“Well, we all derive our chuckles in some manner,” Twilight said. “I enjoy frustrating young lads much, much more.”
Liet let that one go. “But your reason doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Camping at a crossroads, that is. Foes can come from any direction, even from behind.”
“Yes, but they would have to be quite organized to come at us from all three,” she said. “Something I have a feeling might be beyond the average demon-touched.”
“What of hiding?” Liet rubbed at his hidden arms, nervous.
“I’ve always ascribed to the ‘fleeing’ school of thought, rather than the ‘hiding,’” Twilight said. “If someone’s searching as determinedly as I’m used to being searched for, hiding doesn’t do any good.” She left it at that.
“I see.” Liet looked around the dusty chamber, straining his eyes in the flickering torchlight. “Where are we, anyway?”
Though the place was empty of creatures, shelves, books, or anything besides the rubble along the walls, Twilight could detect traces of the magic that must have been used there. She imagined it must have been a library or laboratory, long defaced by lizardfolk, smashed by golems, or worse.
“Wizard’s sanctum,” said Twilight. “Long abandoned.”
“How can you be—?”
“I’m sure,” she said. “There’s nothing here. Go back. I’ll be along shortly.”
Twilight inspected the yawning doorway. A series of runes lightly etched into the stone radiated magic. A stone barrier had once existed there, but it had long ago become rubble, though the ward remained. Likely, thanks were owed to the lizards. Beyond, the corridor stretched into empty darkness.
Twilight was disappointed, to be honest. After a day spent avoiding battle like a scourge, she dearly wished for the opportunity to bloody Betrayal. The companions hadn’t engaged any of the roving lizardmen in the tunnels—it would have been a waste of resources. And they could ill afford to stumble upon a golem, so they’d been very cautious.
She looked again at the portal wards. Twilight considered dealing with them, but thought better of it. Any foe coming the other way would trigger them—no purpose making ambush easier for one’s enemies. She could always disarm them the next day.
Twilight wondered if they would go this way, anyway.
During their exploration, she had found two unblocked passages—tunnels that went east and north from their resting chamber, both of which led up. One ended in an old, dust-covered stairs ascending—the same stairs that had led her to the wizard’s sanctum. The other stopped at a trapdoor above, with the remains of an old ladder.
Typical, Twilight thought. To search an entire labyrinth for days on end for a way out, only to find not one but two exits in close proximity. It seemed like something he would do to her.
“Come to think of it,” she whispered. “You probably did, eh, N’tanathil?”
“Huh?”
“Pay it no—” Twilight turned. “You’re still here.”
“Aye, indeed,” said Liet, leaning against the wall. Twilight bit her lip.
She crossed back to the entrance of the chamber and stalked down the corridor to their camp—or more accurately, to the place where she had chosen to rest. She would take Reverie—or the human sleep, as would likely be the case—ten paces up the passage from the others, around a corner. Here, she could find the privacy she craved. Unless, of course, the boy insisted on following her.
Which he did. When she stopped, he stopped as well. Liet’s face told Twilight he wanted to speak, but an awkward silence hung between them.
She decided to break the tension. “Is there some way I can assist you?” She was unable—and unwilling—to keep the suggestiveness out of her tone.
“N-nothing like that,” Liet said. “I just wanted to know what—”
“N’tanathil is, in the trade tongue, my old ‘uncle nemesis,’” said Twilight. “And believe me, if you knew the dastard like I do, you’d agree with the sentiment.” She stripped off her glove and began unlacing her boots. “But you didn’t come to debate the subtleties of linguistics, I would guess. So what is it?”
Liet turned as she doffed her boots and went to work on her breeches’ strings. Her tendency to eschew modesty made him nervous, just as Twilight intended.
“I was just thinking,” he said. “About Taslin.”
“Pining for a lady, and not me? I’m shocked.” She gave a grand sigh and put a hand to her forehead.
Liet whirled angrily. “No, no, ’tis not like …” His eyes widened at both her loosened clothes and her words, and he gaped.
Twilight finally snickered. “Well, boy,” she said. “Speak, if you will.”
Liet swallowed. “’tis about Asson. He … ’twas he that persuaded us to come back for you. I wanted to, but I didn’t have the courage to stand up to Davoren—not really, not without Asson. But that old man …”
Twilight wondered if that was the truth.
Soothed by the cold stone beneath her bare feet, she spoke without looking at Liet. “Don’t take it so hard,” she said as she unlaced her blouse. “We all fear death. Old Bones is a hard one to face—and an atrocious dancer besides.”
After giving her an odd look—probably wondering what she could possibly mean—Liet turned halfway. “No, ’twas not that, either,” he said. “I …” He paused and fidgeted. “My apologies. I should go.” He started down the tunnel, heading toward the others.
Now it was Twilight’s turn to gaze oddly. His words said one thing, his actions a second, and his eyes a third. She caught a glimmer in his face, as though through a crack in armor. Twilight’s perception cut right through his humble, self-deprecating exterior, and what she found there startled and excited her.
He understood.
Twilight had always been too direct for her own good. “You really would have died for us.”
The words caught Liet as surely as a hand on his arm. He stopped and turned. She expected him to look shocked, but he didn’t blink.
“Nay,” he said simply. “Not … not for her.”
Oh, no.
Twilight smiled slightly and stepped toward him. She could feel her heart in her throat. She let the collar of her silk blouse slip, revealing one pale, smooth shoulder. “For me?” she asked. “You’d have died for me?”
Liet fidgeted. Sweat appeared on his brow, and she heard his racing heartbeat and heavy breathing. On some level, Twilight knew she was being somewhat pitiful—he was such a boy—but she found his feelings deeply flattering. Twilight felt her own pulse pick up—an experience she knew all too well and loathed just the same.
Stop yourself, wench, she thought. Don’t do this.
“Speak,” she said, stepping forward. “Don’t lie. I’ll know.” They were almost touching when Twilight stopped and looked into Liet’s face. “Would you die for me?”
Silence hung between them for a long breath. Twilight read the youth’s tells—every twitch of his cheek, the way his eyes purposefully avoided her, the shifting of his weight—while Liet paused. She could see his battle—a war of will against instinct. One told him to flee, another told him to catch up Twilight’s lithe form in his arms and crush her to him.
Twilight wondered idly which she embodied: instinct or will. She almost always preferred the latter, but it was so rarely the case.
“Aye.” Liet looked in her eyes, unflinching. “Aye, I would,” he said.
She knew then that this was a victory over every—admittedly good—instinct that told Liet to flee, and she loved that, almost venerated it. Twilight was ever a creature who worshiped her own destruction.
“Oh, damn,” she said to herself.
With a flick of her wrist and a foot behind his ankle, she had Liet falling to the ground in a breath. This time, she was not about to beat him. Instead, she pressed her lithe body into his young, muscular frame. He made startled sounds, but she silenced him with a long, all-consuming kiss.
By the time she pulled awa
y, leaving his tongue free to move, it was obvious Liet had forgotten whatever it was he’d been about to say. He looked at her without thought, blissful, innocent.
Twilight went for his tunic, but Liet stopped her with a wince. She remembered his scarred arms, but she decided it didn’t matter. She went for the breeches instead.
“Uh, ’Light …” he started, but she kissed him again to shut his mouth. It worked.
“I should warn you,” Twilight said candidly as she tore at his laces. “You’ve got some boots to fill. I’ve known—”
Liet put his fingers to her lips. “Nay,” he said, eyes soft, vulnerable.
Twilight stopped. She realized the tale would hurt him, but that was who she was. So many men, so many times. Didn’t he see?
Of course he didn’t see. No one had—no one but …
Damn you, Erevan, Twilight swore inwardly. You and Neveren and Lilten, and all your lackeys—even Nym. I don’t need you—I don’t need any of you. Not anyone!
“’Light? Are you … well?”
Twilight looked into mismatched eyes full of hope and fear. She realized that this boy had never known a lover, but it didn’t matter. He was ready to accept her, banish their loneliness—but at the same time, he was terrified of her. Or terrified for her?
“You’re scared.” She brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers.
“N-no …” Liet’s body shook.
“You should be,” Twilight said. “But not for the reason you think.”
Liet’s face broke into a tentative smile. It was the most beautiful thing she remembered seeing in a long, long time.
Oh no, she thought, just before will became instinct again and she devoured him. Twilight crushed his lips and levered her wiry body to keep his pinned.
“Now you have one more answer to give,” she said between furious kisses. With each one, she thought the same word: damn, damn, damn. “And I want the truth.”
Liet nodded frantically, his eyes terrified.
Leaning in close, Twilight ran her raven hair across his cheek, tickling his skin with its softness. “Silk?” she asked, “or …” she seized his ear and bit down just hard enough to secure a gasp. “Teeth?”
“Ah,” said Liet. “Uh, I don’t … this does not seem quite the way … ah, heh …”
“Very well, then,” said Twilight. “I shall make that decision.”
Distantly, Gestal watched the two bodies entwined, delighting in one another, with something between absorbed curiosity and clinical dispassion.
“Perfect,” he said to no one in particular. No one could hear him, after all. “I couldn’t have planned this better—well, actually … hmm.”
His ears caught something to which the lovers were oblivious, though the sense was more than simply aural. The walls were shifting again. The enemy was not idle.
“You thirst for attention like a puppy, always barking your nonsense,” he said. “You hate others but you cannot live without them.”
Gestal’s eyes looked over the elf’s writhing body with desire and disappointment.
“You are lying again, child—to us and to yourself.”
Her sweaty face, locked in passion, turned toward him briefly, but she did not respond. She had not heard him speak. Gestal visualized running his claws down that soft spine.
“You expect this to end as all the tales do—with the villain dead and the heroes in bed.” Gestal shook his head. “But not this story. Not this one.”
Then it was over, and Gestal grinned as he faded into silence once more.
Now it would be easy—so easy—to drive her to the master.
“Did you tell me about rule four in earnest, or so that I’d break it?” Liet asked as he traced the elf’s—no, nymph’s spine. The star on her lower back—asymmetrical, with many rays—gleamed, hot to the touch. He loved how she shivered when he touched it.
“Rules exist for a purpose,” said Twilight. She lay on her belly at his side.
“Was that an aye, or a nay?”
“Neither,” she said, “though if you were to fall in love with me, ’twould make you more pliable, and assure your loyalty.”
“I’ve never known a woman,” Liet said. “I mean, I had never—”
She laughed. “I had guessed.”
Liet smiled. He found his mind drawn back to her other tattoo—the silver and black fox below her belly.
Then he saw a queer light in her eye. “What?” he asked.
“You must go now,” said Twilight. She pulled her cloak from under him and wrapped it about her body.
Liet blinked. “What?” he asked. “B-but, we—”
“Enjoyable, I do confess. But now you have to go.” Her face was utterly serious.
“Can I not … ah …” Liet reached toward her, to trace his fingers down one bare arm. “Can I not stay here with you?” Twilight twisted aside slightly and he touched only stone. “My love? My goddess?”
She put a finger to his lips. Then she shook her head, and he felt his heart stumble.
“Against my better instincts, I lead this traveling feast—er, party, and I can’t be seen to favor one member over another.”
Liet made to protest, and Twilight silenced him as she had before—with her lips.
“And that’s why you have to go. Tell the others that we’ll take the tunnel to the sanctum in the morning, as though I was merely discussing plans with you.” She reclined against the corridor wall and stretched her arms. “And see if Taslin’s conjured up some food—I’m famished.”
Liet, adrift in confusion, could do nothing but stare at her. Then, when Twilight reached for his arm, he came back to his senses with a twinge. He pulled away, fighting his outrage down. He wouldn’t get angry. He was better than that.
He wondered if she truly thought so little of him.
“But,” he said, “but no one’s seen us at—”
“No, but if you don’t sleep in your own blankets, it’ll have the same effect.”
“B-but—” Liet started.
Twilight did nothing but stare into the dark corridor ahead. Liet studied her, long and hard. He perceived a miniscule wince at the edge of Twilight’s left eye—the tiniest of flaws in her defenses. And underneath that cold exterior was an even darker chill. He wondered if she hadn’t meant for him to see that.
Liet saw the truth of Twilight, then—one of many. One of her masks.
He became aware of how she had lied to him. He wondered about her outrageous stories, her flippant comments, her emotions and her coldness. He wondered about her name. He thought he’d known her love, but he hadn’t touched her—not inside. He wondered if there was anything true about her.
“Good even,” he said, though it made his heart hurt.
“Good-bye,” Twilight said, still not looking at him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
This isn’t how I remember it,” Twilight said softly the next morning. The six ascended the dusty steps and entered the first room of the wizard’s chambers. The curved and undulating walls of stone were as her memory told her. Yet something was missing.
“Eh?” Slip asked.
To Twilight’s eyes, the room was empty, and that was precisely her concern.
“Cast a scrying and see for yourself. This room’s changed since last night.”
Taslin lifted her hand to draw upon Corellon’s blessing, but Davoren shoved it back down. “Save your power. The might of the Nine is infinite,” he said.
He intoned a string of dark words. The others, excepting Twilight, flinched at the vile syllables. When Davoren had completed the chant, he cast his gaze about the room.
The sun elf favored him with a glare of pure murder. The death of Asson had changed her, and the doll seemed to have removed her last cache of serenity. Indeed, Twilight reflected—after that day and night, Taslin had been edgy, sharp, and quick to temper. Yet she was forgivable—Twilight understood heartbreak.
And as Taslin weakened, Davoren grew stronger.
“Asmodeus’s might is with me. I see no wards active.” Davoren laughed, and Twilight wondered if she needed to cow him again. “Yet you delay?”
“That’s the very matter,” she said. “There should be wards active on that door”—she pointed at the opposite exit—“and possibly beyond. Something’s been here before us, and it tripped the wards.” She bent and scanned the floor.
“The word of a thief,” Davoren observed, “is worse than worthless.”
“There’s no sign?” asked Liet, hunkering down beside Twilight.
Twilight shook her head. “I don’t see any new tracks, nor is the dust disturbed,” she said. “But I know there were wards active on that door. I saw them.”
“Saw them?” scoffed the warlock. “Magic is not so simple that a gutterkiss can ‘see’ it. Or is there some other power you hide, filliken?”
Twilight shot an angry look at him. She thought about threatening him again, but since she hadn’t followed through the first time, her threats meant much less. She rose silently and stared down the dark hallway, standing close to Liet.
“We should go back,” she whispered.
“Why?” the youth asked. “We explored this way yestereve.”
“Was that all that transpired yestereve, I wonder?” Davoren asked.
She wouldn’t let that nettle her. “Something’s come this way and lies in wait.”
“How can you know that?” Taslin asked.
“Truly,” said Liet. That was a shock, but Twilight buried the twinge of hurt. Of course she couldn’t look offended that he didn’t take her side. She almost would have preferred his comment to be vindictive, but his eyes held nothing but cold logic.
“A feeling.” Twilight paused. “But I know ’tis a true one.”
Davoren chuckled at her “feeling,” and broke into a full laugh. “Well, we don’t know that. I say we press on.”
“I see no reason to turn back,” said Taslin. “We have only just begun the day.”
“I don’t know, she could be right!” Slip said. Davoren and Taslin both glared at her. “Or … not.” She looked up at Gargan, but the goliath said nothing. Slip looked back and forth between the two opposing camps and followed his suit.
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