Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [209]
Cauvin twisted the Torch’s ring from his finger, then swept his forearm to the inside of Soldt’s elbow. The assassin’s arm bent and Cauvin got away from the wall. “Then you take the gods-all-be-damned ring to Arizak. You do exactly what Arizak tells you to do!” He brandished the black ring in Soldt’s face.
“Don’t be foolish.” Soldt sidestepped Cauvin’s arm. “You’re the chosen one.”
“Frog all, he’s been complaining about me since I hauled his bony ass out of the Thunderer’s ruins. You know these people. You live in their world. You take the Torch’s place.”
“I was born on a boat, Cauvin; I don’t live anywhere. You do. Sanctuary’s your home. You’re not going to leave—”
“Watch me.” Cauvin forced the ring into Soldt’s hand. “You do it, Soldt, or it’s not going to be done. I was born sheep-shite stupid. I’m afraid of my own memories. I’m afraid to remember what I did and why.”
“Cauvin—you made a mistake; everybody does.” Soldt clasped Cauvin at the wrist, but muscle for muscle, Cauvin was the stronger man, and Soldt couldn’t make him open his fist or take back the ring. “You trusted Leorin. You trusted the woman you love, and she betrayed that love. Now you’ve got to make it right.”
“Bec got picked up by the froggin’ Hand. I can’t make that right. I’m stupid, I’m afraid, and I’m a gods-all-be-damned coward.”
“You’re wrong, Cauvin. You’re neither stupid nor a coward, and if you’re afraid, we’re all afraid.”
Their argument had begun to draw attention from the passersby on Governor’s Walk. Soldt released Cauvin’s wrist. He took a backward step, blocking the way to Pyrtanis Street, but giving Cauvin all the room he needed to return to the palace … or the Maze.
There was one mistake he could make right.
Striding along the Governor’s Walk, opposite the palace gate, again, Cauvin dared a backward glance. The black-clad assassin was gone. He shouldn’t have been surprised or angry—he’d declared his freedom—but he was both.
“She ain’t come back yet,” the Stick snarled from behind the bar when Cauvin entered the Unicorn’s commons.
Cauvin left the tavern without another word, crossed to the opposite corner, and studied the Unicorn’s outer walls and windows. Unlike most of the buildings in the Maze, the Unicorn shrank as it rose, retreating from the nearby streets rather than leaning over them. There were shutters on every second-story window, and a single ledge running beneath them. Once Cauvin had determined which shutters blocked Leorin’s room, it was simple enough to wait until the street was clear before making his way to the ledge. He stuck the blade of his Ilbarsi knife between the shutters and popped the latch.
For one gut-churning moment Cauvin thought Leorin was asleep in her bed, but it was only her clothes. She’d emptied her baskets onto the mattress and seemed to have been sorting their contents into piles before she left with the chore unfinished. He cleared himself a space among them and settled in.
The sun came around. It poured through the shutter slats and made bright lines on the floor. Light never reached the mattress, never reached the gray emptiness where Cauvin tried to hide from his memories. In time the sunlight faded and the emptiness of Cauvin’s mind filled the room.
A familiar voice rang down the corridor not long after sunset. Two familiar voices: Leorin and the Stick.
—“I had my own affairs to attend to.” That was Leorin.
“What about my affairs?” That was the Stick. “You have chores to do during the day—this place doesn’t clean itself! You’re not here by day, you don’t work by night.” The barkeep’s voice shrank to a whisper, but they were on the other side of Leorin’s door, and Cauvin heard every word. “You’re a risk, Leorin. If I’ve got to take a risk, I’ve got to take more money. Say a shaboozh … a soldat or two?”
“Keep your threats to yourself. I don’t owe you another padpol until midsummer. I’m here, little man, whether you like it or not. Talk to your master, if you don’t believe me.”
The latch hook rattled. Cauvin tucked his knees under his chin. Light flooded the room when the door