"It's too late for that now," Rashed answered. He dropped the sword to clatter on the floor and lifted Teesha to her feet gently with both hands. She said nothing, but kept staring at him, waiting as if she hadn't heard his first answer. Something of his anger came back and the muscles in his jaw tightened.
"No, I'm not sorry," he added.
She gripped his forearms, or as much of them as her small hands could take in. In the air over Rashed's shoulder, she thought she saw Edwan's wispish form hovering in the rafters.
"We're free," she whispered.
She had not failed. Corische was dead, and they had no master. They were free. Joy rushed through her, and she wanted to laugh, but she came back to her senses as Rashed pulled away.
He reached up and took the seacoast painting off the wall.
"Everyone gather what you want with you. We leave tonight."
"Leave?" Ratboy sputtered. He was still standing dumbly as before, staring at Corische's headless body. "What are you talking about? Where are we going?"
Teesha walked with a smile over to Ratboy, still slightly uncertain on her feet. He stared at her with wide brown eyes. With a gentle touch, she pushed him toward the stairs to their lower chambers for the last time.
"To the sea."
* * *
Edwan jerked away from Teesha's mind, away from memories he could no longer stand to relive. In the silence, neither of them even heard the waves collapsing onto the shore of Miiska.
"Why?" he asked, his empty voice anguished. "Why show me these ugly visions? Go back before… to the tavern."
"No."
"To the day we met, to the first time we—"
"No, my love." She shook her head. 'To understand where you are, you must see where you've been, and not just the sweet parts."
"I am in torment!" Edwan cried, shaking her completely out of the past and into the present.
"My love," she whispered, regretting his pain. "Let's walk among the dark streets and pretend we are high in the north, children again, in distant days."
"Yes." He drew near, instantly appeased, and she reached out for his hand. Although she could not grasp it, the cold mist of him settled around her slender fingers.
* * *
Ratboy watched a sleeping girl through the loose window shutters of a cottage, her dark hair spread out on the pillow, her breathing light and even. She didn't look anything like the girl he'd ripped and drained not many nights ago, but he felt the taste of blood running on his tongue with the memory. And the merchant on the road, taken so easily.
Who made these absurd rules that killing mortals would not be allowed? Did all of their kind follow such laws? Parko had not.
First there had been Corische enforcing his strict guidelines, desiring power and nobility among mortals. Now there was Rashed dominating every aspect of their existence, Rashed with his disgusting sense of honor, his obsession with safety and mortal trappings. Weren't they Noble Dead? Wasn't that enough? No undead in his right mind would wish to become a mortal lord, or own a warehouse and earn a mortal living. Lately, Ratboy had begun to suspect Corische and Rashed were the mad ones, the twisted ones, not him, not Parko.
The girl rolled over in her slumber and raised a lovely tanned arm above her head. The movement caused Ratboy to tense, to smell the warm blood beneath her skin.
"What are you watching, my sweet?" a quiet voice said beside him.
He did not jump or even turn to look. It was only Teesha. He pointed through the window.
"Her."
"It's not wise to feed in their homes. You know this."
"I know many things. I'm not certain I agree anymore."
Her hand rose and stroked the back of his hair.
"Shhhhh," she whispered. "It's not far to dawn. Come and find easier prey. You must think of our home. You must think of me."
Closing his eyes at the feel of her touch, Ratboy slipped away from the window. Yes, he'd be cautious for her. But as they turned down the street together, he still remembered the sleeping, tan-armed girl.
Chapter Eight
Four nights later, Magiere stood behind The Sea Lion's bar, feeling a little more comfortable in her daily schedule. Out on the road, she and Leesil had developed a type of routine involving traveling, making camp, planning, manipulating feigned battles, and then beginning the process all over again. These events were interspersed with their experiences in new towns, villages, and Leesil's gambling. Now