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.
&
nbsp; 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 naïveté,” 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.
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