She rose on shaky, weak legs. Rath didn't help her.
Finally, her ugly self hidden, she could think clearly again. The enormity of Rath's actions struck her, and she gasped.
'You stupid son of a mother-suckling goat!' she screamed at the dwarf as she wound a white towel around her nakedness. She pointed at Lorien, who lay dying on the floor. 'She wasn't supposed to die-I didn't pay you to kill her!
Rath shrugged. 'You are welcome.'
'You beardless idiot!' Fayne's face felt like it would explode. ' Who askedyou:'Who asked you to step in? I had everything under my hand, every-urt!'
The dwarf seized her by the throat, cutting off words and air. Choking, she could not resist as he forced her against the wall and pinned her there with his arm. Her weak fingers could only flail at his ironlike arm.
'Her, I rook coin to kill,' Rath whispered in her ear. 'You, I slay for free.'
Fayne gasped as light entered her vision.
TWENTY-TWO
Ralen found Myrin surrounded by a crowd of admirers-young noble lads who were taking turns trying to get the silver-haired girl to dance. She kept giggling at their flattery and answering their increasingly bawdy compliments innocently. While her gold crown-mask hid her face, Kalen thought he saw understanding and bemusement in her eyes.
'Kalen!' she said as he approached, and the noble lads looked around.
Kalen flinched-she shouldn't use his name when he was trying to keep a low cloak.
The lads puffed themselves up against him, but one sweep of his icy eyes and they turned to easier sport elsewhere. At least the damned Shadowbane getup was good for something tonight.
Myrin threw herself into Kalen's arms. 'Hee!' she said. 'I'm having such a-heep! — marvelous time.' She ran her pale fingers along his black leathers. 'Dance with me.'
Newly confident in that regard from his dance with Lady Ilira, Kalen thought at first to accept. Then he thought better of it, owing to the scent of flowery wine on her breath. From that and the slur in her speech, Kalen could tell Myrin was quite drunk.
'There you are!' said a familiar voice. Cellica appeared out from under a banquet table.
'How did-how did you get in here?' Kalen asked.
'Fayne brought me,' Cellica said. 'Haven't you seen her?'
'Fayne?' Kalen furrowed his brow inside his helm. It was hot and hard to think in there-good thing Cellica hadn't seen him dancing, or she'd start blaming that for any…
'Aye,' the halfling said. 'Little red-headed half-elf dressed as a swashbuckler… maybe you didn't notice her while you were dancing with that elf hussy. Who was she, anyway?'
'Uh.' Kalen flinched. He remembered Cellica speaking of Lady Ilira, usually in glowing rerms. Perhaps it was for the best that she hadn't recognized the woman.
Cellica stared up at him, tapping her foot. 'Well?'
'Well what?' Kalen flinched away from Myrin teasing at his mask.
Cellica looked at the intoxicated woman in his arms. 'Eep!' Myrin said, and she giggled.
'Oh.' Kalen hitched Myrin up and set her down on the table with a bump that made her giggle. 'I wasn't doing-'
Cellica just narrowed her eyes, and Kalen sighed.
At that moment, a scream split the night, cutting through the music of the minstrels. The murmur of conversation, jests, and laughter died a little, and nervous titters followed the scream, as though it were a jape or prank played by some noble lass with more drink in her than sense.
Myrin shivered. 'Kalen, I don't think I like this ball any more.'
Louder screams followed-screams of someone being tortured in the rooms above-and the revelers could ill laugh it off. 'Fayne,' Kalen said, recognizing the voice.
Cellica went white.
'We need to get up there,' Kalen said.
Kalen saw a pair of guardsmen start up the grand staircase, only to meet a crimson flash. Black, froth- covered fangs appeared in the air, gnashing and tearing at the first guard. The others paused, horror-stricken, and disembodied mouths struck at them, too. Ladies screamed and panic broke around the stairs as the spell struck celebrants and revelers at random. The other guards employed to watch over the revel could not get through the crush of bodies.
'Not the stairs,' Kalen said, and Cellica nodded.
The screams died, but chaos was in full bloom. Revelers scrambled this way and that, shouting and shoving. Kalen saw noblemen arguing, terrified, hands on their blades, and he knew a brawl was imminent.
Abruptly, another cry came-loud and wrenching-from the midst of the dancers. Kalen looked, for he recognized the voice: Lady Ilira had backed away from Lord Sandhor, clutching at her throat. The elf merchant stepped toward her, casting the shadow of his cloak around her, but she shook her head to whatever he was saying. She vanished into him, as though she had stepped through him. She did not appear out the other side.
Wide-eyed, Kalen looked at Cellica, and the halfling nodded.
'Kalen?' Myrin asked sleepily. 'Kalen, what's going on?'
'Have you your murderpiece, wee lady?' Kalen asked, drawing the daggers from their sheaths against the inside of his thighs. Where Lady Ilira's leg had wrapped, he recalled.
Cellica gave an impish smile and drew out her necklace, with its little crossbow-shaped charm. 'Always.' She spoke a word in an ancient language, and the medallion grew to fit her hand. She wound the crossbow with two quick twists of her wrist. 'And don't call me 'wee.'
'
Kalen boosted the little woman up on his shoulders and bent his knees.
'Kalen?' Myrin's face was pale. She seemed sober-and frightened. 'Where-?'
'Wait.' Kalen cupped her chin and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. 'We'll be back.'
He scooped up Cellica, hopped onto the banquet table, and ran. When he reached the end, his boots gleamed with blue fire and he leaped for the edge of the balcony. He caught it with one hand, hoisted Cellica up, and swung himself over the rail.
Myrin's hair rustled in the wind of Kalen's jump. He and Cellica flew up and away, toward the balcony where the screams had come from. Many revelers looked up, startled, and shouts renewed. Men argued, shouted, and shoved.
She wondered what magic let him jump like that-leaving a thin trail of blue flame.
Myrin only watched Kalen as he flew, and silently cursed herself.
'Of course he didn't kiss you, you ninny,' she said, fighting the tears. 'You get drunk and throw yourself at him? How pitiful!'
Then Myrin gasped as a lordling slammed into the banquet table beside her with enough force to crack it. The man who had shoved him-a cruel-faced man in a black cloak-turned to leer at Myrin. She gaped and fought for air, frozen at the suddenness of his appearance.
'Kalen!' she moaned.
'Coward!' the nobleman cried. He lunged from the table and punched the cloaked man in the face. The rogue staggered back, snarling, and reached for a blade.
'Are you well, my lady?' the lordling demanded of Myrin.
'Uh,' Myrin said. She couldn't think. She didn't know what to do.
Shoving her under the cracked banquet table, the lordling pointed a wand at his advancing foe and fired a blast of green-white light. The spell struck the man hard like a hammer's blow, staggering him, but he only smiled and srraightened once more.
'Run, my lady!' the lordling said as he looked at his wand angrily. 'Run-'
