AURIN

Where his son had stood there was nothing now but empty air. Locke turned and met Edwin’s eyes, taking a deep breath and swallowing against the lump in his throat.

“He looks just like you,” the assassin said flatly, glancing down at Melisande’s motionless form.

Locke let out a bark of laughter that was utterly devoid of mirth. “You cannot think that this will all stop with me, or with him.” He shook his head. “When will it end, Ed?” His eyes dimmed. “When will the Strahlend stop being afraid, and from lashing out to try to quench that fear with blood?” He rubbed his beard. “First Siobhan ... now me. Edwin, the Dark Place is—”

“Hsst.” Edwin pursed his lips and glanced away with a jerk of his head. Even they did not know its location any longer—they had not for many years—but the old superstition was still strong. “Locke, my friend, we reached the goal we fought for so many years ago.” Stillness fell over him once again. His brown eyes glittered. “The monster is caged. As long as peace holds sway, I’ll be damned if I care why the fear and magic remain.” He was like a statue. His lips barely moved as he spoke. “Now bring Melisande back and let’s get on with it.”

RUBY

Ruby pulled the door of the house open with a delighted laugh, casting a wide, affectionate grin behind her at the man on the stairs as she headed off into the night. The chill autumn air swept over her and the gentle breeze took away the visible clouds of her breath. Her cheeks were flushed with something brighter than mirth as she strode toward the inn where she was staying and the charming grin faded into a smaller, pleased smile.

She thanked the gods for her curse, some days. Congenital dishonesty was a great boon in politics.

The magic that governed her to her very core had made seducing the councilman effortless. Now she was party to the secrets that would allow her to ruin him and subtly redistribute his power to the other members of the council of the city, steering each of them delicately toward the conclusions she wanted them to reach.

She had spent months convincing him that she sided with him over the plan that was his deepest concern. Now he relied on her completely to turn the minds of the others to his way of thinking. He had trusted her to win their support. Unfortunately for him, that was not what she had done. She had been slowly, with a comment there and a glance here, turning the other six council members against him, while cautioning them that he must not suspect their cooling sentiments lest he push through his rash construction plan for the western bridge.

Now her patient machinations were about to come to fruition. A pleasant warmth that had nothing to do with her recent carnal exertions spread over her. This game of hers would gain her and her sister the information they desperately needed, and with no one able to point to her or prove anything once her poor fool was dead by the hand of one of his colleagues.

She strode quickly over the cobblestones, covering the handful of blocks to her temporary home, then pushed open the door to the large, two-storied inn. The warmth and light within washed over her like a bubble of comfort; she brushed her curling brown hair over her shoulders as she stepped in. She smiled and nodded to the innkeeper, who shook his head at her disapprovingly as she went toward the stairs.

She paused before going over to him. "Is something amiss?" she asked, feigning concern.

The man waggled his mustache as he frowned. That mustache was his pride and joy, Ruby knew. Thick, well-groomed and slightly curled to points at the end. She thought it looked ridiculous. So did Pearl, unfortunately, which was one of the reasons that the innkeeper did not nurse any affection for her sister. "She started another fight, Ruby." He shook his head. "I don’t know how the two of you could possibly be twins. I just don’t understand it."

Now, because the concern was real, Ruby affected nonchalance. "I haven’t any idea," she answered with a smile and a shrug. "She wasn’t always that way," she lied. "Was there much damage?"

The innkeeper snorted, taking up a rag to wipe the bar. He nodded and flashed a genial smile as a man behind Ruby bid him good-night, then turned his attention back to the girl in front of him. "No, but she’s a bloody lip and I believe her tunic was torn in the scuffle. The man who she provoked was well in his cups and he had a hell of a temper."

"Serves her right," Ruby said with a smirk and a rueful shake of her head, something violent and furious clenching protectively inside her chest. She would find the man and make him regret laying a finger on her sister before they left the city. "Well, I appreciate you stepping in on her behalf. You’re a fine man, Archer." She knew then that he hadn’t stepped in on her sister’s behalf, that there was nothing fine about him, for a certainty.

The man blinked, started to say something, then closed his mouth and flushed. "Of course, Ruby. As a favor to you. Even if she and I don’t get on, you two are paying guests." He nodded to her, embarrassed by her kind words.

I ought to poison you in your sleep, you sonofabitch, she thought. "You are a true friend." She smiled, lying with her eyes and her mouth and her body and her voice, lying so that he could not do anything except believe her. "Now, I must go chide her for her boorish behavior." She nodded amiably to him, then turned and made her way up the stairs.

She pushed at the door of the room that she and her sister had shared since they had come to stay in Brenton. It was barred from the inside. Ruby opened her mouth to say something, then stopped, realizing that it would sound stupid. "Can you open the door?"

She heard stirring within, then the sound of the board being drawn back. Her sister opened the door and glared at her for a moment, her arm still barring the way.

Her sister’s face seemed to reflect her own ... or what her face might look like if she were drunker, more bitter and had just been hit in the face by some irate man. Their blue eyes were the same shade, like summer bachelor-button flowers, although Pearl’s were hard as flint and guarded when around others, while Ruby knew hers own were gentle and inviting.

Pearl’s lips were paler tonight, except the spot where there was a small cut and the flesh had begun to swell, but they were the same sweet shape. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and drink, where until a few moments earlier Ruby’s had been pink with a much more pleasant feeling. Pearl’s deep-blue tunic, a plain design but of fine fabric, was indeed ripped at the shoulder. She was wearing nothing but the tunic, which hung to her knees. Her hair, wavy and long like Ruby’s, framed her face in an untamed mess.

Pearl grabbed her arm and dragged her inside their room, shutting the door behind her and whirling to face her. "You were gone for almost four hours, Ruby. I expected you back much sooner. Why did you take so long?"

Ruby looked her over with a sigh, then glanced at the night table next to the bed a few feet away. An empty bottle of red wine lay on its side and beside it another stood only half-full. She could smell the wine on Pearl. "Drinking when you’re upset is always such a good idea," she commented with a roll of her eyes. "And rushing an important seduction always makes for success." Sarcasm was one of her favorite tricks at circumventing her curse, and she made quick use of it.

Pearl flushed. "I was upset," she answered defensively, flicking a glance at Ruby. She raised her fingers to touch her lip, looking away for a moment. "I didn’t mean to say anything to that man downstairs. I was worried about you." She grimaced, then turned and flopped down on the bed with a sigh.

Ruby went to sit beside her on the fine feather bed, unhappiness stealing over her and tarnishing her satisfaction with the progress of her plan this night. Pearl always worried when Ruby was taking a risk. She never seemed to worry about herself, although of the two of them, the curse was much harder on her. The world ran roughshod over someone bound to speak only the truth.

"He was so rude and he said a thing or two about you ... and then of course, the comparisons started." She laid back, her legs hanging toward the floor over the edge of the bed, and stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. "So I told him what he looked like. And how he smelled. And what his friends at the table thought about him."

"Who was it?" she asked quietly.

Pearl’s bright eyes pinned her where she sat. "I don’t want to tell you, because I believe you’ll do him harm."

Ruby gave the sharp eyes right back. "No, I wouldn’t. It’s not as if he deserves it." She knew that Pearl heard the lie easily. Pearl was the only one who always understood the truth underneath her false words.

"Maybe he does, but it’s a risk you don’t need to take. Killing one man won’t bring us closer to our goal," she muttered, looking back at the ceiling. "At least, not that man." The word dripped with derision.

Ruby chuckled, relaxing slightly. She lay down and put her head on her sister’s shoulder. "Everything went terribly tonight. I didn’t get any of the information that I needed."

"Everything, hmm?" Pearl responded. "Good." She was quiet for a moment. "I know I’ve said this before, but ..." She gave a great sigh. "I regret that it must be you, always you, who—" She stopped. They both knew to what she referred.

Ruby was quiet. Pearl knew she always lied. If she said the thing that she wanted to say to put her sister’s mind at rest—that she didn’t mind, that she enjoyed it—her sister would know how she really felt. The only trick she had to leave the truth hazy was to keep her silence.

Of course, her sister knew that tactic as well.

"Was he any good in bed?" Pearl asked bluntly. "He looks like a man who knows his way around a woman."

Ruby half-smiled. "He was ... lacking in skill," she complimented the councilman mildly.

Pearl snorted and placed a gentle hand on her sister’s hair. "That’s good. I’m glad you at least got to enjoy yourself a little."

I hate him, Ruby thought. Even if he was a fine lover. "I love him. I don’t care if he’s terrible between the sheets."

Pearl was quiet. She knew. "He’s an ass, and you’re going to ruin him, sister. Take comfort in that." She took a deep breath. "And then, when Sydney delivers his part of the bargain, we will be that much closer to freedom."

"I’m glad you got hurt," Ruby said, her eyes burning and her mouth tightening at the words. She knew that Pearl would understand, but she still hated to say them. "I pray that Archer has good fortune for being so kind to you."

"Shhh," Pearl murmured, hearing the sudden tightness in Ruby’s voice. "Don’t talk like that. It was my fault for opening my mouth. You’d think I’d know better by now." She tousled her sister’s smooth, tidily brushed hair. "It is a horrible curse, but there’s something very pleasing about speaking the truth to those who deserve to hear it."

Ruby was quiet. She tried to swallow carefully. The pleasure at her earlier triumph faded away. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. She could never speak the truth, not even to her beloved sister. Not to anyone she cared for, or to anyone who deserved to hear it. She was loved and admired by all, while Pearl won enemies everywhere they went. And yet...

She hadn’t made a sound, but Pearl knew anyway. With a quick movement that jarred Ruby’s head, she sat up and scrambled off the bed. "I’m not the only one who would benefit from a drink this evening," her sister said lightly, grabbing the half-finished bottle of wine off the table. She turned and handed it to Ruby as the other woman sat up. "You are so strong and so confident in front of everyone but me. The minute we’re alone, you turn into a little child."

Ruby looked at her for a moment, aching at the words, then took a long pull off the bottle. She thirsted not for the taste of the wine but the blurry warmth the bottom of the bottle promised her. She lowered the bottle and wiped her eyes. What was there to say? Of course it was true. "You are nothing to me, because you do not know me at all. Every stranger on the road, every man charmed by my smile ... they always know me. I love them all better than you." She took a deep breath and huffed it out, looking away and trying to stop the stinging in her eyes, the frustration and misery welling up inside her. She tilted the bottle and drank and drank as Pearl watched.

"Maybe we’ll be needing another one of those," she mused, lifting her brows as Ruby slammed the empty bottle down on the bedside table. "I’ll go downstairs and fetch one. I’ll even make a real effort not to tell the master of the house what he should do to himself." She turned and went toward the door, apparently unconcerned with her state of undress. She wasn’t even wearing stockings or boots.

"I refuse to sew your tunic for you," Ruby murmured quietly, glancing up at her sister’s torn garment.

Pearl turned her head and glanced at the tear as if she had forgotten it was there. "I will do it, Ruby. My sewing is much better than yours." Her voice was very gentle. "Besides, you have important work to be about on the morrow."

BLACK

Black looked out over the small city of Brenton in the valley before him. Despite the late hour, the lamps still burned below, reflecting the stars in the cloud-tossed sky above. A chill that was bitter for early autumn swept down the hill, pushing him toward the lights. "Ah, the north," he sighed to himself. "They do still burn the midnight oil up here." He glanced around casually to make sure that no one observed him. It was unnecessary, but habit for him.

There were very few people in all of existence that posed any sort of threat to him, and he was not expecting to meet any of them here. He did, however, hope to stumble upon word of those he hunted.

Just as he started to continue his leisurely strides down the trade road toward the city gates, he paused. He glanced back and to his left, where out of the corner of his eye, he thought he had seen something bright against the darkness. When he looked again, he squinted and saw it.

A hand.

"Huh." He glanced down at the city, then back at the hand sticking out from the edge of the patchy underbrush that he could only half see in the night. The hand was presumably attached to a body.

Several possible scenarios flicked through Black’s mind, the foremost of which was that someone had been accosted and robbed on the road, either beaten or murdered, and then left poorly hidden in the bushes only a few dozen yards away.

He glanced down at the city again. It was awfully close to the city for highwaymen, even brave ones. And this road was well traveled by day. To be sure, it might have happened at night, but...

He had always been curious by nature. He stepped off the road and walked over the uneven ground until he reached the brush. The hand was, indeed, attached to a body. Whoever it was lay face-down, sprawled and still. Probably dead. Black reached down, took a hank of the woolen cloak in his hand and turned the person over.

It was a pale youth with a large lump on his forehead. He was breathing after all.

Black let go of the boy’s cloak, then squatted and began patting him down. The youth wore no purse—already taken, perhaps—but Black found a lump in one of his boots that turned out to be, on closer inspection, a sleeve full of lock-picking tools.

"You’re pretty well dressed for a thief, boy," he said aloud, folding the sleeve again and stuffing it back in his boot. He moved up, patting. His hand found something small and heavy in the kid’s pocket. He pulled it out, squinting again in the darkness. He could see only the shape of it under the light of the scant stars. It was something of metal ... It could be valuable.

He let out a sigh that was almost a groan. He knew that whatever it was, he didn’t need it and wouldn’t care about it, but he couldn’t leave it without at least finding out what it was. He set the thing down on the ground next to the unconscious boy, then fished in his old dusty pack for his flint and the stub of a candle. That was the one thing he didn’t like to be without.

"Of course the damn thing is at the bottom," he growled, finally laying hands on the candle. It took him another few minutes to strike a spark that actually lit the candle; the wind kept creeping in to blow it out before it started. He warmed himself with a cloud of venomous curses until he finally had a bit of flame to see by.

Shielding the fragile flame, he blinked as his eyes adjusted and then focused on the metal thing that he had taken from the boy’s pocket.

It was a lock. And not just any lock.

Black stared for a long moment, unable to believe his eyes. Taking care to shield the flame with his leg and cloak against the wind coming down from the hilltop, he turned the lock over. It had not been cased yet; the intricacies of its pins and wafers were bared to the light. And there, on the side of one of the cylindrical pins, was a dot that Black knew would be a tiny, familiar maker’s mark if he had good light and a glass to look through.

The understanding came to him slowly. It really is his, he thought dazedly. With one last perplexed glance, he tucked the lock back in the kid’s pocket. He thought of the sleeve of lock-picking tools. Then, slowly, he lifted his candle and looked again at the boy’s unconscious face.

The candle went out, and Black tucked it into his pocket absently. For a moment after that, he sat still in the dark, looking down at the kid’s face.

"I’ll be damned," he whispered. He took a deep breath, sitting back on his heels.

He didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t matter. He tried halfheartedly to remember the story about meeting fate on the road, but the details refused to come. He got to his feet, then grabbed the boy’s arm and maneuvered him over his shoulder in one smooth motion. He started off.

It took him a bit longer to reach the western gate of the city than it might have without his burden, but Black didn’t mind. He strode across the bridge, noting that because of the downward angle the span was built on and the curve of it, the guardhouse at the wall was hidden from view until he was more than halfway across.

He began to feel the tingling resistance of the protection spell that shielded the city only when he was almost upon the two men standing near the guardhouse. He resolved to make this as quick and painless as possible; it was getting colder, and he wanted to get the kid inside and warm as soon as he could. And of course the guards had not done anything to him, nor were they likely to.

Thank goodness for the western bridge, he thought. If it hadn’t been built the way it was, it would have been much more difficult for him to get this close to the gates.

"Who goes there?" one of the guards called groggily, stepping out of the guardhouse. "Where are you bound at this time of night?"

"The first warm place I can get, friend," Black answered easily.

The second guard stepped out beside his comrade. "What happened to him?" He jerked his head at the body over his shoulder.

Black glanced from one to the other of them. "Fell and hit his head as we were coming down the hill." He shook his head, affecting a relaxed, rueful expression. "Clumsiest boy you ever met."

The tingling of the protection spell started to push against him. The magic was beginning to take notice of his presence.

He lost interest in conversation all at once; it had been a long few hours, and he was impatient. His hand shot out, striking the first guard full in the face. He felt the thin facial bones cave beneath the force, neatly muffling the man’s surprised cry. The blow knocked the man backward into the lowered steel portcullis behind him. His skull struck it with a dull clang. He crumpled, either dead or soon to be so.

The second guard, his eyes wide, took a step back and drew breath to scream an alarm. Black’s hand flashed out and fastened around his throat. The scream came out a choked whimper as Black took two steps forward, pushing the man against the bars of the portcullis. The man tried to go for his sword, but Black shook him in warning and he stopped trying.

He looked into the man’s eyes. "Open the protection spell and the portcullis for me," he ordered calmly. "If you make a sound, I will flay the flesh from your bones before I let you die and I will get into the city anyway."

Panicked indecision shone in the guard’s eyes. He hesitated.

Black smirked darkly. "Do you not believe me?" His light brown eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head at the man. "You should."

RUBY

The next morning, Ruby arrived at the city council chambers of Brenton in her finest dress—a scarlet taffeta gown that had cost her a fortune in the capital—prepared to begin engineering the councilman’s downfall in earnest. Things would move more quickly now. She and Pearl might be finished with this task and on their way out of the city with the information the priest had promised them in two weeks if everything went smoothly.

Ten minutes after she entered the building, she had discovered the full extent of the ruination of all her careful plans … and she had murder on her mind.

FALLON

It had taken Fallon the better part of two weeks to cross the Seltha Plains, cut through Auburne Pass and come down out of the hills before heading north. North seemed to be the best bet; he hadn’t spent as much time there before his capture, so it was less likely that anyone would recognize him. He would be able to move more freely, get a little money and then figure out what he was going to do.

He came into Brenton by the western bridge in the late afternoon, footsore and in dire need of a warm meal, his cap tucked securely over his too-distinctive copper hair just in case. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t help thinking to himself that the construction of the bridge was less than defensible. It was a habit that had been a part of him ever since the war, the instant silent evaluation of the combat advantages and disadvantages of geographical and constructed places. It was shorter than the other three spans that protected the city, at a slant that inhibited long-range visibility, and it connected with a long outcropping of land that reached out and away from the main circumference of the city.

Fallon shook his head in disapproval as he crossed the bridge. This meant that the bubble of the generalized protection spell that guarded every city was weaker at the guardhouse where the western bridge connected than if it had been closer to the center of the city. The protection spell radiated outward in a perfect circle from the ancient well at the center of each major city. The spell was not complex enough to shape itself to the borders of a city, and responsible architects were aware of this flaw and designed their construction plans with the spell’s limitation in mind. Whoever had built this bridge had either built it before the protection spells had been put in place, or had failed to consider the strategic magical weakness of the design.

It wasn’t a flaw that was likely to result in tragedy; most things that the protection spell had been designed to ward against were either extinct or imprisoned, so it would probably never be a problem.

It only took one time, though. That much Fallon knew well.

He entered the gates and walked aimlessly through the streets, looking around and gathering information about the people, the market, the mood. It took him several hours, but he managed to figure out the location of one of the council member’s homes. When seeking to make money quickly, he had found in the past that it was always a good bet to find the leaders in a particular place. They often had deep pockets, and the ones with fewer scruples would sometimes take liberties with the town or city coffers in order to purchase what he had to offer.

Armed with that knowledge as the sun’s light faded completely from the sky, he found an inn near the councilman’s home and purchased a room with his last two silvers. The price was steep, but worth it for a feather bed, warm bath and hot meal. He had paid a great deal more for considerably less, and would have again without compunction. He had always found that the more you desired a thing, the more you were willing to pay for it. There was no such thing as objective worth, and at that moment he wanted a bath and a good meal more than almost anything.

He asked the mustachioed inn-keep to send up water for a bath and a full plate, then started to haul himself tiredly upstairs. He heard a commotion behind him and glanced back at the common room, where a striking young woman in a deep blue tunic stood facing a large, red-faced man. The man had just lurched to his feet so quickly that he had knocked his chair over in his haste. The common room went quiet.

“What did you just say to me?” he bellowed down at her. The man’s friends were all still sitting, watching their companion with wary expressions.

“I said you reek of drink and unwashed body, your humor is not funny, and everything you say makes it painfully obvious to the people around you that you lack self-confidence and are desperate to conceal that fact with a show of bravado.”

Fallon’s jaw dropped. He froze for an instant.

Pearl.

He turned quickly and pounded up the stairs, not staying to watch whether or not the man took a swing at her. Several emotions swept over him, none of them good. His sudden flight was probably irrational. He was almost certain that she would never have recognized him, even if he had spoken to her … but he was not willing to take the chance.

He hadn’t seen Pearl or her sister Ruby since they were children. He had been just ten years old when he left Chauvet with the others; the girls had to have been only six or seven then. Still, he remembered Pearl’s sharp tongue, could feel a twinge in the long-forgotten scars of the wounds that it had caused him more than fifteen years ago. Back then, there had been little he feared more than her merciless truth when she had reason to be cross with him. She had been just a little girl, but nothing hurt a boy’s pride worse than truth.

What the hell was she doing here? Was it mere coincidence?

He reached the top of the stairs and paused, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath. It had to be. No one knew where he was, or that he had been making for Brenton. Even he hadn’t known he was coming to this city until a day or so ago when he had made up his mind. And if the Strahlend or any of the Five had suspected he would come here, they certainly wouldn’t have sent the Verine girls. They would have sent Edwin … or worse, Melisande. Raliel was too unstable to send out on any sort of mission these days, but the other two ...

He shook off his surprise and made his way to his room. Whatever their presence here meant, it could wait.

A few hours later, clean, rested and fed, Fallon made his way down to the common room again. He glanced out surreptitiously from the stairwell looking for Pearl, but saw no sign of her. He stepped out and headed toward the door—

—And nearly ran into Ruby standing at the bar. The girl was leaning against it, speaking amiably to the inn-keep. She was flushed from the cold outside, but her hair was artfully curled and her dress very fine. “She wasn’t always that way,” she answered some question that Fallon hadn’t heard. “Was there much damage?”

Fallon realized that he’d been staring at her just an instant too long. What a fool I am, he cursed himself. He made himself walk quickly past her. She didn’t glance at him; of course he was just one more man in the common room, and she was in the middle of a conversation. He cast a wave at the man behind the bar, who smiled and nodded to him as he went out the door into the night.

Ruby was even prettier than Pearl, who was easy enough on the eyes. They had both grown up to be beautiful women, but even when they had been children it had always been that way. Little Ruby, dishonest to her core, who always smiled and always looked her best and always said what she knew you wanted to hear. It didn’t look like much had changed since he’d last seen that one.

Fallon headed to the mansion of the councilman, half-expecting to find the lights out and the man asleep. It was late, but he had needed rest before he could even think of doing business, and if all else failed he could come back tomorrow.

The lamps were still lit in the home of the councilman. Fallon frowned in surprise, then shrugged and rapped on the door. A servant answered and he informed the girl that he needed to speak to the master of the house at once. It had to do with the village of Chauvet. Certain well-positioned people throughout the realm knew the name of his little village, the "Blessed Village."

The councilman, one Arath Stone, appeared at the door after only a few moments. He was a tall man of middle-age who had kept his youthful physique but not all of his youthful hair. He was, Fallon noticed at once, in a good mood. “What is this about?” the man asked quickly, his eyes full of curiosity.

“Sir, I am from the village of Chauvet and I have an offer for you,” Fallon answered, stepping quickly inside the house and leaving Stone to shut the door after him.

“What kind of offer?” the councilman asked.

Fallon knew that he had him. He turned and smiled cryptically at the man, taking his cap off and bowing slightly. “What if I told you that I could give you the one thing you desire above all else?”

The next morning, the thing was done. Fallon had worked his magic, and the one thing the councilman had wanted more than anything else in creation was his. It had turned out that what the man had desired was not a physical object, so Fallon’s bag had not played much of a part. However, it was fairly obvious that something magical had occurred and the man paid him what he had promised.

The man had wanted the council to agree to allocate the funds and labor necessary to demolish the western bridge and in time build another. In retrospect, Fallon was glad that he had offered his magic to this man; that task was a thing that wanted doing. Stone had confessed that, despite all of his efforts and the efforts of a very charming courtesan from the capital who had come to advise the council of Brenton several months ago, he felt that the other council members had still stood in opposition to his plan. They didn’t see the risk, he insisted heatedly.

That very night, tragedy struck. The city sorcerer was up in arms and the city guard was out for blood. Someone or something had forced its way in through the western gate ... something that had activated the city’s protection spell, but had not been destroyed by it. The creature or being had been able to get close enough to the city that it murdered the two guardsmen on duty in the dead of night after forcing one of the guards to release the protection spell long enough to get inside. This theory was supported by the locations of the guards’ bodies, one just outside the gates, one just inside. Both appeared to have been killed by massively powerful blows to the head.

Fallon had learned over the years not to agonize too much about whether or not his gift made him directly or indirectly responsible for people’s deaths. There was nothing to be gained by torturing himself, and he did not get to choose how the magic worked. He could not predict or control how his gift fulfilled people’s deepest wishes. And he had to make a living somehow.

The news came by mounted dispatch to each member of the council not an hour after the city guard became aware of it … just four hours after Fallon’s visit to Stone’s home. He was still there, awaiting the results of his magic, when the man got the urgent missive. It was clear then if it hadn’t been before that the demolition and reconstruction of the western entrance to the city was the most important thing in the world to the man; he was elated by the news that a monster had somehow entered the city rather than horrified.

Fallon wondered at the man’s priorities and resolved to leave the city as fast as possible once he had collected his fee. He had no desire to be in Brenton when whatever creature had come in by the western gate began wreaking havoc. Unfortunately, the councilman was so grateful to him that he insisted that Fallon accompany him to the chambers of the city council so that he could introduce him to the lovely courtesan who had been his strongest ally. “So she can thank you herself, once I explain everything,” he gushed.

Fallon had his gold—enough to feed him and provide comfortable shelter for at least two months—and already had a destination in mind. But the man was so insistent that he acquiesced reluctantly and followed along in the mid-morning to the center of the city.

It wasn’t until he had been left alone in a well-appointed private audience chamber and had sat drumming his fingers on the heavy oak table for more than half an hour that he began to doubt the wisdom of agreeing to this thing. He didn’t know this woman, but Stone had said she was from the capital. The chances of her knowing him or knowing of him were slight, but it was not beyond the realm of possibility. Even if she had never heard of him, he preferred to keep a low profile.

He had just escaped enchanted imprisonment, after all. He had no desire to be put back in the tower because someone heard of his deeds through rumors started by an exuberant customer.

Just as he stood to make a quiet exit from the room and sneak back to the inn to collect his few belongings, the chamber door opened. The councilman entered, followed by Ruby.

Fallon froze.

“Here he is, my darling,” Stone said expansively, gesturing to indicate Fallon as if he were not the only person in the room. “Here is the man responsible for our triumph. Here is the man who delivered those signatures and commitments and made all of our hopes a reality.”

Ruby was wearing a beautiful blood-colored dress and her hair was artfully coifed atop her head. She was a vision as she entered the room, but for just an instant, Fallon thought he read violence in her face. Then she was before him, all warmth and graciousness. She extended her hand for him to kiss, the picture of a well-bred blue-blooded courtesan.

There was no hint of recognition in her eyes as she took him in, but Fallon knew that she lied with more than her words. He couldn’t be sure if she knew him or not.

“I am delighted to meet you,” she murmured effusively. He blinked, knowing it false. “I cannot thank you enough. I have spent so many hours striving to see Councilman Stone’s project succeed.” Her bright blue eyes shone with gratitude and affection.

For a moment, Fallon could not think of a thing to say. He knew her, and he knew that everything she had just said was a lie. But why were they lies?

“I … uh, the pleasure is all mine. The councilman spoke very highly of you.” He swallowed, scrambling to regain his aplomb. “I’ve spent some time in Dunaril and have even been to court once or twice, and I’m surprised that I do not recall a lady as lovely as you.” He smiled charmingly back at her, knowing she would sense the falseness in his words, but would probably not be able to pinpoint which part of the sentiment was untrue. Hopefully she would just think that he wasn’t actually surprised, not that he actually did remember her.

With one eyebrow arched, she placed her slender, warm fingers on his forearm. She stepped a bit closer to him. “Are you originally from the capital?”

“Yes, I was born there,” he answered, shooting the councilman a warning glance. Ruby would know that for a blatant falsehood, but she wouldn’t know the truth from it. He had sworn the man to secrecy concerning his origin and the details of his magic after he’d sold him the use of his gift. That much was simple necessity if he wanted to stay alive and at liberty. “I’ve traveled a great deal, and have learned a few tricks in my time.”

“Well, I’m so pleased that you arrived when you did,” Ruby responded, sharing a meaningful glance with the councilman, whose hand rested subtly on the small of her back.

Ah. So that’s how it is, Fallon thought.

“Do, please, consider me an ally to you from now on,” she went on. “Anything I can do to aid you, simply say the word.”

He stared at her for just an instant too long at hearing those words. Nothing in her face or posture gave the slightest hint of it, but Fallon knew that she despised him anyway. For whatever reason, she was fully his enemy because of the help he had given Stone.

What a clever little snake, he thought dazedly, looking swiftly from the girl to the councilman standing just slightly too close to her. The man had no idea what she really was or that she meant him no good.

“I … I really must be on my way, Councilman Stone,” he managed, wiping the surprise off his face and shaking the man’s hand quickly. He ignored Stone’s nonplussed look as he turned to Ruby. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. I’m so glad I could help.” Even as he nodded to her he moved toward the door, leaving them to watch him go.

“Please,” she beamed with a wave, “Call me Arianna.”