That one of Yuldor's greatest servants lurked among them, plotting Silence only knew what, did nothing to ease his mind.
"Maybe," he muttered.
"That's it? Maybe? He told you to warn Tal not to trust anyone. I've read, watched, and listened to more stories than I can count, Garin — that line is nearly verbatim from a dozen different plays, and the villain always says it."
Trust no one, the Warlock of Canturith had told him to warn Tal. But Garin hadn't. After all, if Tal was to trust no one, that included Garin. And if he started distrusting him, it might not take his mentor long to discover Garin's secret.
"My cue's coming up," he mumbled.
Wren ignored him as usual. "We have to scout it out. Meet me here at midnight. Then we can go see what that warlock's up to."
"I said—" an imperious voice called with a tinge of annoyance from on stage "—that whoever is knocking may come in!"
With a jolt, Garin realized that was his cue. "Fine," he said hastily to Wren, then scrambled forward, pageboy's tight pants pulling with every step.
When the Sorrowful Lady had long passed by his window and out of sight, Garin crept down the corridors to the Smallstage. Bearing in mind Tal's sporadic instruction in stealth, he wore no shoes, and the stone pressed cold through his stockings, numbing them soon after he'd left his room. He stared wide-eyed into the darkness, expecting at every corner to see black eyes set in pale, peeling flesh over a gnashing mouth. But no ghouls walked the halls, and somehow, he managed to avoid the orange glow of the guards, any noise he made masked by their conversations.
Entering the Smallstage, he found the glow of a candle already awaiting him in the opposite corner. Hesitantly, he approached, hoping it wasn't some other actor out for a late-night rehearsal; or, worse still, Wren's father.
His breath caught as Wren turned the corner, gold dancing in her eyes, features looking even more elfin than before with the shadows playing across her face.
"I was starting to think you'd chickened out," she teased as she stepped up next to him. He was distinctly aware of how close she stood by him and imagined he could feel the heat of her body.
"Easy for you to say," he whispered back. "All you had to do was walk outside your room, not cross half the castle."
"Oh, I don't think my courage is in question. It's not me who's on his ass more often than not in the training yard."
Garin grinned. No point in denying what was true. But as he remembered the task awaiting them, the smile slipped away. "If we're going to do this, we'd best do it soon."
Wren took his hand. "Don't worry," she said softly, the candle's flame reflected in her eyes. "I'll protect you."
He swallowed, a lump suddenly forming in his throat, and hoped she wouldn't notice how his palms had gone clammy. "How could I be afraid now?" he joked weakly.
Wren blew out the candle and hid it, then they crept through the castle toward the eastern wing. She kept hold of his hand, even intertwining their fingers as they went on. Where the darkness had before held horrors, now it brought different imaginings: secret thoughts of finding a dark corner, her lips finding his, her warmth pressed against him…
He tried to banish the thoughts, heart beating fast, wondering how she couldn't hear them jangling in his head.
But at each corner, Wren pulled him forward, and soon the amorous dreams were replaced by fears again. Would they actually sneak into the old warlock's tower? He still didn't know how far Wren would push this. They'd speculated about traps around the door, and from the look he'd given Garin, it seemed more than likely they were in place. Those eyes had pierced right through him, appearing to see the secret shame that Garin kept hidden even from himself as much as he could. A man with eyes like that didn't seem like a man to trust a locked door.
At the final corridor, he pulled her to a stop and whispered, "Are you sure about this?"
Wren's eyes glimmered in the near-complete darkness as she turned back toward him. "Of course not. But if he's a Soulstealer and no one realizes, shouldn't we find out?"
"Tal will figure it out. He's a living legend, isn't he? And he probably has figured him out, one way or another — we saw him leave his tower."
"You don't know that," she said, her voice rising a bit. "But if we get proof, then we can show everyone the truth. Can you imagine their faces when we figure it out before them?"
A game. It was all a game to her, a way to show up her father. For all the stories she'd heard and their daily contests in the training yard, she'd never been in real danger. She didn't realize how quickly she could go from being alive to very much not.
"Wren," he started to say, then yelped and fell back as light flared from the archway.
Wren snarled and spun, a knife held before her as she fell into a crouch facing the figure. Garin, to his shame, had instead sprawled across the floor. As his eyes adjusted, he recognized the old man standing before him, a white ball of light dancing on his fingertips.
Kaleras' lips curled in a sneer, not seeming the least bothered by Wren's bared knife. "Tal's boy," he noted. "And the bard's girl." His gaze traveled over them, his sneer growing more pronounced with each moment. "Put that knife away and stand up."
Wren glanced back at Garin, eyes narrowed, and he nodded to her as he rose to his feet. Do as he says, he urged her silently. No doubt the knife would fail to penetrate whatever spells the warlock had about him.
When they stood before him, Kaleras studied them for a long minute, looking back and forth between their faces. "You think you're safe here, don't you?" he said in a low voice. "You think that because you're swaddled away in the castle, no harm could ever befall you. You're young and arrogant and feel a fire to prove yourself. And what's more daring than sneaking into the tower of the famed Warlock of Canturith?"
Wren's teeth were bared in nearly a snarl, but Garin had gone statue-still. He wasn't sure if he should read into the thinly veiled threats in every word, but he couldn't unhear them.
Kaleras leaned closer, close enough to smell his breath, bitter with some spice that Garin couldn't identify. "But you're not safe here. No one is. And the next time you wander the castle at night, you might find yourselves suffering more than a scolding."
Protect yourself. Kill him.
The warlock's gaze slid over to him, and Garin swallowed, trying to pretend he hadn't heard the strange voice in his head. Please, he prayed to the Whispering Gods. Please, let us go free.
Kaleras' eyes narrowed, but he backed up a step and gestured sharply down the hall. "Don't let me catch you out again," he snapped. "Especially not in the eastern wing!"
Wren seized Garin's hand and pulled him toward the corridor. They didn't bother waiting until they were out of sight to start running.
When they reached the Smallstage, Wren pulled him to the corner where she'd been waiting and then onto a pile of drapings. He fell like a ragdoll and lay there, heart pounding. What did he mean? he thought desperately. And why did that voice, that voice that sounded both strange and so damn familiar, want me to kill Kaleras?