and terror, she might have pitied the unknown assassin. As it was . . . Breathing hard, she watched Walker turn without another word and glide through the press of bodies to the door. People made way for him without seeming to realize they did so. He’d looked grim and tired and suddenly, she remembered he’d been ill.
The Sister send you strength and good hunting, the Brother guide your blade. No doubt prayers from an unbeliever were a waste of breath—certainly hers had always been—but there was no harm in trying, even if the thought had been a demand rather than a plea.
Bracing herself, she turned to meet Erik’s gaze.
As he handed Prue into a skiff, Erik glanced at the Sibling Moons in surprise. The Brother had barely risen above the palazzo roofs, the Sister keeping pace. So it hadn’t been a lifetime after all, only a few hours.
Grimacing, he plucked his wet shirt away from his skin. His nostrils stung with the vomitus smell of evil. “Let me change,” he said, “and get the boy settled at the boarding house. Then I’ll take you home.”
For a wonder, Florien said nothing, only sat stiffly in the shelter of Prue’s arm, gazing steadfastly at a point over Erik’s shoulder, his small face pinched and old. No child should have to witness such horrors, but he’d recognized the poison immediately. What a life, the poor little bastard.
By the time the skiff had grounded at the base of the water stairs, the lad had nodded off, still sitting bolt upright. When Erik bent and scooped him up in his arms, he reared back with a panicked gasp, his eyes flying open.
“It’s all right,” said Erik uneasily, patting a knobby knee. “I’ve got you.”
Florien grunted, but he relaxed and let himself be carried up to the street before he wriggled free.
Erik turned to Prue. “Wait for me?” It came out halfway between an order and a question, not what he’d intended, but she nodded, her face pale and set, her exotic eyes shadowed. Erik blew out a long breath. He tossed the skiffman an extra coin. “Stay here with her, all right?” He got a nod in return.
It took him no more than a few minutes to take Florien to the dancers’ room and hand him over to Sydarise. Despite the boy’s token protests, Erik saw the tension leave the wiry little body. Refuge in a woman’s soft embrace was a wonderful thing when you were small and frightened. Hell, even for a grown man—
He paused with his shirt half unbuttoned, his skin pebbling with goose bumps. Another night, a little more of the comfort and the pleasure. It wasn’t much to ask, surely? Shit, if it wasn’t for Prue, he thought with a kind of weary savagery, he’d book the Company on the first starship back to Concordia and get the hell out. Let the whole fucking city go to the bottom. That could have been him writhing in agony on the taproom floor, his throat a bloody ruin. Fuck, what if he’d offered Prue a sip—or the boy? Blindsided by the enormity of the thought, he grabbed the door frame in a white-knuckled grip, panting.
He could hardly bear to think of it. The desire to race down to the skiff and snatch her up against his heart was so strong, he was down the stairs and out the door before he knew it, his breath still choppy.
Prue hadn’t moved a muscle. She didn’t speak or acknowledge him in any way, though when he settled beside her, she turned her cheek into his shoulder. Wordlessly, Erik put his arm around her, and the skiffman poled slowly away down the canal.
The air felt heavy and still, almost suffocating. A fitful, salt-laden breeze blew in off the sea, still carrying with it the reek of corruption. Erik rubbed his nose. Far away, thunder rumbled. A chill slid down his spine. “Is that—?”
Prue straightened, pulling away from him. “The first storm of summer.” A trio of Technomage flitters buzzed toward the mainland, racing before the wind.
As their eyes met, the sky out to sea split from top to bottom with a great fork of lightning. Simultaneously, a fat drop of water plopped onto Erik’s sleeve and the world echoed with a long, rolling boom. With a curse, the skiffman bent his back, digging in with the pole. The small craft leaped forward.
At The Garden, Erik shoved the fare into the skiffman’s fist. “Keep the change.” Subduing