“you’re right,” said Corson, some days later, “they look better on me. Give them back.”
They were sitting in The Crossroads in Mehomne, indulging in one of their usual arguments. They had arrived on the eve of a caravan’s departure for the Yth, and Corson had been hired by the travelers as an extra guard. It was a job few were willing to undertake, and the wages were more than liberal. Corson felt that the occasion warranted celebration, and she had already downed several tankards of ale.
Nyctasia too was in high spirits. “I’ve never known a man to equal ’Ben,” she said, resuming their earlier discussion. She returned the gold earrings to Corson and put on her silver ones.
“That’s because you don’t know Steifann. I’ve had them all-gentlemen, peasants, townsmen-nobody compares with Steifann.”
“Nobody…?” said Nyctasia, glancing towards a man who had just entered.
Corson turned to look.
The newcomer was a striking, black-skinned man with strong, sharply chiseled features and a powerful, well-knit frame. He was of average height, but his proud, graceful bearing gave him greater stature.
“I see what you mean,” said Corson. For once, she and Nyctasia were in complete agreement.
“We could throw dice for him,” Nyctasia suggested.
“You’d charm the dice. Let’s arm wrestle instead. I’ll even use my right hand.”
“Thanks, but I’m afraid I’d find it difficult to write with all of my knuckles broken.”
“Well, we’ll just have to share him, then.”
“Done,” said Nyctasia.
They were delighted when the stranger, after glancing around the room, came straight to their table. Corson gave him her most winning smile but he only nodded to her, then turned to Nyctasia with a formal bow. “Give you good evening, my lady.”
Nyctasia frowned for a moment, but then broke into laughter. “Do sit down, sir,” she said graciously. “So you’ve come into the light at last-it was a shame to hide such beauty in the shadows. Are you still following me?”
“Let us put it that we have the same destination, my lady.”
Corson did not care for the turn events were taking. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?” she demanded.
“I wasn’t aware of it till he spoke,” Nyctasia explained. “An occasional conversation with an unseen person is not considered a proper introduction. But he’s been two steps behind me since before we left Rhostshyl.”
“I’d have known if someone was following you!”
“Corson, you are the best of bodyguards, but even you can’t watch for shadows in your sleep.”
“Another rutting magician!” Corson said with disgust, “They come out of nowhere like maggots these days.” She drained her ale and waved for another. “Do you want me to kill him?”
Nyctasia was enjoying herself. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“Too sure, perhaps,” the stranger interrupted, suddenly abandoning his deference. “You are too sure of a number of things, lady.”
Nyctasia leaned back, one eyebrow raised, as she contemplated this insolence.
“What is this?” she said slowly, “another riddle?”
“No, a warning.” He paused, then exclaimed with vehemence, “You have made sacrifices, Edonaris, but you do not understand that for power one must sacrifice everything!” He did not take his eyes from Nyctasia’s, and she returned his stare. Bored, Corson finished her ale.
“What price have you paid for power?” Nyctasia said sharply. “Why have I never seen you by daylight? Why do you give no name?”
He looked away. “I have not given up what was not mine to give.”
Nyctasia’s grey eyes were the color of steel. “You dare say that I have done so?”
He shook his head. “If I still suspected you, you would never have seen my face.
Nor would I risk my life to warn you.”
“What is this warning, then?”
“Do not go to Hlasven,” he said softly.
“You are no servant of Shiastred!”
“Nor are you, Lady Nyctasia. Not yet.”
Nyctasia glared at him in disbelief. “I suppose you bribed ’Ben’s messenger to give you the letter?”
He made a gesture of dismissal. “The letter did not interest me. To command a Reflection of the spirit I needed to see you and receive a token from you. This has served my purpose,” he said, handing Nyctasia her glove.
“I’m sorry to have put you to such trouble.” Nyctasia said coldly. “It would have been easier with a lock of my hair.”
“It would have been easier to kill you! I preferred to try the spell. If I’d found you were no different from Shiastred, I’d have used any means to keep you from him. I can’t hope to fight both of you.”
“You will have to kill me, then.”
“We’ll see. I don’t expect you to believe me now-only listen. When you’ve learned the truth about Shiastred, come to me.”
For answer, Nyctasia threw the glove in his face, and rose to walk away without a word.
The stranger seized her arm. “Hear me-”
Corson had long since stopped listening and devoted herself to her drinking, but suddenly she too was on her feet. Kicking aside her chair, she pulled the man away from Nyctasia and stepped between them, sword in hand. Everyone in the room was watching them by now. “Nyc, do you want me to kill him or not?” she asked reasonably. “Make up your mind.”
Nyctasia smiled at her and shook her head.
Corson put up her sword. “Well, what are you lot staring at?” she inquired of the room at large, and people turned back to their own affairs.
The stranger sighed, rubbing his arm where Corson had twisted it. “My lady, you have nothing to fear from me. Will you not speak to me alone?”
“Very well,” Nyctasia said flatly. “I will listen, but I have nothing more to say.” She followed him to the door.
“Wait!” Corson protested, “We had an agreement. We’re supposed to share him.”
Nyctasia glanced back at her, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”
Corson stared after them, wondering whether she should follow Nyctasia. “That little slut,” she muttered, “let her fend for herself. He probably thinks she’s a boy, anyway.” She consoled herself with more ale and finally staggered off to bed, ignoring with drunken dignity several offers of company for the night.
“Move over!” Nyctasia demanded, trying to shove Corson to one side of the bed.
Corson grunted. “You’re back already,” she mumbled. “He must have been a disappointment.”
“I said move, you overgrown sow!”
“What happened?”
Nyctasia climbed over her. “Go back to sleep. The caravan leaves at sunrise, you know.”
“Tell me about him,” Corson insisted, still half asleep.
Nyctasia was silent for a time. “I should have let you kill him,” she said quietly. “He’s Vahr Kastenid.”
“What?”
“Go to sleep!”
Corson yawned. “It serves you right,” she said with satisfaction.