"He still might be of use," Daerovus said.
The outcome of Icelin Team's ordeal would be revealing in more ways than one, if everyone involved survived.
Ruen slid the saw pawn away in his shirt and checked to be sure Icelin was still asleep. After sleeping through the butcher's heavy snores, he was certain it would take a cannon blast to wake her.
He looked up at the hatch. The square of sunlight had disappeared. A sliver of moonlight spilled down the ladder in its place. He could hear bodies stirring above decks. They would be coming to ready him for the Cradle in another bell.
Automatically, he felt for his ring. He'd known the guards would confiscate it, but he still felt naked. Whatever else came of the fight, his body was going to hurt like unholy fire after it was over. He just hoped the old man wouldn't let him die.
The dream took her again.
She stood in the center of the ruined tower, looking straight up at the sun burning through a gap in the ceiling. Her skin tingled. The hair stood up on her arms. She didn't like this place. The shadows moved when she wasn't looking. Frightened whispers-the footsteps of folk who'd walked and died here a century ago-made it impossible to hear her own thoughts. She turned in a circle, searching for the gap in the wall, but something impeded her.
I am a child, Icelin thought. Her limbs would not move properly. She stumbled and fell, scraping her knees on rock.
She started to cry. Her knees hurt. The sun burned her neck. It was so hot in the tower. Why didn't someone come to pick her up, to take her away from this place?
"Icelin," said a feminine voice. She didn't recognize it, but it spoke with enough urgency to make her turn. Icelin tried again to stand and was suddenly knocked from her feet.
"Get her out!"
The shadows were shouting at her. It was too hot. Icelin looked up, and her body burst into flames.
CHAPTER 11
Icelin awoke shivering, but her body poured sweat. Her bodice was saturated. She buried her head in her hands and waited for the dream fear to subside.
In the panic and grief of the night before, she'd almost forgotten the nightmare. After the boardinghouse fire, she'd been terrified of seeing the faces of the dead in her nightmares. But she only ever dreamt of the tower. It was a perversion of the tower Nelzun had created for her. She thought she'd left it behind when she'd left her great-uncle's shop, but the tower had followed her, to the warehouse and now here.
Drawing a slow breath, Icelin forced away the frightening images. Her heartbeat resumed its normal pace, and she drifted for a time, meditating, summoning the energy she would need to call her magic for another day. The words of the spells were there; she had no need to memorize them, but the power required concentration.
When she was finished, she opened her eyes and looked around, blinking in the darkness. Slowly, she recognized her surroundings. The ship's hold-their sanctuary for the day.
She longed to cover her head and sleep for days on end. The cold combined with the raw emptiness in her stomach forced her to a sitting position. Her hair, stiff from multiple dunkings in salt water, stood out in snarls all over her head. And the smell…
Icelin groaned. The smell was coming off her body. Seeing she was awake, Sull ambled over to sit next to her. The butcher looked and smelled as unkempt as she.
"How do you feel?" he asked tentatively. His face was pale under his red hair.
"Food," Icelin said. She tried to run a hand through her hair and ended up getting her fingers stuck. Cursing a streak that would have made Brant blush, she yanked her hand free. "Food," she repeated, and smiled for Sull's benefit. "Succulent lamb's stew, to start, with fresh vegetables smothered in butter. Sharp cheese melted on bread slices. For the main course"-she scrunched up her face, pretending to give the matter grave consideration-"nothing whatsoever that includes fish." She waved a hand imperiously. "That's my order. Off with you."
Sull's deep chuckle filled the hold. "Ah, thank you, girl. I was worried you'd lost your good humor forever." He shot her a look of chagrin. "As to the food: the waterskins are fine, but the rations are soaked. I don't think they're fit to eat. But I found this next to me when I woke up."
He handed her a loaf of crusty bread. Icelin tore off a hunk and bit into it, expecting the worst. Surprisingly, the bread was flavorful and chewy inside. She took several more bites and a swig from her waterskin and immediately started to feel better.
"Where's Ruen?" she asked, noticing for the first time that the thief-monk, she reminded herself-was not in the hold.
"Don't know," Sull said, but I heard a lot of activity going on up there. Must be near fightin' time."
Icelin listened to the footsteps clattering above them. Sull was right. The voices were building into a dull roar. She wondered how many people would be present for the fight. Her earlier apprehension returned in full.
Ruen meant to win them protection by fighting in the Cradle. But for how long could they realistically hope to stay safe? Icelin had never met Ruen's contact, but already she didn't trust the man. If Cerest offered him coin enough, Icelin had a feeling he would betray them in a heartbeat.
"Sull," she said.
The butcher slanted her a look, his mouth puffed up with bread. The sight made Icelin smile and twisted her heart at the same time.
"If Ruen succeeds tonight, I want you to leave us. I trust Ruen to take care of me, and I don't want you in anymore danger on my behalf."
"Aw, don't go startin' that foolishness again." Sull wiped the crumbs from his mouth with an angry swipe. "Doesn't matter what that thiePs done, you need me looking out for you, unless"-he hesitated, his face reddening-"unless you think I'm slowin' you down." He clenched his hands into fists. "I know I'm not much good in a fight."
"Sull, that's not what I-"
"I know it!" His face crumpled. He looked near tears. The sudden shift in mood caught Icelin completely off guard. "I know you're worried about me gettin' hurt on your account. It isn't fair-me strappin' myself to you, makin' you worry. Selfish is what it is."
"Selfish?" Icelin said incredulously. "You've risked your life over and over for me. I'm the one who's selfish and no good in a fight. Without you, Sull, I'd be lost." Icelin felt dangerously close to tears herself.
"But it isn't for you," Sull said, his voice barely audible. He dropped his head in his hands.
Feeling helpless, Icelin scooted closer to the big man and put her arm around his shoulders. "I don't understand," she said. "What do you mean, Sull? If not for me, why are you here?"
Sull sniffed loudly. He wiped his eyes but wouldn't look at her. "I love my shop," he said. "Always wanted one of my own, ever since I was a lad."
Guilt stabbed Icelin. "I'll get you back to your shop. I promise."
"No!" Sull roared. He jerked away from her as if he'd been stung. "Serves me right if the place burns to the ground. Let me finish, lass, I beg you."
Icelin nodded, staying silent.
"I love my shop," he continued, each word a trial for him. "In the eady days, all the folk knew me. Once I got established in the neighborhood, I helped others just startin' out. Wasn't anything to it, I just liked em and wanted 'em to have the same chance I got. So I gave meat to the baker and the blacksmith, kept em fed over two winters so they would have coin to spare for their wares. I spent the summer helpin' Orlan Detrent put a roof over his cow pen. Hot as the Nine Hells, it was, but we laughed over a pitcher of ale afterwards."
"That's wonderful," Icelin said. "They were lucky to know you."
Sull's eyes filled with fresh misery. "Not so lucky. You put me too high in your heart, lass, and I don't deserve it. I made friends with a lot of folk, so when Darthol and his boys came to the neighborhood, they knew to come straight to me."