could be pawned or sold in the next village – and Bekin was willing to go with
any man. So, after a time, Bekin earned their shelter while Cythen, who had
always preferred swordplay to needlework. learned the art of the garrote and
dressed herself in dead men’s clothes. .
When the pair reached Sanctuary, it was only natural that Cythen found a place
with Jubal’s hawkmasked mercenaries. Bekin slept safely in the slaver’s bed
whenever he desired her and Cythen knew a measure of peace. When the hell-sent
Whoresons had raided Jubal’s Downwinds estate, the younger sister again came to
the aid of the elder. This time, she took her to the Street of Red Lanterns, to
the Aphrodisia House itself, where Myrtis promised that only a select,
discriminating clientele would encounter the ever-innocent Bekin. But now,
despite Myrtis’ promise, Bekin was four days dead of a serpent’s venom.
The pool of moonlight shifted as the night aged and Cythen waited. She was
bathed in silvery light and blind to the shadows beyond it: undoubtedly the
Harka Bey had chosen the rendezvous carefully. She held only her sword hilt and
endured the cramps the cold stone left in her legs. Rising above the pain, she
sought the mindlessness she had first discovered the day her world had ended and
the future closed. It was not the fantastic mindlessness that had claimed Bekin,
but rather an alert emptiness, waiting to be filled.
Even so, she missed the first hint of movement in the shadows. The Harka Bey
were within the ruins before she heard the faint rustle of shoes on the