the poison. And Enas Yorl sent us to you.’
Prism turned to the shadows and spoke rapidly in her own language. Cythen
recognized only the names of the two magicians; the native Beysib language was
very different from the mix of dialects common in Sanctuary. A second woman
joined them in the moonlight. She unwound her scarf to reveal a face that
shimmered orchid as it stared at Cythen. Cythen let her hand rest once again on
her sword hilt while the two women conversed rapidly in their incomprehensible
tongue.
‘What else did your magician, Enas Yorl, tell you about us -besides how to
contact us along the wharves?’
‘Nothing,’ Cythen replied, hesitating a bit before continuing. ‘Enas Yorl’s
cursed. We left Bekin’s corpse in his vestibule and returned later to find a
note tucked in her shroud. Lythande said it was incomplete; that the shifting
curse had claimed him again. Beyond saying that you, the Harka Bey, would know
the truth, the note was indecipherable.’
There was another brief exchange of foreign words before Prism spoke again to
Cythen. ‘The shape-changer is known to us – as we are known to him. It is a
serious charge you and he bring before us. This woman, your sister, was not our
victim. You, of course, do not know us well enough to know that we speak the
truth in this; you will have to trust us that this is so.’
Cythen opened her mouth to protest, but the woman waved her back to silence.
‘I have not doubted the truth of your words,’ Prism warned. ‘Do not be so
foolish as to doubt mine. We will study this matter closely. The dead woman will