“Then why did you think I did it?” she asked, puzzled.
“I don’t know,” Hugh muttered, fumbling with the pipe. “Maybe I wanted to believe it was you who brought me back.”
Iridal flushed, averted her head. “In a way, it was. He saved you out of pity for my grief, and out of compassion for your sacrifice.”
The two sat long moments in silence, Iridal staring at her hands, Hugh sucking on the cold and empty pipe. To light it would mean standing up and walking over to the fire grate and he wasn’t certain he could navigate even that short distance without falling. He eyed the empty wine bottle with regret. He could have called for another, but decided against it. He had a clear purpose now, and he had the means to obtain it.
“How did you find me?” he asked. “And why did you wait so long?”
Her flush deepened. She raised her head, answered the last question first. “How could I come? To see you again… the pain would have been more than I could bear. I went to the other mysteriarchs, the ones who took you from the castle and brought you down here. They told me…” Iridal hesitated, not certain where her words might lead her.
“That I’d gone back to my old profession, as if nothing had happened. Well, I tried to pretend it hadn’t,” Hugh said grimly. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate having me show up on your doorstep.”
“It wasn’t like that. Believe me, Hugh, if I had known—” She couldn’t quite see where that was going either and fell silent.
“Known that I’d turned into a drunken sot, you would have been glad to give me a few barls and a bowl of soup, and a place to sleep in your stable? Well, thanks, Lady, but I don’t need your pity!”
He stood up, ignored the pain that shot through his head, and glared down at her.
“What do you want of me?” he snarled, teeth clenched over the pipe stem. “What can I do for Your Ladyship?”
She was angry in her turn. No one—especially drunken, washed-up assassins—spoke to a mysteriarch like that. The rainbow eyes glittered like the sun through a prism. She rose to her feet, drew herself up in offended dignity.
“Well?” he demanded.
Looking at him, seeing his anguish, she faltered, “I suppose I deserved that. Forgive me—”
“Damn it!” Hugh cried, nearly biting the pipe stem in two. His jaws ached with the strain. He slammed his fist on the table. “What the devil do you want with me?”
She was pale. “To… to hire you.”
He regarded her silently, grimly. Turning away from her, he walked over to the door, stared at the closed panel.
“Who’s the mark? And keep your voice down.”
“There is no mark!” Iridal replied. “I have not come to hire you to kill. My son has been found. He is being held hostage by the elves. I intend to try to free him. And I need your help.”
Hugh grunted. “So that’s it. Where’ve the elves got the kid?”
“In the Imperanon.”
Incredulous, Hugh turned, stared at Iridal. “The Imperanon? Lady, you need help, all right.” Taking his pipe from his mouth, he pointed it at her. “Maybe someone should lock you up in a cell…”
“I can pay you. Pay you well. The royal treasury—”
“—doesn’t hold enough,” said Hugh. “There’s not enough barls in the world that could pay me to march into the heart of the enemy empire and fetch back that little—”
The flare of her rainbow eyes warned him not to proceed.
“Obviously I have made a mistake,” she said coldly. “I will trouble you no further.”
She walked toward the door. Hugh remained standing in front of it, blocking it, did not move.
“Step aside,” she ordered.
Hugh put the pipe back in his mouth, sucked on it a moment, regarded her with grim amusement. “You need me, Lady. I’m the only chance you’ve got. You’ll pay me what I ask.”
“What do you ask?” she demanded.
“Help me find Alfred.”
She stared at him, shocked into silence. Then she shook her head. “No… that’s not possible! He’s gone. I have no way of finding him.”