Infidel buried me on a high bluff overlooking the sea. She’d carried me here wrapped in a colorful cloth she stole from the lava-pygmy village not far from the base of the falls. She’d met no opposition. It would be a long time before members of that tribe would come anywhere near her. The village emptied out as she walked into it. She could have robbed them blind, except, of course, they didn’t have much to steal. The village was nothing but stick huts with dirt floors, with a few scrawny chickens the only livestock. It brought home the magnitude of my sins.
When the monks who raised me had had taught me about hell, they’d painted vivid pictures of barren landscapes in which the damned are tormented by horned devils. I never feared it. But, if I’d been told that I’d linger on after death, forever confronted by the people I’d hurt the most… maybe I would have tried to be a better person.
After making my shroud, Infidel had fashioned an impromptu sarong from the remaining cloth. The fabric had a crimson base looped through with green lines and yellow circles. The yellow circle motif could be found all through the ruins of the Vanished Kingdom. My grandfather had speculated that the yellow circle represented Glorious, the primal dragon of the sun, who had been worshipped as a god in ancient times. I don’t know if the pygmies gave the same symbolic value to it, or just liked the design. The festive pattern was remarkably inappropriate for wrapping a corpse, but Infidel valued practicality over propriety. Despite its failings as a shroud, I thought the cloth looked good on her. She normally didn’t wear vivid colors; she especially disliked bright greens for some reason.
She’d spent much of the day following the river to the sea. Given the rugged terrain, she made better time with me as a limp corpse across her shoulder than if I’d still been alive. Her endurance matched her strength. Even with my weight, plus the dragon skull, she never stopped to rest or eat.
By the end of the day she’d reached my final resting spot. I don’t know if she’d planned to bury me here. Perhaps she intended to take me all the way to Commonground, to have me outfitted for a proper coffin by one of the city’s numerous undertakers. Unfortunately, after a single day in the jungle heat, I was beginning to spoil. Dark, foul-smelling fluid stained my shroud, and by the time we reached the bluff the fabric would go black with flies faster than Infidel could shoo them away.
Infidel placed me at the foot of a shaggy, wind-blown tree as the sun set behind us. Shadows danced on the waves as she rested. A cool, steady breeze blew up from the sea, drinking up the sweat beaded on her face. Her hair danced around her eyes as she stared out at the darkening sky, watching the stars flicker to life above the water.
At last, she began to dig. She had no tools other than her bare hands and my old knife. The soil was sandy, covered with a layer of scraggly grass. She worked through the night, digging until she had a pit deeper than she was tall. She lowered my body into the ground with a look of utter weariness, then proceeded to cover me with the mounds of damp earth heaped on both sides of the hole. She finished just before dawn, running her hands over the sandy grave as if she was smoothing out the wrinkles on a sheet.
She thrust the bone-handled knife into the soil above my head, where it stood like the world’s smallest tombstone. I felt a flutter of panic. Would she leave the blade there? My spirit was now tied to the knife. For my soul to remain anchored here so close to my body was, I suppose, appropriate. Yet, I no longer felt any connection to the rotting meat six feet below. I wanted to remain with Infidel.
I had no lips with which to speak, so I merely thought the words, Keep the knife. Keep the knife. I suddenly understood what the monks had tried to teach me about the fierce urgency of prayer. Keep the knife. Keep the knife. Keep the knife.
She sat down, resting her hands on her knees as she glanced at the yellowed handle. The humble bone gleamed like precious ivory, polished and oiled by a lifetime spent in my sweaty hands. Take it, I prayed. Take it. Her face was lined with deep furrows around her lips as she frowned. She looked as if she was about to cry, but, always when she was on the verge, she’d swallow. Her fists would go tight, and the moment would pass. Her eyes turned away from the tiny tombstone. I sensed that my prayers would go unanswered. Still, as long as she still lingered by my grave, there was hope.
At last the sun came up. The water danced with colors to rival the sarong still draped around her shoulders. Gulls wheeled in the air above the cliff, calling out to one another. Clouds drifted leisurely overhead, white as lambs in a distant field. I wanted to tell her that she’d done a good job. My bones had to rest somewhere, and this was a fine choice, a grave any ghost could be proud of. As much as I wished to continue to journey by her side, I knew my time had passed. If I was now a prisoner to eternity, this peaceful, sun-drenched bluff would be an acceptable jail.
By my count, Infidel had been awake for almost forty hours. Her endurance was superhuman, but not infinite. Her head sagged as she watched the endless dance of the waves. At last, she stretched out on the white sand of my grave. She used her arm as a pillow, and her fingers brushed against the handle of the knife. She looked at it again, her eyes bloodshot and bleary. She snatched the knife free of the soil, clutching it to her invulnerable breast like a doll. Then, with a shudder, she gave herself to sleep.
She slept fitfully through the day, undraping the cloth of her sarong and using it as a blanket pulled over her head to block out the light. As someone who’d shared campsites with Infidel, I knew she talked in her sleep. Mumbled, more accurately. Many a night I’ve lain awake and tried to make sense of her slurred half-words. Usually, I can’t interpret them. But, as she turned from one side to the other, three unmistakable syllables escaped her lips: “So sorry.”
She thinks she killed me. She thinks that as we fell toward the river, she was the one who drove the knife into my gut.
Perhaps.
I wish I could tell her that I don’t blame her. She shouldn’t ignore the fact that we were out robbing that temple because I was the one in debt, because I’m the one who needs to buy the company of crowds, because I’m the sucker who can’t resist a good sob story from any down-on-his-luck bum who begs me for a few spare coins and winds up with my entire purse.
Of course, I wouldn’t have been in debt when she got back from the pirate wars if I’d sold the map for even a fraction of what it was worth.
That damned map.
A year ago, Infidel had hunted down a fallen Wanderer by the name of Hurricane. Wanderers have a longstanding pact with Abyss, the primal dragon of the sea, that prevents them from ever drowning as long as they spend their lives without touching dry land. Their behavior is guided by ancient and elaborate laws; transgress these laws, and a Wanderer can find himself put ashore on some distant desert island. Hurricane had suffered that fate, due to acts of piracy against fellow Wanderers. But, he didn’t live out his days on his island prison. He’d built a raft, fled to the Isle of Fire, and resumed his piracy. The Wanderers placed a bounty on his head, a price large enough to catch Infidel’s eye.
Finding Hurricane was no great challenge. He’d set up camp in a sea cave on the western side of the island. Infidel made swift work of his crew, and took Hurricane out with a single punch. We were searching his treasure chest when we found the map in a hidden compartment at the bottom. Even before we opened the thing, we knew it was something special. It was embroidered onto metallic cloth spun from threads of gold far finer than silk. When we unrolled it, it made a musical sound, like tiny guitar strings plinking. It showed the central volcano of the Isle of Fire and plotted out several key buildings from the Vanished Kingdom. I knew this area well, both from my own explorations and my grandfather’s detailed surveys. At the building I call the Shattered Palace, the map showed a tunnel leading into the volcano. Depending on how you held the map to the light, different layers were revealed; there were tunnels beneath tunnels. Someone had used ordinary ink to trace out some of the pathways, and there were notes near these paths, written in a code I couldn’t decipher. I could only scratch my head as I turned the map from side to side, pondering the different images. Beneath the overlapping layers I spotted an ‘X’, and two words written in old-tongue that were perfectly clear.
Greatshadow. Treasure.
Greatshadow is the primal dragon who lives in the central volcano of this island. I’ve never seen Greatshadow, but my grandfather wrote that he’d been on the island once when the dragon was awake, and he said that the big lizard had a wingspan half a mile wide. The heat of Greatshadow’s breath will turn iron armor into hot white syrup dripping off the blackened bones of any knight foolish enough to face him. Like all dragons, Greatshadow has an eye for gems and precious metal. What he does with them, I can’t even guess. It’s not as if he strolls down to the Black Swan from time to time to buy a round. Still, he’s been hoarding riches during the rise and fall and rise of at least two civilizations. If a man could sneak into that treasure vault for even five minutes, he could snatch up enough wealth to carry him through a dozen lifetimes.
While I deciphered the map, I was thinking out loud, pitching my thoughts and theories to Infidel. Almost instantly, I regretted it. I could hear the wheels turning in her mind. We’d been tomb-raiding together for a long time. Why not go after the ultimate treasure?
Here’s why: Greatshadow isn’t just another monster. He’s the living embodiment of fire. He may be wrapped in scaly hide, but he’s fundamentally an elemental being, a sentient force of nature. A fraction of his intelligence is present in every flame. You can’t kill something like this with just a strong arm and sharp sword.
Infidel is tough, but her skills as a thief tend toward the smash and grab. There was no way she could reach Greatshadow’s treasure without confronting the dragon, and, if it came to that, good as she was, Greatshadow would win.
So, at my first convenient opportunity, I ‘lost’ the map.
This was really the only time I’ve ever deceived her, other than the daily, ongoing, unspoken lie that I wanted nothing more of her than friendship. It’s weighed heavily on my conscience for the last year, mainly because she’d accepted my lame explanation of how I’d lost the map down a privy hole on the docks in Commonground. She’d reacted to my story with her easy-come, easy-go shrug and never mentioned it again. Maybe she’d known all along the adventure was too big for her. If so, that makes my lie even worse. If she could have been dissuaded from the lair by simple reason, we could have sold the map for a small fortune, perhaps even a large one. I didn’t need to betray her trust. We could have been living it up in Commonground rather than out robbing pygmies with the same foolish bravery of young boys throwing rocks at a hornet nest.
She turns again in her slumber, moaning softly.
I’m sorry, I pray to her. So, so sorry.
Infidel returned to Commonground the following day, making good time as she bounded along the shore. In open terrain, she’s fast as a jack-rabbit, using her super-strong legs to propel herself in skips that cover a dozen yards a stride. Around mid-morning she found the wreck of a ship; it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. She didn’t take long to explore it, but did manage to pull a damp, sand-covered yard of canvas from the wreckage. She wrapped the dragon skull in this — a wise precaution. Even with Infidel’s reputation, Commonground is full of thieves who would be tempted by the sight. It’s a lawless city, a bad place to call home. Of course, there’s not a lot of choice in addresses when you live on the Isle of Fire. Commonground is the only real city on the island.
Actually, there are a couple of things wrong with that statement.
For starters, the city isn’t on the island, but out in the bay. The whole place is up on stilts. Plus, it’s not really a city in the ordinary sense of the word. It’s a collection of docks. It’s like a city that exists entirely of streets where the homes come and go on a daily basis. Wanderers gather here, taking refuge in the sheltered bay, and on any given day you can find a hundred or so of their ships at the port, and several thousand of their ilk milling about. But, the Wanderers don’t live in Commonground. They stay only a little while, then move on, replaced by the crews of other ships.
The only permanent residents of Commonground are people who’ve come there due to the lawless nature of the place. The Wanderers don’t impose their codes on outsiders; they care nothing of the actions of others as long as it doesn’t harm them. So, over the years, Commonground has become a haven to men and women not welcome in the more civilized parts of the world. Along the docks you’ll find barges housing bars and brothels and blood-houses. These draw visitors from distant ports, mainly young, hedonistic men escaping the chains of morality that confine them in places like the Silver City. Also drawn to the place are criminals who’ve fled their homelands to seek out the one place on earth where no one ever asks about your past. It’s taboo even to ask a person’s real name in Commonground. Everyone goes by nicknames. It wasn’t like my mother looked at me in the crib and said, “I bet he’ll be a drunkard. Let’s call him Stagger.”
Commonground is just a lousy name. As noted, there’s no ground at all. And you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who’s common.
A few hours after she’d plundered the wreckage for the canvas, Infidel reached one of the boardwalks leading out into the bay. She strode purposefully through the maze of docks, ignoring gawkers as she passed. The sight of her in the colorful sarong was turning heads. Infidel normally dressed in a more masculine fashion, often wearing leather armor even though she didn’t need it.
Not that there were that many people out to gawk at her. The late afternoon sun was unbearable. The docks didn’t really come to life until darkness fell. The algae-green water of the bay was as smooth as jade in the windless heat. Fortunately, the tide was in. When the tide was out, a strong sea wind was the only protection against the raw sewage and fish-rot stench. With the water high, the stink wasn’t so bad, though I was left to ponder why I could smell at all, since I no longer had a nose. Of course, I was seeing without eyes, and hearing without ears. If I wound up near whiskey, would I be able to taste it?
Of course, the best place to put that to the test was exactly where Infidel was heading. Near the heart of Commonground, Infidel reached the largest barge anchored at the docks — the Black Swan. This was a saloon and gambling house that catered to the high rollers from the Silver Isles. Wealthy men could visit the Black Swan with little fear for their safety. Thieves knew that messing with a guest of the barge could result in a visit from the Three Goons. Not many people would risk that for a bag of gold. A dragon skull on the other hand…
Infidel stepped through the door of the bar, pausing as her eyes adjusted to the shadows. The bar was decorated with a level of opulence that stumbled across the fine line separating good taste from garishness. The walls were lined with dark, polished teak; large paintings of scantily clad goddesses hung there. The various gaming tables sported crisp velvet surfaces. Only a single poker table was fully occupied. Everyone else was likely sleeping in the well-furnished rooms above. The main room was at least twenty degrees cooler than the air outside. Behind the bar at the far end of the room was the reason why.
A first timer to the bar might mistake the creature who stood there as male, given the broad shoulders and looming height. Few people have ever seen an ice-ogre of either sex. Aurora’s nine feet tall, with pale blue skin mottled with patches of white, like a sky full of clouds. She’s bald save for a tuft of dark blue hair in a knot at the tip of her scalp. Tusks jut up from her lower jaws, reaching to her eyebrows. Her clothes offer no hint of her gender; she always wears a long sleeved, walrus-skin coat that hangs down to her ankles. Aurora exhaled as she spotted Infidel, her breath coming out in a fog. The ogress is in charge of security at the Black Swan. While most of Infidel’s visits are peaceful, she’s been known, occasionally, to cause a bit of property damage.
“Where’s your shadow?” Aurora asked, squinting at the doorway behind Infidel. Crystals of frost on her cheeks sparkled like diamonds.
“My shadow?” Infidel asked, walking toward the bar.
“Stagger,” said Aurora. “I never see you without him hang-dogging behind.”
“Stagger’s dead,” said Infidel, placing the sack onto the bar. There was no emotion as she spoke the words.
“Oh,” said Aurora. She shook her head slowly. “I’ll miss him. Most drunks think they’re funny and charming. He really was, sometimes.”
“He was more than just a drunk,” said Infidel.
“No offense,” said Aurora, in a tone that sounded as if she had, indeed, meant no offense.
Infidel looked directly into Aurora’s eyes. She knew about Aurora’s threat to sell my body for meat; Aurora probably knew she knew. Of course, Aurora was just the enforcer. If Infidel had come here looking for revenge, she’d be looking for the woman who really called the shots.
“I need to see the Black Swan,” said Infidel.
Aurora crossed her arms, her biceps bulging beneath the walrus leather. She and Infidel had never lit into one another; Infidel probably had an edge, but Aurora wasn’t going to be a pushover. Her strength was supplemented by a formidable array of ice magic; for a tropical town, Commonground has a surprising number of residents who’ve lost limbs to frostbite. “The Black Swan has a busy schedule,” Aurora said. “I’ll see if I can work you into her calendar.”
“I need to see her now,” said Infidel.
Aurora shook her head. “She’ll see you when she wants to see you.”
“She’ll want to see me now,” said Infidel, pulling the canvas away from the dragon skull. All the people at the poker table suddenly placed their cards face down and stared at the bar. Whatever stakes they were playing for, a dragon skull would trump it.
The ice-ogress let loose an appreciative whistle as she eyed the priceless object. “The lower jaw and everything,” she said, reaching out to touch it.
Infidel caught her by the wrist. Aurora tried to pull back, but Infidel held her arm immobile. I had my answer as to who was strongest. Then Aurora grinned, and Infidel grimaced as her whole arm turned blue.
“Hold me too long and you’ll lose those fingers,” said Aurora, coolly.
“No one touches the skull but me and the Black Swan,” Infidel said, through chattering teeth.
Aurora nodded. Infidel released her wrist.
“Given the nature of this transaction, I’ll see if the boss is available,” said Aurora, drawing her arm back. Infidel rubbed her frosted fingers as the ice-ogress vanished behind a red silk curtain at one end of the bar.
I sincerely hoped the Black Swan wasn’t available. Whatever Infidel was planning to do, it couldn’t be good.
As Infidel waited, a tall man in chain mail peeled away from the shadows in the far corner. He was broad-shouldered, his hair cropped short, his face rugged, probably handsome once, before his nose had been broken one too many times. His proboscis perched over his lips like a scaly red vulture. His hands were large and rough, his knuckles thick with calluses. I’d never seen him before. Perhaps this was some new enforcer that the Black Swan had hired, though more likely he was employed by one of the clients as private muscle. The man’s gaze kept darting between the dragon skull and Infidel’s bosom, accentuated as it was by the sarong.
“That’s a mighty expensive thing for a little lady to be carrying,” Vulture-nose said, easing up to the bar. “Seems like you could use a little security.”
There was a commotion at the poker table. Everyone was standing up and stuffing their chips into their pockets. One by one, they bolted for the door.
Infidel gave him a sideways glance, and said, with remarkable restraint, “Go away.”
The big fellow grinned. “Aw, don’t be like that. For a pretty gal like yourself, I wouldn’t have to work for money. We could work out things out in trade. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”
To demonstrate what he had in mind, the doomed man placed one of his meaty paws on the small of Infidel’s bare back. His hand was nearly as large as her slender waist as he began to gently rub her.
It’s easy to rub Infidel the wrong way.
When Aurora poked her head back into the room a second later, Infidel was in exactly the same pose as when she’d left. Above her was a hole about a yard across. Sunlight filtered down. A naked man in the room directly above sat up in his bed, looking up at the hole that had suddenly appeared in his ceiling. He looked down at the matching hole in the floor. He rubbed his eyes, perhaps not certain if he was awake. A single boot tumbled from the sky, landing with a thump on the floor next to Infidel.
“Some guy knocked a hole in your ceiling,” she said. “You should be more careful who you let in this joint.”
Aurora grimaced. “The Black Swan will see you now.”
The salon was dark save for a red glow from the glass window of the cast iron stove. A ceramic crock of potpourri simmered on the stove, filling the room with a cloying floral perfume and a level of humidity worse than anything out in the jungle. Despite the heat, the Black Swan had a shawl of black feathers draped across her silk dress; save for its ebony hue her gown looked like something she might have worn at her wedding. Like a bride, a lace veil concealed her face. Her hands were wrinkled claws, speckled with dark brown liver spots, her long nails painted to match her wardrobe.
In a city of outlaws who would rob their own grandmother, the rise of the Black Swan as its most powerful denizen was something of a mystery. It seemed improbable that this frail old woman commanded the respect of ogres and half-seeds, but Aurora kept her head bowed as she approached the leather couch where the Black Swan lounged and said, in a reverent hush, “Madam, Infidel has come to discuss a matter of commerce.”
“Thank you, Aurora,” said the Black Swan. Her scratchy, dry voice made me imagine that, should she cough, dust would come out.
The old woman turned her head toward Infidel, then motioned her to have a seat on the padded leather chair across from the couch. As Infidel sat down, the Black Swan said, “Aurora informs me your lover has passed away.”
“He wasn’t my lover,” said Infidel, somewhat over-emphatically, I thought.
“I see. I had assumed-”
“You assumed wrong,” Infidel snapped. “Stagger was my friend. With the life I’ve led, I needed a friend more than I ever needed a lover.”
“Ah, friendship,” said the Black Swan. “It’s a commodity I find sorely overrated. You cannot pay someone to be your friend; they may pretend to be so, but you would always know the truth. In my experience, if a thing cannot be purchased, it has no true value.”
“Or it may have the greatest value of all,” said Infidel.
“Your naivete is charming.” The Black Swan shifted on her couch. A handful of downy black feathers drifted to the floor. “Though, perhaps I’ve underestimated your judgment if you didn’t take that old drunkard as a lover. You must have known that when the desire for alcohol gripped him, he would have gladly walked over any of his so-called friends to reach a bottle. Even you, my dear.”
If I’d still had teeth, I would have ground them.
Infidel pressed her lips together. I was surprised at how calm she seemed. She said, “I haven’t come to discuss my personal life. I’ve come to pay off Stagger’s debts.”
The Black Swan tilted her head. “This is most honorable of you.”
“Honor has nothing to do with it,” said Infidel. “I want to clear the balance sheets once and for all. I know you think of Stagger and me as a team; I don’t want the money he owed you to influence any business we may undertake.”
The Black Swan nodded. “The skull will cover Stagger’s debt, and more. I will arrange an auction. Aurora will deliver the balance of the proceeds to you.”
“Keep them,” said Infidel. “I want to open my own account to make use of your services.”
Aurora raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by this news. The Black Swan’s face showed no reaction.
“I want to hire the Three Goons,” said Infidel.
Aurora’s other eyebrow shot up.
“This is… most unusual,” said the Black Swan.
“Is it?” asked Infidel. “They’re hired muscle. People purchase their services every day.”
“Despite your many limitations, my dear, you are hardly lacking in muscle. Why would you possibly need their help?”
“I’ve got a robbery in mind. A smash-and-grab with a payoff that will make this dragon skull look like a hunk of tin. As good as I am, I’ll need backup. The Three Goons can get the job done.”
“Undoubtedly,” said the Black Swan. “Alas, I cannot give you what you ask for. Another client recently engaged the Three Goons in an open contract. I don’t know when they will be available.”
“I’ll buy out the contract,” said Infidel. “Just name the price.”
“My dear, I admire your ambition, but you cannot possibly match the resources of this client. For all practical purposes, their purse is infinitely deep.”
“Who is it?” Infidel asked. “I’ll talk to them. Make them an offer.”
“You know that is a confidential matter.”
Infidel frowned as she crossed her arms. Negotiations weren’t Infidel’s strong suit. I used to handle this sort of business.
The Black Swan said, “Perhaps there are others who could serve your needs? Commonground is thick with mercenaries. Post a bill and you’ll have a hundred men standing in line for the job within an hour.”
Which was true, but the Three Goons were worth a lot more than a hundred men. Remember No-Face? The only man who ever gave Infidel a split lip? He’s one of the Goons. And he’s not the one that most people are afraid of.
Infidel’s hands balled into fists. Aurora tensed up. Infidel’s eyes narrowed as thoughts danced in her mind. She still hadn’t given up. “You’ve tried to hire me before,” she said. “I’ll work for you for the next year. Take any job you give me. At the end of the year, you give me the Goons, no questions asked.”
The Black Swan nodded, smiling faintly. I quickly sensed this was a bittersweet smile. She wanted to accept Infidel’s offer, but couldn’t. “Tempting. Quite tempting. There are men who would pay a lifetime of wages to use you for a night.”
The color drained from Infidel’s cheeks.
“My darling, you don’t think I would waste a year of your service on fighting, do you? As you note, I already have access to the finest mercenaries on the island. I have a high priestess for my chief enforcer. Why shouldn’t I have a princess for a whore?”
Aurora scowled deeply. It took me a second to realize that she had to be the priestess. It seems I wasn’t the only one with a religious background that never got discussed. But I was even more intrigued that the Black Swan referred to Infidel as a princess. What did she mean?
Infidel jumped to her feet. Snow began to fall in the room as the temperature dropped to single digits. A sheen of ice glistened on Aurora’s clenched fists, with icicles growing down like spiky claws.
“That wasn’t what I was offering,” Infidel said, her voice trembling as she tried to control her temper. “Don’t twist my words!”
“You should be more careful with what you say, my dear,” said the Black Swan. “You’ve offered a binding contract. Alas, I cannot act upon it. My word is my bond, and my previous contract for the Three Goons is sacrosanct. Your virtue — such as it may be — is safe.”
Infidel stared at the Black Swan, then cast one more glance at Aurora, now encased in a shell of ice that resembled armor. Infidel unclenched her fists, her shoulders sagging. I could sense she wasn’t afraid of Aurora; she just knew that she wouldn’t get what she wanted by hitting anyone in this room. She turned toward the door, then glanced back. “I want the balance of the skull in diamonds.”
“Of course, my dear,” said the Black Swan. “I’ve often thought you’d look good in jewelry. This new fashion of yours is a step forward, but could benefit from a few simple adornments.”
Apparently, the Black Swan had never seen one of Infidel’s molar necklaces.
The poker players were back at their table as Infidel stalked across the main room. The hole in the ceiling already had planks laid across it. As Infidel reached the door, Aurora called out to her.
“Hey,” she said.
Infidel paused at the door, but didn’t look back.
“I… I wanted to say that the Black Swan was wrong about Stagger,” said Aurora. “He’d do a lot of things for a bottle. But he’d never sell out a friend. And everyone could tell you were much more than a friend to him.”
Infidel sighed, shaking her head.
“Not everyone,” she whispered, as she stepped outside.