And behind this shape, Crit could see another: Haught.
And over those two images, he saw superimposed the glowing counte- nance of Ischade, a slight crease between her eyes, and Ischade was shaking her head, her lips forming a word.
And that word was “Run.” In his inner ear, he heard it again; Run, if you value your soul.
“Come on, Kama. Sorry to disturb you, Tasfalen,” said Crit as he backed down the stairs, Kama’s arm in a deathgrip and still holding the loaded crossbow one-handed. “We just needed to verify your where- abouts. Stop by the palace when you can-Molin Torchholder wants to see you.”
By the time he’d finished saying alt of that, he’d dragged Kama half- way to the street and she was whispering urgently, “What’s the matter with you? Lost your mind? Your nerve?”
“Finished, that’s all. We’re finished here. I have no reason to arrest that man. I only had to find him.” His voice was shaking and Kama heard it.
He didn’t look at her as they made for their horses. He couldn’t stand to see scorn in her eyes. But he saw it in the eyes of Ischade’s two waiting minions, and it burned like hellfire.
“What’s the matter, Stepson, Tempus take your balls upcountry?” Vis shouted from a safe distance as Crit mounted up.
He got off one quarrel, but his aim was half-hearted. It smashed harm- lessly against the brick beside Vis’s head.
And then there was Kama to deal with, slouched in her saddle, frown- ing.
He said, “We have to report this to Torchholder. I need you. Let’s go.”
She reined her horse after his, either unwilling to dispute his statement or unable.