Starros had just finished wearily pulling off his boots when he heard the sound of a door closing in the small room adjacent to his bedroom. The door inside the tiny dressing room clicked shut and a moment later Leila emerged from the slaveways, dressed in a nightgown, her long fair hair hanging loose around her face, rippled from being braided so tightly all day.
Even though Starros knew he was dreaming, in his mind’s eye she crossed the small bedroom in three steps and wordlessly stepped into his arms. He held her close, the feeling so real, so intense, that he felt almost overwhelmed by it; a moment of sheer bliss for both of them when neither had said a word, so neither of them was able to shatter their fragile happiness by speaking of reality.
After a time she lifted her head from his shoulder and he kissed her, and then let her go and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. She smiled wanly, and sniffed back the rest of her tears.
“I’m sorry,” he remembered telling her, not sure why he was apologising.
“It’s not your fault, my love,” Leila sighed.
“You know, I don’t think I ever really lamented the fact that I was common-born until tonight, when I realised how far out of my reach you really are.”
“I’m here in your arms, aren’t I?” she whispered, kissing him again.
“Yes,” he agreed. “In secret. In the dark …”
With a jerk, Starros sat bolt upright, splashing his ale on the stained wooden table of the booth, as he suddenly realised where he was. Despite both Wrayan and Luc warning Starros to stay out of sight, for fear news of his miraculous
recovery might make its way to the palace, he found himself drawn back to the Pickpocket’s Retreat. He sat alone in a corner booth and spoke to nobody, but he wasn’t there for the conversation. It was the sound of other voices that he craved; the nearness of other living souls. Alone, Starros had only his memories of Leila, his guilt and her ghost for company, but even the close proximity of other people wasn’t enough sometimes to fend off his despair.
And the uncomfortable urge to steal something.
“Another ale, lad? You’ve spilt more of that than you’ve swallowed.”
Starros looked up, pulling his dripping sleeve out of the puddle of ale. Hary Fingle, the proprietor of the Pickpocket’s Retreat, was looking down at him with concern. He glanced at the mess he’d made and looked up at the white-haired tavern owner. “Thanks, Hary, but I think I’ll just sit on this one for a while longer.”
“Well, just call Fee if you want another. Wrayan’s picking up the tab. I daresay he’d prefer you drank it, though, rather than swim in it.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“The Wraith looks after his friends.”
“Wrayan the Wraith, eh? Odd to hear him called that.”
“There’s more people in Krakandar who know him by that name than any other,” Hary said. “It’s only you folks from the palace who think he’s some sort of gentleman rogue who never actually gets his hands dirty.”
“I’m not one of the ‘folks from the palace’ any longer, Hary.”
“You’d be paying a damn sight more for that ale if you were, lad,” Hary chuckled. “Keep your head down, eh?”
The tavern owner moved off to greet another customer in the noisy, crowded taproom, leaving Starros alone. He wasn’t given long to enjoy his solitude, however. A moment later, Luc North slipped into the seat opposite with a fresh tankard of his own.
“You’re going to be here a long while drowning your
sorrows at the rate you’re drinking, Starros,” the forger remarked. “You’ve been nursing that damn tankard half the morning.”
“Are you watching me now?”
“Funny, but that’s what I thought Wrayan meant when he asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“I’ve been thinking about what Wrayan said, Luc.”
“What did he say?”
“About stealing from Mahkas.”
“Well, that’s a step in the right direction. Dacendaran will be pleased.”
“He said I should steal everything from him. He didn’t mean that literally, did he?”
The forger shrugged. “Not unless you think you can organise the removal of the entire contents of Krakandar Palace without anybody noticing.”
“Then what did he mean?”
“Take something that means everything to him, I suppose.”
Starros frowned. “I would have thought that was Leila.”
“Well, that’s not really an option any longer,” Luc remarked carelessly. “What else does he hold dear?”
“Krakandar,” Starros replied without hesitation.
The forger pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Then if you really want to avenge your lover and honour your god, Starros, that’s what you need to steal from Mahkas Damaran. Krakandar Province.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
Luc smiled. “I believe that’s where the whole ‘criminal mastermind’ talent comes in.”
“I’m not a criminal mastermind,” Starros pointed out.
“You’re going to have to be to pull this off, old son,” the forger warned with a grin. He rose to his feet and tossed a few copper rivets on the table for his ale. “I imagine it’ll keep you off the streets for a while, trying to figure it out, at any rate. Have you said goodbye to Wrayan?”
“He’s going today?”
“Any minute,” the forger said. “He’s out in the stables with Lady Kalan getting ready to leave.”
At that news, Starros abandoned his ale and hurried out the back of the tavern through the kitchens. It was raining outside, a gentle soaking rain so fine it was almost a mist. He found Wrayan and Kalan leading their mounts and a packhorse out of the stables into the yard. Kalan was dressed in a dark green riding habit and a long matching cloak, her long blonde hair braided tightly against her head. Wrayan wore a long, dark leather coat that reached almost to his ankles, split at the rear to allow him to ride.
“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” Starros asked as Kalan grabbed a handful of mane and placed her foot in the stirrup.
“Of course not,” she said, swinging up into the saddle. “I knew you’d come to see us off.”
“That’s why I sent Luc in to find you,” Wrayan added. “Will you be all right once we’re gone?”
Starros shrugged. “I’ll survive.”
“If you need anything, just ask Luc,” the thief told him. “Or Hary. And stay out of sight. You’re safe enough here in the Beggars’ Quarter while Xanda’s minding the shop, but you don’t know what Mahkas will do when he’s back on his feet.”
“I’ll be all right, Wrayan.”
“Are you sure, Starros?” Kalan asked, looking down at him with concern.
“Yes, Kalan, I’m sure. Now go save Hythria and stop worrying about me.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind and come with us,” Wrayan offered.
Starros shook his head. “I’d rather stay here. It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“I think I understand. Take care, my friend.” The two men shook hands. “And I mean it about keeping your head down. Mahkas won’t have forgotten you.”
“I’m not likely to forget about him, either.”
“Painful though it might be, you do know Leila’s death isn’t
likely to have changed anything with Mahkas, don’t you? I’ve known men like him before. You’ve as much chance of a change in him as you have trying to change the past.”
“So don’t do anything foolish,” Kalan warned, as Wrayan climbed into the saddle.
“I’ll be careful,” Starros assured them both. “I promise.”
“Really careful?” Kalan asked.
“Yes. And you be careful, too,” he replied, stepping back to allow them to pass. “It’s a long way to Greenharbour and there’s more than just plague and the odd bandit out there to worry about.”
Kalan looked across at her travelling companion. “I have Wrayan to protect me.”
“But who’s going to protect Wrayan from you?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Wrayan agreed. “Now get out of this rain, Starros. We’ll be fine. Just take care and don’t let Luc depose me while I’m gone.”
Starros figured Wrayan was joking. Luc North was probably the most loyal deputy any head of the Thieves’ Guild had ever been blessed with. “I’ll watch him. Just like he’s watching me. On your orders, I believe.”
“A man in my position can never be too careful,” Wrayan replied. He tugged on the packhorse’s lead rope to get him moving. “Be careful, Starros.”
“You too, Wrayan,” he replied. “Bye, Kalan.”
Kalan looked down at him for a moment and then clucked at her horse to get her moving. Starros waited in the gentle rain until they’d turned down the lane behind the tavern and were out of sight, before heading back inside to the warmth of the Pickpocket’s Retreat, his ale and the problem of how he was going to steal Krakandar Province from under the nose of Mahkas Damaran.