A small hearth lit the room with a soft glow. The place was comfortable and clean, but like the innkeeper's face, merely pleasant and not truly noteworthy. There were only two other patrons. Old men sat near the front door, smoking their clay pipes as they talked in low voices, while young Vatz brought them tin tankards on an old wooden tray.
Leesil found himself thinking of their double-sided stone fireplace set in the center of the Sea Lion's common room. He thought of his faro table, and Chap circling the hearth with sharp eyes, and Magiere in her leather vest-or perhaps her blue dress-behind the long polished bar.
"This place doesn't compare, does it?" Magiere said.
Leesil looked up to find her watching him intently. Apparently he'd slipped up, his thoughts obvious to read on his face.
"No, I suppose nothing would," he answered. "Who'd ever think I'd be homesick?"
There was long moment's silence before she replied.
"Home remains a long way off, if today is any measure. We should ask Chetnik to call for us when another attack is reported. If we can get Chap there quickly, he might pick up a trail."
Leesil frowned. Chetnik was the last person he wanted involved.
"You mean another attack is reported, and there are two undeads out there, by our best guess. Lanjov's grief and arrogance are eating up his patience, so if it's about getting paid, we need to find the nobleman from your vision first, and quickly. We've no clues, and what little we've found points to this roaming female."
"So what do you propose?"
"I don't know." Leesil shook his head. "But I've been thinking about the fight eventually to come and preparations to make. Also, we're on our own. No townsfolk to organize, so we can't particularly lay a trap and draw them in. That means hunting them down while remaining undetected."
"We already know this," she argued. "What about your little excursion to a weaponsmith?"
"It's more than just the hunt," Leesil answered, shaking his head. "And you'll see-I hope soon-what's coming from the smithy."
Magiere appeared about to press with more questions, but Leesil continued before she could get in a word.
"We have to get to these creatures while they're unaware and off guard. If they're working together, we need to take them separately. I want the advantage, and I want them outnumbered. That means quick changes in tactics and proper supplies."
Magiere stared at him silently from across the small table. The hearth's light painted her white skin with amber, and set off crimson glimmers in her black hair. In the moment's distraction, Leesil didn't quite catch the suspicion growing in her eyes. Her face, drawn and fatigued, was still beautiful.
"Just like your old times, yes?" she said, but with no warmth in her voice.
Leesil stiffened. "What?"
"You've done this before."
Leesil assumed she was jesting with him. "We both have done this-"
"No," she cut him off.
He was completely confused. "What are you talking about?"
"I never realized how cunning-even sly-you were until Miiska," she began. "You've always been nimble, and I've seen you take down someone twice your size. But there's more to it, isn't there? Maybe something to do with all those mornings you disappeared into the woods."
Leesil's nerves hummed with tension. Now wasn't the time to explain things she wouldn't want to know.
"And lately, you've been…" She stopped, and he saw determination settle on her face. "Leesil, were you just a thief before we met?"
She'd never asked him this, never even come close to it. The crux of their life on the road had been to leave the past well enough alone. There was only the day at present and perhaps the day ahead, and nothing else had mattered.
"I was someone else living another life. Someone you wouldn't want to know," he said finally. "Now I'm someone who needs to find a good crossbow."
Magiere slumped on her stool.
"All right. We'll try to pick one up tomorrow." She gazed vacantly toward the fire. "We prepare what we can and, once we locate the undeads, if possible, we do exactly what we did before: track them down and take them before sunset. It would have worked last time had we found them more quickly."
Leesil felt his tension ebb but not completely. There were only so many times he could evade her, and he was using them up.
"Yes, if we do this right," he offered, "there may not even be much of a fight."
"Or need to burn anything down," she snapped without looking at him.
Her tone wasn't truly accusing, but even if it had been, it wouldn't have mattered. She'd been unconscious and bleeding to death with her throat slashed open. Rashed was after them, and there was no other option. So he'd burned Miiska's largest warehouse down-and he'd do it again without a second thought. There was no argument as to what came first as he sat there watching her.
Leesil folded his hands on the table and looked down at the scar of teeth marks on his tanned wrist.
"If there's a fight, if you're cut again," he said, trying to reassure her, "I'll be there for you. I know what to do now."
When he raised his head, Magiere glared at him, eyes wide. Her words came out in a hiss of breath.
"Don't ever say that to me again."
Her hands pressed hard into the table, and Leesil thought he heard a creak from the wood. Teeth clenched, her expression was caught between fear and anger, and she looked at him as if he were an undead.
"Magiere, I just meant-"
"I know what you meant."
She pushed back from the table. Leesil saw her anger fade, to be replaced by something painful in her blinking eyes.
"I'm tired," she whispered. "I'm going up to sleep."
"You need to eat. I was trying to offer assurance. This isn't the old game. I just wanted you to know I will be with you, no matter what it takes."
"Don't be such a dolt," she said, and her voice returned to its familiar, bad-tempered tone. "I could never do any of this without you-and Chap."
Leesil's heart pounded in his chest as he nodded. He was uncertain what had just happened, but now was obviously not the time to press for answers.
"I have an idea," he said. "Bela's a large city, the biggest port on this end of the continent, and all we've done is work. Let's forget the mutton stew and find a bit of something special. There's bound to be a high-class inn or an exotic eatery around here. We can't do anything else until tomorrow, so why not enjoy ourselves?"
"Aren't you tired?" she asked in mild disbelief.
"Exhausted. My feet are going to fall off any moment." He grinned. "But let's go anyway."
He watched her expression relax, and though he rarely tried to charm her as he did with others, he knew his expressive moods were infectious.
"We don't know how long we'll be here." She shook her head. "Our coins have to last. I think we've enough to keep us for a while if we're careful."
Leesil collapsed upon the table with an audible groan.
"All right, enough dramatics," she said. "You said you bartered for whatever that smith is making, and there are still the coins you took back on the schooner. So I suppose we can afford what you have leftover."
Leesil's breath caught in his throat, and he tried not to let his checks flush as he raised his head with an innocent look. "Oh, didn't I tell you? I-"
"Did you lose it?" she asked. "Not all of it? To those sailors?"
"Well, I had to pay for my share of their grog, and then I lost a few hands of Jack o‘ Knives, just to be polite. I was about to start winning when Chap sounded the alarm and-"
"You were too drunk to fight!" Magiere shouted, and slammed her hand down so hard that the table bounced. "I've seen you fight with your face slashed open, but you're a second-rate gambler even when you're sober."
"I am not!"
"I can't believe you didn't tell me this sooner," she continued. "You lost it all to a bunch of drunken deckhands?"