“I’ve missed you, Sparrow,” he said. “It was a long winter. Too long. The seas were wretched – straight from Pitan. But I bought the homestead I told you about. It’s mine.”
Ticastasy looked at herself. Then reaching into the travel sack again, she withdrew the sparrow pendant he had given her in Sol and fastened it around her neck. She quickly slid on her bracelets and earrings from a small velvet jewel pouch. Her shoulder throbbed, but she ignored the pain.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, rising from the chair.
“I’m almost done,” she said, stalling him. She furrowed through the pile of clothes left on top of a chest near the wardrobe. It was mostly comprised of his armor, settled nicely on the tattered red cloak. A relic from his grandfather, he had said. She fingered the fabric while slipping one of his daggers in her boot. Where were those keys?
There was a loud rap on the door and she froze. Tsyrke muttered something under his breath. “Enter!”
The oak door opened and Ticastasy saw a Bandit officer between the slits in the screen. “Lord Ballinaire is on his way to see you, Commander.”
“Doesn’t the old man ever sleep?” Tsyrke said. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the tunnels, sir. Will be here soon. I thought I’d warn you.” The soldier sounded worried.
“I’ll deal with him, Trent. Go find Mage and tell him to meet me here.”
“I will, sir.”
Ticastasy stepped away from the screen as the soldier left the room. She watched Tsyrke’s expression change as he looked at her. It was hard to keep a smile from her face, but his look was flattering.
“Sweet Achrolese,” he murmured, “but you are fair.”
She approached him and looked up into his eyes. “I’m glad you like it,” she said, enjoying the expression on his face. She fingered the pendant. “There have been changes, Tsyrke. Surely you realize that. I…I need time, to see how I feel about you, about what you are doing here. I’m not your prisoner, am I?”
“Hate, no!” he sputtered, folding his arms.
“I’ll see Quickfellow then. If that’s all right. I don’t want to be here when the leader of the Bandit Rebellion comes in to talk to you,” she said. “Sweet Achrolese, I wouldn’t know what to do. Pretend I’m your serving wench? But I do want to talk to you. After he leaves?” She gave him one of her most promising smiles.
Tsyrke thought about it, trying to seem reluctant. She read right through it and arched her eyebrows. “Let me stop by the kitchen and make sure he’s eaten. Please, Tsyrke. He’s my friend, a barter or a prince. I’d fetch you a bowl of stew if you were rotting in the River Cellars in Sol.”
A smile finally broke on his stormy face. “I’ve missed you, Sparrow. I’ve missed you more than I can say.” He turned around and raised the goblet. “We’ll talk later. We have a lot to talk about. Fetch the Shae lad some buttered rolls. Tell him to get some sleep. He’ll live through the night – because of you. Tell him that.”
Ticastasy gave him a warm smile. The small iron key pinched in the bottom of her boot.
XXXI
Heavy iron manacles clamped against Thealos’ wrists and ankles, making his fingers and toes tingle with the lack of blood. The manacles were connected to a short length of chain fixed to an iron ring hammered into the stone wall. He rested the weight on his lap and tried to find a comfortable position on the floor. Clumps of dry straw littered the cell, and he scooted some over with his boot to see if it might cushion him a little. But the straw stank of urine, and he kicked it away.