Kalen colored and Myrin giggled.
"I'm weary," the girl said. "Is it well if I sleep in your chamber again, Cele?"
"Kalen's bed's bigger," Cellica said.
Myrin flushed bright red. "I… I, ah…"
"Don't get giggly, lass," Cellica said. "I meant that he'd take the floor again." She batted her eyes at Kalen. "Won't you, Sir Shadow?"
Kalen shrugged. The ladies had shared a bed the first two nights, but after the ball-the third night-he'd given Myrin his bed. "Of course."
Myrin hesitated. "I think Kalen needs his bed. He hasn't fully recovered, you know." She bit her lip and looked at the floor.
Kalen didn't understand this at all. He just needed sleep-it mattered little where.
Cellica stared at her a long time, then smiled, as though picking up some subtle jest. "As you will-you're quite warm." The halfling shrugged. "I'll join you in about an hour. Soon as I finish." She clipped the thread with her teeth and rubbed the stitched breastplate with her delicate fingers. "Merciful gods! One would think you'd learn to dodge more blades and arrows."
"I'll remember that," Kalen said, his voice dry. His head ached and he rubbed his temple.
Myrin grinned and winked at the halfling, who winked in kind. Whatever conspiracy they had hatched, it was cemented. Myrin walked toward Cellica's room but did not let go of Kalen's hand, pulling him along. She opened the door but did not go in, nor did she release Kalen.
They lingered for a moment. Kalen looked over his shoulder, but the halfling seemed not to notice them. Myrin was digging the ball of one foot into the floor.
"We'll find her, Kalen," she said. "I know it."
He shrugged. Then, because it wasn't enough, he spoke: "Yes."
Myrin clasped one arm behind her back and looked at the floor shyly, then up at Kalen. Something unspoken passed between themsomething that neither could say.
"Good e'en," Myrin said at length, awkwardly. She went inside and closed the door.
Kalen stood blinking for a breath, then he turned to find Cellica's eyes on him. "What?"
"For a man who reads faces and listens for lies every day…" The halfling trailed off.
Kalen rubbed his temples and limped toward his room. "Good e'en," he said.
He stepped inside, shut the door, and pulled offhis doublet, which he tossed to the floor. He crossed to the basin and mirror and splashed water on his face. Vicious bruises and stitched cuts rose on his muscled frame. The deepest ached, despite his numbness.
Tough as he was, he had to admit the accumulated hurts of the last few days were taking their toll. All he wanted was to sleep until he no longer hurt.
He saw something move in the mirror and turned.
She lay in his bed, blanket pulled up to her nose. Her pale skin glittered in the candlelight and her red hair seemed almost black. Her eyes were wide and mischievous.
"Well met, Kalen," Fayne whispered. She smiled. "Coins bright?"
TWENTY-NINE
"You're here," Kalen said, and he stretched. Though he didn't expect a duel, he didn't turn his back on her and checked the dirk at his belt. He made no hasty moves, and didn't let his eyes linger on her curves under the blanket. "Cellica let you in?"
"Yes." Fayne bit her lip, her smile chased away by his cold voice. "And no. She doesn't remember I'm here. I warded us"-she nodded to the door-"against sound."
"You-" Kalen winced at the zzar ache in his head and rubbed his stubbled chin. "Are you wearing anything under that blanket?"
Slowly, Fayne lowered the blanket to reveal a thin white ribbon around her throat, from which hung a black jewel. Then she raised the sheer back to her chin.
"Ah." Kalen coughed and kept his gaze purposefully averted. Fayne rolled her eyes. She sar up and lowered the blanket to bunch around her. "This is stupid, I know, and I'm a fool to come here, but I just have to say something, Kalen. You don't ever, ever have to see me again afterward, I just have to say it."
Kalen walked near the bed but remained standing. "Then say it." Silence reigned berween them for a moment. They looked at one another.
Kalen had seen Fayne nearly naked at the temple, but that had been different. A battle, when his blood was up. Now, her skin seemed smooth and soft. She was so very vulnerable, deprived of clothing. She seemed younger and lighter-fragile.
Like Myrin.
As though she could read his thoughts and wanted-needed- to turn his mind to her, Fayne opened her mouth and the words gushed forth.
"I… oh, Kalen, I've made a terrible mistake," she said. "A woman is dead because of me-because of my pranks. And… and I wanted ro teil you that I'm sorry."
Kalen broke the gaze and looked toward the window. "Don't," he said.
Fayne's eyes welled. "Kalen, please. Please just let me say this."
She sat upright and edged closer to him. When he stepped away, she stayed on the bed, peering up at him.
"You were… you were right about me," she said with a sniffle. "I am just a silly girl who doesn't think about the hurt I cause. My entire life, all I've done is lie and ruin. I have a talent for it, and the powers to match, and that was how I made coin. All I've ever done is scandalize folk-some honest, most dishonest-for gold." She wiped her nose.
"Sometimes I did nobles and fops, sometimes people of real importance-merchants, politicians, traders, foreign dignitaries. Whatever they believed or fought for, I didn't care. I know-I was a horrible wretch, but I didn't care."
She sniffed and straightened up, looking at him levelly.
"I… I was doing the same thing with Lorien and Ilira and 1 didn't mean anyone to get hurt." She cast her eyes down. "You believe me, right? I didn't mean-"
Kalen kept his silence but closed his hand on the hilt of the dirk he wore at his belt. The dirk was a cheap, brute object without the elegance of Vindicator, but it could kill just the same. He'd spent the day searching for Fayne, but he hadn't realized that it had been equally a matter of anger as concern.
He didn't know how he felt.
"Explain why I should believe you."
"Why would I lie about this?" Fayne asked.
"I do not know-but you are lying." Kalen fished in his satchel and pulled out the folded Minstrel. He pulled it open and set it on the table. Then he drew his dirk and slammed it through her false name, pinning the broadsheet down. "Explain that," he said.
She bunched the blanket around herself, rose, and padded toward him on bare feet. "Oh, Kalen!" She flinched away from the broadsheet as though from a searing pan on a fire. "That… that creature killed my mother. I–I just wanted to cause her pain, rhat's all. But I never meant anyone to die-that was Rath's doing." ^ "How do I know you didn't hire him?"
"I'm telling you the truth!" Fayne cried. "You saw him try to kill me. He would have done so, if you hadn't come!" She sobbed. "I didn't want anyone to die."
"I don't believe you." He put his hand on the dirk-simultaneously gesturing to the broadsheet and offering a quier threat. "Why write that? You know who killed Lorien."
"I… I was upset, Kalen!" Her eyes grew wet. "You don't understand! I was there when she killed my… I saw it happen! I hate that woman, Kalen-I hate her!"
She ripped the Minstrel off the table, tearing it against his blade, balled it up, and hurled it to the floor. Her scream that followed nearly shook the room.
Kalen flinched and looked to the door, but Fayne had spoken true. Had it not been warded against sound, Cellica would have burst in.
"So why not kill her? "Kalen asked. "Why Lorien, and not Ilira?" He stepped closer to her, so he could seize her throat if he wanred.
"I don'r-I don't like people, aye," Fayne said. "I hate them. I hate everyone, especially her-bur I don't hate enough to murder. That isn't me, and… and I have to make you see that."
"Why do I matter so much?"
Fayne wiped her eyes and nose. "Because I can't-not with you. I can't lie to you or trick you. You always know-you always know." She sobbed again. "Ir w
as so, so frustrating at first, but-there's something between us, Kalen. And it's something I can't understand.". Kalen looked into her eyes. How rich they seemed-bright, wet pools of gray cloud in her half-elf face. How earnest and true.
"I have to know, Kalen." She made a visible effort to compose herself, grasping her hands tightly in front of her waist. "Is… is what we have real? Can that really happen between two people who meet only for a moment? I've never loved any…" She trailed off and stared at the floor. She stomped angrily-frustrated. "I don't understand! It's not-it's not fair!"
"Fayne," Kalen said.
"You!" she cried. "The one man I can't have-the one man I should flee-but I can't leave you. Even now, as I stand here naked before you-you, who chastised me, who rejected me, who threatened to arrest me, and I can't leave-I can't just forget you."
Tears slid down her cheeks, and he couldn't have spoken if he tried.
"I need to know if I love you, and if you love me," she said. "I need… I need something real in my life of shadows and lies. Does that make any sense? Can't you understand?"
Kalen looked away when she met his eyes. He weighed her words and body language, probing for a lie, but found nothing. This was the truth, as far as he could tell.
Hers was a life of shadows and lies, he thought. Like his own life.
"Oh, Kalen," Fayne said. "Say something… say anything, just please."
Kalen turned toward her. "It isn't true."
Fayne's body went rigid, as though his gaze had turned her to stone. "What isn't true?"
"That a woman died because of you," Kalen said. "You didn't send Rath to kill her."
Fayne inhaled sharply.
"I believe you," Kalen said. "Your game was thoughtless and wicked and took Lorien off her guard, but it is not your fault-"
Fayne threw an arm around his neck and kissed him hard. It caught Kalen off guard and he staggered back a step. He could feel the pressure and could taste her lips on his, even with the numbness. The blood thundered in his veins, and he could feel his heart beating in his head.
"No." Fayne pulled away. "No. I'm sorry. I just… I had to. I'm sorry."
"What is it?"
Fayne went to reclaim the clothes she'd left on his bed. "You love her," she said.
"Ha." Kalen shook his head. 4 "Ha?" Fayne scoffed. "That girl practically hurls herself at you every moment you're together-it's in everything she does. She adores you-the sight of you, the thought of you. She loves you, you idiot. And you"-her eyes narrowed-"you love her, too."* He shook his head. "I do not."
She paused and looked at him curiously, warily. "You're sure?"
She stepped toward him, and he could feel heat growing withinlust for her and for the duel. It would always be this way with her, he thought.
"What do you feel, then?" she asked. "What do you feel, right now?"
It came to him, the perfect word. Kalen smiled sadly. "Pity."
Whatever Fayne had expected, that surprised her. "You pity her?" Then her voice became colder. "You pity me?"
"Myself." Kalen shook his head. "She makes me wish I were a better man."
Fayne flinched as though he'd slapped her. "That sounds like love to me."
She started to turn but he caught her wrist. "No," he said. "No?"
He shook his head.
"Well thank the Maid of Misfortune," Fayne said, raising her jaw proudly. "I was starting to think you didn't fancy me anymore."
The sheer, unflappable confidence in her eyes-the mock outrage and scornful words, the shameless flirtation-all of it made Kalen smile. The bravado of this woman astounded him.
Fayne was not like shy and thoughtful Myrin, but bold and conceited, utterly convinced of her own allure. And as arrogant as Fayne was, Kalen had to admire her. She was unchanging, immovable, perfect in her imperfection.
He told her what he hadn't told Myrin-what he never would have dared tell her. He wanted to stop himself but couldn't.
"I am sick, Fayne."
She stared at him, as though judging whether he spoke true. Finally, she nodded.
Kalen went on. "When I was a child, I felt less pain than others did. My fingers are scarred from my teeth"-he spread his hands so she could see-"as are my lips." He licked his lips and pursed them, so she might see the marks. "I just-1 just didn't feel ir."
Fayne nodded, and her gray eyes grew a touch wider.
"I would have died, but for the scoundrel who took me in and raised me, among a host of other orphans," Kalen said. "He taught me how to inflict the pain I couldn't feel-how to use my 'blessing' for my benefit. Or rather, his."
"Sounds like my father," said Fayne. When he paused, she waved him on. "But this is your story-pray, continue."
"I found feeling eventually, but long after my skin had hardened. At six, I shrugged off stabs that would have left a man weeping on the floor."
Kalen watched Fayne's eyes trace the scars along his ribs and chest, some of which were very old. Each one, Kalen remembered well.
"I killed my master when I was just a child," Kalen said. "He was a cruel old man, and I had no pity for him. More pity I had for the older orphans he had hurt over the years-though I reserved the most for myself, undersrand."
Fayne nodded. She understood.
"I was a thief, and a mean one," he said. "Folk had done things to me-terrible things-and I had seen far worse. So when I hurt folk-killed them, sometimes-I didn't think anything of it. I used my blade to get coin-or food. Or if I was angry, as I often was. I was born hard as steel, and I only got harder."
He almost wanted Fayne to say she was sorry-as though she could take the blame for all the world and offer atonement. But she merely watched him, listening patiently.
"Without my master, I was forced to beg on the streets-to sell my services for food or warmth. I met Cellica shortly thereafter, and she became like a sister to me, but my master had done his work and I was stone not only on the surface, but inside."
"Cellica grew up in Luskan, too?" Fayne glanced toward the door. "She seems too soft."
Kalen shrugged. "She was a prisoner," he said. "Escaped the grasp of some demon cult."*
"A cult?" Fayne looked troubled. "What kind of cult?"
Kalen shrugged. "Cellica didn't talk about it much, and I didn't uuin uvui i on mu ask," he said. "I met her by chance, and she set my broken arm. Healing hands." * "Mmm." Fayne nodded. "She was a good friend?"
"I hated her, too, at first," Kalen said. "As soon as my arm healed, I hit her, but only once." He grinned ruefully. "She put me down faster than you could say her name."
Fayne giggled. "You wouldn't think it, to look at her."
"Tough little wench," said Kalen, and Fayne shared his smile.
Then he paused, not wanting to tell her the story of Gedrin or of obtaining Vindicator, and in truth it did not matter. That would instill a touch of nobility to his story, and he did not feel noble. He was awash in his brutal past.
"When I was eight years of age, I… I made a mistake. I did something terrible, and my spellscar returned in full force. I couldn't move at all."
He tried to turn, but she held his hand tighter and didn't look away. Kalen set his jaw.
"I was frozen, locked in a dead body that felt nothing, but saw and heard everything. It was like my childhood sickness, but returned a hundredfold. A man grown would have gone mad, and perhaps I did-not knowing when or if I would ever move again. I couldn't even kill myself-only lie there and wait to die."
His hands clenched hard enough for him to feel his fingernails, which meant they would be drawing blood. Fayne watched him closely, consuming every word.
"I prayed-to anyone or anything rhat might hear," he said. "I prayed every moment for true death, but the gods did not hear me. They had abandoned Luskan and everyone in it."
"You were a man of faith? "asked Fayne. Her voice was respectfully soft-almost reverent. "An odd choice for a beggar boy."
He shrugged. "Cellica didn't follow the go
ds either-her healing was in needle, thread, and salve. But she believed in right, and she definitely believed in wrong. And though letting me die might have been kinder, as I thought, she told me every day that she would help me, no question. She loved me, I came to realize, though I had no understanding of it then.
"She kept me from starving. She cared for me when anyone else would have left me for dead. I hated her for that-for not letting me die-but I loved her all the same. She would feed me and clean me and read to me-but other times, she would just sit with me, talking or silent. Just be with me, when I had nothing else.
"And eventually-finally-I began to pray for life. Just a little bit of life-just enough to touch her cheek, hold her, thank her. Then I could rest." Kalen brushed a hand down Fayne's cheek. "Do you understand?"
Fayne nodded solemnly. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Kalen said. "No god came to save me-no begging brought life back into my dead body. I was alone but for Cellica, and she could not fight for me. I had to fight for myself."
Fayne said nothing.
"I stopped praying," Kalen said. "I stopped begging. Once…" He trailed off.
He breathed deeply and began again.
"After I escaped my master but before my mistake-when I was a boy of eight winters, begging on the streets. Someone once told me not to beg. A great knight, called Gedrin Shadowbane."
Something like recognition flickered across Fayne's face-the name, he thought.
Kalen continued. "He didn't ask me why I begged-nothing about my past, or who I was. He didn't care. He just told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was never to beg. again. Then he struck me-cuffed me on the ear so I would remember."
"Whar a beast!" Fayne covered a grin with her hand and her eyes gleamed with mirth.
Kalen chuckled. "It was the last thing anyone said to me before I fell paralyzed," he said. "And as I lay unmoving, hardly able to breathe or live, I realized he was right. I stopped praying for someone else to save me, and fought only to save myself. Not to let myself die. Not yet-I would die, I knew, but not yet." Kalen clenched his fists. "Then, slowly-gods, so slowly-it came back. Feeling. Movement;* Life. I could speak to Cellica again. I told her what I wanted-to die-and she cried. If I had begged her, she would have done it, but
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