"Well done, lad," he said in a low voice so as not to disturb the ongoing rehearsal. "You play the page well."
"Just a small part," the youth muttered, not meeting his eyes, while Wren smirked behind his back.
Tal raised an eyebrow at her, then squeezed his shoulder. "We all start small. Besides, it's the practice that's important, not the part. One day, you may find your training here saves your life."
Garin's gaze shot over to him, studying him as if he'd said something significant. Tal was beginning to wonder if he'd missed more than one thing happening in the boy's life.
"And how have your lessons with Sister Pond been going?" he pressed.
The youth flinched, eyes flickering over to Wren. Too late, Tal realized his error. Of course he wouldn't tell her. He hastily amended, "Has she set you right on Solemnity's Path yet?"
Relief was written all over Garin's face. "She's still trying."
The girl's eyes, however, narrowed further.
"Well, there's time yet." He pressed Garin's shoulder again. "I'll look forward to the performance tomorrow night. And what were you playing again?" he asked Wren.
"An upstart nobleman," she replied shortly.
Tal grinned. "How fitting."
Wren sniffed, then, apparently hearing her cue, she turned and walked on stage.
Tal stepped closer to Garin. "I'm sorry, lad. I didn't know you hadn't told her."
The youth gave him a small smile. "It's alright. I probably should have by now."
"I'm impressed you could keep it a secret from the likes of her."
They shared a grin.
"But in all seriousness," Tal continued, "how are your lessons in letters going? Has the nun declared you literate?"
Garin shrugged. "I can write my name and sound out most words, and I'm reading whole passages out loud. Sister Pond is plotting to make me a priest before the year's up."
Tal smiled. For a wonder, his eyes began to grow warm and misty. "We'll see about that. But I'm proud of you, Garin. You've taken to your lessons, grown and learned more than I thought possible in such a short time."
The youth didn't meet his eyes. "It's all thanks to you," he muttered. His gaze darted up. "But what about the real reason we're here? Your, you know, hunt."
Tal sighed. "It could be going better. I've eliminated most of the likely suspects with no further leads. Tomorrow, however, I intend to find out more."
"Tomorrow? How?"
"A plan to draw our quarry out of hiding. Bait so tempting not even a Soulstealer could resist."
Garin leaned in close. "What?"
His wolf's grin stretched his lips. "A king, unprotected, vulnerable to influence or assassination."
The youth's eyes went wide. "How will you manage that?"
"Not through permission, I'll warrant you that." Tal winked. "Just leave the details to me."
But Garin looked far from settled. "Tal, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you before."
That gave him pause. "You have my attention."
"I think Warlock Kaleras is the Extinguished."
For a moment, it was all Tal could do to stare at him. Then he cracked a grin, thinking it must be a joke. "Kaleras? Why him?"
The youth looked far from amused. "I'm serious. The other day, after you visited him—"
"You saw that?" With every word, Tal liked this less and less.
"Wren was — That is, we were—" His face flushed, and he waved a hand impatiently. "Doesn't matter. After you left, we were passing by, and Kaleras came out of his tower. He recognized me as your companion and told me to pass you a warning — to not trust anyone around you, no matter how much you think you should."
Tal studied Garin. There was something more he wasn't saying, and not just about Wren. But what else he held back, he could only guess.
"That sounds like the old warlock," he said with a reassuring smile. "But Garin, believe me when I say I have good reason to trust he's untouched by the East."
The youth's brow furrowed. "What reason?"
Tal looked aside, debating how much he should say. But he'd brought the boy this far into the web of intrigue; he had a right to know and put his suspicions to rest.
"He has an artifact, a magical ring that protects him from others' sorcery."
"The Ring of Thalkuun?"
Tal winced. He'd almost forgotten Falcon had told Garin the story behind the ring and the title he'd gained that day. "Yes. He's worn it for many years. So unless he's been Yuldor's for two decades, the Night hasn't claimed him."
"But didn't he steal it from you in the first place?"
Tal looked away from Garin's accusing stare. "Yes. But if you remember the tale, I hardly deserved to keep it, did I?"
"But you killed all the other warlocks in the Circle," Garin pressed, merciless. "Even if he's not one of the Extinguished himself, wouldn't he want revenge? A warlock never forgets a grudge — that's what all the stories say."
"This isn't a story, though, is it?" Tal found his voice had risen and lowered it again with effort. "This is no legend; this is my life. Things don't work like they do in the stories."
A stubborn set had appeared to Garin's mouth. "That doesn't answer my question."
The answer the youth sought was there, right there, for Tal to tell. Words so simple to say, yet impossible for his tongue to string together.
"That night in the courtyard," he said instead. "He saved me. He stopped the summoning when it would have just continued until I'd been overwhelmed."
But Garin's eyes were as hard as steel and narrow as a knife's edge. "But how did he know to come? Maybe he was behind the summoning, but saved you to gain your trust."
Tal raised his hands. "Believe what you will. But know this: friend or not, Kaleras doesn't take well to being crossed. I'd stay away from him if I were you."
Garin stared at him a moment longer, then shrugged and looked aside. "So you're coming tomorrow night? To the performance?"
He felt his shoulders relax. "Of course. I wouldn't miss the stage debut of my favorite page!"
The youth raised an eyebrow, but his face was coloring. "Whatever you say, old man."
Tal grinned, and the lad reluctantly smiled back.
Garin peered either way outside his door. Exhaustion dragged at him, but he couldn't have slept if he tried. The memory of the kiss pressed hard on his mind. Her scent filled his nose; her gold-laced eyes were all he saw. Even fear of the dark hallways, of the warlock's insinuations, couldn't extinguish the yen coursing through his veins.
Again wearing stockings without shoes, he ghosted down the hall, pausing at each creak of a rusty hinge or distant murmur behind a closed door. After standing up to the ghouls, he couldn't call himself a coward, but that didn't stop him from startling at every fleeting shadow. Only he heard distant sounds that didn't make sense in a castle corridor. The clang of a hammer on metal. The hiss of a cat. The roar of a waterfall. And threading through it all was a melancholic note, sustained and droning, whispering in the back of his mind. It formed a quiet cacophony, familiar in some way, and wholly unwelcome.