He told her, in quiet tones that would not be ovetheard, of his quest. He spoke of his training in Westgate and of Levia, his teacher. He told her of the Luskan of his youth, when he and Cellica had stolen and begged for their meals, or used her voice when she could. How in his eighth winter he had met Gedrin Shadowbane-the Night Mask turned paladin, founder and leader of the Eye of Justice-who had changed his life.
Kalen told Myrin of the oath Gedrin had exacted from him- never to beg again-and he spoke tightly of Vindicator, bequeathed to him and now in the hands of Araezra.
'Perhaps she is more worthy of it,' Kalen murmured.
Myrin looked up, wiped her eyes, and laid her hand on his wris$› 'You protected me,' she said. 'You have your powers back. Should you not have your god's sword back, roo?'
Kalen smiled. 'As the Eye judges,' he said. 'If I am worthy, it will come back to me. If I am not… then may it bring Araezra victory ill her aims. I hope she honors it as I tried to.'
Myrin drew her hand away. 'It must be well,' she said. 'Having a god to serve. I don't know what god I served-if I even had one.'
They sat in awkward silence, and Kalen was aware that Myrin was looking at him from the corner of her eye. She had stopped eating, and without knowing why, Kalen could sense she was upset. Was it something about her memory?
'Kalen,' Myrin asked finally, 'why do you do this?'
He looked down at his drink.
'If I don't,' he said, 'then who will?'
Myrin kept her eyes on him. 'Who was that man I sawyestereve?' she asked, barely whispering. 'When the villain was running and you hurt him anyway-just to hurt him?'
Kalen understood why she was upset. 'That man attacked you,' he said.
'But he was fleeing,' Myrin said. 'He would have run away, but you gave chase. You hurt him, when you didn't need to. Why?'
Kalen shrugged. 'You wouldn't understand.'
'Stop it!' Myrin touched his hand. Kalen felt a little tingle, electric, beneath his skin. Her eyes were very bright in the candlelight. 'This isn't you-you aren't so cold.'
Kalen opened his mouth, but a delicate cough arose near their table. The servant had returned. He hovered, looking awkward. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.'
Kalen loosed Myrin's hand, and the girl looked embarrassed.
'Not at all,' Kalen said. He reached in his scrip for coin. 'We're finished, I think.'
Other diners called for the servant, who nodded to Kalen and Myrin and left.
Kalen turned back to Myrin. He wished he could tell her everything-all the awful things he had done as a younger man-but he knew that would erase her smile. And that… he couldn't bear to do that.
'Mayhap we should buy me a weapon,' Myrin said on their way back to Kalen's tallhouse. Her arm was linked in his, and any tension from the evenfeast had passed.
'Why?' Kalen examined her critically. Despite having eaten like a ravenous dog for two days, the girl was thin and light, almost frail. She didn't have the muscle or constitution for a duel at arms. 'You have me.'
She blushed. 'But when you aren't there-like at the ball,' she said. 'A weapon for me to defend myself with, rather than with-you know.' She waved her fingers.
'Like whar?' Kalen asked. 'A sword?'
'A dagger,' Myrin said. 'Small, light, eminently fashionable.' She mimed patting the hilt of a blade sheathed at her hip and grinned. 'Easy.'
'Daggers are more difficult than swords.' Kalen shook his head, which was clouded with zzar. He wasn't accustomed to strong drink. 'Most of knife fighting is grappling,' he said in response to her disbelieving look. 'You don't have that sort of build.'
Myrin crossed her arms. 'I still want one.'
Kalen paused in the street and shrugged. He drew the steel he usually kept in a wrist sheath. Myrin's eyes widened when she saw the knife emerge seemingly out of the air, and he passed it to her. As she marveled ar it, he unbuckled his wrist sheath and secured it on her belt.
'Take care wirh that,' Kalen said. 'I'll be having it back.' 'For true?' Myrin sheathed the blade reverently. 'You'll show me how, someday?' Kalen shrugged.
Myrin smiled and held his arm tighter as they walked on.
A cool drizzle began to fall when they reached Kalen's neighborhood, and he covered Myrin with his grearcoat. She wore a canvas shirt and skirt of leather, warm and practical, but no cloak. They reached the tallhouse and Kalen nodded to the night porrer, theq waved Myrin inside first. She blushed and giggled and picked up her skirt to cross the threshold.
They climbed two flights of stairs to his rooms and found the door unlocked. Cellica sat at the table, working on Shadowbane's bjack leather hauberk, stitching the rents. She looked up from her work and smiled. No matter what disaster befell, the halfling always smiled.
'About time,' she said. 'You two love whisperers had a pleasant day? I can tell you mine's been a crate of laughs.' She threaded the needle through the leather and pulled it closed.
Kalen colored and Myrin giggled.
'I'm weary,' the girl said. 'Is it well if I sleep in your chamber again, Cele?'
'Kalen's bed's bigger,' Cellica said.
Myrin flushed bright red. 'I… I, ah…'
'Don't get giggly, lass,' Cellica said. 'I meant that he'd take the floor again.' She batted her eyes at Kalen. 'Won't you, Sir Shadow?'
Kalen shrugged. The ladies had shared a bed the first two nights, but after the ball-the third night-he'd given Myrin his bed. 'Of course.'
Myrin hesitated. 'I think Kalen needs his bed. He hasn't fully recovered, you know.' She bit her lip and looked at the floor.
Kalen didn't understand this at all. He just needed sleep-it mattered little where.
Cellica stared at her a long time, then smiled, as though picking up some subtle jest. 'As you will-you're quite warm.' The halfling shrugged. 'I'll join you in about an hour. Soon as I finish.' She clipped the thread with her teeth and rubbed the stitched breastplate with her delicate fingers. 'Merciful gods! One would think you'd learn to dodge more blades and arrows.'
'I'll remember that,' Kalen said, his voice dry. His head ached and he rubbed his temple.
Myrin grinned and winked at the halfling, who winked in kind. Whatever conspiracy they had hatched, it was cemented. Myrin walked toward Cellica's room but did not let go of Kalen's hand, pulling him along. She opened the door but did not go in, nor did she release Kalen.
They lingered for a moment. Kalen looked over his shoulder, but the halfling seemed not to notice them. Myrin was digging the ball of one foot into the floor.
'We'll find her, Kalen,' she said. 'I know it.'
He shrugged. Then, because it wasn't enough, he spoke: 'Yes.'
Myrin clasped one arm behind her back and looked at the floor shyly, then up at Kalen. Something unspoken passed between themsomething that neither could say.
'Good e'en,' Myrin said at length, awkwardly. She went inside and closed the door.
Kalen stood blinking for a breath, then he turned to find Cellica's eyes on him. 'What?'
'For a man who reads faces and listens for lies every day…' The halfling trailed off.
Kalen rubbed his temples and limped toward his room. 'Good e'en,' he said.
He stepped inside, shut the door, and pulled offhis doublet, which he tossed to the floor. He crossed to the basin and mirror and splashed water on his face. Vicious bruises and stitched cuts rose on his muscled frame. The deepest ached, despite his numbness.
Tough as he was, he had to admit the accumulated hurts of the last few days were taking their toll. All he wanted was to sleep until he no longer hurt.
He saw something move in the mirror and turned.
She lay in his bed, blanket pulled up to her nose. Her pale skin glittered in the candlelight and her red hair seemed almost black. Her eyes were wide and mischievous.
