His dagger fell. It would have struck Myrin's chest, but Kalen lunged in front of her and grappled with the thief. Myrin watched, stunned, as they wrestled, the knife pressing ever closer to Kalen's unprotected face. Then the knife cut across his cheek and she screamed.
The thief's eyes flicked to her, and the distraction was all Kalen needed. He slammed. his open helm against his attacker's face, sending him reeling. He punched out with his gauntleted fist, hitting the man in the same place and shattering his nose. Before the thief could flee, Kalen caught hold of his wrist. He wrenched, and the man screamed as his arm snapped.
'Kalen, stop!' Myrin wept.
At her cry, Kalen looked up, and the thief punched him in the jaw, knocking him down. The man limped away, coughing. Kalen stumbled after him, his hands curled into claws.
'Stop! Please!' Myrin cried, weeping big tears that ran down her cheeks. The man had attacked her, yes, but she had to stop Kalen. He was not a beast but a man-she wanted a man, not a monster.
At her words, Kalen turned and caught Myrin in his arms. And though she knew they were both falling down beaten, she felt perfectly safe.
'Shush,' Kalen murmured. 'It's well-all's well.'
'Gods…' Then Myrin's heart leaped. 'All's Kalen-you've been poisoned.'
She lifted her fingers to touch the slash across his cheek, where the venomed knife had cut him. Greenish black veins had appeared there and spread beneath his skin, the poison Working through his blood. They already covered half his face. Myrin had no idea how she could see it-she knew she shouldn't be able to.
Then, as she watched, the poison began to recede. The veins became pink once again, little by little, and the blackness shrank until it vanished entirely from beneath his skin.
He looked as surprised as she felt. 'My blessing,' he said.
Myrin felt power unlike her own-divine, rather than arcane-fill him. His bare fingers joined hers against his cheek, and she watched as they shimmered white with heat, so bright she could see his bones. The light spread from his fingers into his skin, and the cut turned into a sharp scar. He gasped in relief and surprise.
'I don't understand,' Myrin whispered, yet somehow she did understand. A god had saved him.
He shook his head. 'Helm-nay. The threefold god,' he explained. 'He… he isn't finished with me yet.' He hugged her tighter and his head dipped against her shoulder.
Myrin let loose a deep, terrified breath. She feared Kalen had succumbed, but she could feel him breathing. Tears welled in her eyes.
She and Kalen held each other in the empty street. They would have to move along soon, she knew-before the Watch came-but for now, they could just rest together.
Above them, far above them, a light rain began to fall. ¦«
At the top of the cracked tavern, a half-elf woman moved out of the moonlight, trailing a mane of scarlet hair.
TWENTY-SEVEN
'That's the matter, child?' asked her patron over ale at the Knight 'n Shadow.
Fayne couldn't tell him the truth-didn't know the truth. She didn't understand the source of the discontented hollow in her chest. She thought she'd feel better with it done. But now…
They sat in the shadowy lower level, in the last hour before dawn. It would be darkest out now, or so the saying went, but the darkest time in Waterdeep occurred not in the city at all but below it, when the hunters of Downshadow returned from a night spent above, pillaging and raiding and doing what they loved best.
Fayne used to love this time, but now… she felt nothing but sadness. And anger.
'That damned dwarf stlarned it up.' Her ale tasted sour-like goblin piss-and she pushed it aside. She gestured at a serving girl to bring wine. 'I had Lady Dawnbringer-I had the situation fully in control and he just… damn!'
She slammed the heel of her palm down on the table. The loud bang attracted the notice of a few fellow drinkers, but her patron's magic made them look away. As for the man himself, he merely listened to her without speaking.
'No one was supposed to die,' she said. 'And she wasn't supposed to get any kind of vengeance. Her lover was supposed to leave her, not die.' She scowled. 'I'm glad that hrasting pisshole Rath got scarred-served him well for taking matters into his own hands.'
Her patron watched her levelly, his easy smile betraying nothing. If he agreed or disagreed, she had no idea. She hated that about him, at times. With that face, he could bluff a dragon out of its hoard, or a god out of her powers. The bastard.
She hated feeling so weak when she sat across from him-hated the way he stared at her, weighing her, like both a prized horse and a petulant child.
That was the way Kalen had looked at her-as a child.
'My sweet?' her patron asked. Fayne looked up, startled. 'What are you thinking about?'
'Only how I'm better than her? Fayne said, as much to herself as to her patron.
Though Fayne hadn't named her, her patron must have known who she meant: the bitch who styled herself Lady Nathalan. After what Fayne had done this night… well. At least Ilira Nathalan's anguished face should chase away Fayne's nightmares about that night eighty years gone.
'Ah.' Her patron gazed at her closely. 'And yet, something is amiss. What is it?'
'Naught.' Fayne downed her bowl of wine and waved for another. 'Tell me this, though-it was a brilliant plan, aye? If Rath hadn't come, I'd have ruined Lorien for her, right?'
She saw her patron's wry smile-saw his eyes glowing dimly in the light, as though he enjoyed some private jest. Now it was his turn to grow quiet. 'What?' Fayne asked.
'Just reflecting,' he said, 'how like your mother you are.'
Any other day, she'd have taken that for a grear compliment.
Fayne sniffed. 'What do you mean?' she asked, false bravado in her voice. 'That I am proud? Regal? Competitive? Perhaps'-she flipped her hair back-'beauriful?'
He waved a gloved hand and laughed once. 'Why not?'
She glared across the table. 'Speak plain, fate-spinner.'
'As you wish,' he said. 'She was all those things and more, but she was also flawed. You have shown a similar weakness, but rather than frustrating, I find it endearing.'
Fayne bristled. 'My mother,' she said, 'had no weaknesses.'
He shrugged, and she saw a quiet twinkle in his eye. 'As you say.'
Those three little words cut her legs out from under her. Thfey reminded her that she was just a foolish child who had never really known her mother-not as her patron had.
Sometimes, she truly and utterly hated this man. Loved him, of course, but hated him too.
P 'If you're going to mock me, at least be plain,' Fayne said. Her lip trembled.
'Very well,' he said. 'Your mother… if all did not go exactly as she had planned, victory was dust to her. I see the same drive in you, my sweet child.'
'That's ridiculous,' she said, her voice breaking. 'I'm pleased. See how I-'
He reached across the table and laid a hand on hers, cutting off her words. She felt a fearsome heat in his fingers, as though fire coursed in his blood. She stared at him.
'In the end,' he said, 'did you not succeed at destroying herthis Lady Nathalan?'
The name struck her like a blow, but Fayne felt only a deep, irresistible sadness. 'I–I suppose, yes, but-' Fayne wiped her cheeks. 'Damn you, I'm pleased!'
'Then why are you crying?' he asked. She looked down, and there was a white kerchief in his dainty, perfect hand, the runes for L.V.T. stitched into the corner in red thread.
She ignored his handkerchief and wiped her nose with her hand. 'It's not relevant,' she said.
Illusions could hide tears, anyway.
'As you say.' Her patron smiled patiently, his eyes unreadable. 'Don't worry-folk do not change. Killer or hero, angel or whore, no one ever changes. We only wear different faces.'
