Shadowbane

is if you do not trust him.”

Myrin smiled. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s it exactly.”

Kalen shook his head. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Why trust a man who stabs you in the back, let alone love him? How?”

Rhett looked at Kalen, then Myrin, then smiled helplessly. “Not even Sune says love is easy.”

Toytere scratched at the rent flesh of his wrist. Godsdamn, how it itched.

Ironic, he thought, the Rat bitten by a rat.

He cradled his wrist as the rowboat cut through the water, back toward the dock. Even now, the bite made the feeling recede from one half of his body. If Sithe hadn’t taken up the oars, the skiff would surely be tracing circles through Luskan’s bay. His body hurt from a dozen of Loviatar’s best blades thrust in his most sensitive spots, but he could shut out the ache with a single thought: Myrin.

The way she had thanked him-kissed him even-had shaken him beyond words. Even more disturbing was what she had leaned down to whisper so no one else could hear: “I trust you, Toy.”

She, who had no reason to trust him, who had seen what he meant for her, had chosen to put her life in his hands. Why would she do such a thing?

“Are you well, master?” Sithe asked. He felt her black eyes on him, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his fear. He did fear her-anyone would-but he grew angry as well. Inside of him, a deep abiding fury coiled and grew.

“Bah! Of course I be!” Toytere wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just row.”

Sithe continued rowing across the bay in silence.

The Coin Priest stared into the depths of the platinum coin, willing it to speak to her. It was her connection to the goddess-its power gave her power. And yet, it had failed so many times before. Perhaps this time-this time it would be different.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings and she forced a warm, flirtatious grin onto her face. She hated having to smile.

“Please, come,” the Coin Priest purred, reclining on her striped fur carpet.

This carpet was particularly fine-soft and smooth and stinking of violence. The skin had once belonged to a rakshasa, who had made the mistake of crossing her. Now the creature’s best feature was hers forever.

Her lackeys sank to one knee before her. Their leader-the very ugly brute she’d honored with her favors- gave her a sly little smile. Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all.

“You have something?” she asked.

“The derelict in the bay, Your Grace,” said the ugly man. “We’s been watching, as you says, and it’s-” His eyes lingered on her ample curves.

“And?” she said, closing her robe a little tighter.

“It’s afire,” said the man. “King Toy of the Dead Rats and his enforcer, Sithe. They done searched it out, for swag and the like. Then they set it ablaze.”

“So?” she asked. “Why bring this to me?”

“Outsiders, too,” said the man. “Three. A girl with blue hair, a knight of Waterdeep, and a man in black with two knives and eyes like diamonds.”

“Speak not of him.” The Coin Priest clenched her fists. “He will be dealt with. Watch for a sign of the Horned One-you bring him directly to me, understand?”

The ugly captain smiled crookedly. “We’ve this, lady-found it in an alley.”

He held forth an ash-coated gold coin. Eden hardly needed to glance at it to know its origin: the coin Logenn had carried. So her man was dead, then. How tedious.

“Very well,” she said. “Leave me.”

They obeyed. The ugly captain lingered, his eyes suggestive, but she waved him away. Better to let his imagination try hard to please her. If he ever touched her again, like as not she’d rip out his eyes, tongue, or something he’d miss even more.

That could wait, however. She needed every man and woman she could spare searching for the Horned One-if only to determine his intentions in Luskan. She had a very important customer due to arrive any day now to take possession of a certain item. It would not do for the Horned One to interfere-where the Chosen of the Lady went, trouble would inevitably arise.

With an effort-aided by her cane-the Coin Priest pushed herself to her feet. Walking was just so uncomfortable.

Her holy symbol flared and magic rose from the burnt coin in her hand to the one in her face. The light vanished, drunk up hungrily by the goddess’s symbol. In turn, the added strength of the magic flowed into the Coin Priest, easing her step.

Walking more easily now, she crossed to her scrying bowl and dropped her two-faced coin into its limpid depths. It still gleamed with absorbed magic. Perhaps this time …

She repeated the scrying ritual, and again, it abruptly failed. The warding magic was just too strong.

“By the Lady,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

24 KYTHORN (PRE-DAWN)

Rhett stood outside Myrin’s door, trying to figure out what to say. He raised and lowered his hand for the fourth time, his confidence wavering.

“If you want to come in,” Myrin called, “just come in.”

The latch slid open and the door opened a foot of its own accord, allowing a cloud of blue-white mist to escape.

“Huh.” Not particularly reassured, Rhett pushed into the room.

Myrin sat cross-legged on the bed in the center of the room, surrounded by what looked like a dozen floating versions of herself. Each image was sculpted of light and mist, and was about the size of Myrin’s head. Some were smiling and laughing, some looked deathly serious, some fought unseen foes. Myrin studied each, her blue hair drifting.

“Kalen sent you, did he?” Myrin asked.

“Obvious, is it?”

Myrin gave a single nod, then went back to studying her images.

After what had happened between them on the boat-and something had definitely happened-Rhett would have expected Kalen to go talk to Myrin. Instead, he had downed a single tankard of mead in the common room, then gone upstairs with Vindicator and Sithe. Before that, he’d asked Rhett to ask Myrin a question of no small import. Rhett was sure it would anger her.

He groped for a way to avoid asking and settled on her magic. “What, uh-?”

“Ordering my memories.” Myrin glanced over at him. “It’s what I’m doing, which was what you were going to ask.”

“Right.” That didn’t help.

Myrin furrowed her brow over two images. She waved her hand slowly to the left. One of the Myrins moved, dispersing wraithlike around another. This Myrin, clad in a shimmering crimson dress whose color was so vivid it seemed like blood, gave him a mysterious smile. The other image was a statuesque version that bore silent witness, her face completely emotionless.

“Hmm,” Myrin said, indicating the two images. “Would you say I look older in this image … or in that one?”

“Uh,” Rhett said. “What exactly are these?”

“Memories.” Myrin looked at him, uncertain. “I said that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but-” Rhett gestured with his hand like a bird flying from his head.