"I know," said Darrow. "You have to get your friend out of his cell."
"First you will help me carry Eckert back to the tall-house."
Darrow considered the likelihood of escaping once the cleric had brought him back to the tallhouse, where Uskevren family guards would no doubt keep him for questioning. While he had little doubt the cleric could reduce him to a tidy pile of ashes if she desired, he would never have a better chance to escape her than now, when she was concerned for Eckert's life.
He turned and ran.
"Hold it!" she yelled after him.
He clenched his teeth and kept on running, fearing with every step that he would feel the first pangs of paralysis or the searing heat of divine fire.
Darrow hastened back to House Malveen. His mind was filled with conflicting hopes and schemes. He did not trust Rusk to follow through on his promise of demanding Maelin's freedom. Even if he asked, and even if Stannis consented, there was still Radu to consider. The calculating swordsman would never permit such a loose end to dangle from these mad schemes he had opposed from the start. If he could slay them all, he would no doubt kill every member of the pack to keep his brother's plots secret.
He thought about defecting to the side of Talbot and his allies, but Maleva's daughter would be unlikely to trust a werewolf after learning of her mother's death, much less help him. There was no guarantee that Talbot would lift a finger to help the daughter of his faithless servant, either.
Most confusing of all was the question Darrow had never dared to ask himself over the past year. Why did he care at all whether Maelin lived? Her only overtures to him had been coerced by her situation, and they could hardly be genuine. She was not the most beautiful woman Darrow had ever seen and definitely not the most charming. The closest he could come to answering his own question was to say he did not like to see her confined. He wanted to meet her outside of her captivity, to hear her thank him for placing himself in such danger on her behalf. Beyond this vague fantasy, Darrow's obsession remained a confounding mystery.
The pack was listless in the confines of the Malveen warehouse. Some of them had cleared a place for Ronan's corpse to lie. They would take it back to the Arch Wood, where they would leave it exposed to the elements, returning his essence to the land he once roamed.
Brigid and Karnek squatted around the cold fire pit Rusk had made two winters past. They spoke quietly, and occasionally one or two of the others would join them, usually after a few words with Sorcia.
The others paced the floor or clambered over the stacks of lost cargo, chasing rats or breaking open dusty crates to examine their contents. No one could sleep.
An hour after sunset, Morrel returned with the news that a red-haired werewolf had helped free Talbot from his prison cell.
"Feena," said Rusk, with mingled ire and admiration.
He glanced at Barrow to see his reaction. If he saw one, he did not comment on it.
"They'll go into hiding," said Morrel. "We must track them down."
"Yes," said Rusk, "but they will not go far. Our host has seen to that. When he goes to his servant, he will hear that his family has refused to aid him. He will have nowhere left to turn, except to me."
"You mean to Malar," said Morrel.
Rusk waved his hand irritably. "That's what I said."
Hours later, Rusk returned to the River Hall to confer with the Malveens. Darrow began to follow him, but Rusk pushed him back from the door.
"You won't be needed this time," he said.
"You'll ask about Maelin?" said Darrow.
"I have not forgotten," said Rusk, closing the door behind him.
Darrow turned to rejoin the pack, but Sorcia stood in his way. No one else was nearby.
"Do you truly believe he'll free your captive princess?" asked Sorcia.
"Why wouldn't he?"
"Because he knows you for the simpering toady you are," she said. "The only reason he lets you live is to feed his dwindling pride."
"Then why does he let you live?" asked Darrow. "He hears your whispers. He knows you question his every move."
"Yes," said Sorcia, "and so I make him stronger, so long as he can keep his place."
"Somehow, I doubt he would see it that way."
"You think you know his mind?" Sorcia asked. "What do you think he's saying to Stannis now? Is he begging permission to take your sweetheart into the pack?"
"One day you'll eavesdrop on the wrong conversation," warned Darrow.
"What makes you think I overheard you? Rusk told us all about your pathetic request. No one laughed louder than he."
"You lie," said Darrow.
"Do I?" said Sorcia. "I bow to your greater experience."
She sauntered away, glancing once over her shoulder to see Darrow standing alone by the door to the River Hall.
He clenched his fists to calm the trembling, but it did no good. His skin felt prickly cold, and he could not tell whether fear or anger was the cause. If what Sorcia said was true, he could not bear to return to the pack.
He turned back to the door and felt the latch. It was not locked. With one last look around to see that he was alone, Darrow slipped into the western wing of House Malveen and closed the door silently behind him.
He sniffed for any scent of Stannis's minions, but they were nowhere near. They must be attending the vampire and his guest on the grand promenade, he figured. His chances of approaching them undetected were practically nil, unless he ascended to the upper floors. He circled around to the servants' quarters and climbed the stairs, moving cautiously to keep the sagging floors from creaking. It took him over twenty minutes to reach the balcony at such a deliberate pace. He was rewarded with the sound of Rusk's laughter.
"For all his eccentricities, I appreciate your brother's friendship," he said. "Yet I admire your pragmatism, Radu. We are more alike than you might think."
Darrow peered over the edge of the balcony. Below him, Rusk sat comfortably in a leather chair beside the counting table. Radu stood behind it, his hands folded behind his back.
Undeterred by Radu's silence, Rusk continued in a more serious tone, "You should be more friendly. Our alliance was most profitable for your uncle, years ago. Perhaps you would like to return the baiting pit to its original purpose?"
"Mere sport is not worth such a risk," replied Radu.
"How could it be more risk than acquiring opponents for your private duels?" said Rusk. "And how can you collect wagers from an uninvited audience?"
"Bloodsport is still illegal in Selgaunt," said Radu. "And every member of an audience means another tongue to wag."
"And are you not adept at severing wagging tongues?"
"You forget that we do not own this property. Our family legacy… it is forbidden to us."
"Only because you let them forbid you," said Rusk. "You are too cautious, Radu. You should be bold, take chances."
"My mother was bold," said Radu. "And so were you, the night you lost that arm."
"A mistake I shall soon mend," said Rusk amiably. "You are correct, Radu. One can be too bold, and I know you wish only to protect your family. It is one of the things we have in common."
"Your pack?"
"Indeed," said Rusk. "I watch over them as if they were my own children."
"Even Darrow?"
"Sometimes children must be punished."
Darrow had heard more than enough. He crept away even more cautiously than before, slowly making his way to the other side of the grand promenade. There he listened for Rusk and Radu to leave the River Hall. When he was sure they were gone, he descended to the ground floor and slipped across to the portrait gallery.