“The Prisoner’s Carnival?”
“Luskan,” Myrin corrected. “This is a bad place for Kalen. It brings out something in him-something monstrous that I’ve seen but you haven’t. Not yet.”
“Nonsense.” Rhett crossed his arms and glared right back. “He may be ruthless, but he’s no monster. I’ve seen nothing to suggest otherwise.”
“Ask him about a dwarf named Rath,” Myrin said.
“Wrath?” Rhett asked. “For true?”
“Rath.” Myrin shrugged. “A dwarf murdered where he lay, helpless and bleeding.”
“Saer Shadow-Kalen did that?” Rhett’s eyes grew wide.
“Indeed he did.” Myrin closed her hands into tight fists, which started to burn with blue flame. “Oh, no doubt Rath deserved it-being a thief and an assassin and all-but Kalen Dren is no better than the brutes to whom he shows no mercy. Remember that.”
“Lady, you must be mistaken in some regard-”
He might have said more, but at that moment they heard a rough cacophony of barking, followed shortly by the appearance of four wild dogs among the rubbish, each of which rivaled a small pony in size. The dogs rushed forward, trailing white spittle from their twisted muzzles.
“Stay behind me, lady!” Rhett’s hand shot to Vindicator.
Myrin stepped past him and spread her fingers in a fan toward the hounds. Blue runes flared along her skin and a swath of flame cut through the dim alley light. The first dog of the pack pulled up short, engulfed in the flames. It yelped its way back the way it had come and the others followed suit.
“Oh,” Rhett said. “I see.”
Myrin turned to him without missing a beat. “I assuredly am not.”
The half-elf’s eyes opened wide after her display. “Am-you are not what?”
“Mistaken in some regard,” Myrin said. “You were just saying it, Sir Raddish.”
“Rhett, and sorry-one moment. My mind doesn’t run as fast as yours.”
“Or as far,” Myrin said. “While you’re struggling to remember, I suggest we make our way northward. Unless you’ve strenuous objections?”
“I do object,” Rhett said. “Strenuously.”
“Outstanding.” Myrin smiled. “Let’s go.”
After leaving the once-Prisoner’s Carnival, they walked northeast along the River Mirar and paused on the street of Cages Unfold. Myrin saw that the sign had once said Ages Untold. “That’s really quite clever,” she said.
Rhett furrowed his handsome brow. “Cages don’t fold, though.”
“It’s a metaphor for escaping one’s bonds, like this city-” Myrin paused when he frowned. “Let’s just move on.”
At their feet, the River Mirar was a muddy, polluted mess that looked almost like it would support their weight. This was a trap, however-a single step would send either of them to a stinking, choking demise, which Myrin did not fancy. The bridge over the canal was not much better: blasted, destroyed, and completely impassable. Some long ago conflict had smashed it to driftwood and metal shards.
“Well, that’s that, then,” Rhett said. “Better head back now-”
“A minor inconvenience,” Myrin said.
“Surely you jest, my lady,” Rhett said. “Even with ropes and climbing gear, getting across that mess would take hours.”
“If I were jesting, you’d know,” Myrin said, though she wasn’t so sure of that. Rhett did not seem the most insightful of men. Pretty, though. She stepped closer to him. “Touch me, please.”
“Lady Myrin!” Rhett said.
“Oh, for Mystra’s sake!” Myrin put an arm around him. With her other hand, she drew a circle of blue-gray fire in the air. The flame expanded and blossomed into a rift in the fabric of the world. Beyond her shadow door lay infinite darkness.
“Er,” Rhett said, “that’s not-”
She dragged him through the portal.
Myrin experienced the familiar sensation of falling backward through black emptiness. An instant later, they stood on the far side of the River Mirar.
“There,” she said.
Rhett reeled dizzily away from her and fell to one knee on the grime-encrusted stone. He covered his mouth with his hands.
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Myrin said. “I do it every day.”
“Not everyone does, however-some of us not even every lifetime.” Rhett grasped his stomach. “Just a moment. And kindly move your feet, lady?”
Myrin turned from the squire in distress and looked around. On the north shore, the buildings lay in worse repair than across the river, as though no one had even attempted to live in them for decades. Even the gang markings-which looked like a tower rising from a burning hand-were flecked and weathered.
Rhett groaned, and Myrin glanced back at him. “Ready?”
“Almost.” He put his hands on his knees. “That was an interesting oath you used back there-on the other side of eternity, I mean,” he said. “Miss? Mess-tra? I don’t even know what language that is. What does it mean?”
“Hmm.” To tell the truth, Myrin wasn’t sure where she’d heard the word. “I think it’s a goddess. But not one you know?”
“Alas, my lady,” Rhett said, “I was never very studious.”
The word came naturally to her lips, as it had often in the past. No one had ever remarked on it before, so she’d assumed it was a common curse. But maybe it did have a meaning. How long had she gone around in ignorance? It made her feel vulnerable, as though she’d neglected to lace her bodice fully.
For some reason, her mind wandered back a year ago, when she had been bound in a faraway Waterdeep tower. There, a woman was telling her she had a goddess inside her-or, at least, the death of one. Could she have meant-?
“I am ready to go, if we-” Rhett stared ahead. “That’s where we’re going?”
Myrin looked at the ancient water tower that rose in the center of the run-down district of the battered city they were in. “Yes,” she said. “Is there some reason we shouldn’t?”
“That’s the Throat,” Rhett said. “Home of the Master, who-”
“Enforces his rule over the north bank with an army of shambling corpses, more of which he makes from the desperate thieves who venture here from time to time, yes, yes,” Myrin said. “Kalen told me that, too. Don’t you ever think for yourself?”
“As little as possible, actually.”
“Thus, my point.” Myrin gestured to the tower. “The necromancer is the most likely suspect behind this scourge. So, here we are-to find out if that’s true.” She turned back to Rhett. “Come along or stay here, Sir Ratner. Your choice.”
The lad looked back across the river, considering, then drew up tall and put his hand to the hilt of Vindicator. He reminded her, in that moment, of Kalen-a younger Kalen who’d not yet lost himself in darkness.
“It’s Rhett,” he said finally. “And it occurs to me that you’re smart enough to remember that. Am I to take your insistence on getting my name wrong as an insult?”
“Hmm,” Myrin said in surprise. So the boy had some spine. “No insult intended.”
“You’re flirting with me then,” he said.
“What!” Myrin felt her face grow warm. “Nothing of the sort!”
“It’s quite flattering,” Rhett said. “But really, lady, I aim to protect you, and I’d rather not have the distraction, if you don’t mind.” He shrugged. “We can flirt later.”
“That-um.” Myrin turned before he could see her blush. “Let’s go.”
Gods, this was odd.
When Rhett had joined the Waterdeep Guard, he hadn’t expected to be marching through the streets of a ruined thieves’ city, his hand constantly at his sword hilt, while his appointed ward plunged ahead without hesitation. And really, why should she be afraid? Her wizardry could handle any danger they faced.
Rhett really didn’t know what to think about Myrin. She seemed simultaneously naive and confident, and altogether quite unlike any woman Rhett had ever met. Also … Rhett had never considered himself a great thinker or even particularly intuitive. But even he could tell by the way that Myrin’s eyes grew clouded and her mouth set hard whenever he mentioned Kalen’s name that a story lay between them.