"May I ask why? I daresay that my performance as the Elf-King has made your purse the heavier, Lord Larath. There have been no complaints about my conduct off the stage, and-" "It is precisely your skill as an actor that I need," Deveren interjected. "Keep your voice down, please."
Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Your pardon, my lord, but I don't understand."
"Let me try this again. I want to terminate your contract with the troupe because I wish to hire you for another performance."
Kyle cheered up considerably and dove into the braised greens with renewed gusto. "Well, that's quite different then, your lordship."
Deveren regarded him intently. He had the same basic build as Damir; the same receding hairline; even the same color eyes. The face was not quite right, but the right actor could do wonders with makeup. If he was kept at a distance…
"It's a very unusual assignment. You won't be able to discuss it with anyone, either during the, er, performance or at any time afterward. And after you are finished, I must ask you to leave Braedon for a few months." He leaned over the oak table, looked Kyle in the eye. "I will make it worth your while."
Kyle leaned forward, until their noses were only inches apart. "How much worth my while?" "I'll match every copper you earned for the entire run of The Queen of All and give you a bonus if you do the job right."
The actor's thin eyebrows shot up, but otherwise, he did not react. "How long a run?" 'Three, four days. Perhaps a week."
"Good gods, Lord Larath… what kind of a job is this?"
"Finish your meal. I don't want to attract attention." As Kyle returned to his salmon, Deveren glanced about surreptitiously. No one was paying them any heed. "It's just a lark, really-a joke. You know my good brother, Lord Damir Larath?"
"I've met him, yes. What about him?"
"He's going to be gone for a few days. He's been ill; thinks getting out of the city for a while will help him recover. We were talking last night; he was saying how much the good people of Braedon will miss him." Deveren was well into his own role now, completely at ease spinning the falsehood. "I of course replied that he could fall into the ocean and not be missed. We had a slight wager on it."
"Can't have been too slight," murmured Kyle.
"All right — not slight at all. It's one of those silly things brothers do." Deveren smiled his most disarming grin. Kyle smiled back and poured himself another goblet of wine. Clearly, he suspected nothing. "At any rate, I'd like for you to impersonate him while he's away. That way, if no one thinks he's gone, no one can miss him. And I win my wager."
"Your pardon, sir, but… I haven't really had a chance to study the man. And I don't think I resemble him that much."
"Kyle, I've seen how you can transform yourself into any character you want. And you look enough like him that I think we can manage it. Come, man, have you no sense of adventure?" "Well… your brother won't be angry with me?"
"Oh, he'll be hopping mad, all right, but with me, not with you. Damir generally knows who's to blame for what."
"It is tempting… Oh, very well."
"Wonderful! Do you know where I live, Kyle?"
"Aye, milord."
'Then order yourself a sweetcake to end your meal and tonight, after Death's hour has tolled, come to my house. Take care that no one sees you. I have my brother's clothes and other things that-"
"Come back here, you little rat!" The innkeeper's voice was loud and thunderous with anger. Deveren turned to see what all the commotion was about. Even as the innkeeper continued to yell, a shrill, high voice rose in wordless counterpoint. Deveren was just in time to see the flash of a black dress, bare feet and, for just the briefest instant, the faded face of an old rag doll.
He scattered a handful of coins on the table as he rose, saying hastily to Kyle, "This should pay for the meal. Keep the rest." Before the startled actor could reply, Deveren was threading his way through the clutter of tables and benches, trying to reach the child before the angry innkeeper did.
He was too late. Allika had not been swift enough and the heavyset man had her by the arm. She squalled and twisted, her face red as a pomegranate with fury. The innkeeper's heavy hand crashed down on her small face.
"Damned little vermin-ridden thief," the man grunted, his eyes bright and his own face flushed with excitement. "I'll teach you to steal from my kitchen, gods help me I will!"
Deveren lunged forward and seized the man's meaty arm, preventing a second blow from landing on Allika's already swollen cheek. Growling, the man turned to Deveren, his teeth clenched in raw fury. The anger faded as he recognized Lord Larath. Allika, though, continued to scream.
"What in the Nightlands is going on?" yelped Deveren.
"This-brat-was stealing from my kitchen. Gone and eaten nearly half a chicken pasty by the time I'd caught her!"
Allika paused long enough to fill her lungs with air, then continued shrieking. Deveren was confounded by her behavior. If she'd wanted to steal, she'd have done so and not gotten caught. And he'd never seen her carrying on like this, wailing and screaming…
"Here," he said to the innkeeper. "Let me recompense you for your trouble and take the child away."
The innkeeper's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Do you know this brat, Lord Larath?" He had to speak loudly to be heard over the din of the screeching little girl.
"No," lied Deveren, "but if she stole your food and not your money, I'm sure she's just hungry. I will take care of it," he emphasized, dropping a heavy silver coin into the man's beefy palm. The innkeeper's expression turned from suspicion to greedy pleasure.
"That you will, sir," he agreed. He let go of Allika's arm. At once, like a rabbit flushed from its lair, Allika bolted for the door. The only reason Deveren was able to catch her was that he had longer legs. His hand closed on her arm and Allika stumbled, starting to scream again.
Now Deveren saw why. The wound he and Damir had bound only, what, eight days ago, was oozing and ugly. Even in the dim torchlight from the inn, he could see that there were dark tendrils winding up and down her small, pale limb. Her head lolled back on her shoulders and her eyes were squeezed shut. The dreadful sound she was emitting would have woken the dead.
"Allika!" Deveren gripped her shoulder and shook her hard. The dark eyes snapped open and for the first time that evening she seemed to recognize him.
"F-fox?" she whispered.
"Yes, honey, it's me," he replied. "'What's wrong?"
She blinked, as if dazed. "I don't…" Suddenly she gasped and doubled over, clutching her stomach as if she were in excruciating pain. "Oh…" she moaned.
"That does it," said Deveren. "I'm taking you to a Healer."
Her head whipped up and there was a feral look on her face. Her little teeth were bared in a grimace. "No!"
She fought him like a mountain cat, but his superior strength won over. Finally Deveren slung the struggling girl over his shoulder and, unnamed fear welling inside him, strode swiftly toward the temple of Health.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Heart of a doe, Voice of a lark, Breast of a dove, Hands of a Healer.
Despite Deveren's best efforts, Allika's cries of protest preceded them as they approached Health's temple. By the time Deveren, one-handed, managed to wrestle the waist-high gate open and enter the area that served as a small garden, the lights had been lit in the temple and Vervain stood silhouetted in the doorway.
"I never seem to see you but in a crisis," she said lightly, as she swept forward to meet him. "I didn't know you had a daughter, Lord Larath. What is her name?"