Chapter Ten

 

 

THE WIZARD Arthyen had been dead only minutes, yet his corpse stank nonetheless—of piss and shit and blood, of the bowels that had been split by the killer’s blade.

The murderer had done a messy and thorough job. Arthyen lay on his back near the center of the marble floor, his sightless eyes trained on the ceiling. I remembered my mother and shuddered, but this was not the time for such weakness. The wizard had been sliced from throat to groin, his innards now spilled around him.

He was younger than I’d expected. Perhaps a few years older than me, although it was hard to tell with the slackness of death on his face. He had thin, straw-colored hair in a long braid, most of which was sopped with blood. His clothing had been very expensive—silks and wools in soft gray, like the breast of a dove. His hands were clenched into fists at his side.

I didn’t touch the body, and I’d wager that the gutting had not been the first blow. Unless you were using a heavy sword, it would be almost impossible to inflict such a long, straight, deep wound in a single stroke. And according to Jory, Arthyen was a powerful wizard. If he’d seen an attack coming, surely he could have mounted some defense. Yet the man with my face hadn’t looked injured.

The attacker must have surprised him from behind. A sharp knock to the head, perhaps. Or more likely a single stab somewhere vital. I’d have gone for the base of the neck. My knives were heavy enough to sever a spinal cord, and that was the type of blow that would take an opponent out of the fight immediately.

Taking a quick look around the large room, I spied no other signs of a struggle. An oversize desk squatted near one end, and piles of books and scrolls appeared undisturbed. Mysterious bits of metal, bone, and stone lay scattered over a long table, and a wardrobe half again taller than me hulked in a corner. If the murderer was a thief, he was a bad one—several gemstones sparkled on a pedestal near the window.

So the not-me had seemingly come in peace and had given my name to the wizard’s servant. He’d talked with the wizard for a bit, perhaps. And then he’d come up from behind, most likely covering Arthyen’s mouth to muffle any cries. After Arthyen had fallen from the first blow, the killer had gutted him. It was a showy act, done more for visual effect than to dispatch his victim.

Arthyen’s death was not only too bad for him; it also posed considerable problems for me. For one, I’d lost my opportunity to question him about Jory. And for another, it would certainly look as though I’d killed him.

Gods and goddesses. Now it wouldn’t be just Lord Uren after me—I’d have to contend with the entire city guard.

I tried to think of how I could explain the situation and remove the blame from my shoulders, but nothing came to mind. The guards were not disposed to believe me in the first place, and my entire tale sounded farfetched even to me.

Perhaps given enough time, I could reach a solution. But I had no time. The servant had said Arthyen expected his next appointment momentarily.

And good god Bolitho, what of Jory? Was he safe? What if the murderer had gone to Jory next? If he was wearing my face, Jory would suspect nothing until the sharp steel entered his body.

I should not have felt such panic and dismay at that thought.

Schooling myself to remain calm, I left Arthyen’s office and closed the door carefully behind me. I walked down the hall purposefully but without rushing.

The servant met me in the foyer. “That was fast.” Now that he’d recovered from his surprise and irritation, he had a friendly smile.

All I could manage was a quick nod. What would become of this young man? I hoped he wasn’t implicated in the murder. At the very least, he’d be traumatized when he discovered the mutilated body.

I walked outside, stepping over the cat, which had returned while I was indoors. I descended the hill until I was out of sight of Arthyen’s office. And then I ran.

 

 

“GODS AND goddesses, Daveth! What’s wrong?”

I’d sprinted all the way down Seli Hill, keeping myself to backstreets and alleys, hoping not to attract too much attention. It was easier to disappear once I entered the Low, where I knew the routes much better. But still I didn’t slow. I raced across Basilisk Bridge, knowing it was the least likely to have guards nearby, and pounded up the Smiths to Branok’s house, where I burst, wheezing, through the door and almost collapsed onto the floor.

Someone must have run to fetch Jory, but I didn’t notice. I was too busy leaning against a wall and trying not to vomit as I struggled to get air into my burning lungs.

Jory grabbed my shoulders and asked again, “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t care if Branok and all the boys were watching. I grabbed him and pulled him so tightly against me that neither of us could breathe.

“Is it really you?” I gasped into his ear.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

He let me hold him until I’d calmed a bit, although my heart was still trying to escape my chest and I was dripping with sweat. Then I pushed him to arm’s length. “We need to go. Now.”

Though his face was pale, he didn’t argue or ask more questions but instead gave a shaky nod. “All right. Wait one minute.” He thundered up the stairs.

Everyone else stared at me. I didn’t care.

I startled slightly when one of the boys urged something into my hand. A plain clay cup.

“It’s just water,” he said.

I hope I thanked him, but I’m not sure I did. The liquid was sweet on my tongue and blissful to my throat.

Jory returned and pushed through the crowd to me. By then I’d recovered enough strength to stand upright, although my legs felt weak and I was clammy with cooling sweat.

“I’m ready,” he said as levelly as if we’d planned this for ages and intended nothing but a pleasant stroll.

Branok frowned at us. “Don’t come back if you’re in trouble. I don’t want trouble here.”

Jory nodded. “We won’t return. But Branok? Thank you. I know you’re no charity, but you’ve sheltered me twice when I needed it, and I’m grateful for that.”

Branok appeared shocked at his statement. She and her boys watched us as we left.

“Where?” Jory asked when we were outside. I kept us close to the edge of the street while I scanned our surroundings. No sign of guards or anyone else, at least not yet. But Jory was insistent. “What happened at Arthyen’s?”

“Arthyen’s dead. Come on.” I grabbed his wrist and dragged him along quickly. The sooner we were in the Low, the better.

He came without complaint, though when I glanced at him, his eyes glistened and a single tear traced down his cheek. Artifice perhaps, but I didn’t think so. Nor did my heart believe it, wrenched as it was to see him so distressed.

We were several minutes away from Branok’s house when I remembered my purse. I’d left it with Jory when I went to the wizard. Foolish, yes, but if I’d failed to return, I didn’t want him stranded without funds.

“Did you bring the money?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Good. Not a solution to our problems by any means, but even the worst difficulties could often be eased a bit with ready cash. I thought briefly of the small fortune stowed under my name at the bank and knew I’d likely never see it again. I’d certainly never see the other half I’d been promised. Ah, but I had Jory Pearce instead, warm and real beside me. A treasure beyond value, albeit a mysterious and confusing one. One who lied.

Suddenly furious, I pulled him into a reeking alley where the buildings were so close that we barely had room to face each other. “Are you ever going to tell me the whole truth?” I snarled.

He gazed at me sadly. “I don’t know.”

“All hells! I’ve been dragged into this fucking thing because of you. If we have any hope of getting out alive, I need to be able to trust you.”

He pressed his chest to mine, the delicious scent of him registering despite the garbage around us. “Have you ever trusted anyone? Ever?”

“No.”

“Nor have I.” He gave the most unhappy laugh I’ve ever heard. “It’s a muscle neither of us has used, so it’s decidedly weak.”

“We are going to die, Jory. Almost certainly. I’ll do what I can for us, but right now I don’t see any way out. I’ll definitely never solve this if you keep lying to me!” That final statement was a shout, but he didn’t flinch.

“Yesterday morning you were ready to drag me to Uren, and you knew perfectly well how that was going to turn out. Is it any wonder I might be hesitant to confide in you?”

Fair enough, I suppose, but not the whole story. “And yesterday I put myself between you and those thugs, even though there was a good chance you’d set up the situation yourself. Haven’t I earned your trust?”

Jory was quiet for several heartbeats before emitting a heavy sigh. “It’s a longer story. You see, Uren—”

“Not now.”

“But I thought—”

“Temporary sanctuary first.” And a place where I could rest, even if just for a few fucking minutes. I felt a thousand years old, and my peaceful sleep a hundred years past. We had so few options available. I chose the only thing I could think of to keep us alive.

 

 

“HOW DO you feel about river wraiths?”

Jory stopped poking around the rotting warehouse where I’d led us. “That’s an odd question, Daveth.”

“Not really. When I was a boy, several of the breweries in the Smiths Quarter stored their kegs here. People used to joke that it was the safest place in the Low, and much truth lay in that jest. The breweries employed a small army of guards to protect their goods.” The warehouse was in a good location, steps from the south end of Royal Bridge, which helped the brewers distribute more easily to the wealthy residents in the other half of the city. Also, a ramp had led directly from the warehouse to the river so kegs could easily be transported by boat.

Jory picked up a rusted metal scrap that had probably once kept a keg together. “I’ve been told river wraiths are the ghosts of the drowned. Or perhaps unhappy water spirits. What have they to do with ale?”

“Maybe they’ve a taste for it. They kept wafting up from the river and into this building, chasing the guards away. The brewers finally gave up on the place and built a new warehouse elsewhere. The Lowlers left this one to go to ruin.” I paused and laid a hand on a splintery wooden wall.

After tossing the metal aside, Jory bunched his fists on his hips. “And you’ve decided to introduce me to the wraiths?”

“I fear them less than the guards.”

He stared at me. “We’re running from the guards now too?”

“I am, yes. I don’t know whether they’re after you as well.”

“Did you kill Arthyen?” It came out as an angry accusation, harsh words that echoed in the empty room.

“No.” I shook my head. “At least, not exactly.”

Jory hung his head, his voice now quiet. “He was a good man. He was funny. He used to invite me to dinner, and the stories he told made me laugh so hard I could barely eat. He treated everyone fairly—servants, whores, didn’t matter. And I killed him.”

I laughed harshly. “I saw his murderer. It wasn’t you.”

“Might as well have been.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But if neither of us actually did the deed, who did?”

Clearly we had information to exchange. Jory didn’t seem at all eager to begin his, so I dragged over a small crate and, hoping it would bear my weight, sat down. Then I pulled out a cloth sack containing the provisions we’d hastily bought during our flight—salted plums, some hunks of cheese, a few dried fish, a long thin bread loaf.

“I’m going to be thirsty,” I said.

Jory didn’t bother looking for a crate. He folded himself onto the floor at my feet and produced his contribution to the little feast, a pair of aleskins. We traded food for drink and ate silently.

“This bread tastes like sawdust,” he complained.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. That’s what we Lowlers eat.”

“I’ve lived in the Low for years and I don’t eat this shit.”

“Your feet may have been in the Low, but not your head. You could spend the rest of your life sorting sewage with the scavengers and you’d still be a man of quality.”

He looked up at me. “And you?”

“Stick me on the throne and hand me a scepter—I’m still a Lowler.”

“Maybe so, but you’re honorable.” Jory’s expression was solemn. “You’re a man of quality too.”

I snorted and popped a plum in my mouth, spitting out the pit before washing the rest down with a mouthful of ale. And then I told Jory what had transpired during my morning journey to the wizard’s house.

He listened carefully, interrupting only once when I described how the killer had worn my face. He swore before motioning me to continue. When I was done, he looked grave and drawn. He stood, brushed off the crumbs and grime, and began to pace, his footfalls pattering on the wooden planks of the floor.

“I’m responsible for all of this. Three dead already and a good man ruined, all because of me.” I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or himself.

“If it helps any, I was ruined long before we met.”

He shot me a frown and kept on walking. “I don’t know how I got here. Everything I’ve done made sense at the time, but look where I’ve brought us.”

“I’m the one who’s chosen to spend the afternoon with wraiths.” His back-and-forth was making me dizzy, so I stood and blocked his way, grasping his shoulders to keep him from continuing. “Tell me what you’ve done, Jory. What’s driving Lord Uren?” Surely far more than jealousy and a stolen trinket.

Jory wrenched himself from my grip. He turned around but didn’t walk away. “I stayed at Branok’s house for a year or two after my parents threw me out, but then I had to leave. Branok’s customers like their men very young, as I’m sure you noticed. I could have found another house, I suppose, but…. You say it doesn’t matter to you if a person sells himself, but it mattered to me. I was becoming a ghost of myself.”

I returned my hands to his shoulders, more gently this time, but I didn’t say anything.

“None of my family would have anything to do with me. It had been shameful enough when I was fucking a tavern boy, but what I’d become since then was much worse. I say none of my family, but that’s not accurate. One person was willing to see me.”

“Lord Uren.”

He leaned back against me. “He was willing to see me, and to make sure I didn’t starve, but for a price. At first I thought he was just eager to get me into bed. He used to leer at me even when I was a child.” Jory shuddered.

“He wanted more than sex? What?”

“I didn’t know at first. Oh, I knew he also got perverse pleasure out of my situation and the power he held over me. He and my father are… I forget. Distant cousins of some kind. They’ve never got on well.”

He paused, either to gather his next words or to let me chew over what he’d said so far. His tale had the ring of truth. I could picture him easily—young, scared, head still partially filled with a rich boy’s illusions that everything would somehow be all right. Easily manipulated by a man like Lord Uren, who played politics for fun and would revel in his relative’s misfortunes.

“Over the years, I’ve tried to separate myself from Uren,” said Jory, “but he’s a hard man to avoid.”

“I know,” I said with a hollow laugh.

“I wish I’d had the courage to… I don’t know. Run for the mountains. Throw myself in the river. Do something. But I’d just get through each day by lying to myself, telling myself my life would improve. As if by magic.”

I’d never held any dreams except joining the guard. And I’d always wondered what it would be like to hold them. Were they like a star in the darkness, lending a bit of light? Or like a mirage, always disappearing when you reached for them?

“What did you hope for?”

“Love,” he said. “I thought maybe one day a handsome man would walk into wherever I was singing, and he’d be instantly enamored by my voice, so much so that he’d insist on meeting me. He’d be charming and have a little money, and he wouldn’t care about my past. We would make our own family.” He spoke in a monotone until the end, when his voice almost broke. But he didn’t turn around.

“It’s a pretty hope,” I said.

“It was stupid. I knew that all along. But it’s easy to fool yourself.” He took one of my hands off his shoulder and wrapped that arm around his middle. I moved the other arm on my own, letting him clutch me, burying my nose in his curls.

“When I saw you in Two Gray Cats, I remembered that fantasy,” he said.

“Surely you didn’t think I—”

“The hope had died before then. But you reminded me of it. The way you looked at me.”

We had veered off the course I’d intended, but I wasn’t in a hurry to steer us back. We had several hours until nightfall, when I’d make my next foolishly desperate move.

After leaning back against me for another minute or so, Jory stepped away. He walked to the crate I’d abandoned and sat on it straight-backed, as if it were a throne. “Almost two years ago, Uren let me know his true goals. I honestly don’t know if he’d had them from the very beginning and had been grooming me the whole time, or if I was just conveniently placed for his game.”

“What is his game?”

“Treason.”

I don’t know what I’d expected him to say, but certainly not that. I gaped. Even when I found my tongue, all I could do was repeat “Treason?”

“Apparently Uren wishes to assassinate Prince Clesek.”

“Gods and goddesses, why?” He started to answer, but I held up my hand to stop him. “Wait. I know he’s the heir. I know he’s a recluse. But how would Lord Uren profit by his death?”

“I suspect it’s not just Uren. Some of the other members of the Undercouncil are probably involved. And the prince, well, rumors say he’s unhinged. Not raving mad, not quite, but not sane either. He locks himself up in a laboratory and obsesses over creating magic boxes that let you speak to people who are many leagues away.”

“Why?”

“I’ve no idea. I don’t even know if it’s true. But Uren believes it. He and his colleagues have been subtly pushing for the Undercouncil to have greater powers. If the crown prince were to die, the Great Council would get caught up in endless squabbles over who would become heir—and that would give the Undercouncil the chance to seize more authority.”

My head throbbed. I longed for those jobs that only required me to track down somebody’s philandering spouse.

“All right,” I said. “So Lord Uren wants the prince dead. What does that have to do with you?”

“It’s not easy to kill a prince. Harder still if he keeps himself locked up. And of course Uren doesn’t want to be implicated in the murder.”

“So he wanted you to do it?” I was still missing something.

Jory chuckled dryly. “Not exactly. I don’t have an engraved invitation to the castle, Daveth. I was just a means to an end. Because Prince Clesek interacts with only three groups of people: his immediate family, a few royal servants, and wizards, whom he hopes can help him with his magic boxes.”

“Arthyen.”

“Precisely.” Jory pulled the edges of his cloak over his lap as if he were cold. “Uren thought Arthyen might have the chance to get close to the prince. Arthyen is…. Arthyen was a good wizard. Very good.”

“Did he want the prince gone?”

“I very much doubt it. I told you, he was kind. He could have used his magic to gain much more fortune and power, but he wasn’t interested in that. He liked to tinker with his spells. And he liked handsome men.”

“Such as you.”

“Such as me.” Jory rose suddenly. The warehouse had no windows, but some of the warped boards in the walls allowed daylight to squeeze through. He stood in a shaft of weak sunlight and looked like a deity amid earthly squalor. “Uren wanted me to seduce Arthyen and then convince Arthyen to kill the prince. Quite simple, really.”

I suppressed a shiver. The previous day had been far from the first time I’d driven my blades into someone else’s body. But it’s one thing to defend yourself in the heat of danger. It’s something else entirely to sit down at a table—glass of wine at hand—and coolly plan another human’s demise.

Jory continued quietly, sounding almost like a child. “I didn’t want to do it. I told you, Prince Clesek was nice to me once. He didn’t have to be. Few people were. But Uren was insistent, and without his… patronage, I’d have no way to support myself except my body. I’m getting old for that.”

When I remained silent, he gazed at me mournfully, and I wanted to shake him for being so stupid. And I wanted to draw him into my arms and comfort him. The conflicting emotions made the ache in my head worse.

“What did you do?” I finally asked.

“Procrastinated. I made friends with Arthyen and wormed my way into his bed—which was not a difficult feat by any means. I thought I could at least draw things out for a while, and in the meantime… I don’t know. A dragon would grasp Uren in his claws, carry him away, and drop him over the edge of the world.”

I nodded, thinking that was a scenario I could support. I hoped the dragon’s talons were sharp. “But no dragons arrived?”

“They’re never around when you need them. And in the meantime, I grew to like Arthyen. I didn’t love him. Well, not more than a little. But he became my friend when I had none, and I was fond of him. I believe he was equally fond of me. I couldn’t betray him like that.”

A stab of jealousy surprised me. What had I to be jealous of? A dead man and a… whatever Jory Pearce was. Certainly he wasn’t mine.

He continued speaking. “A little over a week ago, I told Uren I wouldn’t do it. He was… really angry.” Jory laughed shakily. “His face went almost purple. I just walked away. I started singing at a new place, a place I found without his help. And I stayed away from Arthyen too. He’d never known a thing about the plot, so I figured there would be no reason for Uren to go after him. Too much risk to himself. I wonder if he would have left Arthyen alone if you hadn’t been dragged into the whole mess.”

“That’s not your fault,” I pointed out. “It was Uren who roped me in.”

Jory ran his fingers through his curls, turning them into a riotous mess. I wanted to touch them. “I understand why he wanted to get rid of me, but why involve you? He could have just sent some men to waylay me as I was walking home from Two Gray Cats.”

An image flashed through my mind: Jory bleeding out in a Low Quarter street, his lifeless body then tossed into the river like garbage. “I don’t know why he came to me,” I rasped.

“But now you know the whole of it.”

I did, but the full story didn’t hearten me. I walked the length of the warehouse, turned and walked back, then turned again. I felt trapped, and pacing helped.

If I were a wizard, I could have found a way to get into the castle and warn them about the plot. The queen would reward me with citizenship—hells, she would grant me a title! I’d be Lord Blyd, and I’d tithe to the goddess of prosperity instead of the god of lost causes. But I hadn’t a drop of magic in me, and I’d never get anywhere near the castle.

Probably some people in the Low who might believe me if I told them my predicament, since I didn’t have a reputation for fabricating lies. But even if they’d be inclined to help—highly doubtful—what could scavengers, whores, drunks, and pickpockets actually do?

If it had been just me, I might have simply marched out into the streets with my knives in hand and waited for the guard or Uren’s men to come. I’d take a few of them down with me, and a final bloody fight was as glorious an ending as I’d ever imagined for myself.

But I had Jory to consider. He wasn’t perfect, but the world was a better place with him in it.

I stopped in front of him. “We’ll go to the Western Gate tonight. I don’t know how you’ll survive, especially with as few coins as we possess, but your odds are better outside the city.”

He gave a faint smile. “And you?”

“I stay here.”

“So I’m to learn to be a farmer, is it? Or shall I go over the mountains in search of adventure instead?” He shook his head. “I won’t go without you.”

“Damn it all. Why not?”

“I’ve had enough of being alone. So have you, Daveth.”

“You’d rather die with me—”

“Than live without. Yes.” He crossed his arms. “You can spend years mucking around in the filth, or you can spend one day flying through the heavens. I choose the heavens.”

Maybe I could have persuaded him otherwise if I’d tried hard enough. But I couldn’t make myself try. “I’m not heavenly” was the best I could manage.

“I’ve had your mouth on me. The gods would envy that.”

I rolled my eyes and started to turn away to resume my pacing, but he caught my arm.

“Why won’t you leave the city?”

“And do what?”

“You’re more likely to survive than I am. Fighting is generally a more useful skill than singing.”

“But people get a lot more enjoyment from singing.”

He still held my arm and didn’t seem inclined to let go. I could have pulled away, but I stood and waited instead, as if to prove I could be as stubborn as he was. Our stubbornness had kept us alive this long.

“Why not leave?” he asked. “Maybe your chances outside the city are slim, but the odds are worse here.”

He was absolutely correct, of course. And although I could have said something about honor or clearing my name, we’d both have recognized it as nonsense. It wasn’t that I loved my city so deeply that I couldn’t abandon it. Tangye and I, well, we were like an old couple who regretted having married but somehow found it easier to remain wretched than to part ways.

“I don’t know,” I finally said. I suspect I sounded miserable and angry.

Jory inspected my face, his eyes narrowed in concentration and his head slightly cocked. I was clearly a puzzle to be solved. I let him stare, for all the good it would do him.

And then he widened his eyes and gave a tiny nod. “Ah.”

“Ah? What does that mean?”

“It means you’re not the only one who can investigate and figure things out.” He looked unduly smug.

I responded the only way I could think of. I yanked him against me and kissed his self-satisfied mouth. It wasn’t a logical thing to do. But we were standing in a wraith-haunted warehouse, bickering about nothing of substance while we waited to be killed. A kiss made as much sense as anything else.

He responded beautifully, parting his lips and letting in my tongue. At the same time, he clutched my cloak as if to make it clear that he was demanding this as much as I was. I knew my cheeks were bristly and my lips chapped, stark contrasts to his softness, yet he didn’t complain.

We kissed for a long time. I didn’t forget our problems, not even for a second, but those problems seemed very far away in the moment.

And then I let him go. “What have you figured out?” I asked.

“That you are skilled with your mouth.”

“You knew that already.”

“Indeed I did.” He sighed. “All right. You won’t leave the city because you need to learn why. You have most of the answer already, but not all. You want to validate my story, and if I am telling the truth, you want to find out why Uren involved you. You even want to discover precisely why he murdered Arthyen.”

“And this information is so important to me I’d die to obtain it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I lied.

“Yes, it is. But true. And I even know why you need these answers so badly.”

I waited for him to go on, but he danced away from me and pretended to be fascinated by a rotted rope hanging from the rafters. When I approached him—possibly to shake some sense into him—he grabbed me and kissed me as ravenously as a starving man.

“The guard,” he said when we separated.

I spun around, hands on my hilts. “Where?”

“Not here. Sorry.” He tried to calm me with a hand on my shoulder. “The roots of your tenacity lie in what happened to you in the guard. You were unjustly accused of a crime, and you saw your hopes crumble along with your pride. And nobody paid for it, did they?”

“No,” I growled. “Trying to place blame on someone would only have got me killed. But that was years ago. It has nothing to do with—”

“It has everything to do with today. We grow within the skins of our pasts, Daveth! I still hear the echoes of my parents’ voices as they cast me out. You still feel the sting of your losses. I don’t mean we can’t move on, because I think such a thing is possible, but we can’t move away. Not entirely.”

“I still don’t see what this—”

“Think!” He gave me a shake, although lightly. “You were robbed of everything that mattered to you, and that crime was never solved. So now you do what you can to solve other crimes. It’s the closest you can come to finality.”

“Nobody is going to be judged for what they’ve done to either of us, Jory. There will be no justice.”

He shook his head. “You don’t want justice. You want the uncertainty to end.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Even though you’re well aware there cannot be a good outcome.”

All right. It’s true I’ve never expected a good outcome. When I tried so hard to join the guard, I didn’t think I’d make it. And when I did make it, I assumed something bad would end it. Which it did. But even if I knew my life would be shit, I guess I liked that shit organized in neat little boxes, each one exactly where it ought to be. I wanted answers. And yes, I wanted endings, whether they were happy ones or not.

“I need to talk to Uren,” I said. “Even though he’ll kill me.”

“Kill us, you mean.” Stubborn, yes. And somehow a hint of humor danced in his eyes, as if this were all a jolly little game. Perhaps it was a game. But the dice were loaded, and we would surely lose.

“We’ll have to wait until dark,” I said.

Jory smiled at the we.