She ignored him. "Don't make me do something you'll regret," she told the Shinga.

"Can I have her after you're done?" Tom asked. He squeezed her breast again and then he petted her hair.

"DON'T TOUCH MY HAIR!" she yelled.

Both the bodyguard and Tom flinched at her sudden fury. Barush Sniggle forced a laugh a moment later.

"You little gutters.h.i.te, you sewer froth, you touch my hair and I swear I'll rip you apart," Vi said, trembling.

He swore at her and ripped out the leather thong that bound her hair back. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders for the first time in years. She stood exposed, naked, and the men were laughing.

She went out of her mind. She was swearing, the Talent arching through her so powerfully it hurt. Her arms blasted through the men's hold on them and her fists cracked Tom Gray's and the bodyguard's ribs simultaneously. Before Tom could double up, she grabbed his hair in one hand. She stabbed fingers at the corners of his eyes, deep into the sockets, and tore his eyes out. She spun and men were screaming and running and in her confusion and fury she didn't even know which one to chase.

Vi didn't know how much time pa.s.sed while she vented her shame and fury on the two men.

When she came to herself, her hair covered with a blood-soaked rag, she was sitting on a stoop. The Shinga and the boys had fled. There was no one on the street except for her imperturbable horse, standing still until she called it as she trained it, and two man-shaped lumps lying in the street.

Walking unsteadily toward the horse, she pa.s.sed right by what had been Tom Gray and the bodyguard. The corpses were a ruin. She'd-Nysos-she'd never even drawn a weapon, and she'd done this. Her stomach lurched and she vomited in the street.

It's just a simple job. The G.o.dking will forgive me for not killing Jarl. I'll be a master. I'll never have to serve Hu Gibbet in the bed or anywhere else, not ever again. I kill Kylar, and then I'm free. It's close, Vi. So close. You can make it.

Sister Jessie al'Gwaydin was dead. Ariel was sure of it. The villagers hadn't seen her for two months and her horse was still in the innkeeper's stable. It wasn't like Jessie, but taking risks was. Stupid girl.

Sister Ariel knelt as she entered the oak grove, not to pray, but to extend her senses. This grove was as far toward the Iaosian Forest as the locals were willing to go. The villagers of Torras Bend prided themselves on their practicality. They saw nothing superst.i.tious or foolish about giving the Hunter the same wide berth their ancestors had. The tales they had told her weren't wild-eyed ravings. Indeed, they were believable because of their lack of detail. her senses. This grove was as far toward the Iaosian Forest as the locals were willing to go. The villagers of Torras Bend prided themselves on their practicality. They saw nothing superst.i.tious or foolish about giving the Hunter the same wide berth their ancestors had. The tales they had told her weren't wild-eyed ravings. Indeed, they were believable because of their lack of detail.

Those who entered the forest didn't leave. Simple as that.

So the villagers fished in the meandering Red River and collected wood right up to the edge of the grove, but there they stopped. The effect was jarring. Centuries-old oaks ab.u.t.ted directly on bare fields. In some places, younger oaks had been cut down, but once the trees reached a certain age, the villagers wouldn't touch them. The oak grove had been slowly expanding for centuries.

She felt nothing here, nothing beyond the cool of a forest, smelled nothing except clean damp air. When she rose and walked slowly through the low undergrowth, she kept her senses attuned, pausing frequently, stopping when she imagined she felt the slightest trembling in the air. It made for slow progress, but Ariel Wyant Sa'fastae was noted for her patience, even among the Sisters. Besides, it was recklessness that had gotten Jessie al'Gwaydin killed. Probably.

Though it was only a mile wide, it took her a long time to traverse the oak grove. Each afternoon, after marking her progress, she returned to the inn and slept and took her only meal of the day-the weight was coming off, blast it, if slowly. Each night she returned to the forest, on the chance that whatever magics had been placed on the forest were affected by the time of day.

On the third day, Ariel came within sight of the forest itself, and the line between the oak grove and the forest proper was stark-obviously magical. Still, she didn't hurry her progress. Instead, she moved even more slowly, more carefully. On the fifth day, her patience paid off.

Ariel was thirty paces from the line between oakgrove and forest when she felt the ward. She stopped so abruptly she almost fell down. She sat, heedless of the dirt, and crossed her legs. The next hour she spent simply touching the ward, trying to get a feel for its texture and strength, without using magic of her own.

Then she began to chant softly. Though she worked long into the night checking and double-checking and triple-checking that she was right and that she hadn't missed anything, the weaves were simple. One simply registered whether a human had crossed the boundary. The second, slightly more complicated, marked the intruder. It was a weak weave that clung to clothing or skin and dissipated after only a few hours. Cleverly, Ezra-Ariel was making an a.s.sumption, but she thought it was good one-had put the weave so low to the earth that it might mark the intruder's shoes, so low that it would be covered by the undergrowth. clothing or skin and dissipated after only a few hours. Cleverly, Ezra-Ariel was making an a.s.sumption, but she thought it was good one-had put the weave so low to the earth that it might mark the intruder's shoes, so low that it would be covered by the undergrowth.

The real cunning of it, though, was the placement. How many magi had seen the obvious line thirty paces beyond this and walked right through the trap before they raised their defenses?

It would be easy to circ.u.mvent the trap now that she saw it, but Sister Ariel didn't. Instead, she wrote her findings in her journal, and returned to Torras Bend. If she'd made any mistakes, she would die before she got back to the inn. It made for a tense walk. Her soul soared at the thought of dismantling Ezra's ancient magic, but she didn't give in to the temptations of arrogance.

The Speaker's letters were getting shriller, demanding that Ariel find Jessie, that Ariel do something to help her avert the rising crisis with the Chattel. Ariel kept her eyes open, hoping to find a woman who might serve her sister's purposes, but the villagers of Torras Bend were careful to send away every child who showed the least Talent. Ariel wouldn't find what Istariel needed here.

So she ignored the letters. There was a time and a place for haste. It wasn't here and it wasn't now.

25

Viridiana Sovari?"

Hearing her name made Vi skid to a stop in the crowded market. A dirty little man bobbed his head nervously. He extended a note toward her, but she didn't take it. He was being careful not to stand close to her and he wasn't ogling her, so she guessed that he had an inkling of what she was. He smiled obsequiously, shot a look at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then stared stubbornly at his feet.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"No one important, miss. Just a servant of our... mutual master," he said, eyeing the crowd around them. Her heart turned to ice. No. It couldn't be. He extended the note again, and as soon as she took it, he disappeared into the crowd. be. He extended the note again, and as soon as she took it, he disappeared into the crowd.

"Moulina," the note read. "We are curious indeed how you knew Jarl was going to Caernarvon, but that you did know tells us that you are indeed the best. We also desire that you deal with Kylar Stern. We prefer him alive. If this is not possible, we require his body and all belongings, no matter how trivial. Bring them immediately."

Vi closed the note. It was impossible that the G.o.dking knew where she was. Impossible that a note from him had beat her here. Impossible that Jarl could be here-Jarl, whose ident.i.ty was supposed to be secret. Jarl, whom she'd been fleeing! Impossible to do what the G.o.dking asked. But the greatest impossibility was the only impossibility now: it was impossible to escape. Vi was the G.o.dking's slave. There was no way out.

Somehow Kylar had been roped into making the dinner for Uly's birthday. Aunt Mea had said no man should be intimidated by a kitchen, and Elene had said that compared to the potions he made, a dinner and dessert should be easy, and Uly just giggled as they put him in a frilly lace ap.r.o.n and dabbed his nose with flour.

So Kylar found himself with his sleeves rolled up, trying to figure out arcane cooking terms like blanching and roux and proofing. From Uly's giggles, he suspected they'd stuck him with the hardest recipe they could find, but he played along.

"What do I do after the jelly, uh, weeps?" he asked.

Uly and Elene giggled. Kylar struck a pose with the spatula, and they laughed out loud.

The door to the smithy opened and Braen walked in, dirty and smelly. He gave Kylar a flat look that made him lower the spatula, deflated, but he refused to wipe the flour from his nose. Braen turned his eyes to Elene and looked her up and down.

"When's dinner?" he asked her.

"We'll bring it out to your cave when it's ready," Kylar said.

Braen grunted and told Elene, "You ought to find yourself a real man."

"You know," Kylar said as Braen shuffled back toward the smithy, "I know a wetboy who'd like to pay that cretin a visit."

"Kylar," Elene said.

"I don't like the way he looks at you," Kylar said. "Has he tried anything with you?"

"Kylar, not tonight, all right?" Elene said, nodding toward Uly.

He was suddenly aware of the ring box in his pocket. He nodded. Putting a serious look on his face, he attacked Uly, who squealed, and flipped her upside down and draped her over his shoulder. He pretended not to realize she was there as he went back to cooking.

Uly yelped, kicking her legs and holding onto the back of his tunic with a death grip.

Aunt Mea came into the kitchen, clucking. "I can't believe it, we're all out of flour and honey."

"Oh, no," Kylar said. "How am I going to make the fifth mother sauce?" He set down his spatula and hunched over, extending his hands through his legs. On cue, Uly slid headfirst down his back and grabbed his hands in time for him to pull her through his legs. She landed on her feet, breathless and laughing.

"Isn't it someone's birthday?" Kylar asked.

"Mine! Mine!" Uly said.

He pulled silver out of each of Uly's ears while she giggled. Two silvers-it was a bonus the n.o.ble had given him. It left him and Elene with nothing again, but Uly was worth it. When he put them in Uly's hands, her eyes got big. "For me?" she asked like she couldn't believe it.

He winked. "Elene will help you find something good, all right?"

"Can we go right now?" Uly asked.

Kylar looked at Elene, who shrugged. "We can go with Aunt Mea," she said.

"I've got to peel the peas anyway," Kylar said. They snickered. He smiled at Elene and marveled again at how beautiful she was. He was so in love he thought his chest would burst.

Uly pranced to the door and showed Aunt Mea her coins. Elene touched Kylar's arm. "Are we going to be all right?" she asked.

"After tonight we are," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see." He didn't smile. He didn't want to give it away. If he smiled, he'd grin like a fool. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face. He couldn't wait for other things as well. He shook his head and went back to cooking. Contrary to what he'd said, the meal wasn't hard to prepare. It was just messy. He slipped off his ring and put it on the counter before he picked up the raw meat-there wasn't much romantic about smelling like dead cow.

Elene and Uly and Aunt Mea had only been gone for about thirty seconds when there was a knock on the door. Kylar put down the spatula again and walked to the door. "What'd you forget this time, Uly?" he said as he grabbed a hand towel and opened the door.

It was Jarl.

Kylar felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He couldn't believe his eyes. But there he was, lean, athletic, impeccably dressed, as beautiful a man as you'd ever see, his dazzling white teeth showing an uncertain smile. "Hey-ho, Azo," he said.

Why that greeting? Was Jarl just being cute, or was he also throwing in an appeal to their history together? Definitely the latter. For a long moment, they just stood there, looking at one another. Jarl wasn't here for a visit. Jarl didn't visit. For the G.o.d's sake, the man was the Shinga. A true Shinga, the leader of the most feared Sa'kage in Midcyru.

"How in the nine h.e.l.ls did you find me, Jarl?" Kylar said, being cute too. It was what Jarl had expected Kylar to say the last time Jarl had shown up unexpectedly.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Please," Kylar said. He put some ootai on and sat across from Jarl, who helped himself to a seat by the window. Silence.

"There's this job-" Jarl began.

"Not interested."

Jarl took that in stride. He pursed his lips and looked around the humble room quizzically. "So, uh... what is it about this that you like again?"

"Didn't Momma K teach tact?"

"I'm serious," Jarl said.

"So am I. You show up after I tell you I'm out of the business, and the first thing you do is insult the place I live?"

"Logan's alive. He's in the Hole."

Kylar just stared at him, uncomprehending. The words collided with each other and shattered on the floor, shards sparkling with the light of truth, but the whole nothing more than splinters and points too sharp to touch.

"All the wetboys are working for Khalidor. The resisting n.o.bles have retreated to the Gyre estates. Several of the frontier garrisons are still manned, but we have no leader who can unite us. There's some trouble up in the Freeze that the G.o.dking is worried about, so he hasn't done anything to consolidate his power yet. He thinks that the n.o.ble families will tear each other apart. And if we don't have Logan, he's right."

"Logan's alive?" Kylar asked stupidly.

"The G.o.dking has our former wetboys looking for me. It's part of why I came here. I had to get out of Cenaria until we could get word out that Kage himself is protecting me."

"No," Kylar said.

"Every day, the chances that Logan will be discovered get worse. Apparently none of the prisoners in the Hole has recognized him, but they've started throwing a lot of people down there. It might please you to know that Duke Vargun is one of them. Look at it as a little bonus. When you rescue Logan, you can kill that twist, too." Apparently none of the prisoners in the Hole has recognized him, but they've started throwing a lot of people down there. It might please you to know that Duke Vargun is one of them. Look at it as a little bonus. When you rescue Logan, you can kill that twist, too."

"What?" Kylar said. Wheels were turning too fast for him to catch up. "Jarl," he said. "Tenser isn't Tenser Vargun. Don't you see? He got himself thrown in the Hole so he can do the hardest time there is. Then they produce the real baron-alive-and Tenser is released. He comes to the Sa'kage a month later with a grudge for his false imprisonment and all the access of a duke and what happens?"

"We take him in," Jarl said quietly. "How could we resist?"

"And he destroys you, because he's not Tenser Vargun," Kylar said. "He's Tenser Ursuul."

Jarl sat back, stunned. After a minute, he said, "You see, Kylar? This is why I need you. Not just for your skills, for your mind. If Tenser's there right now, he's only going to wait long enough that his stay in the Hole is credible, and then he'll tell his father that Logan's in there. We have to go now. Now!"

The ring box was burning against Kylar leg. He looked through the open window as Jarl spoke, seeing the city he'd hoped would be his home for the rest of his life. He loved this city, loved the hope here, loved healing and helping, loved the simple pleasure of being praised for his potions. He loved Elene. She proved to him that he could do more good by healing than by killing. It all made sense... and yet... and yet....

"I can't," Kylar said. "I'm sorry. Elene would never understand."

Jarl rocked back on two legs of the chair. "Don't get me wrong, Azo, because I grew up with Elene too, and I love the girl. But why do you give a s.h.i.t what she thinks?"

"f.u.c.k, Jarl."

"Hey, I'm just asking." Then he let the question sit, his eyes never leaving Kylar's face.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he really had been studying under Momma K for all those years.

"I love her."

"Sure, that's part of it."

Again, that I'm-waiting stare.

"She's good, Jarl. I mean, like people aren't good where we came from. Not good because it will get her something. Not good because people are watching. Just good. At first I thought she was just made that way, you know, like your skin is black and I'm devastatingly handsome."

Jarl raised an eyebrow. He didn't laugh.

"But now I've seen that she has to work at it. She does work at it, and she's been working at it for as long as I've been working at learning to kill people."

"So she's a saint. Doesn't answer my question," Jarl said.

Kylar was silent for a full minute. He rubbed the grain of the wood table with a fingernail. "Momma K used to say that we become the masks we wear. What's under the mask for us, Jarl? Elene knows me in a way no one else does. I've changed my name, changed my ident.i.ty, left everything and everyone I've ever known. I'm all lies, Jarl, but as long as Elene knows me, maybe there is a real me. Do you know what I mean?"