A Thief in the Night

chapter Ninety-one

The elves dragged Malden back to the gaol. It was exactly the same as before, except this time he was alone.

In the dark, sitting in the wet silt of the floor, he could only lay his head in his hands and try not to weep. Sometimes he failed.

It was over—all his dreams, all his plans. He had failed. He was going to die down here under the ground, of that he was certain. The elves would never slip up, would never stop watching him. Even now they had a half dozen revenants guarding him. If he could get through the bars, he had no doubt they would strangle the life out of him with their bony claws.

Perhaps that was better than waiting to see what Prestwicke would do to him. The murderous little bastard was going to cut him up with those little knives. Already he could feel his skin tingle as if they were slicing away at him, carving him up piece by piece. It was too much to bear.

“I demand to see Aethil! I demand an audience with the Hieromagus!” he screamed, running to the bars and grabbing them with both hands. It was pointless, but he couldn’t help himself. “Does a condemned man have no rights in this place? Where is the rule of law? You call yourselves civilized! I demand to see your queen!”

“Very well,” someone said.

Malden jumped back in surprise as a light appeared at the top of the stairs and he heard footfalls coming down toward him. Had his time come already? No. No, it couldn’t be. Surely he had a while longer before they turned him over to Prestwicke.

Surely.

Aethil appeared at the bottom of the stairs, an oil lamp in her hand. She waved one slender hand at the revenants and they moved to one side to let her pass.

“You called for me,” she said. “Now I am here.”

Anger deranged her fine features, and made her as ugly as any weathered old fishwife of Ness. Her tiny nose scrunched up as if she was disgusted by the stink of the gaol, and the light streaming upward from her lamp made her features alien and ghastly.

“I—I only wanted to apologize,” Malden said, standing well clear of the bars. Had she come to torture him, before he was to die? “My actions were foolhardy, and . . . and ill-considered. I never meant you any harm.”

“You touched me,” she said. As if it were an unpardonable violation. “Now you won’t go to the ancestors with your friends. You won’t live forever. You’ll simply die.”

“You think that bothers me?” Malden asked, regaining some of his composure. “You think I wanted to be absorbed into your ancestral slime? Fie on that.” He turned away from her. If she was going to torture him, clearly nothing he said would change her mind. Not now.

“It’s a great honor—”

“It’s just another way to kill us, you stupid cow,” Malden shot back. “Your council of lords doesn’t give a damn about adding our memories to your stock. They just want us dead, but they know you wouldn’t let them just hang us!”

“Cow,” Aethil said. “Cow,” she said again, as if she’d never heard the word before. “That’s a kind of domestic animal, isn’t it? Like a cave beetle. So. You’re not only a violent beast. You’re also rude.”

Malden sighed and sat back down.

“One more vice my people do not share with yours,” Aethil said. “I came down here to give you one last boon, and instead you insult me. I’m of half a mind not to let you see Cythera at all.”

“Cythera?” Malden asked. “She’s here?”

“I am, Malden,” Cythera said from the top of the stairs. “Aethil, may I come down? I beg you to forgive my friend. I know if Sir Croy were here he would say the same. Malden’s merely frightened—you must understand that.”

“Of course,” Aethil said. “Please, join us.”

Cythera came down the stairs then. She looked very pale. When she saw the revenants she flinched, but then she rushed over to the bars and grabbed Malden’s hands through them. “Such a stupid man,” she said.

“I only—”

“Such a stupid, brave man,” she said. She was weeping.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Aethil said. “You don’t have much time, but I’ll see what I can do about delaying the execution a few minutes.”

She turned to go. Malden called her name through the bars, and she looked back.

“Aethil—thank you, for this.”

The queen looked no less haughty, no less angry. But she nodded. “I know what love is, now that I’ve met Sir Croy. Even a human deserves to say goodbye.”

She left them then, but Malden had already forgotten she was ever there. He could only stare into Cythera’s face, for what was surely the last time. He tried to memorize every curve, every wrinkle, the down on her cheek. If he was going to the pit of souls this day he would at least have that face to take with him.

“There’s not much time,” Cythera said. He barely heard her. “Slag is working on Aethil as best he can, trying to persuade her to forgive you, and help us in some way. I don’t know how much luck he’s having. Croy is here somewhere, and Mörget as well—that was the deal this Prestwicke made with the elves, apparently. Croy and Mörget were killing every elf they could find, and the elves couldn’t stop them, and then Prestwicke showed up and just captured them. I have no idea how he could do that. He certainly doesn’t look like much of a warrior.”

“Cythera,” Malden said, almost a whisper.

“The important thing is they’re here, somewhere close by. I’ll try to reach them somehow, at least get a message to them. Our chances don’t look good, but we’ll do everything we can to—”

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Malden, there’s no time for that,” she pleaded.

“I’ve been nothing but a hindrance for you since we left Ness. I’ve gotten you in terrible trouble. Please. There’s no way out for me now. But you and Croy—you’ll find a way to get free. To get out of here. And when you’re back in the world above, I want the two of you to—”

“Malden, be still!” Cythera hissed.

“You deserve happiness,” Malden said.

“I beg of you, stop it! I can’t marry Croy now!”

The thief blinked in confusion. “But—”

“I met Croy when I was still a child, a girl of eighteen. I thought he was some kind of demigod come to walk the world, and I believed what I felt for him was love. Later on I dreamed of all the things he could give me. Things you never could, Malden, and I thought that mattered. When I was convinced he was dead I saw my entire future die with him, and I thought I had to honor that memory. I thought I owed him. But now . . . Malden, when the elves first captured you I said it, and it was true. It’s you I love.”

“But now—”

She leaned forward and kissed him. Deeply, passionately. “I can’t have any kind of life with Croy. Every day of it I would think of you, and what I’d lost. Instead I’ll go to my mother and have her teach me to be a witch. It will burn, Malden, what I’ve lost will always burn, but it won’t be a lie. It’s you who should forgive me. Forgive me for wasting our time together. Forgive me for how I’ve failed you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Malden said. His heart was so full he thought he might perish on the spot, and cheat Prestwicke out of his due. “Just—kiss me again. Just once more, before they come for me. Please.”