Part 24 (1/2)

”Because of reasons,” Cyrus snapped, though he could not think of a single one.

”Oh, yes, the reasons,” Andren said, straight-faced, nodding. ”The reasons being you're afraid she'll say no.”

Cyrus froze again, and Andren began to outpace him. ”Are you calling me a coward?”

”In battle? G.o.ds no. In love ... well, if the boot fits ...” The healer looked down at Cyrus's feet. ”Those are mighty big boots, I might add. Probably difficult to find in the right size.”

”Well, they were my father's,” Cyrus snapped, ”so I suppose they're rather one of a kind.”

”Much like your elven paladin, the shelas'akur,” Andren said with a twinkle in his eye as they approached an intersection. ”Might want to-put her on or-or something,” he started to get fl.u.s.tered, and finally gave up. ”Just marry her already.”

Cyrus bit back the hard reply that he wanted to spout. ”I'll consider it,” he said instead.

”Swallow your pride, idiot,” Andren said, looking around the intersection before nodding at the tavern that had been the Rotten Fish. ”If she says no, just realize it's her pride talking, and that makes the two of you even more perfect for each other.” He broke into a jog as he crossed the empty intersection, heading toward the pub.

Cyrus hurried to catch up, the sight of the pub causing him to divide his attention between the discussion they were having and the reason he had come here. ”Your advice is noted.”

”Yeah, you file that away for later,” Andren said. ”Where are we going here?”

”This way, maybe?” Cyrus pointed down the street. ”I don't know that I have a hope of finding my actual house, since-I think the last time I saw it, the roof was caving in. It could be rubble, or more probably, long gone by now. I just want to see if anything looks familiar.”

”Mmhmm,” Andren nodded. ”And how's that going so far?”

”All the houses look different,” Cyrus said, ”same as last time.” The thatched roofs all blended together, and Cyrus frowned the further they walked from the pub.

The smell of night and the city was in the air, the smell of horse dung and baked bread heavy in Cyrus's nose. The autumn breeze of evening whirled around him, finding the cracks in his armor and cooling him where he'd sweated earlier in the warmer plains air. The houses were becoming shadowed now, a few souls still sitting outside here and there, watching the pa.s.sersby. They took one look at Cyrus and did double takes, or let their jaws hang open.

”Not exactly inconspicuous, are you?” Andren asked.

Cyrus did not bother to answer. The distance they had gone seemed incredible, too far, really, and he was about to give up when his eyes perceived a gap in the houses ahead. He quickened his pace, half-expecting to find a field where farmers had a small patch here in the city. It was a simple s.p.a.ce between houses, after all, but as he got closer he noticed the remains of the stone fence that had once parceled the lot, and the hints of a foundation that remained visible even though whatever had stood atop them was clearly long since gone.

Cyrus paused outside the fence and stared at the empty lot. A house had stood here once, he was sure of it. But to see it vacant now, and clearly for some time-it was a most curious thing in a city where housing was practically fought over.

Cyrus looked left and then right, to the houses on either side, and he saw movement in the dark, the light of a pipe flaring in the shadows at the entry to the house next door. Cyrus picked his way over, slowly, keeping his hands obviously visible. ”Good evening,” he called, announcing himself in case the person behind the pipe was the suspicious sort.

”Evening,” a scratchy female voice greeted him. The woman stepped out of the shadows, and Cyrus immediately guessed her to be in her fifties. She wore a scarf over her head, along with simple work trousers and a s.h.i.+rt. She had the look of a laborer, and the weariness of a long day was apparent in her posture.

”I'm sorry to bother you,” Cyrus said, placing his gauntleted hands on the stone wall that separated him from the woman. ”I was wondering how long you've lived here?”

The question seemed to catch her by surprise. ”Oh, long enough, I suppose,” she answered, and he realized she was trying to count it out rather than being intentionally deceptive.

”Long enough to remember the house that used to be here?” Cyrus pointed at the vacant lot next door, and the woman's brows surged up.

”Not that long, no,” she said, shaking her head. ”That house was falling to ruin when I showed up, and it got hauled off brick by useful brick within a year of me coming here from the other side of town.”

”Ah,” Cyrus said, feeling a pinch of regret. ”So you don't know who used to live there?”

She shrugged. ”Not really. Some of the older la.s.ses from this street might know. Joenne, across the way, perhaps.” She pulled her pipe out of her mouth, pointing its stem at the house across the street. Cyrus turned to look, but not a light was on in the windows. ”She's out of town at the moment,” the woman said. ”Visiting family in the Northlands.”

”So how long have you actually been here?” Andren asked, furrowing his own brow in concentration. ”By the count of years, if you remember exactly?”

The woman puffed her pipe as she gave it some thought. ”I reckon I've been here ... twenty years now?” she finally decided. ”Since I bought this place from that elven dame.”

”Hmm,” Cyrus said, still feeling the pinch of disappointment. ”Thanks for your-”

”What elven dame?” Andren asked. ”Do you recall her name?”

”Like you know every elf,” Cyrus said under his breath.

”Well, I might,” Andren said with a shrug.

”Mmmm,” the woman said, taking another draw of the pipe as its red light flared with her intake. ”What was her name? She was a stately one, seemed like the sort who'd act like she was better than you-you know, like elves do-”

”I have heard that about them,” Andren agreed. He nudged Cyrus with his shoulder, lightly. ”He'd know. He's about to marry one.”

”I am n-” Cyrus gave him a dirty look.

”Corinne?” The woman asked, drawing Cyrus's attention back to her before he realized she was trying to recall the name of the elf she'd bought the house from. ”No, that's not it ... Cora. That's it. Cora. That was her.” The old lady nodded, seemingly sure, and took another smoke.

Cyrus, for his part, sat there in the street, his hands on the stone fence, skin gone cold, tingles working their way up the crown of his skull.

”Well,” Andren said with immense self-satisfaction, ”as it turns out, we both know her. What are the odds of that coincidence?”

”So low as to not be coincidence at all,” Cyrus said, the chill wind wrapping itself around his skin like a blanket. ”In fact, I would say it's well-nigh impossible.”

When Cyrus returned to Sanctuary, dusk had pa.s.sed and darkness had fallen. He made his way through the grounds, around the ancient walls of the keep, the stones glistening in the dark from specks of lighter sand grains catching the reflection of the watch fires around the curtain wall.

He found her out in the garden, atop the bridge, staring down into the dark waters below. The pond was scarcely a few feet deep, but with the moon overhead and the watch fires burning, he could see her reflection where she looked down into the water as he approached.

”Hey,” he said, announcing himself. She did not look up, merely continued staring, her hands firmly planted on the stone railing that kept her from falling into the water below.

”h.e.l.lo,” she said, a bit distantly compared to how she'd been of late. He sidled up next to her, planting his own hands against the railing and leaning. ”I expected you ages ago, honestly.”

”I hope you're not insulted that I'm late,” Cyrus said. ”I wanted to give you some s.p.a.ce, honor your wishes and all that.”

”I a.s.sure you I am not offended,” she said, leaning over to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. ”Merely lost in my own contemplations.”

”About Alaric?” Cyrus asked, though he already knew the answer.

”About Alaric,” she agreed. ”About where he might be if he is in fact still alive.”

”Well, when last I saw him he was in the Tower of the Guildmaster,” Cyrus said with a quiet smile. ”But I expect you and I have, uh, explored every surface of that place over the last few months, and I don't think he's hiding in there now.” Cyrus paused. ”Though if he is ... he's had quite an eyeful.”