“Would you have listened?”
She glanced at him, saw his half smile and returned it. “Look, just go easy on them, okay? They’re grown-ups now. Let Eithne marry her garda. He’s a good kid.”
“But he
“Do I have to remind you how old you were when I was born?”
“Yes, but that was-” He saw her expression and said quickly, “Er, unplanned. I just want her to be safe and happy.”
“And not thrown in jail for nearly killing her cheating, lying, scum-sucking weasel of a husband,” Kett said.
“Exactly.”
“Well, if he cheats, I’ll kill him for her. How’s that?”
“I’d really rather prefer it if all my kids could stay out of jail in the future,” Tyrnan said despairingly.
“In that case, I’ll make it look like an accident.”
He smiled at that, and she smiled back and patted his arm, releasing herself from his grip as they got to the top of the stairs. “Dad, she’ll be fine. And yes, I did just call you Dad. Try not to faint and fall down the stairs, I ain’t coming after you.”
Tyrnan laughed, shaking his head. “Where are you going?” he asked as Kett turned to go.
“Really ought to talk to Bael.”
“Should be fun.”
She grimaced.
“Want me to come with you?”
She stared.
“All right, okay, I just thought I’d ask,” her father said, holding up his hands defensively.
“He’s probably still asleep. But if you hear anyone screaming, then you can intervene.”
“Never a dull moment, eh Kett?”
“No,” she sighed. “I like dull moments. They’re peaceful and quiet and people aren’t trying to kill me.”
He moved to ruffle her hair, she ducked and started away.
“Hey, now your sisters are trying to be like you, does this mean you’ll start being like them?” Tyrnan called after her.
Kett flipped him the finger and walked away to the sound of his laughter.
As she rounded the corner, the scryer at her belt vibrated. She picked it up and the shiny face resolved to show Chance, beautiful as ever, riding through the snowy Peneggan countryside. Her cheeks were pink and her hair streamed pale and glossy from beneath a fur-trimmed hat.
Just looking at her made Kett feel fresh from that tower cell.
“Kett! Should you be out of bed?”
Kett scowled. “I’m fine,” she said. And before her cousin could chastise her, added, “Where are you?”
“A few hours away. How’s your young man?”
“Will everyone stop calling him my young man? He’s at least the same age as me,” Kett snarled.
“He’s alive, at least,” Chance said calmly.
“How do you know?”
“Darling, I always know.” Before Kett could tell her how damn annoying that was, Chance added, “We’ll be there tonight. Striker’s coming in too.”
Kett groaned. “Why?”
“I asked him to.”
“
“He can be very useful, darling. He probably knows exactly what’s going on, if we can get him to spill the details.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Kett said. On top of everything else, she had to deal with Striker.
Bael dreamt of Kett in a cell, bloody and emaciated. Her head lolled, her eyes dull, and her bones protruded through her skin. Her flesh seemed to shrink as he watched, turning gray and then green, rotting away from her bones. Her eyeballs popped. Her lips peeled back in a fleshless grin.
“Kett…” He reached for her but as his fingers touched the stone-cold flesh of her shoulder, it crumbled like ancient brick.
Horrified, Bael leapt back, but her whole body had turned to stone now, a statue lying on the floor. “Kett!” he cried, and reached out to her again, but the statue crumbled, turned to dust and scattered.
Symbols danced on the edge of his vision, flickered and faded, but when he turned his head to see them they flitted away.
“Kett,” he mourned, and the dust on the floor blew away in a sudden breeze. “Kett!”
Bael woke sharply in Kett’s bed, alone. The sheets smelled of her, but the room was empty and dark.
Night had fallen, and the last thing he remembered was crashing into the pantiled roof of Nuala’s house, unable to keep flying or gripping the tattered wagon any longer.
But she was alive. He could feel her, out there in the city somewhere. His whole body was tuned in to her.
His whole body, which ached in a thousand ways.
He sat up, wincing, and peered through the gloom at the clock on the mantel. Just after eight in the evening- he’d been asleep all day.
For all he knew, he could have been here for weeks.
He stretched-no, definitely not weeks. His body felt as battered and bruised as it had when he’d collided with the roof. Maybe a little worse. What he really needed was to see Kett, wrap her in his arms, kiss her and stroke her and, well, basically shag her rotten. That always made him feel better.
Except the last he’d seen of Kett, she was half-dead and not inclined to even talk to him, let alone touch him.
But he still wanted to see her. Needed to see her. To make things right between them, or at least as right as possible.
Slowly, carefully, he picked up the clothes Nuala had given him for Yule and let Var’s wings take him silently- and painfully-from the house. He flew as far as he could manage toward the south of the city, an unknown instinct guiding him toward Kett, then came down in an alley and walked the rest of the way as a human.
The city of Elvyrn was noted for its gentility, and yet Kett seemed to have found the seediest part of it. He found her in a tavern whose sign was so faded and dirty as to be unintelligible, its clientele mostly large tattooed men and weary women in gaudy outfits.
Kett was slumped at a table in the corner, her back to the wall. She saw him come in, turned her head and ignored him.
Bael bit his lip. Well, he hadn’t expected it would be easy.
Her tankard was empty but since Bael was standing at the bar, Kett didn’t want to go over and get a refill. Not just yet. She saw him talk to the grizzled bartender, gesture to her and buy a bottle of the stout she’d been drinking. She figured stout was practically food anyway, so didn’t count as alcohol. At least, that was her excuse if Nuala smelled the fumes on her breath when she got home.
She half wished she’d sat with her back to the room, all the better to ignore him, but years of habit were hard to break. No Knight worth her tattoo would ever turn her back on a bar room.
She lit up a cigar and allowed her gaze to settle on the couple at the next table. The woman was probably Kett’s age but looked ten years older, her skin tired and thin under its layers of powder. Her hair was badly dyed, there was a sore on her lip and her breasts spilled out of her tight, patched-up dress. The sailor on whose lap she was sitting had his hand up her skirt.
The woman was staring into nothingness with such a bleak expression on her face it chilled Kett.
Through the smoke of her cigar she saw a figure approaching. By his scent, by the way he moved and by her
