"He brought it, my lord," Cale said, his tone overly sharp. "I declined. I deemed my current attire suitable to my situation."
Tamlin's brow furrowed at Cale's tone. "You owe me an explanation, Mister Cale."
Cale did not miss Tamlin's own cool tone.
"About what, my lord?"
Tamlin gestured at Cale's flesh. "About your appearance. About the shadows that flow from your skin. About the hand that appears and disappears from your wrist, about how the light in a room dims when you grow angry. Explain."
Cale set down his fork. Tamlin's tone irked him, so Cale did not mince words. "I am a shade."
Tamlin stared, his fork frozen over his plate. The silence stretched. "A shade?" Tamlin said at last. "Like the Shadovar?"
Cale shrugged. He knew little of the Shadovar. "I cannot say. I am stronger in the darkness." He held up his hand. "My hand regenerates entirely at night or in darkness. I can travel from one shadow to another in an eyeblink, covering a bowshot or thirty leagues. My flesh resists magic. As far as I can determine, I no longer age."
Tamlin gawked. "I do not know what to say. That is… wonderful, Mister Cale."
"No, it is not."
Cale's tone tempered Tamlin's exuberance. "How did it happen? Tell me everything."
Cale shook his head. "I am not inclined to share that, my lord. The how and the why do not matter."
"Do not matter?"
"Correct, my lord. And I would be appreciative if you would keep this knowledge between us. I wanted to be candid with you at the outset but I see no reason for others to know."
Tamlin stared, finally managed to say, "As you wish, Mister Cale."
They ate for a time in silence.
Tamlin set down his fork and looked across the table. "You do not like me very much, do you, Mister Cale? And you certainly do not respect me."
Cale sipped from his goblet of wine while he considered his words. "You are the son of my former Lord. I will serve you loyally and to the best of my ability."
Tamlin gestured dismissively with his hand. "I know that. But you do not respect me, do you?"
Cale sighed and looked across the table into Tamlin's eyes. "My respect is hard-earned these days, my lord."
Tamlin stared across the table, waiting.
"No, I do not," Cale admitted, and once he opened the gate, the army poured forth. "I do not think you understand the scope of the problems before you, before the city. I could see that after walking the streets for only one day. You still think like a nobleman, not a statesman. And you take counsel from fools like Vees Talendar. And still you-"
He cut himself off. He had said enough. He could see the hurt in Tamlin's eyes, and below that, the angry defiance. Cale knew the expression well. Tamlin often had shown it when his father had demanded something of him. Tamlin had always disliked anyone demanding anything of him.
Tamlin took another bite of beef and said tightly, "You come back for a single day after being gone a year and think to take the measure of me, Vees, and the city all at a glance?"
"My absence did not render me blind," Cale answered. "Or stupid."
Tamlin stared at him across the table. "Thank you for your candor, Mister Cale." He dropped his utensils. "You will excuse me. My appetite has passed."
"My lord-"
"We leave for Ordulin as soon as I can get some final matters resolved," Tamlin said as he rose. "The fool to whom I sometimes listen will not be accompanying us. He must attend ceremonies at the new temple."
Cale nodded. He thought of apologizing but could not bring himself to do it.
"Good eve, my lord."
"Good eve, Mister Cale."
Cale finished the meal alone and in silence.
Afterward, he walked the halls until he reached the kitchen and was warmly welcomed by Brilla. She wiped down a butcher's block, set him down on a stool, and smiled as she watched him eat her raisin and syrup torte.
Vees shed his false face-that of a spoiled dilettante nobleman-and entered the temple through the concealed doorway in the alley. He had murdered the four stonemasons who had knowledge of the secret entrance, using the curved sacrificial knife at his belt to cut their throats.
He closed the pivoting secret door behind him and walked down the steep stairs that led into the secret worship hall below the false temple to Siamorphe. When he reached the vestry off the hall, he donned a ceremonial robe that awaited him there-a voluminous black velvet affair with purple piping. Whispering a prayer to his goddess, he walked the corridor to the main worship hall.
His steps carried him through one of the magically created areas of silence that surrounded the hall. His footsteps on the stone went quiet. A ring of such areas surrounded the worship hall, as did a series of magical screens to prevent scryings. Anything that happened within the hall could be heard and seen only by those in attendance. The secrecy of the design pleased the Lady.
The worship hall of the Lady's temple lay directly below the worship hall of Siamorphe. Like Vees, the temple had a false face. Like Vees, the temple purported to serve one purpose while serving another.
He reached the edge of the area of silence and immediately sensed the change-the whimpers of the sacrifice victim and the murmur of the worshipers suddenly sounded in his ears. He pulled up his hood-none of the worshipers knew his true identity-and pushed open the apse door. A rustle of movement greeted him as the worshipers turned to watch him enter. Even the sacrifice went silent. The large, semicircular worship hall smelled of tallow candles and fear-tinged sweat.
Vees held up his arms and spoke aloud the supplication.
"In the darkness of night we hear the whisper of the void."
"Heed its words," responded the eight worshipers of Shar. "Welcome, Dark Watcher."
"Welcome, dark sisters and brothers," Vees answered, and moved to the altar.
The worshipers lowered themselves onto kneelers, heads down as he passed. No accoutrements of the faith adorned the altar or the worship hall. No windows allowed outside light. The Lady and the Nightseer wished it so.
The room was dark but for the candles that burned in candelabra at the head and feet of the bound and naked sacrifice. Shadows played over the bare walls, the arched ceiling.
Vees assumed the sacrifice-a thin, malnourished man-to be one of the refugees from upcountry. He stepped behind the altar and smiled within his hood. The difficult times in Selgaunt had made sacrifices so easy to obtain.
Sweat glistened on the man's body; he stank of fear. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He stared up at Vees with wide, terrified eyes.
"Do not," he said, his voice a croak. He must have been crying, or screaming, before Vees arrived. "Please."
Vees ignored him and looked out on the worshipers. He moved to one candelabrum and blew out all but one of the candles, then did the same with the other. A deeper darkness settled on the chamber.
"Darkness has fallen and the Lady of Loss is with us," Vees said. "Give her now your bitterness. Lay your losses before her."
He waited while the worshipers confessed aloud the matters that had made them bitter, the things they had lost, the grudges they had developed since the last time the group had met the month before. The hubbub of voices made it impossible for Vees to distinguish sentences or speakers, but Vees knew the Lady heard them all and rejoiced.
When the worshipers completed the ritual and fell silent, Vees said, "The Lady is pleased by your offerings made in this, her new temple. The construction is nearly complete. We turn now to the sanctification of her altar, which requires blood."
The sacrifice writhed, pleaded. "No! No!"
Vees reached under his robes and withdrew the sacrificial dagger. He held it above the man.
The sacrifice fought against his bonds. His breath came so quickly he would soon lose consciousness. Vees could see every tendon in his body, every muscle.