Devon drew a deep breath. “We understand what you are saying and we’re grateful, but I’m not sure we could . . .”
You could, Haplo told him silently. When the horror and the agony and the torment become more than you can bear, you’ll be desperate to end it.
But how can I say that to them? Haplo wondered bitterly. They’re children. Beyond a splinter in the foot or a fall and a bump on the head, what do they know of pain and suffering?
“Could you . . .” Devon licked his lips. He was trying very hard to be brave. “Could you . . . show us how?” He flicked a glance to the girls on either side of him. “I don’t know about Alake and Grundle, but I never had to … do anything like this.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m pretty certain I’d botch it up.”
“We don’t need knives,” said Alake. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I have certain herbs with me. A small amount is used to ease pain, but if you chew a whole leaf—”
“—it eases you right into the next life,” Grundle concluded. She regarded the human with grudging admiration. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Alake.” A thought seemed to occur to her, however. “But what do you mean, you weren’t going to tell us?”
“I would have,” Alake replied. “I would have given you the choice. As I said,” she added softly, lifting her black eyes to Haplo, “I saw how my people died.”
He realized, then, that she was in love with him.
The knowledge did nothing to make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse. It was just one more damn thing he had to worry about. But why should he? What difference did it make to him whether he broke the heart of this wretched human or not? She was, after all, only a mensch. But he could tell by the way she looked at him that he’d have to revise his notion of her being a child.
“Good. Good for you, Alake,” he said, sounding as cold and dispassionate as possible. “You’ve got these herbs hidden where the dragon-snakes won’t find them.”
“Yes, they’re in my—”
“Don’t!” He raised his hand. “Don’t say. What none of the rest of us know, the creatures can’t wring out of us. Keep the poison safe and keep it secret.”
Alake nodded solemnly. She continued to gaze at him, her eyes warm and liquid.
Don’t do this to yourself. It’s impossible, Haplo wanted to tell her.
Perhaps I should tell her. Perhaps that would be best. But how can I explain? How can I explain that to fall in love in the Labyrinth is to inflict a deliberate wound on yourself? Nothing good can come of love. Nothing but death and bitter sorrow and empty loneliness.
And how can I explain that a Patryn could never seriously love a mensch? There were instances, according to what Haplo knew about the pre-Sundering days, when Patryns, men and women both, had found pleasure among the mensch. Such liaisons were safe and amusing. But that had been long ago. His people took life more seriously now.
Aiake lowered her eyes, her lips were parted in a shy smile. Haplo realized that he had been staring at her and, undoubtedly, she was getting the wrong impression.
“Go on, now. Clear out,” he said gruffly. “Go back to your cabins and make yourself ready. I don’t think we have long to wait. Devon, you might take one of those knives, just to be on the safe side. You, too, Grundle.”
“I’ll show you where to find them,” Alake offered.
She smiled at Haplo as she left, cast him a sidelong glance from beneath her long eyelashes, then led the way out the door.
Devon followed after her. The elf studied Haplo on the way out, and the elf’s eyes were suddenly cool and shadowed. He said nothing, however. It was Grundle who stopped on the threshold, jaw outthrust, side whiskers bristling.
“You hurt her”—the dwarf raised a small, threatening fist— “and, snakes or no snakes, I’ll kill you.”