Nightfall recoiled from his thoughts, finding them as ugly as those that had made him despise Kelryn in the first place. Dyfrin had taught him to control that villainous rage that went beyond justice. "Kill enemies when you have to," the Keevainian had once said. "But do so with calm dispatch. Uncontrolled violence is doomed to failure, in its consequences as well as its actions. Emotion is the enemy of rationality and logic. When it becomes strong enough to guide your conduct, your life is no longer your own."
Edward slept soundly through Nightfall’s considerations. Kelryn, however, grew fretful as night slipped toward its darkest hours. She rolled and whimpered in her sleep, apparently pursued by nightmares as disquieting as Nightfall’s thoughts. Occasionally, she cried out, wordless noises of fear that miraculously did not awaken Prince Edward. Distracted by her movement and vocalizations, Nightfall felt drowned beneath a sea of conflicting emotions; and the path of control and personal right seemed blurry as a distant mountain peak in fog. He had no idea what course of action would serve him best, and that loss of direction whipped him nearly to panic. He found himself contemplating how his actions would affect others as well, and the foreignness of this consideration only added to the turmoil.
At length, Kelryn’s thrashing ceased. She cringed into a corner, like an infant in a womb; and her strangled sobs became comprehensible words. "No, no, no. No. Sorcerer. Blood. Pain." Her fists tightened, fingers blanching; and her tone changed from fearful to desperately angry. The intensity of emotion made him certain she was reliving trauma, not just dreaming. "He’s a vicious murderer. Kill him. Kill him. Oh, just kill him." She flopped to her other side, entreaties lapsing into silence.
Nightfall’s heart quickened, all concentration driven from him. He could only guess at the reference and meaning, could only surmise that she wrestled with a past reality that filled her head when sleep emptied it of the mundane. His own name fit perfectly into the scene. He could imagine her battling scruples, first denying the sorcerer his identity from conscience, then recalling that the man she protected was an assassin who deserved to die. He wondered at what price she had finally sold him.
That concept reawakened the uncertainties that had, so far, kept sleep at bay. One thing seemed certain. He needed to sort through the boil of idea and emotion assaulting him without Kelryn’s internal strife to disturb him. He needed to be alone.
Pulling a cloak over his sleeping gown, Nightfall slipped across the room and out the inn room door. He had no specific idea where to go, though he maintained enough presence of mind to realize it could not be far. He suspected Ritworth would need time to ponder his failure as well as the gash Nightfall’s dagger had torn through his side and hip as he sailed through the window. Still, Nightfall would remain within watching distance of all entrances to the inn or Edward’s room.
Nightfall padded down the empty corridor and the exit stairs. Many things about the previous night seemed as maddeningly illogical as his thoughts, and he tried to draw it all into one coherent explanation. Kelryn had honestly seemed happily surprised to see and recognize him, yet he had once believed in her love for him also. She could fool him as no one else had managed. He would have to draw his conclusions based on other things than the woman’s reactions. Her sleep-talk, at least, seemed more revealing.
Nightfall pushed open the outer door. The late spring air, filled with the scents of flowers and new greenery, helped to clear his head. As the fog lifted, his senses became more attuned and he recognized the soft patter of irregular, trailing footsteps. He slunk into the shadows.
Shortly, the door edged open. Apparently awakened by her own night-demons, Kelryn peered through, eyes scanning the stretches of pasture, trees, and roads between surrounding buildings. Nightfall waited only until she limped outside and closed the door quietly behind her. Then he seized one of her forearms, wrenching it against the small of her back, and wrapped his arm around her throat. He pressed a dagger to her cheek. "Don’t make a sound."
Kelryn choked off a scream with the help of pressure from Nightfall’s arm.
"Haven’t you done me enough harm? What more do you want from me?” he demanded.
Given their current position, the question seemed absurd. Kelryn rolled her gaze to Nightfall. “Marak, please. The last thing I would do is harm you. I love you."
Unconsciously, Nightfall tightened his grip. Red rage washed his vision, and he waited for it to pass.
Kelryn gasped. “You’re hurting me."
"Consider it payback.” Despite his words, Nightfall loosened his grip slightly as the world came back into focus. "In the morning, you’re going to tell Edward you appreciate his protection, but you’d rather stay with relatives. Then you leave and call off your sorcerer."
Kelryn cringed at the words. "My sorcerer?" The incredulity in her tone seemed impossible to feign. "My sorcerer? You can’t possibly believe I would choose the company of vicious killers."
The words sounded ludicrous from one who had once had a serious relationship with the primary criminal of the continent. "You chose my company."
Kelryn defended. "Before I knew who you were, I fell in love with you. Love defies logic. Besides, you never killed the innocent or killed without conscience the way sorcerers do. You liked to believe you were the demon everyone called you, but you never were. You never could be. That’s how I knew you wouldn’t carry through on your threat to butcher me."
Kelryn’s assertion enraged Nightfall, placing in question even the persona he believed to be his own. The demon seed. The godless murderer. He had little choice but to prove her wrong. To do otherwise would deny his very existence. Nightfall jerked Kelryn’s arm, spinning her to the ground. He crouched over her, one knee planted against her chest and the dagger hovering at her windpipe. "I have no mercy for traitors. Don’t mention love again. You betrayed me. You sold me to a sorcerer for what? Gold? Power? A trinket?" Nightfall’s own words gave him pause. Wars of conscience did not end cheaply, and surely trapping the most hunted and hated criminal on the continent should have bought her something more than another dancing job and a dingy room in a Noshtillian hall. Nothing in her quarters had suggested a hidden fortune. Yet, it would not be the first time Nightfall had met a person whose wealth had come too easily, who had spent every copper within months.
"What?" Kelryn stiffened beneath him, favoring her injured leg. "Marak, listen to me. I know how it looks-"
Nightfall increased his weight so the pressure on her chest cut off her protestations. "Nothing more. I’m not going to listen to any more of your lies. If you won’t tell Edward you’re leaving, I’ll just kill you and tell him you slipped away in the night."
Kelryn gasped for breath, squirming to free her lungs from his weight.
Nightfall dropped his mass back to normal, still feeling torn by the maelstrom of emotions and possible tactics. He could no longer suppress the reality he had tried so hard to deny when circumstances had finally brought him face to face again with Kelryn. Through all the hardships, the promise of revenge had propelled him long after other reasons for struggle had failed. It had proven stronger even than the fiery instinct for survival that had kept him alive on the streets. Yet, when his chance had finally come, he had frozen like a child caught stealing his first copper. It seemed as if Dyfrin’s teachings had chosen that moment to come together at once, fully coherent from the surface to the core of their morality. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he could not have killed Kelryn at that time. Nor, he doubted, could he do so now. The thing that had paralyzed him in her quarters was love. The hatred for her had grown and flourished, yet the love he now despised as much would not leave him.