“You arrived just after we left?” Thealos asked. “What a deplorable sense of timing then. She told me she was waiting for…someone. But he never came. I’m assuming now that she meant you.”
“Oh, I came. Only to hear that she’d run off with a Sleepwalker, her Drugaen friend, and a pampered whelp from Avisahn. You – I’m assuming.” He faced Thealos. “She wasn’t in any danger from the Kiran Thall and she knew it. Why did she go with you?”
Thealos shook his head. “You expect me to understand how a woman thinks? My people are noted for our wisdom, but not even we have solved that riddle. Let me clarify something. We didn’t take her from Sol. She chose to come with us. I believe she doubted that you were coming back. When have sailors or Shae barters been men of their word? She doesn’t know the truth about you, does she?”
The Bandit glared at him. “And how much do you think you really know?”
Thealos gave the Bandit a level look. “It might surprise you how much I know. I know that the Bandit Rebellion is massing down here in the Shoreland. I know that you are using Shae magic for purposes that are clearly Forbidden. Digging up the Everoot and hoarding it is not how it is supposed to be used.”
“Spare us your speech on morality,” the Sorian interrupted. “Tell me, how do the Shae feel about murdering their own kind? Some of us know about the Kinslayer wars. About Ravindranath.”
Thealos ignored the deliberate insult. If Tsyrke were not tainted with Forbidden magic, there might be a chance to reason with him. “Consider this, Tsyrke. If I am here and I know about the Everoot, then doesn’t it stand to reason that so does Avisahn? I know what the Everoot can do and what it has done in the past.” He gave the Sorian a hard look. “At least there were survivors of Ravindranath. More than Sol-don-Orai.”
“But if the whole banned Shae kingdom knew about this,” Tsyrke said, “then why are you here and not the Wolfsmen? Were you sent to negotiate a Pax?”
Thealos rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Why indeed?”
“You are here because there is a Silvan artifact locked behind a Shae warding,” the Sorian answered. Thealos felt a tickle of magic in the air and the brief smell of smoke. “Your Warder companion was not strong enough to cross it. What makes you think you can?”
Thealos looked at the Sorian with distrust. “I am not the only one who can cross it,” he replied. “There will be others. The Shae will not sit back in Avisahn while you destroy the land with Forbidden magic.”
Tsyrke stepped forward. “And what happens if you get this artifact, Shae?”
“The Rebellion will end.”
Tsyrke seemed to consider his words carefully. “How?”
“If I told you that, there would be no need to keep me alive. Would there?”
“Your death is hardly of any consequence to me.”
Thealos shrugged meaningfully. He was gambling with his life, just as he had with Tannon’s band. It took every bit of composure he possessed to keep his knees from trembling. “Of no consequence, you think? But you know how the Shae are,” he said. “If I die here, they will send in the Shae legions. Of no consequence? Are you ready to engage the Shae army, commander? Kiran Phollen could not stand against them. Are you ready for the Crimson Wolfsmen in the city? You do know what a Ravinjon is?”
The Bandit commander looked at him coldly. “Maybe I’m counting on that.”
*
The old man had let her bring her knapsack and cloak. As they left the Wee Kirke together that night, it felt to Ticastasy as if none of the patrons could even see them. She didn’t trust herself to speak. But she’d managed to give her initial warning to Blain earlier that day. She’d done the best she could. For in her mind, Ticastasy knew that the old man was bringing her to Tsyrke. And she wasn’t ready to face him. Not like this. They crossed the fog-shrouded city in silence and reached the governor’s mansion before midnight. The manor guards never saw them.
“You’re not going in?” Ticastasy asked as they stood before a large door in the south wing. She shivered just being in his presence and especially as his green eyes studied her. He smelled like cinders and clove smoke. He reminded her of a Sleepwalker.
“He will speak with you alone.”
The enormous door opened smoothly on its gold and iron hinges. It was well oiled. She paused on the threshold and then entered. The smell of honeyed mead and tray wafers greeted her in the entryway. Mead – an unusual drink. She only knew one man who truly craved it. A single lamp burned on a polished wooden table across the room. Various rugs and tapestries hung from the wall and there was even a tall wooden dressing screen in one corner near a wardrobe.
Her eyes were still adjusting to the shadows before she smelled him.
“Tsyrke,” she whispered as the door shut gently behind her.