unpleasant to remember. Bekin was dead – but not gone.
She stood mute while the priest and Walegrin made their plans. Her silence was
taken for attentiveness, though she heard nothing above the screaming other own
thoughts. The priest patted her on the shoulder as she left his rooms, following
Walegrin into the forecourt again. Knots of Beysibs had gathered there, talking
among themselves with their backs to the Sanctuary pair as they walked back to
the garrison. One of the men did turn to stare at her. He wasn’t tall so he
wasn’t Turghurt, but all the same. the feel of the cold fish-eyes regarding her
finally loosened her tongue.
‘Sabellia preserve me! I know nothing of Bekin’s trade. I’m still a virgin!’ It
was as much of a prayer as she had muttered since her father went down with an
arrow in his throat.
Walegrin stopped short, appraising her in surprise. ‘You told me you’d worked on
the Street of Red Lanterns?’
‘I told you that I’d tried to work on the Street of Red Lanterns and that I
couldn’t. Don’t look at me like that; it’s not that unreasonable. Don’t I have
my own quarters now, and no one who’d dare to bother me there? A woman who lives
with the garrison is safe from all other men, and a woman who is part of that
garrison is safe from her cohorts as well.’
‘Then you’ve got more courage than I thought,’ he replied, shaking his head, ‘or
you’re an utter fool. You’d better let Myrtis know when you get there; she’ll
know how to turn it to our advantage.’
Cythen grimaced and tried not to think of that evening, or the next evening. She