‘Are you ashamed of me?’ he asked, bewildered.
‘Have you not heard what they call me? “The Ice Queen”. Let them keep their illusions. Now is not the time for them to see Karis the woman.’
She swung away from him and strode on. Forin cut off to the left and made his way to the small house Tarantio had rented. He hammered on the door, but at first there was no reply. Four times more he thumped his fist against the wood, then finally the door swung open and Tarantio stood there, bare-chested. ‘Sleeping in the middle of the day? You are getting old, man.’ Without waiting to be invited, Forin stepped inside, walking through to the main room. His nostrils flared; the smell of strong perfume lingered in the air.
‘I am sorry, my friend, I did not know you had company.’
‘Well, I have,’ said Tarantio. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Karis wanted to make sure you would attend tonight’s meeting.’
‘Tell her I will not be there.’
‘You must be – that is where we will plan the fight in the catacombs.’ Swiftly he told Tarantio of the caverns under the city. ‘Ozhobar thinks the Daroth will break through sometime tomorrow.’
‘I am no longer willing to fight,’ said Tarantio.
‘Is this a joke? You think you have a choice?’
‘A man always has a choice. I am leaving tomorrow.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ declared Forin, stunned. ‘You of all people! How can you consider leaving us to fight alone?
You are the best swordsman I ever saw, and you have a magical blade. We need you, man.’ ‘The sword is by the door. Take it when you go.’ Forin looked at him quizzically. ‘What has happened to you, Chio? You are not the man I knew. You are certainly not the man who said he could swallow me whole if someone buttered my head and pinned my ears back. Gods, man, has the heart gone out of you?’ ‘Yes,’ said Tarantio. ‘The heart has gone out of me.’ Disgusted, Forin swung away from him and headed for the door. The sword belt was hanging on a hook and the giant lifted it clear.
‘I am sorry,’ he heard Tarantio call out. ‘Rot and die,’ replied Forin.
Dressed in a loose-fitting white gown, the ties undone, Miriac came out of the bedroom as the front door closed behind Forin. For a moment she said nothing, but stood looking at Tarantio. He smiled at her. ‘Would you like some wine?’
‘He was your friend,’ she said.
‘Yes. Would you like some wine?’
‘No. I don’t understand why you told him that.’
‘What is there to understand? I’m not going to fight any more. I want to get you somewhere safe.’ He reached for her, but she drew back. ‘What is wrong?’ he asked her.
‘I don’t know – but he was right, Chio. Something has gone out of you; I’ve sensed it for days.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘It is to me. I love you, but you have changed. Have I done this to you? Have I robbed you of your courage?’
‘My courage has not gone!’ he said, but the words came out defensively and he could hear his own fear echoing
in his denial. ‘It has not gone,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t my courage.’
‘He?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Not even to me?’
Tarantio turned away from her and stared around the room. Miriac remained quiet and still, allowing the silence to grow. He moved over to the fire and added coal to the embers, then sat down on the rug and looked into the flames. In a low voice he told her of his life, and the birth of Dace, and how they had lived together ever since. ‘I am not insane,’ he assured her. ‘Dace was as real to me as you are. You asked me why I fled that night. Dace wanted to kill you; he felt my love for you, and saw it as a threat. When you came to the house two nights ago, it was Dace who met you.’ He fell silent, and did not look at her.