Downshadow (16 page)

Kalen stood inside the closet, hands pressed flat against the sides.

Crushed against the inside wall, every inch of her body just a hair’s breadth from his bare chest and loose hose, Fayne blinked at him with her gray eyes. She was about the width of a hand shorter, and he could feel her brearh against his bare chest. His lips were level with the bridge of her nose, arid he had the unsettling urge to plant a kiss on her forehead. Something about her made him want to kiss her.

She wore a wry little grin.

“Do not,” he said.

Fayne smiled and edged a little closer to him, pressing her breasts to his chest and her mouth near his ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her tone wasn’t girlish at all, but sharp. He felt, uncomfortably, as though all of this was according ro her plan.

Kalen bit his lip. “Be still.”

“You think your valabrar will hear?” That word confirmed his suspicions—she’d tricked him and knew full well what Araezra was doing there. All of this was her scheme, including hiding with him. “Oh, I promise—no one will hear anything we do in here.”

A little tingle ran through Kalen. “Why would you fear Araezra finding you here ?”

“I’ve made enough women jealous to know the look.”

“Is this a trick?” Kalen asked. “Who are you?”

“Does that really matter?”

“How do you know …” He bit his lip. “How do you know who I am?”

“Again, is it meant to be a secret?” Fayne stretched just the tiniest

bit, rippling across Kalen’s body. Whoever she was, Kalen thought, she knew how to move.

“How did you find me?”

She grinned. “Did you think yourself hidden?”

“Do you answer every question with a question?”

“Don’t you?”

Kalen’s voice almost broke. “Damn it, lass, I—” “Hold a moment.”

Fayne slid down his chest and belly, startling him. If Kalen hadn’t been concentrating on staying quiet, he would have gasped and fallen backward our of the closet.

He heard the rustle of cloth and felt Fayne’s head brush his thigh.

“What the Hells?” he snapped. “Pardon… almost… ah.”

She stretched back up, slowly and languidly, and presented to him a ring of silver, etched with an eye sigil. “Dropped this. So clumsy.” “That’s mine,” Kalen said.

“Was,” she corrected. “Or were you going to take it back?” She pressed her hip against his. “I would love to see you try.”

Kalen tried to ignore the threat—and implicit offer. “What could be staying them?”

“Lass talk, I imagine.” Fayne shrugged, which made him tingle. “It lets us be alone.”

Kalen turned his full attention on her. “Who are you?”

“I told you,” she said. “Fayne is my name.”

“No, it isn’t.”

She put her hands on her hips. “And why not?” “Feign ? You think me a simpleton ?”

“Ha!” she said. “Very well. My true name,” she said grandly, “is Feit.”

“Really? Counter-^/r?”

“Damn!” She giggled, a touch of her assumed girlishness coming back.

“Enough.” Kalen glared at her. “Unveil yourself, girl, or gods help me, I will burst out of this closet and get us both caught.”

Fayne’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare” she said.

“I have only embarrassment in front of my superior to fear,” Kalen said. “You, on the other hand—I believe you are a thief and a scoundrel and have considerably more to lose.”

“Well, then.” Fayne dared him with her eyes.

Kalen started to move.

“Wait,” she said, throwing her arms around him and holding him back. “Mercy. Gods! Don’t get so excited.” She held up the ring in the flat of her palm, near her face.

Kalen took it, and while he was distracted, she kissed him again.

He pulled away, thumping his head on the ceiling. Thankfully, Fayne did not follow, just stood there smiling wryly at him.

“Very well, my captor—what would you have of me?” She winked. ‘Ware you don’t ask too much—this is naught but our second meeting. I usually wait until the third, at least.”

Kalen ignored her and perked his ears—Araezra was still talking, but her voice sounded no nearer than before.

“You call yourself Fayne—very well,” he said. “Why are you here? What is your game?”

“My game, dearest Vigilant Dren,” Fayne said, “is a mysrery by its nature. The hints are in the playing.” Still holding him, she pressed her cheek against his chest and purred. “You must be an active man. Not only does it look passing well, but it feels like a rock.”

“Uh …” The numbness in his body wouldn’t let him sense her hands.

“Hard as stone.” She nuzzled his chest, and he felt a tingle. “I like the scars, as well.”

Your chest, idiot, Kalen thought. Keep the thinking in your head!

“Answer my other questions,” he said. “You are here for some purpose. Is it coin you want? I have little enough, but it’s yours.”

“Nothing of rhe sort!” Fayne looked insulted. “I’m in no such business except”—she shook her hair back grandly—”the business of misery and scandal.” Her voice was sweet.

“You must be a writer,” he murmured.

“Pique!” Fayne smiled brilliantly. “I don’t often tell folk this, but I am, in fact, a writer for a little rag you might know: the Mocking Minstrel.”

Kalen narrowed his eyes. “Satin Rutshear,” he murmured.

“What a guess!” Fayne narrowed her eyes and licked her lips. “Can you read my mind?”

“No,” Kalen said. “She’s just the only one wicked enough.”

“What charm,” Fayne purred. “I like you more and more every breath, Shadowbane.”

Kalen gritted his teeth behind a hard smile. What was taking Araezra so long? Why didn’t she leave? Fayne was looking at him so directly, so boldly with those deep gray eyes … he wondered how long he had before his words—or his body—betrayed him.

“I was hoping ro persuade you,” Fayne said, “to take me to the revel on the morrow.”

Kalen frowned. “Revel?”

“So that’s…” Araezra said. She’d stopped crying halfway through her story, in no small part due to the aid of a steaming mug of cider from the fire. “That’s what happened. It was an accident. Tal … Talanna jumped too far and couldn’t make it.”

“Mmm,” Cellica said, nodding.

Myrin, taking the cue, nodded as well, though she had no idea what they were talking about. Shadowbane, though—that was Kalen. She kept her mouth shut.

“I can’t understand it,” Araezra said. “This Shadowbane seemed—I don’t know. He didn’t want to be caught, but he helped me out of the pit when he could have run. And when Tal was hurt, he helped her. Do those sound like the acts of a criminal to you?”

Cellica shrugged. “Not at all.”

“Then why the mask?” Araezra asked.

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Cellica said. “It’s all very romantic, isn’t it? Like something you’d find in a chapbook. But I’m sure”— Myrin noted her glance at the closet—”I’m sure that whoever rhis Shadowbane is, he feels just as badly about Talanna.”

Araezra shrugged.

“Talanna …” Cellica sipped her cider and asked, cautiously, “She’ll be well, aye?”

Araezra nodded. She seemed to catch Myrin looking at her, and her deep blue eyes flicked to meet her gaze. Myrin hid behind her big cider mug as best she could.

“And you—Myrin, aye? What say you?”

“It… it all sounds so exciting,” she said. “I can’t imagine. Um.” Myrin took a mouthful of cider, burned her tongue, and choked.

Araezra shifted uncomfortably. “And how do you know Kalen, Myrin?”

“She doesn’t,” Cellica said. “She’s a … friend, from Westgate. My friend. Not his.”

Araezra pursed her lips. “But you’ve met Kalen, aye?”

“Oh, aye!” Myrin said, and immediarely wished she’d restrained herself.

“And what do you think of him?” Araezra asked, looking at Myrin closely.

“He’s so—” Myrin looked at Cellica, who was frantically shaking her head. “Kuh-kind,” she said. She looked down at the spoon she was fiddling with nervously. “So very kind. Yes.”

“Kind?” Araezra frowned at Cellica, who grinned helplessly. “Perhaps you know a different Kalen than I do.”

Myrin’s mouth moved but she couldn’t find words.

“Look—gods above, I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Araezra said. “Vigilant Dren’s life is his own, and he clearly intends to keep it that way.” She stood, leaned over ro kiss Cellica on the cheek, and nodded to Myrin. “Coins bright.” She crossed to the rack by the window where she’d left her grearcoat.

Myrin leaned toward Cellica. “What does that mean?” she asked. “Coins bright?”

“Traditional Waterdhavian saying. ‘May fortune smile,’ or the sort.”

“Oh.” Myrin cradled her mug. “She’s so sweet.” The halfling whispered back. “I believe she thinks you’re a doxy or some such.”

“A what?”

The halfling blushed and shook her head. “Never you mind.” “Cellica,” said Araezra from near the window. “Are these blood stains?”

Myrin and the halfling both looked toward Araezra, where she knelt investigating a pair of red marks on the sill and floor.

“Oh, just me,” Cellica said. “I mean—I made a pie and set it there to cool, and it spilled a bit. You know how treacherous balancing at the window can be. You know.”

Again, Myrin felt that tickle in her ears that indicated magic was afoot. Cellica’s voice had an enchantment of some sort about it, that took hold when she was either angry or concentrating on making her words strike. It was working on Araezra, who shrugged.

“Well, rhen,” she said. “Coins brighr. Tell Kalen I came to call.” She headed out the door.

Cellica breathed a great sigh of relief. After a moment, she crossed to the closet, grasped the latch, and flicked it open.

Kalen tumbled out, the red-haired half-elf on top of him. The halfling put her hands on her hips and looked down ar them both.

One breath, Kalen was standing in the closet, practically hugging Fayne, and the next he was on the floor, straddled by Fayne. He blinked up at Cellica, whose face was stormy, and over at Myrin, who looked away.

“Is she gone?” Fayne asked. “Excellent!” She bounded up and straightened her skirt. “Well, I should be off. I’ll see you at highsun before the revel on the morrow? Outstanding.”

“Revel?” asked Cellica. “Tomorrow?”

“Ah.” Kalen got to his feet, mumbling. “That scroll I gave you. The one I told you to—”

“You mean …” The halfling plucked a small, crumpled scroll out of a pocket and held it up in both hands. “You don’t mean our revel?”

“Our revel?” Fayne asked, mouth wide. She glared at Kalen. “Please?” Cellica turned her eyes up at Kalen. “The yearly costume

revel at the Temple of Beauty on Greengrass—I’ve been saving coin for just such a windfall. Please—please?”

“Ah—” Kalen said. He looked at Myrin, who shrugged.

Fayne put her hands on her hips. “Sweet wee one,” she said. “But Kalen’s my escort.”

“Is that so?” the halfling said. Though she reached only to Fayne’s belly, she stood just as strong, arms crossed over her breast. “And don’t you ever call me ‘wee.’ “

Fayne smirked and crossed her arms. “Well, if you weren’t such a little thing—”

Kalen was suddenly immersed in rhe midst of a firestorm that flowed from the women’s lips. Their argument was just as loud, just as fast, and just as deadly as any duel he had ever survived—and many he’d run from. The one and only time he tried to step in, they upbraided him so sharply and fiercely that he reeled as though struck.

The situation was a mess. He’d been planning to give the invitation to Fayne just to get rid of her, but Cellica wanted to go as well. If he gave it away, he would never hear the end of it, and if he didn’t please Fayne, then gods only knew what would happen.

“Choose one of us,” Cellica said, and Kalen felt compelled by that voice of hers. “Choose one of us ladies, right here, right now.”

“Aye.” Fayne tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Thar choice should be obvious.”

“Only if he dreams of maids half elf, half giant,” added Cellica.

Fayne smirked. “Unless he prefers lighrer fare—girl-children, perhaps?”

Cellica’s face went brighr red.

The ladies went back to bickering sharply, throwing turns of phrase that would have made the best broadsheet satirists applaud.

Kalen turned his eyes on Myrin at the table, who blushed down at her hands in her lap. She was a buoy of genrle calm in a sea of dueling, querulous words. She saw Kalen looking at her and blinked. Then she smiled gently—demurely—and went back to looking embarrassed.

Finally, head spinning and aching, Kalen closed his eyes and pointed. “I’ll go with her.”

Cellica and Fayne looked at him, then at his finger.

“You’re taking her?” Fayne asked, eyes dangerous. “The blue-haired waif?”

Kalen pointed at Myrin. The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Cellica grinned widely.

“How sweet! Myrin could use a gown—gods know she can’t go on wearing Kalen’s things all her days.” She sneered at Fayne. “I’m sure we can dress her better than this ogre.”

Ignoring that, Fayne rounded on Kalen. “Why is she wearing your clothes?”

“Better than, you wearing them,” said Cellica. “Though they might fit you, she-whale.”

Fayne blushed so fiercely that her face matched her hair. “Whar?” She investigated her backside. “There’s not a drop of blubber there. Unlike certain halflings—”

As they fell to bickering again, Kalen looked at Myrin. Her mouth drooped in a lonely frown and her eyes were cast toward her hands, which were bunched into fists on the table. Kalen watched as she clenched her fists harder and harder.

A splotch of blue appeared on her wrist, then branched into lines of tiny runes—like a sprouting vine of ivy—that spread up her arm.

“Just because I’m not the perfect height for—cub!” Fayne’s words ended in a cough.

Grasping her throat, Fayne burbled a cry and slumped, hands clutching her head. She would have fallen, but Kalen caught her. Her hands tightened into claws on Kalen’s bare chest.

“What’s happening?” Cellica cried, terrified.

Fayne was looking around wildly, a look of sheer rage on her face. She murmured words in a language Kalen did not know and clutched at her forehead as though to smother a fire inside.

Kalen looked to Myrin, who sat at the table staring vacantly at the reeling Fayne. Her skin had sprouted an entire lattice of blue runes growing across her shoulder and down her arm. Her eyes glowed like stars.