Instead, Tythonnia hammered on the door and was surprised when it swung open under her barrage. Ladonna stood on the opposite side of the room, ready to meet her. That was all it took for Tythonnia’s world to turn red. Her vision narrowed, the edges turning black until she was staring down a dark tunnel. The only person she could see, the only person that mattered was Ladonna, and in that moment, Tythonnia absolutely hated her beyond sense or comprehension. She loathed her, wanted nothing more than to hurt her the way she’d been hurt.
Tythonnia rushed through the door, her fingers aching to encircle Ladonna’s throat. Ladonna, however, opened her palm to reveal a piece of wool. It was only in the dim recesses of Tythonnia’s mind that she recognized the reagent, though in her present state, she was hard pressed to remember what spell it accompanied.
“Capik,” Ladonna said.
Ah, that one.
Tythonnia stumbled and froze, unable to move. She felt disconnected, severed from action. She was trapped in the coffin of her own flesh. She started falling to the floor, but Par-Salian caught her and lowered her gently.
“What are you doing?” he shouted with such rage Tythonnia almost forgot her own.
“Protecting myself,” Ladonna said. “I would have thought that obvious.”
The wall that jailed Tythonnia evaporated as quickly as it’d appeared. She suddenly bucked against a startled Par-Salian, who struggled to hold her down.
“I’m going to kill her,” Tythonnia shouted, struggling harder, but Par-Salian wouldn’t let go.
“You froze!” Ladonna shouted back. She strode to the door and slammed it shut, for the little good it did to muffle their voices. “You never, ever panic.”
“You betrayed me!” Tythonnia screamed. “You bitch!”
“Only to test you,” Ladonna shouted back. “Both of you,” she said to Par-Salian.
“It wasn’t your place to test us,” Par-Salian said.
“Really? If not me, then who, hmm?” Ladonna said then lowered her voice. “Maybe you White Robes can get by on well wishes and bunny rabbits, Par-Salian, but that’s not how the world works. It’s hard and bitter, and far too often there isn’t time to consider both sides of the argument.”
She paused, waiting to hear what either had to say. Tythonnia was too choked up on her own emotions to speak, however, and Par-Salian had his hands full with her.
“The mission is my concern, not your feelings,” Ladonna said and spread her arms open. “And I needed to see how you’d react to getting caught.”
“You endangered her,” Par-Salian said.
“I saw you moving to help her,” Ladonna said. “And if you hadn’t, I would have. I wasn’t going to let her get hurt.”
“And what do you call this?” Tythonnia said, pointing to her split lip.
“A trophy. Let her go, Par-Salian.”
Par-Salian hesitated but only for a moment. Tythonnia broke free of his grip and scrambled to her feet. She stood nose to nose with Ladonna. Ladonna stared back at her, a fierce expression that did nothing to cow Tythonnia.
“All thieves earn that at one time or another,” Ladonna said without a shred of mercy in her voice. “What they can do to you-the merchants, the guards, any of them-is far worse than a split lip and a bruised pride.” She pulled her long, black hair back and turned her head, revealing a burn scar behind the ear. It looked like an arrowhead. “Much worse,” she said. “I needed to know how you’d react. Before it really counted.”
Tythonnia’s fist connected with Ladonna’s jaw and sent her head snapping to the side. The blow was solid, a punch learned from her cousin who taught her how to deal with troublesome boys. Ladonna stumbled backward but did not fall. The wall caught her. Par-Salian grabbed Tythonnia about the shoulders, but she managed to shrug loose.
“Now you know how I’ll react,” Tythonnia said. She strode for the door.
“Fine,” Ladonna said, nursing her jaw. “You only get one of those.”
“Wrong. I’ll take as many as I want,” Tythonnia retorted.
Ladonna laughed, not her cold, mocking laughter, but a genuine guffaw that seemed blessed with something natural, the gritty, boisterous laugh of a rowdy commoner. “I’ll make a Black Robe of you yet, Tythonnia,” Ladonna said.
Tythonnia said nothing as she opened the door and stormed out. The innkeeper and his wife downstairs suddenly looked very busy.
They stood outside the courtyard of the Wanderer’s Welcome, in the shadow of an alley. The older of the pair was a man in his forties. He wore black leather pants and a mailed surcoat with the sleeves missing. A tapestry of tattoos stretched up his arms to gird both biceps and cover his shoulders. From the straps across his chest hung two curved daggers, while the scars that stitched his grizzled face and his hands said he’d been in a fair number of scrapes.
The younger of the pair was a boy with black, unruly hair and green eyes. His clothes weren’t rags just yet, but they were well on their way. His right hand was in his pocket, fidgeting with the toy soldier. He was nervous and jumped slightly when the man’s rough hands clamped down on his neck and held him there firmly. There was a threat in his fist, the ability to snap the boy’s neck. The boy knew that; all the children did.
“I’m getting tired of waiting,” the man said, his voice like rocks tumbling over each other.
The boy squirmed, trying to break free of the man’s grip, but he remained held firmly in place. “I seen her come here,” the boy said. “I promi-there!” he said, almost shouting. He pointed at the black-garbed woman who emerged from the inn into the wagon-strewn courtyard.
The older man squeezed the boy’s neck even harder for his outburst and pulled him back into the shadowed alley.
“I told you I seen her, Sutler,” the boy said, trying to speak through the pain. “I told you-”
Sutler shook the boy hard like a rag doll before forcing him to face the woman. She didn’t notice either of them as she headed out of the courtyard.
“Her? You’re sure?” he demanded, shaking the boy again.
The boy nodded. He was struggling not to cry; that alone was enough to earn a beating from Sutler. “Yessir,” he said. “She asked for Edoha, but I told her nothing. I saw her running scams down by the Labyrinth with another girl.”
Sutler released the boy from his grip and ran his thick fingers over the rough stubble of his chin. The grating noise drove a shiver down the boy’s neck. He tried not to show it, especially since Sutler was thinking so hard about something.
“Nah … it can’t be,” Sutler said, staring at the woman. His eyes widened. “Paladine’s balls, it is her!”
“Who is she, Sutler?”
Sutler spun on the boy, making as though he was ready to backhand him. The boy cringed, but Sutler’s hand slapped down on his shoulder, instead, almost bringing him to a knee.
“What’s the first rule I taught you about the guild?”
“Blood for life?” the boy asked by way of an answer.
“Blood for life,” Sutler said, concurring. He walked out of the alley, forcing the boy to catch up. “Blood for life,” he repeated, a murderous smile inching its way across his face. “Just happens that some lives are shorter than others.” He followed the black-haired woman.
Par-Salian tried to make peace between the two women, but Tythonnia claimed it was no longer an issue. The punch settled the matter. Yet Tythonnia still felt betrayed, and Par-Salian knew that. He understood her anger, however, and likely shared it.
Tythonnia was still upset at Ladonna and felt incapable of trusting her. She approached every one of their thieving forays as another opportunity for betrayal and expected Ladonna to ambush them at every turn. For the remaining week, no treachery came and that, perhaps, was even more frustrating.