She rolled her eyes. “You won’t even let death beat you, Damin. I think that qualifies as intolerably competitive.”
He was wounded by her accusation. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Maybe it is.”
Damin still wasn’t sure why she was rebuking him. He certainly didn’t feel like he’d done the wrong thing for Starros. “Would you rather I did nothing and left Starros to die?”
“What if he was
meant
to die?”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
“I won’t regret it,” Damin told her. “No matter what you say.”
“Won’t
?” she asked.
“I can’t afford to regret anything, Tejay. Not if I want to rule Hythria someday and still maintain my sanity.”
Tejay studied him curiously. “Is that another one of Elezaar’s infamous Rules of Gaining and Wielding Power?” she asked. “Or one of your mother’s pearls of wisdom?”
“Hard as it may be for you to believe, my lady,” he informed her, “I actually came to that conclusion all on my own.”
Before Tejay could answer, one of the scouts galloped toward them, his horse rearing as he hauled the beast to a halt in front of the column.
“We’ve got trouble,” the man announced, turning his horse sharply to bring the excited beast under control. “On the border.”
“What sort of trouble?” Damin asked.
“Your brother’s waiting for us, your highness,” the scout informed him. “And Lord Hawksword said to tell you that you’re out of your mind if you think he’s going to let anybody cross into Elasapirie uninvited—even you—with an army at their heels.”
Damin reined in his horse and brought the column to a halt. Almodavar, followed by Rorin and Adham, cantered forward to find out why Damin had stopped their progress.
When he explained what was going on, Almodavar nodded in understanding, apparently unsurprised. “Charel Hawksword is a wise man.”
“Charel?” Adham asked. “I thought it was Narvell waiting for us at the border.”
“On Charel’s orders,” Almodavar replied. “You can bet your life on it.”
“But why?” Rorin asked. “Have you done something to upset the old man, Damin?”
“Not that I know of.”
“It’s because Charel’s heir is the younger brother of Hythria’s future High Prince,” Tejay concluded, beginning to understand what Almodavar was getting at. “And he’s trying to establish Narvell’s independence.”
“That’s what this will be all about,” the old captain agreed. “Just a show of force for the sake of appearances.”
“Great!” Damin sighed impatiently. “We’re facing a Fardohnyan invasion and Narvell decides to make a point with Elasapine’s army. We really don’t have time for this.”
“Maybe, if you explained what is going on to Narvell?” Rorin suggested.
Damin thought about it for a moment, certain his younger brother wouldn’t be trying to impede their progress if he knew the real reason for it. He turned to the scout who had delivered the news. “Did you actually speak to Lord Hawksword?”
The scout shook his head. “No, your highness. It was one of his officers who passed on the message. I don’t think Lord Hawksword was even on the border at the time.”
“How can you be sure?” Adham asked.
“When I arrived they were debating among themselves whether to send for him—to the manor house, they called it—but in the end, they decided not to disturb him. I’d gotten the gist of their intentions by then, anyway.”
“The
manor
house?” Damin repeated, a little confused.
“They’ll mean Zadenka Manor,” Rorin suggested. “Lord Warhaft’s estate. It’s right on the border. He’s probably staying there.”
“Do you know where to find it?”
The young sorcerer nodded. “Sure. Keep going along the highway until you reach the village of Zadenka and follow the sign pointing left to Zadenka Manor. It’s not really a great feat of navigation, Damin.”
“Good,” Damin said. “Then it shouldn’t take you long to get there, should it?”
Rorin looked at him in confusion. “What?”
“I want you to ride for Zadenka Manor, Rorin, take that brother of mine aside and explain to him what’s going on. Give him a chance to withdraw gracefully before we get to the border.”
“Why me?”
“Because he ordered you to,” Adham said. “He’s the prince. They’re allowed to give orders like that. Do it all the time, I’ve noticed.”
Rorin seemed unimpressed by Adham’s attempt at being witty. He turned his attention to the prince, ignoring Damin’s stepbrother completely. “Anything else you want me to tell him while I’m there?”
“Just make him see how important this is, Rorin,” Tejay said, before Damin could offer his suggestion. “Tell him Charel can prove he’s not his big brother’s lackey some other time. We don’t have time for a border skirmish. Even a small one.”
Damin indicated his agreement with a nod and turned his gaze on the sorcerer. “You heard the lady.” To the scout he added, “Stay with Master Mariner. Don’t let any harm come to him.”
The scout saluted in acknowledgment of the order and gathered up his reins. Rorin did the same, smiling at the rest of them. “On the bright side, I guess this means I’ll get to sleep in a real bed tonight.”
“We’ll see you at the border tomorrow,” Damin promised.
“Count on it,” the young man replied, turning his mount in the direction of the scout.
Annoyed more than concerned, Damin watched them cantering down the road until they disappeared behind the crest of the next rise and then gave the order to move out. As the column moved ahead he was left wondering why Charel Hawksword, a man he looked on as a beloved surrogate grandfather, would choose now, when they could least afford it, to start playing politics.
S
tarros had just finished wearily pulling off his boots when he heard the sound of a door closing in the small room adjacent to his bedroom. The door inside the tiny dressing room clicked shut and a moment later Leila emerged from the slaveways, dressed in a nightgown, her long fair hair hanging loose around her face, rippled from being braided so tightly all day.
Even though Starros knew he was dreaming, in his mind’s eye she crossed the small bedroom in three steps and wordlessly stepped into his arms.
He held her close, the feeling so real, so intense, that he felt almost overwhelmed by it; a moment of sheer bliss for both of them when neither had said a word, so neither of them was able to shatter their fragile happiness by speaking of reality.
After a time she lifted her head from his shoulder and he kissed her, and then let her go and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. She smiled wanly, and sniffed back the rest of her tears.
“I’m sorry,”
he remembered telling her, not sure why he was apologising.
“It’s not your fault, my love,” Leila sighed.
“You know, I don’t think I ever really lamented the fact that I was common-born until tonight, when I realised how far out of my reach you really are.”
“I’m here in your arms, aren’t I?” she whispered, kissing him again.
“Yes,” he agreed. “In secret. In the dark …”
With a jerk, Starros sat bolt upright, splashing his ale on the stained wooden table of the booth, as he suddenly realised where he was. Despite both Wrayan and Luc warning Starros to stay out of sight, for fear news of his miraculous recovery might make its way to the palace, he found himself drawn back to the Pickpocket’s Retreat. He sat alone in a corner booth and spoke to nobody, but he wasn’t there for the conversation. It was the sound of other voices that he craved; the nearness of other living souls. Alone, Starros had only his memories of Leila, his guilt and her ghost for company, but even the close proximity of other people wasn’t enough sometimes to fend off his despair.
And the uncomfortable urge to steal something.
“Another ale, lad? You’ve spilt more of that than you’ve swallowed.”
Starros looked up, pulling his dripping sleeve out of the puddle of ale. Hary Fingle, the proprietor of the Pickpocket’s Retreat, was looking down at him with concern. He glanced at the mess he’d made and looked up at the white-haired tavern owner. “Thanks, Hary, but I think I’ll just sit on this one for a while longer.”
“Well, just call Fee if you want another. Wrayan’s picking up the tab. I daresay he’d prefer you drank it, though, rather than swim in it.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“The Wraith looks after his friends.”
“Wrayan the Wraith, eh? Odd to hear him called that.”
“There’s more people in Krakandar who know him by that name than any other,” Hary said. “It’s only you folks from the palace who think he’s some sort of gentleman rogue who never actually gets his hands dirty.”
“I’m not one of the ‘folks from the palace’ any longer, Hary.”
“You’d be paying a damn sight more for that ale if you were, lad,” Hary chuckled. “Keep your head down, eh?”
The tavern owner moved off to greet another customer in the noisy, crowded taproom, leaving Starros alone. He wasn’t given long to enjoy his solitude, however. A moment later, Luc North slipped into the seat opposite with a fresh tankard of his own.
“You’re going to be here a long while drowning your sorrows at the rate you’re drinking, Starros,” the forger remarked. “You’ve been nursing that damn tankard half the morning.”
“Are you watching me now?”
“Funny, but that’s what I thought Wrayan meant when he asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“I’ve been thinking about what Wrayan said, Luc.”
“What did he say?”
“About stealing from Mahkas.”
“Well, that’s a step in the right direction. Dacendaran will be pleased.”
“He said I should steal
everything
from him. He didn’t mean that literally, did he?”
The forger shrugged. “Not unless you think you can organise the removal of the entire contents of Krakandar Palace without anybody noticing.”
“Then what
did
he mean?”
“Take something that
means
everything to him, I suppose.”
Starros frowned. “I would have thought that was Leila.”
“Well, that’s not really an option any longer,” Luc remarked carelessly. “What else does he hold dear?”
“Krakandar,” Starros replied without hesitation.
The forger pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Then if you really want to avenge your lover and honour your god, Starros, that’s what you need to steal from Mahkas Damaran. Krakandar Province.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
Luc smiled. “I believe that’s where the whole ‘criminal mastermind’ talent comes in.”
“I’m not a criminal mastermind,” Starros pointed out.
“You’re going to have to be to pull this off, old son,” the forger warned with a grin. He rose to his feet and tossed a few copper rivets on the table for his ale. “I imagine it’ll keep you off the streets for a while, trying to figure it out, at any rate. Have you said goodbye to Wrayan?”
“He’s going today?”
“Any minute,” the forger said. “He’s out in the stables with Lady Kalan getting ready to leave.”
At that news, Starros abandoned his ale and hurried out the back of the tavern through the kitchens. It was raining outside, a gentle soaking rain so fine it was almost a mist. He found Wrayan and Kalan leading their mounts and a packhorse out of the stables into the yard. Kalan was dressed in a dark green riding habit and a long matching cloak, her long blonde hair braided tightly against her head. Wrayan wore a long, dark leather coat that reached almost to his ankles, split at the rear to allow him to ride.
“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” Starros asked as Kalan grabbed a handful of mane and placed her foot in the stirrup.
“Of course not,” she said, swinging up into the saddle. “I knew you’d come to see us off.”
“That’s why I sent Luc in to find you,” Wrayan added. “Will you be all right once we’re gone?”
Starros shrugged. “I’ll survive.”
“If you need anything, just ask Luc,” the thief told him. “Or Hary. And stay out of sight. You’re safe enough here in the Beggars’ Quarter while Xanda’s minding the shop, but you don’t know what Mahkas will do when he’s back on his feet.”
“I’ll be all right, Wrayan.”
“Are you sure, Starros?” Kalan asked, looking down at him with concern.
“Yes, Kalan, I’m sure. Now go save Hythria and stop worrying about me.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind and come with us,” Wrayan offered.
Starros shook his head. “I’d rather stay here. It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“I think I understand. Take care, my friend.” The two men shook hands. “And I mean it about keeping your head down. Mahkas won’t have forgotten you.”
“I’m not likely to forget about him, either.”
“Painful though it might be, you do know Leila’s death isn’t likely to have changed anything with Mahkas, don’t you? I’ve known men like him before. You’ve as much chance of a change in him as you have trying to change the past.”
“So don’t do anything foolish,” Kalan warned, as Wrayan climbed into the saddle.
“I’ll be careful,” Starros assured them both. “I promise.”
“Really careful?” Kalan asked.
“Yes. And you be careful, too,” he replied, stepping back to allow them to pass. “It’s a long way to Greenharbour and there’s more than just plague and the odd bandit out there to worry about.”
Kalan looked across at her travelling companion. “I have Wrayan to protect me.”
“But who’s going to protect Wrayan from you?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Wrayan agreed. “Now get out of this rain, Starros. We’ll be fine. Just take care and don’t let Luc depose me while I’m gone.”
Starros figured Wrayan was joking. Luc North was probably the most loyal deputy any head of the Thieves’ Guild had ever been blessed with. “I’ll watch him. Just like he’s watching me. On your orders, I believe.”
“A man in my position can never be too careful,” Wrayan replied. He tugged on the packhorse’s lead rope to get him moving. “Be careful, Starros.”
“You too, Wrayan,” he replied. “Bye, Kalan.”
Kalan looked down at him for a moment and then clucked at her horse to get her moving. Starros waited in the gentle rain until they’d turned down the lane behind the tavern and were out of sight, before heading back inside to the warmth of the Pickpocket’s Retreat, his ale and the problem of how he was going to steal Krakandar Province from under the nose of Mahkas Damaran.