As the hall erupted in applause, her expression became a wide grin-the first genuine smile he'd seen her wear. Kalen couldn't help but sigh, pleased.
Ilira made him think, oddly, of Fayne-how he wanted to see her smile like that.
Ilira rose and laughed, curtsying to the crowd in an elegant fashion. She smiled and waved, and blew a kiss at the sour-faced silk merchanr she'd pointed out earlier, Lord Sandhor. Kalen did little more than stand stiffly and wait for her to return. She did so, bowing to him as was proper.
'What have you lost, Lady?' Kalen asked.
Her smile instantly vanished, replaced by a dangerous cold. Unconsciously, Kalen's hand twitched toward one of those knives he'd been thinking of just breaths earlier, but he reined his impulse.
'Your tattoo.' He nodded to the runes inked along her collarbone. 'Gargan vathkelke kaugathal-Dwarvish, aye? I know only vathkel- lost. What does the rest mean?'
He raised his hand toward her chest. He didn't intend to touch the tattoo, but perhaps he did-he couldn'r feel anything. His thoughts were suddenly distant-only the warmth of her body pressed against his, the sweet lavender perfume of her hair, the cool velvet of her gloves
… he wanred-he. yearned-to know how her skin felt.
But Lady Ilira broke away from him, hand reaching halfway to her chest. Her eyes like burnished gold coins were far away-distant and sad. 'No,' she said, and he could have sworn before the Eye of Justice that he saw tears in her eyes. 'Good saer, my thanks for the dance.'
'Wait, I did not mean-' he said.
'Your pardon, boy,' said a velvety smooth and dagger-sharp voice behind him. The robed elf-Sandhor-slid past him and seized Ilira's gloved hands in his own. 'Does this human offend, my twilight dove?' He glared back, down his impressive nose.
Ilira blinked over Sandhor s shoulder at Kalen, and for an instant, he thought her eyes were pleading. Then she assumed a brilliant smile and put her hand on his shoulder.
'Ruldrin, heart, just in time-' They swept into the dance. 'I've been meaning to discuss your latest donation to the Haven.'
'What donation?' Ruldrin favored Kalen with a cruel smile over Ilira's shoulder.
'Exactly,' the elf woman said sweetly.
They whirled away, leaving Kalen stunned and very alone amidst the other dancers.
He saw, over the whirling gowns, a face framed by red-dyed hair: Araezra. 'Gods,' he murmured, and ducked away. With that display, she must have seen him and recognized the outfit. Yes, she was coming his way. Idiot.
He was making his way back to Myrin when he smelled something strange-something burning. He looked at his hand, and sawmutely-smoke rising from his fingertips. The tips of his fore and middle finger were blistered and bleeding.
When had that happened?
'Hmm-mmm,' Fayne moaned, lounging in one end of Lorien's golden bathtub. 'Perfect.'
The priestess, ensconced at her own end, watched Fayne with a serene smile on her face. Her cheeks were rosy in the candlelight reflected off the warm water.
'Dancing next?' Lorien asked. 'Our appointed arrival at midnight cannot be far off.'
'Just,' Fayne said, stroking one of Lorien's long, slender legs. 'Just a little longer.'
The priestess smiled and closed her eyes. Fayne hadn't been certain this would be the right course- seduction, her favorite method-but it was certainly paying off thus far. And if she enjoyed it a little herself, all the better! Time enough to dispense pain after pleasure, aye?
Careful, she thought. You'll sound like that Roaringhorn girl you humiliated last month.
The memory made her giggle. The whipmaster. She had rather liked wearing such a big, muscle-bound form. It had felt stupid and thick, but oh so enjoyable-particularly after.
Lorien saw her smile. 'What are you thinking of?'
'A jest-nothing.' Fayne in Ilira's form giggled again. 'You?'
Lorien stretched and drew herself out of the bath, gleaming and perfect. The light glittered off her soft curves. Fayne told herself to remember that effect, to use some day.
'Many things.' Lorien crossed to a divan and drew a ruby red robe around her lovely body. 'Things about you- and about us.'
'Oh?' Fayne pressed her breasts against the edge of the gold tub and grinned. 'What?'
'First-' Lorien lifted from the divan an ornate, golden rod. 'Have I shown you this?'
'And what might that be for?' asked Fayne, still blissful.
Lorien smiled. 'Revealing secrets,' she said. 'From a false face.'
Fayne didn't understand immediately, and that proved her undoing. 'What do you-?'
Lorien gestured languidly. 'Come.' Her word was powerful and inescapable. -
The hairs rose on Fayne's neck-a magical attack. Fayne's will hammered at the command, but her body was already caught. She stood, trembling, and wrenched herself our of the bath. Against her will, her body began walking toward Lorien.
'I don't understand,' Fayne said. 'Hearr, what are you-'
Lorien shook her head. 'Whatever you are, creature,' she said, 'Ilira and I love each other well, but you misunderstand our relationship. A pity for you.'
Fayne's mind whirled. 'I felt…' she tried. 'I felt it was time to… My love, don't punish me for my haste! I only wanted to take us to another ledge, my darling one!'
Lorien rolled her eyes. As Fayne stood before her, Lorien gestured for her to kneel, and Fayne did so. 'I can't decide,' she said, 'whether you are one of my enemies, or one of hers.' She shifted the golden rod from hand to hand. 'Which is it, child?'
'Dear hearr,' Fayne gasped. 'I don't understand what you mean.'
'Show truth,' Lorien intoned in Elvish, and tapped Fayne on the forehead with the rod.
Fayne screeched, loud and long, as magic ripped away from her, shattering her illusions and deceptions. They faded in sequence: first Ilira's face, then the conjured black hair, then the alluring features, then-as her skin prickled and stretched-her entire shape began to shift, back to-good gods-back to her true self. Something that was certainly not a half-elf.
Lorien gasped. 'One of Likens creatures,' she said. 'Ilira warned me.'
Those names. Ilira, the woman Fayne hated, but the other. How did she know…? i Fayne looked at herself, at her black-nailed fingers and alabaster skin. Her tail slapped her legs. Not her real body-not now! She pawed at her garish pink hair and screamed.
'Gods.' Lorien put out a trembling hand, reaching toward Fayne's head by reflex. 'That explains everything. I'm sorry, child. I didn't-'
There came a rush and a snickering sound, and Lorien's head snapped back. Fayne looked at her, confused.
For a heartbeat, Lorien stood there, bent backward, standing erect.
Then she fell in a geyser of blood from her opened throat. The priestess slumped to the floor, twitching and dying.
Rath stood near them. He had struck and sheathed his blade in a single movement.
'What?' Fayne's mind barely functioned. 'I thought… you said you never use that.'
The dwarf looked down at her as one might look at a child. 'For those who are worthy,' he said. 'And those for whom I have been paid.'
Fayne stared numbly at Lorien-at the blood spreading around her face-and could not think. The priestess's eyes blinked rapidly, and she tried to speak but only gurgled. Fayne's stomach turned over and she felt like vomiting into the golden tub.
Rath turned away from Fayne in disgust. 'Clean yourself. Put your mask back on.'
Fayne grasped her head, which was reeling. Magic drained the vitality from her limbs, but those limbs shifted, their deathly pallor replaced by the smooth warmth of her half-elf body. She felt her teeth-normal once more-and sighed in deep relief. It was only an illusion and would have to last until she could perform her ritual again, but it was enough.
