The farmer and his wife were poor, but not desperately so. They welcomed the supplies that Wrayan and Kalan offered in return for shelter, and although there was obviously tension between them, they’d put aside their argument while there were visitors in the house. It was quite late when Wrayan and Kalan retired to the barn, but clearly, the presence of strangers had diffused the argument. Perhaps the young couple had had enough shouting for one day. Kalan was glad of that. She hated to see two people so obviously in pain unable to resolve their differences.
The night was cold and as Wrayan had predicted, the rain started bucketing down a little after dinner. They snuggled close together for warmth, two blankets better than one, the heat of their bodies the only source of warmth in the draughty hayloft.
“Are you warm enough?” Wrayan asked, as Kalan pressed her back into his warm embrace.
“Actually, I’m freezing,” she admitted, pulling the blankets up under her chin. “But I’m thinking a fire in the hayloft to address the situation might not be such a brilliant idea.”
Wrayan chuckled softly as he settled in beside her and pulled her closer. “I’ve heard farmers take a dim view of passing travellers burning their barns down, regardless of how cold it gets.”
“No sense of humour,” Kalan remarked. “That’s their problem.”
She felt, rather than saw, Wrayan smiling in the darkness, wishing she could see his face, but with her back to him, she could only imagine his expression. This close to him, with his arms around her to conserve what warmth they could, Kalan could imagine quite a few other (much less innocent) things she’d like to do with Wrayan, but she was acutely aware that handled incorrectly, any chance she had of a relationship with him would be ruined.
The biggest problem, Kalan readily admitted to herself as she lay in the darkness listening to Wrayan’s deep, even breathing, was getting him to see her as someone other than her mother’s daughter. Wrayan had known her mother since before even Damin was born and he had an infuriating tendency to look upon all Marla’s children with the same affection as might a benevolent uncle. As far as Kalan was concerned, he could be an uncle to her brothers all he wanted. But to have him smile at her indulgently wasn’t what she wanted.
Kalan wanted Wrayan to want her. She wanted him to lust after her.
She sighed, wishing she could find a way to make him see how much she desired him without attracting either his contempt or his ridicule. She was pretty enough, she decided. Although not the rare beauty her mother was, Kalan was confident she’d matured into a presentable young woman. Her mother still got offers for her hand in marriage on a regular basis, but Kalan knew those proposals were prompted by political expedience, not her radiant beauty.
She was the future High Prince’s sister, after all.
Still, Kalan knew she wasn’t unattractive. She also knew, without vanity, that she was intelligent, perceptive and well educated and while some men appeared intimidated by such a female, Wrayan Lightfinger wasn’t one of them. No man lucky enough to count himself a part of Princess Marla’s inner circle (with the possible exception of Mahkas Damaran) was under any illusions about the ability of women to hold their own in a world dominated by men.
But knowing all of this did little to help Kalan unravel the puzzle that was Wrayan Lightfinger. She knew he wasn’t celibate (Fee could attest to that—she seemed able to name every woman who had ever crossed the threshold of Wrayan’s room at the Pickpocket’s Retreat). But neither had he ever been in love that Kalan knew about. In fact, it was doubtful any relationship he’d been involved in had lasted much past two or three days. This disturbed Kalan a great deal. What was Wrayan looking for? She knew him too well to consider him simply selfish or uncaring of the feelings of the women he took to his bed. It was the reason, she suspected, that Wrayan limited his attention to court’esa and never attempted to woo a woman who might expect some sort of commitment. Whatever it was that stopped Wrayan from becoming involved with a lover on more than the most superficial level was something from his past, she reasoned. Something Kalan needed to discover before she attempted to act on her desires, otherwise she would wind up just another notch on Wrayan Lightfinger’s belt, or worse, looking like a complete fool.
“Wrayan?” she ventured softly in the darkness, wondering if he was asleep yet.
“Mmm?” He was awake but didn’t sound far from sleep. Maybe now was the time to question him, when he was offguard and at his most vulnerable.
“Have you ever been in love?”
He hesitated before he answered. “Once.”
“What happened?”
Again Wrayan hesitated, as if debating the advisability of sharing his secrets with her. “She was … is … way out of my reach.”
Kalan was silent for a time, a little surprised he’d volunteered even that much information. “Did she love you?”
“I suppose. In her own way.”
“But not enough to stay with you?”
“Things are never that simple, Kalan,” he replied. She couldn’t see his face but she got the impression he was smiling.
“Do you still miss her?”
“Every day of my life.”
Kalan was almost afraid to ask the next question. “Do you think that maybe … someday … you and her … ?”
She felt him shaking his head. “There’s no chance of a happy ending, Kal. We’re too different. Now shut up and go to sleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Kalan felt silent, wondering who he spoke of with such painful longing. Was it the Harshini princess he’d mentioned the first day they were on the road together, or someone much closer to home? The mystery frustrated and infuriated Kalan. She didn’t mind a flesh and blood rival for Wrayan’s affections. One could do something about a real adversary. But there was no way to compete with a ghost.
“Wrayan …”
“Go to sleep, Kalan.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Just drop it.”
There was an edge of impatience to his voice that warned her she was on the brink of pushing him too far. Kalan closed her eyes and settled down to sleep with the musty smell of hay and the tattoo of rain upon the roof, content that for the time being at least, regardless of who her mysterious rival was, right now she was the one sleeping with Wrayan’s arms around her.
The rest of their journey to Greenharbour was uneventful, except for one incident that reminded Kalan sharply that the man of her dreams was no ordinary man.
It happened almost a week after they’d stopped at the isolated farmhouse. They were riding at a walk as Wrayan continued telling her the story he’d begun several days ago about his exploits as a burglar in Greenharbour during his youth, when he was known as Wrayan the Wraith.
Kalan wasn’t sure she believed half of what he was telling her. The stories seemed a little far-fetched, even for Wrayan. His narration disturbed her a little, too. While she appreciated the entertainment, she had a bad feeling Wrayan was telling her stories to keep her amused, the way he had when she was a small child. That didn’t augur well for her plans to change Wrayan’s opinion about her. One told amusing anecdotes to children on a long journey to stop them from becoming fractious, not because this was a woman one was hoping to seduce.
And then Wrayan stopped, mid-sentence, and hauled his mount to a stop. Standing on the road in front of them was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, dressed in a most remarkable collection of cast-off clothing that appeared to represent almost every fashion trend of the last millennia.
“Divine One!” Wrayan exclaimed in surprise.
Kalan stared at him in astonishment and then studied the boy on the road. “Divine One?”
The thief looked at Kalan in surprise. “You can see him?”
“The child blocking our path? Yes. I can see him. Why wouldn’t I be able to see him?”
“Why are you letting her see you?” he asked the child.
The boy shrugged. “She might think you’re crazy if you suddenly start talking to thin air.” The boy stepped closer and stared up at them with an ingenuous grin. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Wrayan looked at her uncertainly. “Um … sure … Kalan Hawksword, meet … Dacendaran, the God of Thieves.”
Kalan nearly fell off her horse. “Divine One!” She hurriedly dismounted and fell to her knees in front of the god. “Forgive me for not recognising you, Divine One!”
The boy-god leaned forward. He took her elbow gently,
urging her to stand, and then looked up at Wrayan. “You see? That’s how nice people greet their gods. And she’s not even one of my disciples.” He turned his attention to Kalan then, eyeing her speculatively. “You could be a thief, you know. You look like a thief.”
“I’m … flattered, Divine One,” she stammered. “But I’m a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective. I’m sworn to worship all gods equally.”
The god squinted a little, studying her closely, clearly puzzled by what he found. “But you can’t wield magic. How can you belong to the Sorcerers’ Collective?”
“The ability to wield magic is no longer an admission requirement to the Sorcerers’ Collective,” Wrayan informed him. “Hasn’t been much of a priority since the Harshini went into hiding.”
“Well … that’s just silly,” the god said with a frown. “Who ever heard of anything so odd? Mind you,” he added, winking at Wrayan, “it could explain why they chucked you out.”
“They didn’t chuck me out,” Wrayan corrected. “Someone tried to kill me.”
“Same difference.” He turned his attention back to Kalan. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be a thief? I’m a very generous god, you know. I don’t make my disciples worship in a temple, or insist they hold those long, boring services on Restdays. No rites. No sacrifices. Just steal the odd trinket every now and then and I’ll watch over you until Death comes knocking on your door. Even then, if I like you, I can speak to the old boy about taking you as painlessly as possible.”
Kalan glanced up at Wrayan, wondering how she was supposed to respond to such an offer. He shook his head at the god and frowned. “Come on, Dace, you know you’re not supposed to recruit humans already in the service of the Sorcerers’ Collective.”
“Who told you that?”
“Brakandaran.”
“He’s a fine one to talk about breaking the rules.”
Kalan looked from Wrayan to Dace in confusion. “Hang on. If you’re not allowed to recruit members of the Sorcerers’ Collective, why did you make a deal with Wrayan to save my mother?”
The god looked at her closely and then laughed. “Your mother? She was the one I released from that time spell? Are you sure? You don’t look much like her. And you seem quite a bit older than she was.”
“You saved her before I was born, Divine One.” It made Kalan cringe to remind Wrayan of that after all her hard work playing down the difference in their ages.
“Was it so long ago?”
“More than twenty-five years,” Wrayan confirmed.
“Fancy that!” the god laughed. “Well, just goes to show what a good judge of character I am, doesn’t it? Are you sure you don’t want to be a thief?”
“I’m sorry, Divine One.”
Dacendaran shrugged. “At least you’re not following one of the others, I suppose. Not like they need any help, at the moment, mind you. Between Zeggie’s war and Cheltaran’s pesky little ailment …”
“You mean the plague?” Kalan asked in surprise. “You’re not suggesting the God of Healing set the plague among us deliberately, are you?”
“Don’t be stupid. He fixes things, he doesn’t break them. It was probably Voden.”
“Why would the God of Green Life set the plague among us?” Wrayan asked, apparently just as confused as Kalan.
“Why not?” Dace shrugged. “You’re all just little bits and pieces on a game board to Voden. He doesn’t think human life is any more valuable than some itty-bitty little bug he’s decided needs a chance to thrive for a while.”
“But that’s appalling!” Kalan gasped.
“Only if you’re human.” The god shrugged.
“But what about Cheltaran?” Wrayan asked.
Dacendaran’s expression grew rather smug. “Ah, now
that’s where you get lucky, Wrayan. After you suggested I speak to which ever one of my siblings was causing this little illness that seems to bother you all so much, I had a chat with my brother, Chellie.”
“Chellie?” Kalan repeated incredulously. She’d never imagined anybody could refer to Cheltaran, the noble God of Healing, as “Chellie.”
“Anyway, I pointed out that instead of just sitting on his hands waiting for Voden to get bored with his new friends, he should take this opportunity to do something useful, particularly as Zeggie’s getting so full of himself with half of Fardohnya waiting over the border to invade you, so I—”
“Hang on!” Kalan interrupted, forgetting for a moment that she was in the presence of a god. “Half of Fardohnya is waiting over the border to invade us?”
“Well … maybe not half,” Dace conceded. “But there are a lot of them. Brak said there was some way of working it out by counting fires, but—”
“You spoke to Brak?” Wrayan cut in. “When? Where? Is he all right?”
“If you’d let me finish,” Dace retorted impatiently. “Maybe I’ll get around to telling you.”
“Sorry,” they both muttered contritely.
“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” the god continued, “I spoke to Chellie and pointed out he’d have a lot more fun if he helped the whole healing thing along instead of just waiting for nature to take its course, and how Death was run off his feet, and Zeggie was just being a pain, and even Kali was feeling it with people too afraid to touch each other for fear of dropping dead or something, and how the whole world just generally reeked at the moment, and how all of us could get back to normal if things settled down a bit, and he said yes.”
“He said yes to what?” Kalan asked, thoroughly confused.
“To stopping this plague thing you’re all so upset about, of course. There’s hardly been a death from it in weeks now. I would have told you the other day when we healed your
friend, Wrayan, but I was so excited over you finding me another soul, I forgot all about it.”
“Do you mean the plague is over?” Kalan gasped.
“Of course not!” The god sighed, rolling his eyes at her ignorance. “You can’t just stop a thing like that dead in its tracks. People would get suspicious.”
“Yeah,” Wrayan agreed wryly. “They might think their prayers had been answered.”
Dace took a step back in alarm. “Good grief, man! Do you have any idea what would happen if we started actually answering prayers?”
“More people might believe in you, Divine One,” Kalan suggested.
“Which is all well and good,” the god agreed. “But-you’ve no idea what the world would be like. We know humans. Nobody would do anything! You’d just sit down, say a prayer and wait for one of us to do it.”
“So the gods’ willingness to sit back and let untold pain and suffering torment the mortals of this world is really just your way of demonstrating your selfless concern for our well-being?” Wrayan asked.
“Exactly!” Dacendaran agreed.
The thief stared at his god in amazement.
“So many things Brak told me when I was in Sanctuary suddenly begin to make sense,” Wrayan said, turning to Kalan.
For her part, Kalan was dumbfounded, but she wasn’t sure if it was this god’s bizarre logic or merely the fact she was standing here talking to one that left her so bemused.
“Anyway,” Dace said, “I just thought I’d drop by and let you know that I’ve fixed your little problem so now you can fix mine.”
“What problem?” Wrayan asked suspiciously.
“Does the phrase greatest thief in all of Hythria ring a bell?”
Wrayan sighed. “Things have been rather difficult lately, Divine One …”
“And I’ve just put an end to all that,” Dace reminded him.
“So I expect to see some action soon, Lightfinger, or we’ll be having a discussion about what happens when you break a pact you made with a god.”
“What’s to steal out here?” Wrayan asked, looking around the empty rolling grasslands flanking the gravelled road.
“You’ll be in Greenharbour in a matter of days. I’m sure there’s something there that’s not nailed down.”
“I’m supposed to be helping Princess Marla.”
“Help her all you want.” Dacendaran shrugged. “Just don’t forget to steal something in my honour every now and then.”
“Every now and then?” Wrayan echoed doubtfully.
“Oh, all right … you know I meant every chance you get. I was trying to be nice.”
“And I appreciate your forbearance, Divine One.”
“Don’t get smart with me, boy,” he warned, which sounded odd coming from a creature that looked like a child.
Then Dace turned to Kalan. “You could steal something too, if you like.”
“I’ll honour you in my prayers, Divine One.”
“I’d rather you stole something.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
That seemed to make Dacendaran happy. Smiling, he turned on Wrayan and pointed at him. “Greatest thief in all of Hythria, Wrayan Lightfinger. I haven’t forgotten.”
He was gone even before his words had faded into the hazy sunshine, leaving Kalan and Wrayan staring at the empty space in the road.
After a long, astonished silence, she looked up at Wrayan, shaking her head in wonder. “So, that was the God of Thieves …”
“Yes.”
“He’s … not what I expected.”
“No.”
“Is he likely to come back?”
Wrayan shrugged. “How should I know?”
She gathered up her reins and remounted her horse. “Greatest thief in all of Hythria, eh?”
“Don’t start.”
Kalan bit back her amusement, and said nothing further, convinced her strange and unexpected encounter with a god was simply more proof Wrayan Lightfinger was destined to be by her side.
Kalan Hawksword had plans, after all, to be High Arrion someday. Who better as a consort for the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective than a man who could put her directly in touch with the gods?