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12

“Friendly, isn’t she?”

Two teleports after leaving home I was at Castle Black with Cawti and an unsteady stomach. Cawti was dressed to kill in long trousers of light gray, a blouse of the same color, and a gray cloak with black trim. I wore my good trousers, my good jerkin, and my cloak. We looked like a matched set.
Lady Teldra admitted us, greeted Cawti by name, and bade us visit the banquet hall. We must have been quite a sight: a pair of Easterners, both in Jhereg colors, with Loiosh on my left shoulder, putting him between us.
No one particularly noticed us.
I reached Fentor and told him where I was. He showed up, found me, and surreptitiously handed me a slip of paper. After he left, Cawti and I wandered around for a bit, seeing people and studying Morrolan’s “dining room,” and being casually insulted by passersby. After a while, I introduced her to the Necromancer.
Cawti bowed from the neck, which is subtly different than bowing the head. The Necromancer seemed uninterested, but returned the bow. The Necromancer didn’t care whether you were a Dragaeran or an Easterner, a Jhereg or a Dragon. To her, you were either living or dead, and she got along better with you if you were dead.
I asked her, “Did you know Baritt?”
She nodded absently.
“Do you know if he was working with anyone shortly before his death?”
She shook her head, just as absently.
“Well, uh, thanks,” I said, and moved on.
“Vladimir,” said Cawti, “what’s this business with Baritt all about?”
“I think someone is backing up Laris—someone big, probably in the House of the Dragon. I think whoever it is was working with Baritt at some point. I’m trying to find out who.”
I took her to a corner and pulled out the list Fentor had handed me. There were seven names on it. None of them meant anything to me.
“Recognize any of the names?”
“No. Should I?”
“Descendants of Baritt. I’m going to have to check them out, I think.”
“Why?”
I gave her a rundown on the story of the riot. Her beautiful face drew up into an ugly sneer. She said, “If I’d known what he had in mind—”
“Laris?”
She didn’t answer.
“Why take it so hard?” I asked her.
She stared at me. “Why take it so hard? He’s using our people. That’s us, Easterners, being set up to be beaten and killed just to manipulate a few guards. What do you mean, why take it so hard?”
“How long have you lived in the Empire, Cawti?”
“All my life.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m used to it, that’s all. I expect things like that.”
She looked at me coldly. “It doesn’t bother you anymore, eh?”
I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times. “It still bothers me, I guess, but . . . Deathsgate, Cawti. You know what kind of people live in those areas. I got out of it, and you got out of it. Any of them—”
“Crap. Don’t start on that. You sound like a pimp. ‘I don’t use ’em any more than they want to be used. They can do something else if they want. They like working for me.’ Crap. I suppose you feel the same way about slaves, right? They must like it or they’d run away.”
To be honest, it had never occurred to me to think about it. But Cawti was looking at me with rage in her lovely brown eyes. I felt a sudden flash of anger and said, “Look, damn it, I’ve never ‘worked’ on an Easterner, remember, so don’t give me any—”
“Don’t throw that up at me,” she snapped. “We’ve been over it once. I’m sorry. But it was a job, all right? That has nothing to do with your not caring about what happens to our own people.” She kept glaring at me. I’ve been glared at by experts, but this was different. I opened my mouth to say something about what it had to do with, but I couldn’t. It suddenly hit me that I could lose her, right now. It was like walking into a tavern where you’re going to finalize someone, and realizing that the guy’s bodyguards might be better than you. Except then, all you’re liable to lose is your life. As I stood there, I realized what I was on the verge of losing.
“Cawti,” I started to say, but my voice cracked. She turned away. We stood like that, in a corner of Morrolan’s dining room, with multitudes of Dragaerans around us, but we might as well have been in our own universe.
How long we stood there I don’t know. Finally, she turned back to me and said, “Forget it, Vlad. Let’s just enjoy the party.”
I shook my head. “Wait.”
“Yes?”
I took both of her hands, turned her around, and led her into a small alcove off to the side of the main room. Then I took both of her hands again and said, “Cawti, my father ran a restaurant. The only people who came in were Teckla and Jhereg, because no one else would associate with us. My father, may the Lords of Judgment damn his soul for a thousand years, wouldn’t let me associate with Easterners because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. You, maybe, got a title after you’d made some money, so you could get a link to the Orb. I was given a title through my father, who spent our life savings on it, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran.
“My father tried to make me learn Dragaeran swordsmanship, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. He tried to prevent me from studying witchcraft, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. I could go on for an hour. Do you think we were ever accepted as Dragaeran? Crap. They treated us like teckla droppings. The ones that didn’t despise us because we were Easterners hated us because we were Jhereg. They used to catch me, when I went on errands, and bash me around until—never mind.”
She started to say something, but I cut her off. “I don’t doubt that you could tell me stories just as bad; that isn’t the point.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I hate them,” I said, squeezing her hands until she winced. “I joined the organization as muscle so I could get paid for beating them up, and I started ‘working’ so I could get paid for killing them. Now I’m working my way up the organization so I can have the power to do what I want, by my own rules, and maybe show a few of them what happens when they underrate Easterners.
“There are exceptions—Morrolan, Aliera, Sethra, a few others. For you, maybe Norathar. But they don’t matter. Even when I work with my own employees, I have to ignore how much I despise them. I have to make myself pretend I don’t want to see every one of them torn apart. Those friends I mentioned—the other day, they were discussing conquering the East, right in front of me, as if I wouldn’t care.”
I paused and took a deep breath.
“So I have to not care. I have to convince myself that I don’t care. That’s the only way I can stay sane; I do what I have to do. And there’s precious little pleasure in this life, except the satisfaction of setting a goal, worthwhile or not, and meeting it.
“How many people can you trust, Cawti? I don’t mean trust not to stab you in the back, I mean trust—trust with your soul? How many? Up until now, Loiosh has been the only one I could share things with. Without him, I’d have gone out of my head, but we can’t really talk as equals. Finding you has . . . I don’t know, Cawti. I don’t want to lose you, that’s all. And not for something as stupid as this.”
I took another deep breath.
“I talk too much,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to say.”
While I’d been speaking, her face had relaxed, the rage draining out of it. When I finished, she came into my arms and held me, rocking me gently.
“I love you, Vladimir,” she said softly.
I buried my face in her neck and let the tears come.
Loiosh nuzzled my neck. I felt Cawti scratching his head.
A bit later, after I’d recovered, Cawti brushed my face with her hands and Loiosh licked my ear. We walked back to face the multitude. Cawti placed her hand on my left arm as we walked; I covered it with my right hand and squeezed.
I noticed the Sorceress in Green, but avoided her, not feeling like a confrontation just then. I looked for Morrolan, but didn’t see him. I noticed the Necromancer talking to a tall, dark-haired Dragaeran woman. The latter turned for a moment, and I was suddenly struck by her resemblance to Sethra Lavode. I wondered—
“Excuse me,” I said, approaching them. They broke off and looked at me. I bowed to the stranger. “I am Vladimir Taltos, House Jhereg. This is the Dagger of the Jhereg. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?”
“You may,” she said.
I waited. Then I smiled and said, “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am Sethra,” she said. Bingo!
“I have heard much of you from your namesake,” I told her.
“No doubt. If that is all you wish to say, I am engaged just at the moment.”
“I see,” I said politely. “As a matter of fact, if you can spare a few moments—”
“My dear Easterner,” she said, “I am aware that Sethra Lavode, for reasons best known to herself, chooses to tolerate your presence, but I am no longer apprenticed to her, so I see no reason why I should. I have no time for Easterners, and no time for Jhereg. Is all of this clear to you?”
“Quite.” I bowed once more; Cawti did the same. Loiosh hissed at her as we turned away.
“Friendly, isn’t she?”
“Quite,” said Cawti.
At that moment Morrolan came in, escorting Norathar. She was dressed in black and silver, the colors of the House of the Dragon. I looked at Cawti; her face was expressionless. We approached them, fighting our way through the crowd.
Norathar and Cawti locked eyes, and I couldn’t see what was passing between them. But then they smiled, and Cawti said, aloud, “The colors are most fetching. You wear them well.”
“Thank you,” said Norathar softly. I noticed that there was a ring on the little finger of her right hand. On its face was a dragon, with two red eyes.
I turned to Morrolan. “Is it official?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Aliera is speaking to the Dragon Council about setting up an inquiry. It may take a few more days.”
I looked back at Norathar and Cawti, who were talking a few paces away from us. Morrolan was silent. It is a very rare skill in a man, and far more rare in an aristocrat, to know when to be still, but Morrolan had it. I shook my head as I watched Cawti. First, I’d become angry with her, then I had poured out my problems at her feet; when all the time her partner of—how long?—at least five years, was on the verge of becoming a Dragonlord.
By the Demon Goddess! What Cawti must have gone through as a child would have been very much like what I went through, or worse. Her friendship with Norathar must have been like my relationship with Loiosh, and she was watching it end. Gods, but I can be an insensitive ass when I try!
I looked at Cawti then, from behind and to the side. I’d never really looked at her before. As any man with the least amount of experience can tell you, looks mean absolutely nothing as far as bedding is concerned. But Cawti would have been attractive by the standards of any human. Her ears were round, not the least bit pointed, and she had no trace of facial hair. (Contrary to some Dragaerans’ belief, only male Easterners have whiskers—I don’t know why.) She was smaller than I, but she had long legs that made her seem taller than she was. A thin face, almost hawklike, and piercing brown eyes. Hair was black, perfectly straight, falling below her shoulders. She obviously paid a fair amount of attention to it, because it glistened in the light and was cut off exactly even.
Her breasts were small, but firm. Her waist, slender. Her buttocks were also small, and her legs slim but well muscled. Most of this, you understand, I was remembering rather than seeing, but as I looked, I decided that, even on this level, I’d done rather well for myself. A crude way of putting it, I suppose, but—
She turned away from Norathar and caught me looking at her. For some reason, this pleased me. I held out my left arm as she came up; she pressed it. I reached for contact with her and it came more easily than last time.
“Cawti . . .  ”
“It’s all right, Vladimir.”
Norathar came up to us then, and said, “I’d like a word with you, Lord Taltos.”
“Call me ‘Vlad.’ ”
“As you wish. Excuse us,” she said to the others, and we walked a bit away.
Before she could say anything I started in. “If you’re going to give me any of the don’t-you-dare-hurt-her dung, you can forget it.”
She gave me a thin smile. “You seem to know me,” she said. “But why should I forget it? I mean it, you know. If you hurt her needlessly, I’ll kill you. I just feel I should tell you that.”
“The wise falcon hides his claws,” I said, “and it’s the poor assassin who warns his target.”
“Are you trying to make me angry with you, Vlad? I care about Cawti. I care enough to destroy anyone who causes her pain. I feel I should let you know, so you can avoid doing it.”
“How kind of you. What about you? Haven’t you hurt her more than I ever could?”
To my surprise, she didn’t even start to get angry. She said, “It may look that way, and I know I’ve hurt her, but not as badly as you could. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
I shrugged. “I don’t see that it matters,” I said. “The way things are looking, I’m liable to be dead in a week or two anyway.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything. She was, let us say, not overwhelmed with sympathy.
“If you really don’t want her hurt, you might try helping me to stay alive.”
She chuckled a bit. “Nice try, Vlad. But you know I have standards.”
I shrugged, and mentioned something that had been bothering me for a while. “If I’d heard he was looking for you, I would have put everything on the line and hired you myself, and then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“The one who employed us didn’t need to look for us; he knew where to find us, so there was no chance of your hearing.”
“Oh. I wish I’d been so privileged.”
“I have no idea how he found out—it isn’t common knowledge. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve said what I wanted to, and I think you under—”
She broke off, looking over my shoulder. I didn’t turn around, just from habit.
“What is it, Loiosh?”
“The bitch you met last time. The Sorceress in Chartreuse, or whatever.”
“Great.”
“May I interrupt?” came the voice from behind me.
I looked at Norathar and raised my eyebrows. She nodded. I turned then, and said, “Lady Norathar e’Lanya, of the House of the Dragon, this is—”
“I am the Sorceress in Green,” said the Sorceress in Green. “And I am quite capable of introducing myself, Easterner.”
I sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not wanted here? Never mind.” I bowed to Norathar and Loiosh hissed at the Sorceress.
As I walked away, the Sorceress was saying, “Easterners! I’ll be just as pleased when Sethra the Younger goes after them. Won’t you?”
I heard Norathar say, “Hardly,” in a cold tone of voice, and then I was thankfully out of earshot. Then it hit me: I was looking for an Athyra who had been involved in the plot against Norathar. The Sorceress in Green was an Athyra. Just maybe, I decided. I’d have to think about how to verify or disprove this.
I returned to Cawti and said, “Is there anything keeping you here?”
She looked startled, but shook her head.
“Should we leave?” I asked.
“Weren’t you going to be checking on that list?”
“This party runs twenty-four hours a day, five days a week. It’ll wait.”
She nodded. I gave Morrolan a bow, then we went out the door and down to the entryway without taking our leaves of anyone else. One of Morrolan’s sorcerers was standing near the door. I had him teleport us back to my apartment. The sick feeling in my stomach when we arrived was not, I think, due only to the teleport.

My flat, at that time, was above a wheelwright’s shop on Garshos Street near the corner of Copper Lane. It was roomy for the money because it was an attic, and the sloping ceiling would have annoyed a Dragaeran. My income, just before the business with Laris had started, had me thinking about getting a larger place, but it was just as well I hadn’t.
We sat down on the couch. I put my arm around her shoulder, and said, “Tell me about yourself.” She did, but it isn’t any of your business. I’ll just say that I was right in my earlier guesses about her experiences.
We got to talking about other things, and at one point I showed her my target in the back room, set so I could throw through the hall and give myself a thirty-foot range. The target, by the way, was in the shape of a dragon’s head. She thought that was a nice touch.
I took out a brace of six knives and put four of them into the left eye of the target.
She said, “Good throwing, Vladimir. May I try?”
“Sure.”
She put five into the right eye, and the sixth less than half an inch off.
“I see,” I said, “that I’m going to have to practice.”
She grinned. I hugged her.
“Vlad,” said someone.
“What the bleeding deviltries of Deathsgate Falls do you—Oh, Morrolan.”
“Bad time, Vlad?”
“Could be worse. What is it?”
“I’ve just spoken to Aliera. She has found the names of the Lyorn and the Athyra who were involved in the test on the Lady Norathar. Also, you may wish to inform your friend Cawti that the Dragon Council has authorized an official scan for tomorrow, at the sixth hour past noon.”
“All right. I’ll tell her. What are the names?”
“The Lyorn was Countess Neorenti, the Athyra was Baroness Tierella.”
“Baroness Tierella, eh? Morrolan, could Baroness Tierella be the real name of the Sorceress in Green?”
“What? Don’t be absurd, Vlad. She—”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Why?”
“Never mind; I just lost a theory I liked. Okay, thank you.”
“You are most welcome. A good evening to you, and I’m sorry you couldn’t stay at my party longer.”
“Another time, Morrolan.”
I gave Cawti the news about Norathar, which broke the mood, but what was I supposed to do? I went into the kitchen and got us some wine, then got in touch with Fentor.
“Yes, milord?”
“House of the Lyorn, Countess Neorenti. House of the Athyra, Baroness Tierella. Are they alive? If so, find out where they live. If not, find out how they died. Get right on it.”
“Yes, milord.”
Cawti sighed.
“I’m done,” I said quickly. “It was just—”
“No, it isn’t that,” she said. “I only wish there were some way I could help you with Laris. But all the information I have came from him, and I couldn’t tell you that, even if it was useful.”
“I understand,” I said. “You have to live with yourself.”
She nodded. “Things were so easy, just a week ago. I mean, I was happy . . . I guess. We were secure. My reasons for wanting to kill Dragaerans are the same as yours, and Norathar, well, she just hated everything. Except me, I suppose.” I put my arm back around her shoulder. “Now, well, I’m happy that she has what she wants, even if she’d managed to convince herself she didn’t want it anymore, but me—” She shrugged.
“I know,” I said. Now, would you like to hear something crazy? I wanted, badly, to say something like, “I hope I can take her place for you,” or maybe, “I’ll be here,” or even, “I love you, Cawti.” But I couldn’t. Why? Because, as far as I could tell, I was going to be dead in a little while. Laris was still after me, still had more resources than I did, and, most important, he knew where to find me, and I didn’t know where to find him. So, under the circumstances, how could I do anything that would tie her to me? It was crazy. I shook my head and kept my mouth shut.
I looked up at her and noticed that she was staring over my shoulder and nodding slightly.
“Loiosh!”
“Yeah, boss?”
“What are you telling her, damn you?”
“What you’d tell her yourself, boss, if you weren’t a dzur-brained fool.”
I made a grab for him, but he fluttered over to the windows ill. I stood up, growling, and felt a touch on my arm.
“Vladimir,” she said calmly, “let’s go to bed.”
Well, between wringing the neck of a wiseass, know-it-all jhereg, and making love to the most wonderful woman in the world—I mean, the choice wasn’t hard to make.

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12

“Friendly, isn’t she?”

Two teleports after leaving home I was at Castle Black with Cawti and an unsteady stomach. Cawti was dressed to kill in long trousers of light gray, a blouse of the same color, and a gray cloak with black trim. I wore my good trousers, my good jerkin, and my cloak. We looked like a matched set.
Lady Teldra admitted us, greeted Cawti by name, and bade us visit the banquet hall. We must have been quite a sight: a pair of Easterners, both in Jhereg colors, with Loiosh on my left shoulder, putting him between us.
No one particularly noticed us.
I reached Fentor and told him where I was. He showed up, found me, and surreptitiously handed me a slip of paper. After he left, Cawti and I wandered around for a bit, seeing people and studying Morrolan’s “dining room,” and being casually insulted by passersby. After a while, I introduced her to the Necromancer.
Cawti bowed from the neck, which is subtly different than bowing the head. The Necromancer seemed uninterested, but returned the bow. The Necromancer didn’t care whether you were a Dragaeran or an Easterner, a Jhereg or a Dragon. To her, you were either living or dead, and she got along better with you if you were dead.
I asked her, “Did you know Baritt?”
She nodded absently.
“Do you know if he was working with anyone shortly before his death?”
She shook her head, just as absently.
“Well, uh, thanks,” I said, and moved on.
“Vladimir,” said Cawti, “what’s this business with Baritt all about?”
“I think someone is backing up Laris—someone big, probably in the House of the Dragon. I think whoever it is was working with Baritt at some point. I’m trying to find out who.”
I took her to a corner and pulled out the list Fentor had handed me. There were seven names on it. None of them meant anything to me.
“Recognize any of the names?”
“No. Should I?”
“Descendants of Baritt. I’m going to have to check them out, I think.”
“Why?”
I gave her a rundown on the story of the riot. Her beautiful face drew up into an ugly sneer. She said, “If I’d known what he had in mind—”
“Laris?”
She didn’t answer.
“Why take it so hard?” I asked her.
She stared at me. “Why take it so hard? He’s using our people. That’s us, Easterners, being set up to be beaten and killed just to manipulate a few guards. What do you mean, why take it so hard?”
“How long have you lived in the Empire, Cawti?”
“All my life.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m used to it, that’s all. I expect things like that.”
She looked at me coldly. “It doesn’t bother you anymore, eh?”
I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times. “It still bothers me, I guess, but . . . Deathsgate, Cawti. You know what kind of people live in those areas. I got out of it, and you got out of it. Any of them—”
“Crap. Don’t start on that. You sound like a pimp. ‘I don’t use ’em any more than they want to be used. They can do something else if they want. They like working for me.’ Crap. I suppose you feel the same way about slaves, right? They must like it or they’d run away.”
To be honest, it had never occurred to me to think about it. But Cawti was looking at me with rage in her lovely brown eyes. I felt a sudden flash of anger and said, “Look, damn it, I’ve never ‘worked’ on an Easterner, remember, so don’t give me any—”
“Don’t throw that up at me,” she snapped. “We’ve been over it once. I’m sorry. But it was a job, all right? That has nothing to do with your not caring about what happens to our own people.” She kept glaring at me. I’ve been glared at by experts, but this was different. I opened my mouth to say something about what it had to do with, but I couldn’t. It suddenly hit me that I could lose her, right now. It was like walking into a tavern where you’re going to finalize someone, and realizing that the guy’s bodyguards might be better than you. Except then, all you’re liable to lose is your life. As I stood there, I realized what I was on the verge of losing.
“Cawti,” I started to say, but my voice cracked. She turned away. We stood like that, in a corner of Morrolan’s dining room, with multitudes of Dragaerans around us, but we might as well have been in our own universe.
How long we stood there I don’t know. Finally, she turned back to me and said, “Forget it, Vlad. Let’s just enjoy the party.”
I shook my head. “Wait.”
“Yes?”
I took both of her hands, turned her around, and led her into a small alcove off to the side of the main room. Then I took both of her hands again and said, “Cawti, my father ran a restaurant. The only people who came in were Teckla and Jhereg, because no one else would associate with us. My father, may the Lords of Judgment damn his soul for a thousand years, wouldn’t let me associate with Easterners because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. You, maybe, got a title after you’d made some money, so you could get a link to the Orb. I was given a title through my father, who spent our life savings on it, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran.
“My father tried to make me learn Dragaeran swordsmanship, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. He tried to prevent me from studying witchcraft, because he wanted to be accepted as Dragaeran. I could go on for an hour. Do you think we were ever accepted as Dragaeran? Crap. They treated us like teckla droppings. The ones that didn’t despise us because we were Easterners hated us because we were Jhereg. They used to catch me, when I went on errands, and bash me around until—never mind.”
She started to say something, but I cut her off. “I don’t doubt that you could tell me stories just as bad; that isn’t the point.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I hate them,” I said, squeezing her hands until she winced. “I joined the organization as muscle so I could get paid for beating them up, and I started ‘working’ so I could get paid for killing them. Now I’m working my way up the organization so I can have the power to do what I want, by my own rules, and maybe show a few of them what happens when they underrate Easterners.
“There are exceptions—Morrolan, Aliera, Sethra, a few others. For you, maybe Norathar. But they don’t matter. Even when I work with my own employees, I have to ignore how much I despise them. I have to make myself pretend I don’t want to see every one of them torn apart. Those friends I mentioned—the other day, they were discussing conquering the East, right in front of me, as if I wouldn’t care.”
I paused and took a deep breath.
“So I have to not care. I have to convince myself that I don’t care. That’s the only way I can stay sane; I do what I have to do. And there’s precious little pleasure in this life, except the satisfaction of setting a goal, worthwhile or not, and meeting it.
“How many people can you trust, Cawti? I don’t mean trust not to stab you in the back, I mean trust—trust with your soul? How many? Up until now, Loiosh has been the only one I could share things with. Without him, I’d have gone out of my head, but we can’t really talk as equals. Finding you has . . . I don’t know, Cawti. I don’t want to lose you, that’s all. And not for something as stupid as this.”
I took another deep breath.
“I talk too much,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to say.”
While I’d been speaking, her face had relaxed, the rage draining out of it. When I finished, she came into my arms and held me, rocking me gently.
“I love you, Vladimir,” she said softly.
I buried my face in her neck and let the tears come.
Loiosh nuzzled my neck. I felt Cawti scratching his head.
A bit later, after I’d recovered, Cawti brushed my face with her hands and Loiosh licked my ear. We walked back to face the multitude. Cawti placed her hand on my left arm as we walked; I covered it with my right hand and squeezed.
I noticed the Sorceress in Green, but avoided her, not feeling like a confrontation just then. I looked for Morrolan, but didn’t see him. I noticed the Necromancer talking to a tall, dark-haired Dragaeran woman. The latter turned for a moment, and I was suddenly struck by her resemblance to Sethra Lavode. I wondered—
“Excuse me,” I said, approaching them. They broke off and looked at me. I bowed to the stranger. “I am Vladimir Taltos, House Jhereg. This is the Dagger of the Jhereg. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?”
“You may,” she said.
I waited. Then I smiled and said, “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am Sethra,” she said. Bingo!
“I have heard much of you from your namesake,” I told her.
“No doubt. If that is all you wish to say, I am engaged just at the moment.”
“I see,” I said politely. “As a matter of fact, if you can spare a few moments—”
“My dear Easterner,” she said, “I am aware that Sethra Lavode, for reasons best known to herself, chooses to tolerate your presence, but I am no longer apprenticed to her, so I see no reason why I should. I have no time for Easterners, and no time for Jhereg. Is all of this clear to you?”
“Quite.” I bowed once more; Cawti did the same. Loiosh hissed at her as we turned away.
“Friendly, isn’t she?”
“Quite,” said Cawti.
At that moment Morrolan came in, escorting Norathar. She was dressed in black and silver, the colors of the House of the Dragon. I looked at Cawti; her face was expressionless. We approached them, fighting our way through the crowd.
Norathar and Cawti locked eyes, and I couldn’t see what was passing between them. But then they smiled, and Cawti said, aloud, “The colors are most fetching. You wear them well.”
“Thank you,” said Norathar softly. I noticed that there was a ring on the little finger of her right hand. On its face was a dragon, with two red eyes.
I turned to Morrolan. “Is it official?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Aliera is speaking to the Dragon Council about setting up an inquiry. It may take a few more days.”
I looked back at Norathar and Cawti, who were talking a few paces away from us. Morrolan was silent. It is a very rare skill in a man, and far more rare in an aristocrat, to know when to be still, but Morrolan had it. I shook my head as I watched Cawti. First, I’d become angry with her, then I had poured out my problems at her feet; when all the time her partner of—how long?—at least five years, was on the verge of becoming a Dragonlord.
By the Demon Goddess! What Cawti must have gone through as a child would have been very much like what I went through, or worse. Her friendship with Norathar must have been like my relationship with Loiosh, and she was watching it end. Gods, but I can be an insensitive ass when I try!
I looked at Cawti then, from behind and to the side. I’d never really looked at her before. As any man with the least amount of experience can tell you, looks mean absolutely nothing as far as bedding is concerned. But Cawti would have been attractive by the standards of any human. Her ears were round, not the least bit pointed, and she had no trace of facial hair. (Contrary to some Dragaerans’ belief, only male Easterners have whiskers—I don’t know why.) She was smaller than I, but she had long legs that made her seem taller than she was. A thin face, almost hawklike, and piercing brown eyes. Hair was black, perfectly straight, falling below her shoulders. She obviously paid a fair amount of attention to it, because it glistened in the light and was cut off exactly even.
Her breasts were small, but firm. Her waist, slender. Her buttocks were also small, and her legs slim but well muscled. Most of this, you understand, I was remembering rather than seeing, but as I looked, I decided that, even on this level, I’d done rather well for myself. A crude way of putting it, I suppose, but—
She turned away from Norathar and caught me looking at her. For some reason, this pleased me. I held out my left arm as she came up; she pressed it. I reached for contact with her and it came more easily than last time.
“Cawti . . .  ”
“It’s all right, Vladimir.”
Norathar came up to us then, and said, “I’d like a word with you, Lord Taltos.”
“Call me ‘Vlad.’ ”
“As you wish. Excuse us,” she said to the others, and we walked a bit away.
Before she could say anything I started in. “If you’re going to give me any of the don’t-you-dare-hurt-her dung, you can forget it.”
She gave me a thin smile. “You seem to know me,” she said. “But why should I forget it? I mean it, you know. If you hurt her needlessly, I’ll kill you. I just feel I should tell you that.”
“The wise falcon hides his claws,” I said, “and it’s the poor assassin who warns his target.”
“Are you trying to make me angry with you, Vlad? I care about Cawti. I care enough to destroy anyone who causes her pain. I feel I should let you know, so you can avoid doing it.”
“How kind of you. What about you? Haven’t you hurt her more than I ever could?”
To my surprise, she didn’t even start to get angry. She said, “It may look that way, and I know I’ve hurt her, but not as badly as you could. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
I shrugged. “I don’t see that it matters,” I said. “The way things are looking, I’m liable to be dead in a week or two anyway.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything. She was, let us say, not overwhelmed with sympathy.
“If you really don’t want her hurt, you might try helping me to stay alive.”
She chuckled a bit. “Nice try, Vlad. But you know I have standards.”
I shrugged, and mentioned something that had been bothering me for a while. “If I’d heard he was looking for you, I would have put everything on the line and hired you myself, and then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“The one who employed us didn’t need to look for us; he knew where to find us, so there was no chance of your hearing.”
“Oh. I wish I’d been so privileged.”
“I have no idea how he found out—it isn’t common knowledge. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve said what I wanted to, and I think you under—”
She broke off, looking over my shoulder. I didn’t turn around, just from habit.
“What is it, Loiosh?”
“The bitch you met last time. The Sorceress in Chartreuse, or whatever.”
“Great.”
“May I interrupt?” came the voice from behind me.
I looked at Norathar and raised my eyebrows. She nodded. I turned then, and said, “Lady Norathar e’Lanya, of the House of the Dragon, this is—”
“I am the Sorceress in Green,” said the Sorceress in Green. “And I am quite capable of introducing myself, Easterner.”
I sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not wanted here? Never mind.” I bowed to Norathar and Loiosh hissed at the Sorceress.
As I walked away, the Sorceress was saying, “Easterners! I’ll be just as pleased when Sethra the Younger goes after them. Won’t you?”
I heard Norathar say, “Hardly,” in a cold tone of voice, and then I was thankfully out of earshot. Then it hit me: I was looking for an Athyra who had been involved in the plot against Norathar. The Sorceress in Green was an Athyra. Just maybe, I decided. I’d have to think about how to verify or disprove this.
I returned to Cawti and said, “Is there anything keeping you here?”
She looked startled, but shook her head.
“Should we leave?” I asked.
“Weren’t you going to be checking on that list?”
“This party runs twenty-four hours a day, five days a week. It’ll wait.”
She nodded. I gave Morrolan a bow, then we went out the door and down to the entryway without taking our leaves of anyone else. One of Morrolan’s sorcerers was standing near the door. I had him teleport us back to my apartment. The sick feeling in my stomach when we arrived was not, I think, due only to the teleport.

My flat, at that time, was above a wheelwright’s shop on Garshos Street near the corner of Copper Lane. It was roomy for the money because it was an attic, and the sloping ceiling would have annoyed a Dragaeran. My income, just before the business with Laris had started, had me thinking about getting a larger place, but it was just as well I hadn’t.
We sat down on the couch. I put my arm around her shoulder, and said, “Tell me about yourself.” She did, but it isn’t any of your business. I’ll just say that I was right in my earlier guesses about her experiences.
We got to talking about other things, and at one point I showed her my target in the back room, set so I could throw through the hall and give myself a thirty-foot range. The target, by the way, was in the shape of a dragon’s head. She thought that was a nice touch.
I took out a brace of six knives and put four of them into the left eye of the target.
She said, “Good throwing, Vladimir. May I try?”
“Sure.”
She put five into the right eye, and the sixth less than half an inch off.
“I see,” I said, “that I’m going to have to practice.”
She grinned. I hugged her.
“Vlad,” said someone.
“What the bleeding deviltries of Deathsgate Falls do you—Oh, Morrolan.”
“Bad time, Vlad?”
“Could be worse. What is it?”
“I’ve just spoken to Aliera. She has found the names of the Lyorn and the Athyra who were involved in the test on the Lady Norathar. Also, you may wish to inform your friend Cawti that the Dragon Council has authorized an official scan for tomorrow, at the sixth hour past noon.”
“All right. I’ll tell her. What are the names?”
“The Lyorn was Countess Neorenti, the Athyra was Baroness Tierella.”
“Baroness Tierella, eh? Morrolan, could Baroness Tierella be the real name of the Sorceress in Green?”
“What? Don’t be absurd, Vlad. She—”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Why?”
“Never mind; I just lost a theory I liked. Okay, thank you.”
“You are most welcome. A good evening to you, and I’m sorry you couldn’t stay at my party longer.”
“Another time, Morrolan.”
I gave Cawti the news about Norathar, which broke the mood, but what was I supposed to do? I went into the kitchen and got us some wine, then got in touch with Fentor.
“Yes, milord?”
“House of the Lyorn, Countess Neorenti. House of the Athyra, Baroness Tierella. Are they alive? If so, find out where they live. If not, find out how they died. Get right on it.”
“Yes, milord.”
Cawti sighed.
“I’m done,” I said quickly. “It was just—”
“No, it isn’t that,” she said. “I only wish there were some way I could help you with Laris. But all the information I have came from him, and I couldn’t tell you that, even if it was useful.”
“I understand,” I said. “You have to live with yourself.”
She nodded. “Things were so easy, just a week ago. I mean, I was happy . . . I guess. We were secure. My reasons for wanting to kill Dragaerans are the same as yours, and Norathar, well, she just hated everything. Except me, I suppose.” I put my arm back around her shoulder. “Now, well, I’m happy that she has what she wants, even if she’d managed to convince herself she didn’t want it anymore, but me—” She shrugged.
“I know,” I said. Now, would you like to hear something crazy? I wanted, badly, to say something like, “I hope I can take her place for you,” or maybe, “I’ll be here,” or even, “I love you, Cawti.” But I couldn’t. Why? Because, as far as I could tell, I was going to be dead in a little while. Laris was still after me, still had more resources than I did, and, most important, he knew where to find me, and I didn’t know where to find him. So, under the circumstances, how could I do anything that would tie her to me? It was crazy. I shook my head and kept my mouth shut.
I looked up at her and noticed that she was staring over my shoulder and nodding slightly.
“Loiosh!”
“Yeah, boss?”
“What are you telling her, damn you?”
“What you’d tell her yourself, boss, if you weren’t a dzur-brained fool.”
I made a grab for him, but he fluttered over to the windows ill. I stood up, growling, and felt a touch on my arm.
“Vladimir,” she said calmly, “let’s go to bed.”
Well, between wringing the neck of a wiseass, know-it-all jhereg, and making love to the most wonderful woman in the world—I mean, the choice wasn’t hard to make.

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