"Because you're like me," Kalen said. "A lover of darkness."
Fayne stared at him another moment, anger and challenge in her eyes. Every bit of him burned-wanted him to lunge forward and grasp her, wrench the blanket from her body, throw the paladin aside and free the thief at his heart.
"I should go," she said finally. "You and I… she's the one for you, Kalen, not I. She is better for you." Fayne made to leave, but Kalen stopped her. This time, his grip was firm.
"I know well what's better for me," Kalen said. "And I want you instead."
Fayne blinked at him, wordless.
"Show me." Kalen ran his fingers along her cheek. "I want to see your face."
He saw the shift in her stance, could almost feel every hair on her body rise. He felt her bristle, the way a lion might just before ir pounces. "But you do see my face," she said, her tone dangerous. "I stand here before you, no illusions."
"That's a lie," Kalen said. "I've taken my mask off for you-take yours off for me."
He still held her by the wrist. Could he feel the blood thundering in her veins, or was he imagining it? His grip lessened.
"Run," Kalen said, "or take off your mask. Choose."
"Kalen, you can't-" she said. "Please. I'm frightened."
Perhaps I am cruel, Kalen thought. But Gedrin had taught him the value of pain, with that clout on the ear. Pain reveals who we truly are.
"You want it to be real, then choose." He shook his head. "I won't ask again."
Trembling, Fayne looked at him for three deep breaths. He was sure-so sure-that she would run. But then she drew her wand from her belr with a steady hand. He saw the tension in her body, practically felr her insides roiling and tossing like a rickety boat in a god-born storm, but she stayed calm.
She was like the thief he had been, he thought.
"Very well," she said.
She passed the wand in front of her face and a false Fayne slid away like a heavy robe, leaving her naked before him. Her true face took form-her skin and hair and body. All her lies vanished, and she was truly herself. Regardless of her shape, she was just a woman standing before a man.
Kalen said nothing, only looked at her.
Finally, Fayne looked away. "Am I…" she asked, her voice broken. "Am I really so repulsive?" t She tried to run, but he caught her arm once more. "Your name," Kalen said. "I want your name."
Fayne's eyes were wet but defiant. "Ellyne," she said. "Ellyne, for sorrow." Her fists clenched. "That's my name, damn you."
"No." Kalen looked down at her, his mouth set firm. "No, it isn't."
Fayne's knees quaked. "Yes, it-"
Then he kissed her, cutting off her words.
He kissed her deeper.
The blanket slipped down to the floor and her warm body pressed against him.
THIRTY
Cellica must have dozed at her work. She awoke at the table, needle and thread in hand, to the sound of muffled sobs. The tallhouse rooms were not large-only a central chamber five paces across that served for dining and sitting, and two smaller rooms for slumber. Cellica's room, from whence the sobbing came, was small by human standards, adequate for a halfling. It boasted a window-Kalen, in one of his rare thoughtful moments, had cut it out of the wall.
Myrin was crying, she realized. But why? "Kalen," she murmured.
Cellica slipped down from the chair and padded over to Kalen's door. She peered through the keyhole, much as she expected Myrin musr have She looked just long enough to see Kalen's back, a pair of feminine arms wrapped around it, and knew instantly what had happened. She pulled away and her face turned into an angry frown. "Kalen, you stupid, stupid-"
She hurried to her chamber. Sure enough, Myrin was clad in her red gown again, though it was now much rumpled. She sar in the corner, compacted as small as she could manage, and bit her knuckles. She smelled of honeysuckle-Cellica's favorire and only perfume.
"Oh, peach, peach," Cellica said. She crossed to Myrin and embraced her. "It's not your fault. You know that, right?"
Myrin sobbed harder and leaned her head against Cellica's chest. Where their skin touched, Cellica felt a tickle of magic.
It. wasn't difficult for the halfling to connect events. Behind the closed door, Myrin had doffed the more practical attire they'd receive4 at the Menagerie in favor of the red gown, which she'd asked Cellica to mend and clean earlier that day. Armed with that-and Cellica would confess readily that she looked a true beauty-and a bit of Cellica's perfume, she'd padded out to Kalen's room. fBut Fayne had pounced on Kalen first.
Cellica cursed the man. How could he be so blind? Myrin had been throwing herself at him ever since that morn when they met. No wonder nothing had ever come of Kalen and Araezra. Cellica was surprised Rayse still spoke to the dumb brute.
"There, lass, there." Cellica stroked the girl's hair. "Kalen's just an idiot."
Myrin wrenched away. "No, he's not!" she said. "You know he isn't. Shut up!"
The halfling blinked, stunned by her outburst, and leaned away. She tried to speak, but a compulsion in Myrin's words had stolen her speech.
My voice, Cellica thought. She took my voice?
The girl's anger turned to a sob. "He doesn't love me," Myrin said. "I thought maybe he followed me from the ball because he loved me, but… but…" She sniffed and wiped her cheeks. "He followed because it was his duty, because he was guarding me. That's all."
"But that's not true," Cellica said. "I've never seen him look-"
"Go away," Myrin said. "Take your false hopes and just go away!"
Cellica found herself rising to her feet without thinking. Her conscious mind wanted to stay and talk, but her body obeyed without her consent.
It was the voice. Cellica's own command, but from Myrin's lips. How was this possible?
"Go away and go to sleep," Myrin said. "Here." She handed Cellica the blanket.
The halfling closed her door softly, leaving Myrin alone in her chamber. She wandered, increasingly sleepy, into the kitchen and main room. She felt so tired, as though she had run fifty leagues that day. Just a little She slumped down on the floor and was snoring before her chin hit her chest.
"Mother!" Fayne gasped, waking with a start, that one word on her lips.
Merely a nightmare, she assured herself with some disgust. She'd been sleeping again.
Fayne leaned back, her naked body glistening with sweat, while the world drifted back. A sparse tallhouse chamber. A plain bed. A man sleeping beside her, head nestled in her lap. Her tail curled around him like a purring cat, restlessly flicking back and forth.
Who was this man, and why did she smile when she thought of him?
She remembered the dream. An elf woman screamed and tore at herself to fight off a horror that existed only in her mind. A gold-skinned bladesinger without a heart moaned on the rough, slick floor. Fayne's own mother, dark and beautiful and dead, lay impaled at her feet. The cold, bone wand in Fayne's tiny hand sent pain through her arm and into her soul.
And the girl-Fayne had seen the girl wreathed in blue flames. The girl flickered into being just as Fayne's mother's magic burned her from the inside out.
She looked down at the muscled, scarred man who embraced her naked thighs and slept. Kalen, she remembered.
Then ir all returned, chasing the nightmares away once more. She whisrled in relief.
Gods, she hated sleeping. So barbaric. It limited more pleasant activities, anyway.
Fayne slipped out of Kalen's embrace and left him on the bed alone. She smiled at him for a moment before shaking her head. "Belt up, lass," she chided. "You're going all giggly."
She emptied the chamber pot out the wall chute-again, a barbaric necessity-and sat on the cold floor for a moment, collecting herself. Then she rose and stretched.