home when he experienced an unexpected hollow sensation inside his mind. It was almost painful in its intensity, as if something had been ripped out of his head. Just as suddenly, it vanished.

His thoughts felt clear and crisp, more than he remembered in recent times. He paused for a moment, and even stepped out openly into the street to look about.

There was no one present. Even in his own thoughts, he was alone. He smiled and closed his eyes.

He had not had any conception of what freedom would feel like when it came. He had not known if he would feel anything at all, but the realization now settled upon him.

Toret was dead.

Chane's smile vanished.

He was injured and homeless and certainly unwelcome at the sages' guild. The dhampir and her people, as well as the sages, now knew his identity, and it would not be long before others would hear of it as well.

"Wynn," he whispered.

Chane wandered the dark streets. All that remained were belongings he could carry, if he reached the house. He could no longer stay in Bela.

Between the deep slash on his knee, the hole in his chest, and the burning wound in his back where Wynn had shot him, he could not face another conflict. His rat would still be in its cage on his desk. As he stood out back, near the servants' entrance, he reached into the animal's limited mind and listened. The house was quiet and still. Drawing his sword, he entered the open back door, and listened on his own.

Nothing. The house seemed to be empty.

He walked through the dining chamber, past Tihko's body on the table and around the wolf's corpse. When he came upon the parlor, there was Sapphire's headless, velvet-clad body lying in a pool of congealing black fluids. He turned back to the stairs and downward into the cellar.

He reeked of the sewers and so changed his clothing first, then quickly packed what belongings he could into a small chest and sack. He had hidden some money in a purse behind a drawer in his desk. On his desk sat a small cold lamp that Wynn had given to him. Taking the crystal out, he fingered it for a moment and slipped it into his cloak. He packed only his most necessary texts and materials, and remembered the day his mother had given him his first book on metaphysics. He wondered if it might still be in his room at home in their manor to north.

Tonight he said good-bye to the only existence he had known since the night Toret had raised him from death. He had never thought of returning to the family keep, but realized that as well was now left behind forever. Finally, he took the rat from its cage and slipped it into the cloak's pocket. With one hand, he grabbed both the sack and small chest, a strap about its girth, and left his room.

Out in the cellar again, he stared up the stairs as he heard booted feet walking slowly on the floor above.

Chane set his baggage down and drew his sword as he climbed the steps. Reaching the exit to the main floor, he slipped the rat out the door and directed it along the wall to the dining chamber.

Through the rodent's eyes, he expected to see city guards come to check on the hunter's story, or perhaps her half-blood returning for some reason. Instead, he saw that Toret's visitor with black hair and white temples stood examining the dead raven upon the table.

Chane tried to sense him through his familiar but felt nothing. It was as if the man were an illusion, not truly there. He watched the stranger idly poke the wolf's corpse with the toe of his boot and then walk down to the parlor. Chane followed, sending the rat along the hallway wall. The visitor stared only a moment at Sapphire's body.

The stranger inspected the whole house, stopping only briefly to note Tibor's body and severed head on the second floor. When it was apparent he was heading for the cellar, Chane slipped quietly into the hidden door at the bottom of the stairs and waited.

It took more time for the rat to catch up, but when it did, the man was in Chane's room. He glanced at the empty cage, paged through several texts, and then picked up Chane's sewer-soaked clothes from the floor. He frowned and dropped them.

When the stranger's inspection was finished, he went back up to the parlor and studied Sapphire's body. Chane had no idea what this man wanted, but there was purpose to his inspection. When the stranger headed for the front door, Chane set a simple task into the rat's thoughts with an image of the man.

Follow-watch.

Chane pulled out of the familiar's mind and waited until he was certain the stranger was well away from the house. Then he climbed to the main floor and slipped through the rear kitchen door.

Magiere sat numbly upon the sage's kitchen table, her armor removed and her ruined shirtsleeve cut away. Domin Tilswith carefully spread oily salve across her shoulder, arm, and leg. Neither the old man's comforting presence nor the salve did anything for the turmoil of her thoughts.

If this night's suffocating revelations settled in her mind all at once, she wouldn't be able to keep from screaming-or weeping.

Leesil hovered near, asking if he could do anything.

Wynn kept pushing him out of the way as she assisted the older sage. Chap sat at the floor before her, looking up intently. Every now and then, his tail twitched.

Apparently, Vatz was still at the guard barracks. Once he arrived with Magiere's message, Captain Chetnik had forced him to stay inside for his own safety. It seemed the captain had been more successful than she in getting the little whelp to obey.

Magiere gazed around the kitchen at the herbs and pots hanging everywhere, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the cold lamps hung about for good light. She looked at Leesil's pleasant, tan face, and knew she should be glad, at least in part. They'd taken two undeads and managed to survive. Leesil had the heads for proof.

But proof of what? Chesna's murderer had escaped, as had Chane, making Magiere little more than the charlatan who once bedazzled peasants out of their last coins.

While Wynn dressed her wounded leg, the young sage talked feverishly with the domin in their own language. All wounds finally tended, Tilswith smiled at Magiere.

"Done," he said with confidence. "You heal soon."

Magiere looked tiredly into his eyes and lined face. She wondered if he was speaking of more than just her body. The old sage turned to Leesil.

"Teeth?" he asked, pointing to the base of Leesil's neck. "And bruise."

For a moment, Leesil appeared puzzled, lifting a hand up to feel. Then he winced. The domin motioned for him to sit beside Magiere, and Leesil became the object of ministrations. As Wynn helped Leesil remove his armor, Tilswith suddenly turned his curiosity back to Magiere.

"This man-Noble Dead-who kill Chesna. You know him?"

"Yes," Magiere said bitterly. "We know him."

Leesil looked at her in concern. "There's no way we could have guessed. None of this is our fault."

"Isn't it?" she asked. "Dunction, our tavern's previous owner, also mysteriously ‘disappeared' one night. Somehow Welstiel made certain I would buy the Sea Lion, and we would end up in Miiska, stumbling upon disappearing townsfolk and uncovering Ratboy, Rashed, and Teesha."

Realization spilled across Leesil's long features.

"He knew what I was before I did," Magiere added. "Watched us on the game. And I think he knows a great deal more about my past, about what I am, than he's told us. He's been playing us… like everyone else."

Tilswith was listening carefully as he dressed Leesil's wound. "Why? Why he know these and want you learn?"

Magiere remembered Welstiel's urgency in the sewers.

"Something he's after," she said thoughtfully. "Something old, a long-forgotten object that will give him power, and he thinks it's guarded by ancient Noble Dead. He's been preparing me for that task."

Tilswith stopped and looked her full in the face. "This he say? Exact he say?"

"Yes," she answered with a frown. "What does it matter?"

Wynn had frozen in place as well. She and Domin Tilswith began speaking rapidly again in their own tongue, agitated and perhaps arguing. Finally Tilswith ended with a shake of his head, and Wynn turned slowly to Magiere.

"He told you an object of great power was guarded by ancient undeads, and he has been preparing you to assist him in attaining this?"

"What is this about?" Leesil asked.

Tilswith shrugged. "Not certain. But if he undead, can hide self from hound, and seek object, you must find first. This thing not be in his hand."

For a moment, his words, like part of an overheard conversation, didn't fully settle upon Magiere as having anything to do with her.

Leesil sighed deeply. "Oh, spiteful deities."

"Are you suggesting Leesil and I go after him?" Magiere asked. "We wouldn't even know where to look. Chap can't even track him."

Tilswith pondered this for a moment with an appraisal of Chap. All eyes in the room followed his gaze.

Chap glanced about at all of them and began to fidget, slowly sliding his butt backward across the floor, not able to meet anyone's gaze. The old sage grunted.

"Track… no," Tilswith said. "But Welstiel first to know majay-hi, yes? And elf hunt Leesil stop because hound here. Chap has part in all."

At his mention, Chap lowered his head.

"He your guide," Tilswith added, bright green eyes warm as he delivered a disapproving frown to Chap. "From his mistake to Wynn, you three meant to be. Dhampir, majay-hi, and one half-elf in all land? Now find why-and what-to Welstiel."

The room was silent for a moment. Wynn took up where her domin left off.

"Some of our guild see a time of convergence approaching, though we do not all agree on what it means or what it will be… or even if it will be. We have seen strange occurrences over the decades but without a clear connection."

She hesitated.

"From what little you have told us," she said, "both you and Leesil hide pasts filled with regrets. It is the time to choose your own path and stop letting others choose it for you. Centuries ago, the fabled war cost the world so much in the Forgotten. Knowledge, great works, even civilization faded so utterly that we know little of what happened before, during, or following that conflict. If this Welstiel discovered a power of that time, he will continue to seek it-with or without you. Find it before he does. If he murdered Chesna just to bring you here, think what he would do to get it and to use it."

Everything the sages said made sense, but it was too much to ask. Magiere simply wanted to go home. Each time she stepped outside the life she wanted, unwillingly doing whatever was asked, some far greater burden fell upon her.

"We didn't even finish our task here," she said, and took a deep breath that was hard to let out. "Not only did we chase the wrong undead, but we let Welstiel escape and Chane as well."

Tilswith blinked in surprise, and Leesil threw up his arms in disgust, then winced at the pain such action sent through his wounds.

"Take money for Miiska," Tilswith insisted. "No other could take Noble Dead. You make city safe. You refuse Welstiel so he not stay here-find other way to that he seek."

Leesil clearly agreed. "That pack of stuffed pheasants on the council used what happened in our town to drag you into this. I've got two heads in a satchel, and there's a third in that house we can add to it."

She let his words sink in but wondered if they were motivated by guilt over burning down the warehouse to save her life.

"What about Chane?" she asked.

Wynn averted her eyes at the name.

"Chane is scholar," Tilswith answered, "but we know he is too Noble Dead. Small chance he come to us and small chance we help him. He not stay in Bela, not take risk." He held up his hands with a shrug, as if the answer were obvious. "So task done. All Noble Dead gone."

"I will take the bankdraft to Miiska for you," Wynn added, "and seek out the baker you mentioned named Karlin."

The sages truly believed the situation was resolved, but this was all happening too fast for Magiere. Now they expected her and Leesil and Chap to somehow stop Welstiel from finding whatever he sought, though no one knew what or where this thing was. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the last moments of Chesna and Au'shiyn, and how their killer felt nothing-no pity, no regret, not even satisfaction.

Welstiel hadn't even fed on them. He'd murdered them as bait to draw her in. For a moment, Magiere felt anger's heat return. As much as Welstiel knew of her nature, how much did he know of the means by which she was brought into this world? Dhampir, the child of a vampire with hidden knowledge and a mortal mother Magiere had known only from a wooden marker in a village graveyard.

And how far back in her life did Welstiel's meddling reach? There were possibilities in that she did not want to think upon.

Leesil leaned close to her. "There's actually something more I haven't told you."

Magiere's dampened anger flared at the thought that he'd once more left something until after the fact.

"Back on the ship that brought us here," he continued, "I spoke with the thug locked in the cargo hold. Master Poyesk hired those men to stop you from returning with the bankdraft. Karlin has to be warned how far Poyesk will go to prevent the new warehouse from being built."

Magiere's wounds started to ache as if the numbing salve had worn off, and the pain merely added to her ire.

"Damn you, Leesil."

"You had too much to deal with already," he snapped back at her. "And some of it you wouldn't even face."

He dropped his eyes, head down, and Magiere's anger waned. He looked tired and sad. There was more to his reaction than the tangle of deceptions they'd unraveled since leaving Miiska. Part of his exasperation had more to do with her.

"Not to worry," Wynn said matter-of-factly. "You can tell me exactly what to say or you can write a letter. I promise that Karlin will be made aware of all."

Magiere longed only for home, but the sages' words plagued her. She-and Leesil and Chap-weren't finished. She wanted answers for her past, her future, and why she was here.

With Leesil close but ignoring her, she felt suddenly tired of talk. All she wanted now was to be out of this crowded room and to be alone with him.

"We don't have that bankdraft yet," she said. "We can't decide anything until that's settled."

The two sages said their good-nights and quietly left. Leesil lifted Magiere's good arm over his shoulders, winced once as it settled around his neck, and led her toward their barracks room. Chap ambled along behind them, sore and stiff, but otherwise well enough.

As Leesil settled Magiere upon the lower bunk, he still appeared lost inside himself.

"I'm sorry," Magiere said. "I've been weighed down by all that's happened since before we even left home."

"Yes…" he whispered. "But leave that for the moment. There's something else you need to know. Something that happened tonight in the sewers."

Magiere held her breath, unsure if she could take anything more.

"My mother…" he whispered, somehow afraid to speak it aloud, "may be alive."

Magiere grabbed his arm and pulled him down to crouch in front her. Before she could ask the first urgent question, he told her of his encounter with the elf-the anmaglahk-who called himself Sgaile. Nagging suspicion grew when she heard how the elf cowered back as Chap intimidated him into partially answering Leesil's questions.

"Maybe they imprisoned her for what she taught me," Leesil finished. "Though from watching Sgaile, she didn't have time to teach me everything of their ways, or she chose not to. I think she may have gotten away from Darmouth, and if I'm right, the elves don't kill their own-even a traitor, so-called."

Chap watched them both with keen attention. Magiere thought she saw the hound wrinkle his jowls at the mention of the elven assassin.

"She was the one who gave me Chap," Leesil reminded her.

A new sorrow settled upon Magiere. Leesil's guilt over his parents, so long hidden, had been tossed back in his face with the uncertainty of his mother's fate.

"If she's alive, we'll find her," she promised. "We'll find out why all of this has happened to us."

As quickly as this journey had started, the day the council letter arrived in Miiska, the days to come settled in her mind. Home would have to wait.

"Us," Leesil answered, with a soft laugh that made Magiere uncomfortable. "That is another puzzle entirely. And I know the crux of it, now."

He looked at her with sorrow, as if she'd betrayed him with some secret he'd uncovered. Magiere tensed, frightened.

Leesil held out his left wrist, the scars of her teeth plain to see. She shoved his arm away and shrank back.

"All the distance you placed between us," he said accusingly. "This is why."

"Leesil, not now," she warned him.

"I told you before," he said. "I'm not that easy to kill."

Magiere's stomach lurched as memory rushed at her upon his words. She felt his flesh between her teeth the night he burned the warehouse. She tasted his blood in her mouth as she swallowed it down, the only thing she desired in that moment. Not anyone's-only his.

"Yes, you are," she shouted. "You can't make this so simple!"

Leesil hung back, confused. "What do you mean…?"

"Neither of us really knows what I am," Magiere answered. "You're here with me now, and I wouldn't wish it any other way. But each time you try to make it more than that, it becomes dangerous, unnatural, and you-"

"What?" Leesil snapped at her. "I'm not the one holding secrets now. You tell me what's so-"

"Because I can kill you," Magiere said through her teeth, and her anger added vicious bite to her words. "And worst of all, you'd let me!"

She wanted to slap him, shake him from this foolish blindness that had almost cost him his life. It was better to finally have done with it, once and for all, and she spit out every word.

"The night you saved me from the warehouse, you just slit yourself open and fed me without a thought. If Brenden hadn't been there to pull you away, you would have stayed there and died in my teeth. I'd have awoken with you dead in my arms. Not once did you think of it-don't even try to deny it, because you didn't. That's how easy it is to kill you, Leesil. And you'd let me be the one to do it."

Magiere could no longer look at him. Between the memory of his blood in her mouth and the heated rage in her flesh came the pain of final loss.

Leesil dropped to one knee, leaning toward her.

"Neither of us knew what was happening that night," he said. "You no less than me. How could we, how could I? But we're beyond that, and we're not those same people anymore."

He put one hand to her cheek, and as much as Magiere felt the urge to pull aside, she couldn't bring herself to harm him any more man she just had.

"I've lived three lives," he said. "As a child in the War-lands, knowing only deceit and death. Then roaming the countryside alone but for Chap. Finally, the game with you, from the night we met… with Chap's meddling. I'm looking at a fourth life now. Any life begins by simply living it. And I say again-I won't die on you."

Before she could stop him, Leesil placed both hands upon her cheeks, and pressed his mouth against hers.

Magiere stiffened in revulsion as the touch mixed with the lingering memory of the night he fed her. But the blood faded from her taste.

His mouth was warm and soft for that brief moment, and beneath the swirl of fear and sorrow, she felt another loss when he pulled away.

"I will never leave you," he whispered. "But I can't stay adrift between lives. You will have to decide-for both of us, it seems-since you already think you know what I can and can't do."

Without another word, Leesil crawled tiredly up into the top bunk and out of sight.

It was a long while before Magiere lay back upon her bed, numbed with a maelstrom of emotions in the room's silence. Chap lay quietly on the floor, now and again lifting his head to look at her.

Sometime during the night, Magiere drifted off, but only after she could hear the comforting sound of Leesil's slumbering breaths from above.