"Best not be coming back to the Cutter's Dip any time soon!"
The woman started to twist angrily. Keph held his grip on her and kept them moving.
"Bad odds," he muttered to her. "You can get back at them another time."
A moment later, they were through the tavern's door and out on the platforms of the Stiltways. Keph walked a short distance away from the Cutter's Dip, then let out a breath and released his hold on the woman.
"What did you do to get Stag and Drik so mad at you?" he asked her.
"They tried to rob me a tenday ago," she said bluntly. "I objected." She jerked her head at the door of the Dip. "This was just… unlucky. Thank you for your help."
Keph couldn't hold back a disdainful snort.
Dark, he thought, if Jarull and the other cultists saw this
"Don't thank me," he told her. "If Stag had held his tongue, I would have given you back to him."
The woman looked at him with disgust. "I guess I shouldn't have expected any more." She drew herself up as if she wore a noblewoman's finery instead of country clothes, and lifted her chin haughtily. "In that case, accept my apologies for interrupting your drink and my congratulations on a fight well fought."
Keph blinked at the change in her manner and cocked his head. Country wife, scrapper, noblethe woman had more sides than a loaded die. She must have recognized the surprise in his expression because she grimaced and shook her head.
"No," she said, as much to herself as to him it seemed. She looked at him and bent her head. "Thank you," she said with genuine gratitude. "Even if you don't accept itthank you."
"I…" He searched for words, something that would knock her back down. To his surprise, he couldn't find any. "You're… welcome," he told her haltingly.
She extended her hand. "Feena," she said.
"Keph," he replied, "but then, you already know that." He took her hand and bowed over it politely.
Feena started.
"Keph Thingoleir?" she asked, surprised.
Keph bit down on his tongue, let go of her hand, and said, "My reputation precedes me."
Feena seemed confused. "No," she said, "it's just… this is the second time tonight I've heard your name. And you shake hands like your father."
"I'm sure he'd be pleased to hear that," Keph snapped. He stepped away from her. "You should go."
She looked at him strangely. "I'm sorry if I"
"Go. And like Noyle said, best not be coming back any time soon."
"All right." Feena's expression hardened. "Will they come after you?"
Keph laid a hand on Quick. No weapons was an unspoken rule inside the Cutter's Dip, but outside was another matter.
"They can try."
"You'll be alone," she warned.
"I was waiting for a friend before you came along. He'll be here soon." He gave Feena a cold glare. "Leave!"
She turned and stalked awaythen paused and twisted to look back at him.
"I owe you," she said, then she turned back around and continued on.
"You don't owe me anything!" he shouted after her.
He turned to the railing of the platform and looked out into the darkness of the Stiltways.
Dark, he thought silently. Mistress of the Night, are you the only one who can see me as more than the failed son of Strasus Thingoleir?
He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then opened them again. He stood that way for a long while, listening as the sounds of the Cutter's Dip returned to normal at his back. The bleeding light of the tavern caught his shadow and threw it out, long and thin.
Heavy footsteps came creaking along the platform toward him. He twisted around. Jarull stood staring at him.
"What are you doing out here?" the big man asked in surprise.
Keph put on a false smile. "A little trouble," he laughed. "Nothing I couldn't handle." He swaggered up to his friend and punched him in the arm. "You should have been here. You would have enjoyed it!"
Jarull gave him a sober look and said, "Variance wants to see you."
All of Keph's swagger and bravado vanished. He slumped back against a wall.
"Dark, Jarull." He pushed his hands through his hair. "Did she say anything? Is she still angry?"
Three nights past, as he, Talisk, Starne, and Baret had staggered through the depths of the Stiltways celebrating his revenge against Lyraene, Variance had descended on them like the wrath of Shar herself. For Baret, still trembling after the Selunite's spell, the dark priestess's appearance had been too much. He had shrieked and dropped where he stood. Talisk and Starne had fled. Keph had found himself backed into a corner as Variance stalked after him, shadows surging as if brought to life by her rage.
"You fool," she had seethed. "You fool! What were you thinking?"
But she hadn't even given him a chance to explain, just pointed a finger at him and hissed, "You will not see me or know Shar's favor again until I send for you!"
His heart had gone cold. All he'd been able to do was stare as she turned and vanished into the shadows. He hadn't seen heror Bolansince. He had not been summoned to the Sharran temple. Starne, Talisk, and Baret had taken to shunning him. Even Jarull had seemed distant. And when he tried to work the orison that Variance had taught him at his initiation, there had been nothing. Not after a thousand desperate prayers and hours of sitting in the dark. Shar had not answered him.
If Variance wanted to see him He looked up at Jarull hopefully. The big man's face twisted.
"Hope is for the ignorant and the weak," he said in disgust. Keph flinched, and Jarull pointed and said, "There's a bookbinder's shop a street along that way and one level up. Go in. Variance is waiting for you."
Keph scrambled to his feet and ran in the direction his friend pointed.
He found the shop easily enough. It was closed for the night, of course. No light showed around the heavy shutters that covered its windows. Keph swallowed and reached for the door handle. The door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside, closing the door swiftly.
The shop smelled of leather, paper, and glue. Variance stood over a table on which half a dozen books were laid out. A single candle was set on the table as well, though its flame seemed writhed in shadow, dimming its light to the barest dull glimmer. The light certainly wasn't enough to read by. It came to Keph that Variance didn't need the light. She belonged to Shar. She lived within the darkness. The candle was there for him, a reminder of his weakness.
"Writing," Variance said without looking up, "is a marvelous thing. Someone can write down a thought they had or a story they heard or a description of something they experienced, and that thought or story or experience is preserved. It will last as long as the writing itself lasts. If the writing is copied, it can last even longer. Through writing, even the humblest man or woman can become, in a way, immortal. Without magic. Without the favor of the gods."
She reached out and turned a page in one of the books.. Keph waited in silence while Variance turned another page, and another. He wanted to fall down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. He didn't dare. What would another misstep cost him? He waited and the hollow in his heart seemed to grow into an empty, desolate void.
Just when it seemed he had to cry out or go mad, Variance finally looked up.
"And now," she said, "you begin to understand Shar's great sorrow. She may be the Mistress of the Night, but she is also the Lady of Loss. When Selune kindled fire in the darkness of creation, she did so without thought for her sister. Ever since that first dawn, Shar has ached for the simple peace that Selune tore from her." Variance stepped away from the table. "Do you understand, Keph?"
He nodded. He could feel tears on his cheeks. Variance studied him. When she spoke, her voice was soft.