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"You know what I mean."
"No, I don't," she answered with an abrupt shake of her head that whipped
wisps of black hair about her pale face. "I didn't forget what you did back in
the alley. You didn't learn that in a month of mornings out in the woods."
Leesil busied himself with Chap again. This wasn't what he'd expected. Now
was not the time. But she leaned in toward him across the bed.
"Look at me!" she snapped. "We're in a bad way, and I don't know what to do
next. The only two things I've ever counted on besides myself are you and this
dog. You changed when we settled in Miiska, for the better, but now& now
you're starting to act like the old Leesil from our days on the road or worse.
Drinking, gambling, and "
"And nothing," he cut in. "That wasn't what it looked like."
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"This isn't about that whorish little monster you let dazzle your wits."
"I wasn't dazzled!"
"I don't want to fight with you but I will. Now, tell me, what's wrong?"
His jaw tightened. This was going to be bad, and worse for the timing worse
than being caught with an undead trollop in his lap.
"I promise I'll never touch a drop of wine again. I will always be sharp, in
control. And I'll stay that way."
Candlelight flickered upon Magiere's face, and Leesil could see his response
wasn't enough. Chap's breathing deepened into a light snore as he rested
comfortably between them, and Leesil set the basin out of the way on the
floor.
"I need more than promises," Magiere said.
"What do you mean?" Futile as it was, Leesil still hoped there was a way out
of this.
Magiere let out a sigh. "I don't talk about my past because there's little to
tell and even less that I know for certain." She looked him directly in the
eyes. "But I would tell you anything of it& anything you asked, if I knew the
answer. So why won't you tell about your life before we met?"
"There's nothing you want to hear, and it doesn't matter anymore." For all
his usual guile, this came out as a blatant evasion, and she ignored it.
"Where did you learn to fight like that? What is that long box of strange
tools you carry, and where did it come from? It never mattered before, because
you kept it hidden away until two moons ago. It matters now."
Leesil closed his eyes. If he told her, what would she do? What could she do
but walk away and never look back?
"Anmaglâhk," he whispered.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's an elvish word my mother used. I never learned its meaning, but after a
while it wasn't hard to guess with the way we lived. She used it rarely for
herself.And once for me."
Magiere settled back to the bed's edge, staring at him.
"She was an assassin," Leesil said, his voice flat and emotionless. "So was
my father. So was I."
Wariness or was it revulsion? replaced the anger on Magiere's smooth face.
She looked briefly about the room, perhaps wondering where his "tools" might
now be hidden, then down to his arms. His cuffs were loose and unbound, and
one hilt of a stiletto in its wrist sheath protruded. Leesil slowly pulled his
hands back into his lap and closed his sleeves.
"Your mother an elf was an assassin." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You
murdered for money?"
"You know of the Warlands far up north," he continued. "Provinces, not even
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true countries, where rulers hold power by military force. Ever heard of a
Lord Darmouth?"
"Yes," she answered hesitantly.
"My family served him. We were his slaves his spies and assassins."
Magiere turned away toward the far wall.
Leesil was afraid now, and few things frightened him anymore. There was
little else to do but finish.
"Rulers like Darmouth have enemies, not only outside their borders but
within. And if they don't, they still think they do anyway. I was raised to
deal with those enemies proficiently. By the age of five, my parents were
already training me. At first it was just a thin dagger I held, wielding it
like a sword while pretending to be a warrior. I didn't know we were property
to be owned. But in the years after, I wondered about the purpose of the
strange things they taught me, until I no longer had to wonder. When to move
silently, unnoticed.How to lie convincingly.Who and what to watch for in the
dark. Which places on a body afford the quickestkill. "
Magiere peered back over her shoulder. All Leesil saw was one eye watching
him.
"The toolbox," she said. "That's what it's for?"
He nodded."From my mother.Probably made by her people, though I don't know
how or why. I learned to use everything in it, and I was a good slave, for a
while. Some days I can still remember every person I've killed."
"And now you need new tools? You bartered with the smith for them."
"No, that has nothing to do with my past," Leesil added, his own voice
suddenly harsh. "I can't keep trying to take vampires with stilettos. I need
something else. But I've no time to learn any standard weapon, so I'm having
ones made to fit the skills I have."
Magiere shook her head, holding up a hand to ward off his words.
"Even a slave can think for himself," she said. "So why didn't you run before
it was too late? Why didn't all of you run?"
Such a simple choice, Leesil thought.If it had only been that simple. And he
laughed.
Magiere spun about to glare at him. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," heanswered, no smile on his face."Absolutely nothing. We were
never allowed to work together. There was always at least one mother, father,
or son who stayed behind under a watchful eye to ensure the job wasdone, and
the one at work came home again."
He watched her eyes for any hint of understanding. When it didn't come, he
simply went on.
"I was forced to betray a kind old teacher falsely accused of treason, and he
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