Shiriel’s eyes narrowed suddenly. "Kelryn don’t work here no more."
Nightfall met Shiriel’s gaze, careful not to rivet on the swan. "That’s what the guy said." He pointed to the door to indicate Cyriwan. "Where does she work now?"
"That depends."
Now it was Nightfall’s turn to look confused. "Depends on what?"
Shiriel shook her head, sending the fine locks into a shimmery dance. "Depends on why it’s worth a silver to you.”
Nightfall sighed. He stared at a water spot on the ceiling, and a slight smile curled about features more primed for a glower. Thoughts of Kelryn made him savagely angry. But for now he feigned infatuation. "I watched her dance once. She’s the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Ever." He met Shiriel’s green eyes earnestly. "Please. I have to find her."
Shiriel looked skeptical. Her drawn face took on a look of calculated doubt. "You don’t know, do you?"
"Know what‘?" Nightfall added a note of concern to his curiosity. Idly, he fiddled with the disarray on Shiriel’s table.
Shiriel leaned forward, lowering her voice. "I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. Kelryn has…” She dropped to a whisper. "… clap."
Nightfall suppressed a laugh, inhaled a lungful of saliva, and coughed violently. Well, at least I spread that rumor thoroughly. The hoarseness of his voice only added to his sincerity. "That doesn’t matter; Shiriel, I love this woman. I have to see her.”
Shiriel sat on the pallet with a sigh. She drew muscle- thick legs to her chest, staring at Nightfall. "You’re from Alyndar, right?"
Nightfall nodded. Emblazoned with the country’s colors and in the prince’s service, he could hardly deny it. His hand drifted naturally toward the glass swan.
"So what do you people want with Kelryn?"
The question caught Nightfall off his guard. He blinked, his fingers closing over the figurine, his bewildered gaze diverting Shiriel’s attention from the action. "Us people? What people'? What are you talking about?"
"Look." Shiriel went straight to the point. “Kelryn never did anything wrong in her life. She’s a damn good dancer and an honest one. She didn’t know."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about." The expression of confusion on Nightfall’s face deepened. He slipped the swan into his pocket, drawing his whole per- son inward to mask the movement. "But you’re starting to scare me. Is Kelryn in some kind of trouble?"
Shiriel seemed to take no notice of the theft. Her scrutiny of Nightfall’s face intensified. Apparently, she was trying to read his expression and his sincerity. "That murderer they killed up there a few weeks ago."
"You mean Nightfall?" he supplied.
Shiriel nodded briskly. “She called him Marak, but they said he was the same person. It’s no secret around here that she was his girlfriend.”
Nightfall tried to look suitable agitated. "You’re lying! You have to be lying."
“But she didn’t know he was a killer." Shiriel defended Kelryn. “She didn’t know she was seeing Nightfall. And, of course, she never committed any c1imes." She wrung her hands, hugging her knees to her chest. “So, go away. Leave her alone."
Nightfall met Shiriel’s intense expression with one of his own. "Have others from Alyndar come looking for her before me?"
"No," Shiriel admitted. "You’re the first."
Nightfall rolled his eyes in exasperation. He relaxed a bit, idly drumming his fingers on the single, narrow drawer in the front of the desk. "Do I look like a king’s executioner to you? A guard captain?" He spread his arms to emphasize his delicate frame.
Shiriel’s scrutiny became intense. Suddenly, Nightfall regretted his bold plea for attention. A close look might give me away. Then again, I suppose this is one of the safer places to test the new “disguise."
After a few moments, Shiriel sat back, still without recognition. "No," she admitted. "But you could still be one. Or you could be working for one."
Nightfall snorted. He worked his fingers into the drawer, idly opening and closing it against his knuckles. He tried to sound like a youth in love. "Your loyalty is wonderful and makes sense to me. If I had the chance, I’d be just as protective of her. But Nightfall’s dead." Spoken aloud, the words sounded strange in his ears. "King Rikard has no use or interest in the man’s girlfriend. And even if he did, he’s a king. He’d have just sent over a bunch of guards and taken her, not some stumbling squire who can’t even keep his balance in the street." Removing one hand from the drawer, he fingered the hole in his britches.
Shiriel’s features crinkled in thought, then relaxed at the obvious sense of his explanation. “He’s the one who gave her the clap, you know."
Her words seemed like a complete non sequitur. Nightfall levered the drawer partway open to reveal a gem-studded pair of earrings and a scattering of cheap bracelets. A sheet of papyrus lay over an old brush with bent bristles wound through with strands of white and red hair. "What? The king gave someone the clap?”
"Not the king." Shiriel seemed to notice Nightfall’s interest in her things for the first time. She watched his hands, as if to make certain he kept away from her jewelry, blithely unaware that the most expensive item in the room was already in his possession. "Marak. Nightfall. He gave Kelryn the clap."
Oh, great. Nightfall did not appreciate the slur, though he could not dismiss the irony. Actually, though, she’s right. I spread the rumor. So, in a manner of speaking, I did give Kelryn the clap.
The conversation seemed to be going nowhere. Aware he could only safely leave Prince Edward alone at Grittmon’s Tavern until evening, Nightfall tried to speed things along by returning to the point. "Look, I think it’s clear that no one in Alyndar wants to hurt Kelryn. And, even if they did, why would they send a spy wearing their colors? I just think she’s beautiful. I can’t get her out of my mind." He adopted the nervous look of a youth forced to share his deepest secrets with his mother. "I just want a chance to meet her. Won’t you give that to me?" He turned Shiriel the most desperate, sincere expression he could muster.
Shiriel stared back. Her face betrayed only thoughtfulness, but her hesitation revealed that she was considering the possibility.
Still playing his role, Nightfall let his gaze fall to his hands. Again, he saw the brush with as many of Kelryn’s hairs as Shiriel’s, and his glance slid naturally to the sheet of papyrus. Runes scrawled across the surface.
But before he could focus on them closely enough to make sense of the writing, Shiriel lurched to her feet. She cleared the distance between them in two running steps and slammed the drawer shut on Nightfall’s fingers.
"Ow!" Nightfall leapt backward, clasping his throbbing knuckles. The drawer rebounded partway open. An earring bounced from the confines, skittering across the floor. "Why did you do that? Why in hell did you do that?" His pained indignation did not need to be feigned. An answer came to him before she could say a word. I saw something I wasn’t supposed to. I have to assume it was the note. He tried t0 reconstruct a picture of the letter in his mind.
"Get out of here.” Shiriel stabbed a finger toward the door.
Nightfall backed away in defensive surprise, an image filling his mind’s eyes. Now that he considered it, the letter had two sets of handwriting on it, not an unusual feature. Commonly, illiterates or those with less than perfect penmanship would hire a scribe, then authenticate or personalize the note with their own signature. “What did I do? Why are you mad at me?"