we’ve lost the dauber, at least we have you. My Lord Prince will be interested
to learn what sharp-toothed rats his brother keeps to guard his granaries! Come
along, you!”
Lalo sank back against the post of the stair. It was over. The Hell-Hounds were
dragging Zanderei away as once they had dragged him into the night.
He would find a way to let Coricidius know what the painting had shown and what
Zanderei had confessed to him. Would they call him into court to prove it? Would
they dispose of the assassin quietly, or send him back to Ranke to report his
failure? With a dim wonder Lalo realized that it did not matter anymore.
Gilla would have harsh words for him when he reached home, but her arms would be
soft and comforting …
But still he did not move, for below the surface questions in his mind pulsed
one more perplexing-Why did I let Zanderei go?
Today he had faced death, and fought for his life, and conquered fear. He had
realized that the evil of the world was not confined to Sanctuary. But if he
could do all this, he was not the person that he had thought he knew.
He held out his magic hands, his painter’s hands, so that the moonlight silvered
them, staring as if they held his answer. And perhaps that was true, for if he
had beaten Zanderei, the other man’s final question had also vanquished him. And
he could only answer it by facing his mirror with a paintbrush in his hand.
The moon was poised above the tattered rooftops, resting after the labor of
drawing in the tide. Like a silver mirror, she blessed the tortured streets of