He remembered abruptly why he had come: the question Kalen had sent him to ask. He hadn’t wanted to confront Myrin in the first place and now he felt even less inclined. She had told him Kalen had killed the dwarf Rath, but Kalen had denied it. Then in the boat, the two had argued with few words. He didn’t want to be caught between them, but he had no choice.
Tymora guide me, he prayed silently. He would ease into the subject.
“I-” Rhett said. “This plague. You know, the one woven by a flesh-reaving, bone-cleaning wizard … or whatever he is.”
“Why do you assume it’s a he?” Myrin said, still looking at her images.
“Good point,” he said lightly. “Could be a she.”
Myrin frowned at his jest.
“A blue-haired she.”
Myrin continued to frown.
“A blue-haired-you. Could be you.”
“Oh, I understood,” Myrin said. “I’m just deeply hurt you think of me so: that I’m some terrible spellslayer who wants nothing more than to destroy this city.”
“Ha,” Rhett said. “Now you’re mocking me … right?”
She narrowed her eyes. “And you’re next.”
“Gah!” Rhett stepped back.
“Mystra, that was easy.” Myrin gave him a brilliant smile.
Rhett breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was in good humor-for now.
“Out of curiosity, do you have a glass or a tankard of some kind?” Myrin asked. “Just so happens that I have this.” A red bottle of wine floated over to her hand. “I found it on the ship. Or would you prefer to drink out of the bottle?”
Rhett had his metal tankard from Flick. Maybe some wine would help … but no. “Kalen told me to guard you,” he said. “Hard to do that from my cups.”
“Pity.” Myrin sent the bottle floating back to the end table. When he started to stand, though, she reached out and touched his arm. “You can still stay and talk to me.”
“About Kalen?”
Myrin grimaced. “Aye, we can talk about tall, dark, and dour if you like.”
At this point, he had either to ask or leave, and Rhett was no coward.
“Lady Darkdance,” he said. “Did-on the ship, were you-?”
“Was I bitten?” Myrin supplied. “Kalen told you to ask, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Rhett blew out a sigh.
“I knew it.” Myrin slumped. “I suppose it’s too much to hope Kalen could trust me. We’ve been apart for a year, and he just doesn’t know me anymore.”
“It’s not that,” Rhett said. “It’s-he didn’t explain why, but I got the sense it had to do with the halfling. Perhaps-”
“Perhaps I’m sick and thus not thinking clearly.” Myrin stood and faced Rhett in the small room, her arms crossed. “Do you think that?”
Rhett shook his head. “No, but he wants me to find out.”
Myrin sighed. “Well, thank you for being honest. You could have gone about this so poorly. By sending someone else, for instance.”
“My lady, that’s-” Rhett’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
Wordlessly, Myrin set her fingers to work unlacing her bodice. A hand sculpted of blue light manifested to help with the process. It took only a breath. Freed, she undid the ties of her undershirt.
“I don’t-lady, that isn’t necessary,” Rhett said.
“Rhett,” Myrin said. “Is there any romantic attachment between us?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no.”
“Good,” Myrin said. “I want you to see for yourself. Then you can assure Kalen that I bear no bites where I could have caught the Fury.” Her face was set in lines of determination. “I can see no reason not to do this.”
“But-” Rhett trailed off. “You know? Neither can I. Carry on.”
There, in her chamber, Myrin stripped. Her golden-brown skin sparkled, and she seemed very dark in the dim light of her magic. Markings rose livid in her flesh, but they were not the welts Kalen had described to him. Instead, she bore a number of graceful black tattoos that shimmered with azure light. Rhett had seen such lights manifest momentarily on her skin as she cast her spells, but he’d not realized she had permanent ones as well. She bore large tattoos-about the size of fists-connected by faint trails of arcane runes.
All but bare, Myrin turned in place. “Satisfied?” she asked.
Rhett swallowed a lump in his throat, not sure he’d ever be satisfied. He realized he was staring, so he turned his eyes to the floor. “They’re lovely,” he said. “Your tattoos, I mean.” Among other things, he didn’t say.
“You think so?” Finally seeming self-conscious, Myrin crossed her arms behind her back, held one elbow, and ground her toe into the floorboards.
“Very much so.” Without thinking, he stepped forward. She did not retreat. “What do they mean?”
“They’re my spells. I-here.” She closed the distance between them, seized his hand, and touched it to the tattoo on her right forearm. “My thunder blast. See?”
The rune vaguely resembled a storm cloud, now that he looked at it. A line of runes ran up her arm to a larger tattoo on the outside of her biceps.
Myrin guided his hand to this higher mark. “My fireball. See the little tails?”
He traced his fingers around the tattoo, feeling her flesh under his touch. Now that she’d said that, he did see the pattern. “Right,” he said.
Myrin guided his touch up her arm and over to her right shoulder, where a rune seemed to spin like a whirring blade, trailing flames. “The firescythe,” she said. “It’s a similar spell to the fireball, though easier to cast and not as powerful.”
“It seemed powerful enough.” Rhett recalled the scythe spinning out over the sea with a shiver. How mighty was this woman, with her magic and tattoos?
Myrin turned a little, exposing her bare back. “My shield, on my left shoulder.”
He traced the line of runes to a symbol where she indicated. It looked faintly like a kite shield. He touched it lightly and she shivered. Her magelight, as though it languished without her concentration, began to dim.
“I have more,” she whispered. “Not many, but they’re appearing all the time. With greater frequency, as I learn more.” She clenched her fists. “I need to learn more.”
Rhett was hardly listening. He traced the runes leading up and over her shoulder, stepping around her. Myrin watched his hand, rapt. Rhett followed the path down her chest to a little portal of darkness. It seemed it might lead into her heart.
“That’s,” she said in a dreamy voice. She wet her lips. “That’s the shadow door-the one I learned from Methrammar’s memory. I-”
Rhett leaned in and kissed her. A shiver ran through her as her whole body relaxed into his embrace. For a heartbeat, they kissed like lovers in a bard’s romance.
Myrin’s lips parted and she murmured a name: “Kalen-”
Rhett pulled away, but with surprising speed Myrin caught his hand and they stood together, holding hands in the chamber.
Then Myrin’s eyes widened and she came fully awake. Her magelight brightened fully.
“Well-” Myrin released his hand self-consciously. “My memories won’t order themselves.”
Rhett may not have been the sharpest sword in Faerun, but this he understood. He had extended her an offer and she hadn’t taken it.
He turned politely away as Myrin slid her clothes back on. Their intimate moment had passed, shattered by what Myrin had said without thinking. It filled Rhett with equal parts frustration and sadness, but not for himself. This should have been Kalen’s moment, not his. Myrin wanted that and Rhett thought Kalen did as well. It seemed obvious to Rhett, who knew this dance well, but neither Myrin nor Kalen seemed to see it. Or if they did, they stubbornly would not act on it.
Well, if neither of them could do it on their own, he would just have to help. His Guard duty kept him to Torm’s path, but he could do some of Sune’s work too.
“I should go find Saer Shadowbane.” Rhett made the suggestion subtle.