26 KYTHORN (HIGHSUN)

WHEN KALEN RETURNED TO THE DROWNED RAT, THE SUN was high. The gang ruffians were mostly there, bragging of conquests that night or keeping a low cloak to hide their failures. Toytere took his leave to take care of one thiefly matter or another. Any other day, Kalen might have considered watching him, but at the moment, he had another goal.

Eden. Manipulative, scheming, dangerous Eden.

Eden, who had let slip no opportunity to frame him for stealing food, to add rotted rats to his stew, or to put live spiders in his bed.

Eden, who had ever hated him for reasons he could not name.

Despite all this, he’d loved her after a fashion—really, he’d had little choice. Their mother had scarcely known his name most of the time.

Kalen had been very young at the point their mother drank and drugged herself to death. Rather than stay to care for a brother she’d never loved, Eden had charmed and slept her way into an adventuring party and turned her back on Luskan. Kalen, then only a lad of six, had fallen in with a harsh crowd, including Toytere with his filed teeth. If he hadn’t met Cellica—Toytere’s compassionate and sensible sister—he might have become just as bad as Eden.

That Eden had returned and now ran the greatest of Luskan’s Five troubled him to no end. The fact that her gang held a semblance of respectability about it made resisting them all the harder. The Eden he’d seen today, with her protestations of reverence in “the Lady,” crossed his earliest memories of her. Perhaps she’d truly changed.

Perhaps.

“Her Majesty said what?” one of the Rats shouted.

Kalen turned his attention to the bar. There, Flick engaged one of the Dead Rats in a battle of will.

“You’re to take these here turnips and things down to Old Shim’s at the dock,” Flick said. “Them youngins is low on food, what with the plague and all.”

“But—but them’s our rations!”

Rations. Kalen’s stomach growled even if he didn’t feel hunger. He welcomed the reminder to eat. Flick had taken charge of the larder—a better quartermaster Kalen had never met outside the Guard.

What caught his attention, however, was what Flick said next.

“Orders of Her Majesty,” Flick said. “You take this food and you share it, understand? And you don’t demand no payment, neither.”

The Dead Rat stared at her as though she’d grown a second and third head. Kalen couldn’t blame him. Generosity? From the gang?

“Now get.” Flick shoved the crate into his arms. “Before I gets me cudgel!”

The man ran, crate bouncing against his chest. Flick gave a contented smile, which evaporated as soon as she saw Kalen watching. “Bah!” she said.

“I’ll be godsburned,” Kalen said. “She really did it.”

Myrin had spoken of taking a stand—of teaching the Rats to do the right thing—but he’d never dreamed she could actually do it. He felt a lightness in his chest, stirred by Myrin’s own perseverance. Was it truly possible?

Then he remembered Eden.

He had to get Myrin out of the city soon.

Rhett lay slumped against the wall outside Myrin’s door, snoring deeply. He must have been watching her for hours to be so tired.

This Kalen admired. Few men willingly stood guard until they dropped from exhaustion. What would Gedrin Shadowbane, the first of the line, say of this one?

Likely that the boy talked entirely too much.

At his belt, Vindicator felt warm, as though reacting to Rhett’s proximity.

“I’m glad you like him,” Kalen said, both to the sword and the sword’s old wielder.

Myrin sat in the room, surrounded by floating images. Cross-legged, she floated several hands off the bed. She moved images back and forth, mumbling to herself.

“This,” she said. “No, like this. No, I seem younger here …”

She sounded bone-weary, her voice crackling as though she’d had nothing to drink in days. She looked thinner than usual—ragged.

“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Do you—?” No, that wasn’t the right question. Not yet. He would begin gently. “What are you about?”

“Well met, Kalen,” Myrin said. “Just a little world-rending magic. Nothing serious.”

“I see.” He couldn’t tell if that was meant for a jest, but decided not to press. Kalen pointed at the tiny Myrins sculpted of her magic. “And those?”

“Umbra’s memories … and others. I just can’t decide where to place them.”

“Memories?” Kalen asked.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Umbra had many memories of me. We were lovers, I think.”

“Lovers?” At his side, his hand made a fist so tight that blood trickled. When Kalen noticed, he loosened his fingers. “Is that what you saw? Love-making?”

“Yes, or perhaps we were interrupted before we could, I don’t really know,” she said. “But the point is, he knew me over a period of time—he saw me grow and age.”

“Right.” Kalen looked at a plate of hard cheese and black bread left untouched on the bed. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“What a completely irrelevant question,” Myrin said. “The best one is this—look.” She pointed toward a central image: Myrin, blushing, looking darling as ever, her eyes sparkling. Her lips moved, but the images conveyed no sound. “He told me my age—I was twenty in that moment. Twenty! Only”—she frowned—“I don’t know how long ago that was. And I look the same age in all these other memories.”

“But you were twenty,” Kalen said. “For certain?”

“I said it myself, in the memory,” she said, her voice wavering. “It had to have been years ago, however—before whatever happened to Umbra to break him. The Umbra who remembered her—I mean, me—was young. Handsome, or at least not mad. I might be older than I thought.” She gave him a devious smile, one that betrayed a certain madness that came with exhaustion. “Maybe I’m older than you, fancy that?”

It was time. “Myrin, do you want to talk about it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It?”

“What happened to Umbra.”

“Oh.” She looked away. “No.”

He thought he smelled wine on her breath. “Have you been drinking?”

“Yes.” A half-empty wine bottle sat on the sideboard.

“And you haven’t eaten?” Kalen frowned. “You need to rest.”

“Pah!” Myrin turned back to her images, looking over them again. “Rest is for those who know themselves,” she said. “I’ve discovered something very important and I’ll not rest until I—damn!” One of the miniature Myrins wavered and faded. “I can’t concentrate to maintain so many images at once. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Listen to your body.” Kalen glanced at his numb hands. “And be glad it speaks.”

“My body tells me less than the memories do.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Kalen said. “You’re worn out. You need to eat, drink, and rest.”

“No I don’t.” She veritably trembled. “I need to do this! I need—”

“Myrin, you’re allowed to be upset,” Kalen said. “You just killed a man.”

“That’s debatable,” she said. “Whether I killed him, I mean.”

“Myrin.” Kalen took her shoulders in his hands, seizing her attention. “Rest.”

Myrin twisted away. “Did you know you wouldn’t turn to dust when you touched me?”

Kalen shrugged. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“Well.” Myrin broke their linked gaze. “Fine—I’ll drink something. Here.”

She put out her hand and a half-drunk bottle of wine floated to her. She caught it and tipped it over her mouth.

“Easy!” Kalen took the bottle away after she drained two big gulps. “Know your body and its limits.”

“I know my body,” Myrin said. “I just—I want to know me!” Myrin’s images swirled. She had to assert her will to pull them back into order. A vein bulged at her temple. “These memories are who I am, don’t you see? Look at this one … and this!”

She waved two images forward—the blue-gleaming girl she’d been in the alley in Waterdeep, wreathed in flame, and another Myrin, crouching and struggling to hold a magical shield against a necromantic assault.

“I hardly recognize those women,” Myrin said. “I mean, that’s me, but look how powerful I am. Can you imagine, Kalen, if I could unlock that power? How much good I could accomplish!” Her words slurred as she spoke. “Kalen, I feel dizzy.”

Her images vanished. She reeled and might have fallen onto the bed if he hadn’t caught her in his arms. She murmured, and he lowered her to the blankets.

“It hurts, Kalen,” she said. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Killing should never be easy,” Kalen said.

“That’s just it,” Myrin said. “I didn’t kill him. He … he was carrying something inside him, and … I just wish I could remember!”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Kalen said.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Perhaps I’m being a fool. This city, Toytere … Gods, you must think I’m a fool.” She sagged back and covered her face with one hand.

“I don’t,” Kalen said. “I don’t understand why you’d trust Toytere, who’d sell you for a few silvers, but neither do I doubt you. You must have a reason.” He thought of Flick instructing food to be sent to the needy. “You’ve made me believe.”

Myrin offered a wan smile. “I have to believe people can change,” she said. “It’s like Rhett said: you cannot expect a man to become better than he is, if you do not trust him. And I have to trust you or …”

“You mean Toytere,” Kalen said.

Myrin furrowed her brow. “What?”

“When you say ‘you,’ you mean Toytere.”

Myrin gave him a faraway look. “I’ve—I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You need rest.” He pulled the light blanket over her.

“Aye, that might help.” She put out her hands. “My grimoire, please.”

Kalen noted her spellbook, bound in leather dyed bright pink. He smiled at her resolve, even if he was not about to give her that book. “You need rest, not spells.”

“Ooh!” She stuck out her tongue. “Just a little reading before sleepies.” She clasped her forehead. “Gods, did I really just say that? Out loud?”

“Friends do not let friends weave world-destroying magic from their cups.”

“Heh!” Myrin hiccupped loudly. She covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

Kalen stood but Myrin caught his wrist. Power tingled in her fingers. Even he, with his layers of dead flesh, could feel the warmth of her touch.

“Is that what we are, Kalen?” she asked. “Friends?”

“What else?” Kalen pulled the blankets up to her chin.

“Well …” Myrin pursed her lips. “Do friends lie next to friends who’ve had too much to drink while they go to sleep? And hold them very tightly?”

He stared at her a long, long moment, fighting to find the right words.

Finally, he brushed an errant blue hair out of her eyes. “No,” he said.

“No?” She gazed at him, saddened. “Are you sure?”

He sat beside her and put out his arm. “They do, however, sit next to friends who’ve had too much to drink. Just until they fall asleep.”

“Oh.” Myrin smiled wanly. “Well then, some of that, if you will.”

She settled into the crook of his arm, her head resting comfortably on his stomach. He couldn’t feel her exactly—not physically—but his spellscar eased as though content, making him more comfortable. She radiated a warmth and ease that made him sleepy as time passed. His worries about Toytere, Eden, and this wretched city drifted, seeming to lose importance as he listened to her steady breathing. He trailed his fingers along her back. She murmured something, then snuggled into him and relaxed further.

From the dimming light through the cracks in the wall, Kalen realized some time had passed. The Luskan day wore on, a morass of chaos around their moment of peace. He had things to do and he couldn’t sit here with Myrin all day—even if he wanted to.

He thought she’d fallen asleep, but when he shifted, Myrin’s lips parted. “I know what happened,” she said. “To Umbra, I mean.”

Kalen nodded. “What?”

“I didn’t kill him. At least, I don’t think I did,” she said. “He died long ago, but the thing inside him—a piece of me, left for me to find—preserved him. But that piece is like a treasure chest I don’t remember how to open. I just don’t.”

“A piece of you?” Kalen asked. “Who left it? Do you know?”

“I think—” Her voice was heavy with sleep. “I think I did.”

Her breathing fell into regular rhythms.

He thought about what Myrin had said—about what she had told him and what she had almost told him. He thought about trust and being a better person.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

He slid aside to let her lie alone on the bed, took a pair of manacles from his belt and bound her wrists behind her back.

By day, the Whetstone seemed almost habitable, without the jangling noise and smoky darkness that filled it by night. It made a much worse meeting place at such times, but Eden’s hint to meet here had been clear.

“If possible—and I’m by no means allowing that it is,” Eden said from across the smoke-tainted table. “You look worse than last we met.”

Toytere certainly felt awful. He itched all over, particularly in his arm. He hadn’t slept well in days, thanks to awful dreams of stalking the streets, constantly thirsting for violence. Still, he would remain in control, however much he wanted to rage and strike at someone. And, oh gods, how he wanted to leap across the table and tear out Eden’s throat with his teeth.

“You be speaking your piece,” he said shakily, “or this meeting be done.”

“Indeed.” Eden smirked unprettily. “But about Kalen—you seemed surprised.”

“You knew Little Dren was in the city,” Toytere said. “Yet you didn’t be mentioning your familial tie. ’Tis a dangerous game you be playing.”

“Not as dangerous as you’d think,” Eden said. “You’ll reconsider our bargain?”

“That seems unlikely.” Toytere scoffed. “I told you, deal’s off—”

“My dear halfling,” Eden said. “You’re not seeing the full picture.”

She drew from her robe a yellow-stained scroll.

“What be that?” Toytere asked.

“Something that came into my possession only this night,” she said. “A cure.” Toytere’s mouth dropped open. “But—”

“You have the Fury, halfling,” she said. “Your resolve is remarkable, but the disease is greater than you. You have a day, perhaps another, but soon you’ll go mad and perish. Unless—” She tapped the scroll on the table. “Well?”

Toytere felt like a rat caught in a snare.

“One day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you,” Myrin had said.

His wrist ached something fierce. He felt boiling anger inside.

“What must I do?” he asked.

Eden smiled. “Only that which you wish to do,” she said. “Kill Kalen Dren. But first—let me show you what this scroll offers.”