Thief With No Shadow (49 page)

Bastian caught the young man’s arm. “No. This discussion is not over.”

He felt Hantje’s muscles clench beneath his fingers, saw anger flare on his face.

The young man shook his hand off. “No? What more do you wish to say?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice and fierceness in his eyes.

Endal stopped exploring the room. He came to stand beside Bastian.

Bastian kept his face bland, his voice mild. “What do you know about Liana’s gift?”

Hantje’s glaring rage faltered. “She heals.”

“Yes, she does.” Bastian studied the young man’s face. Kind, Liana had said. He saw no kindness, only anger and bitterness and a curving scar beneath his lower lip. “And when she heals, she
feels
who her patient is.”

“Feels?”

Bastian held Hantje’s eyes. “She knows you as well as you know yourself. She knows who you are, she knows what you dream about, and she knows how you feel about her.”

The anger drained from Hantje’s face. His skin, already pale, became paler. “No.” It was a whisper, aghast.

“So let’s discuss your marriage.”

Hantje turned away, abruptly. His footsteps were loud and sharp as he crossed the room. He stood at one of the tall windows, his back to Bastian. Dust motes spun in the air. “I will not marry her.”

Bastian leaned his shoulders against the door and watched him. Endal lay down across his feet, heavy and warm. “She is of an age to be married.”

“Not to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a wraith.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind, I agree.” Bastian touched the red stone in his pocket, turning it between his fingers. “But no reason not to marry Liana.”

Hantje turned to face him. “But I’m a
wraith.”

Bastian shrugged. “An uncomfortable gift.”

“Uncomfortable!”

Endal sat up. His ears pricked.

The young man’s face twisted. “Do you have
any
idea what it means to be a wraith?”

“Your sister told me about your family.” Bastian held the stone between his thumb and forefinger, small and hard. “But this isn’t Stenrik. The things that happened to your mother will never happen to Liana.”

“But if I’m discovered—”

“You will be exiled. Not burned, not...used.”

Hantje swallowed. His expression was as bleak as the bare room. “I can’t marry her.”

Bastian began to lose his patience. “Because you’re a wraith? I’ve already told you—”

“Because I’m a thief!”

Bastian straightened away from the door. He released the stone. “I was under the impression that you had failed to steal anything.”

The young man’s face flushed. “I
tried
.”

“And failed,” said Bastian, aware of the stone in his pocket. “Therefore you are not a thief.”
Although I am. And your sister, most definitely, is one.

Hantje’s chin lifted. “I had the intention of stealing.” Thin daylight fell over his face, adding no color, making his hair blacker and his skin ashen.

“Do you still have the intention?”

Hantje’s head jerked back. “Of course not!”

“Then you are no thief.”

The young man met his eyes for a long, silent moment. His face was tight, the skin stretched taut over his bones. Recognition teased at the edges of Bastian’s memory.

“I can’t marry Liana,” Hantje said, his voice flat. “It’s all my fault. Everything. I can’t marry her.”

Bastian looked at Hantje and saw his father in the young man’s face, saw bitterness and despair and guilt. He hadn’t known what to say then. He’d been too young, too stricken by grief, too overwhelmed by what had occurred. Now he knew.

“Everything’s your fault?” There was a flick of contempt in his voice. “You blame yourself for
everything
?” He made a sound in which laughter and disgust were mingled. “Don’t be such a fool!”

Color rose sharply in Hantje’s face. His chin lifted. “I started it,” he said stiffly.

“The first mistake was yours, yes. But everything else?” Bastian shook his head. “No.”

“But—”

“This—” he jabbed a finger at Hantje,“—
this
is your second mistake.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hantje said, cold hauteur in his voice. He looked down his nose at Bastian.

“Punishing yourself. It’s the
stupidest
—” Rage surged inside him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “My father did this,” he said, opening his eyes and staring at Hantje, holding his gaze. “He blamed himself for my mother’s death. He punished himself. And he punished us too. He didn’t mean to, but he did. And if you do this, then you’ll be punishing your sister and mine.”

Hantje’s chin lowered.

“The mistake you made is wiped out. Gone.” His hand cut through the air, making dust motes swirl. “What you did for Liana... We can never repay you for that.”

Hantje’s face tightened slightly, a tiny flinching of his facial muscles. For a brief instant Bastian thought he saw memory of terror and pain in the young man’s eyes.

“I deserved it.” Hantje’s voice was hoarse.

“No. You didn’t.”

The young man’s gaze fell.

“The first mistake was yours,” Bastian said quietly. “But the second was mine, and it was worse than yours. I could have stopped this. I could have stopped it all.”

Hantje’s eyes jerked up. “What do you mean?”

“The salamanders offered me the necklace back.”

The young man’s brow creased. “I don’t understand.”

Bastian clenched his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat. The words still stuck. He had to force them out: “I hadn’t the courage to meet their terms.”

He couldn’t look at Hantje, couldn’t meet his gaze.

The young man uttered a sound that was too harsh to be a laugh. “I hadn’t the courage either. I chose to steal their gold because I was afraid to earn it.”

A tension in Bastian’s chest that he’d been unaware of, a tight rigidity, eased. He looked up and met the young man’s eyes. Gray eyes, steady, not judging him.

Hantje’s mouth twisted into something that was almost a smile, wry and slightly bitter. “You found your courage.”

“So did you.”

Again the tiny muscles in Hantje’s face flinched.

“I can never thank you enough for what you did,” Bastian said quietly. “You saved my sister.”

“And you saved mine.”

There was little comparison between the minutes he’d spent with the salamander and the hours Hantje had endured with the psaaron, but Bastian had no words to articulate his gratitude for the young man’s courage and his regret that it had been necessary. “Just marry Liana,” he said gruffly.

Something flared in Hantje’s eyes, bright. “You really mean it?”

Bastian nodded.

“But I have no money, nothing to offer.”

Bastian looked at the young man’s face, proud, and thought of the piles of gold and silver coins on the floor beside his bed. Tomorrow. He’d tackle that hurdle tomorrow. “It will take much work to restore the farm. I’d be grateful for your help.”

The young man swallowed. “You mean that?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Now go and find Liana.”

Hantje didn’t move. He stood in front of the window, an overcast sky behind him. “And my sister?”

“I hope she’ll stay here, too. I hope you’ll both think of Vere as your home.”

Hope.
He did hope it.

Something glittered in Hantje’s eyes, as bright as tears. “You truly mean that?”

Bastian nodded again.

A smile lit the young man’s face, more brilliant than sunlight. “Thank you.”

Bastian shook his head. “Go and find Liana.”

“I shall.” Hantje crossed the room with long strides, stirring the dust. His grip, when he clasped Bastian’s hand, was strong.

“Welcome to Vere,” Bastian said.

“Thank you.”

He was too thin, too pale, with the marks of illness and injury still etched on his face. An easterner, with hair down to his waist and joy shining in his eyes. A wraith.

Liana has chosen well
, Bastian told Endal, as he watched the young man walk down the corridor.
Very well.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

M
ELKE EASED HER
feet into the soft leather slippers and stood. There was a moment when the room dipped and swayed, when she clutched at the wall, and then everything steadied, ceiling and floor and windows.

She needed to be outside. She needed to feel sunlight on her skin and breathe fresh air into her lungs.

Movement in the mirror caught her eyes. She saw herself for the first time since she’d come to Vere. The dark skirt was the same, the gray blouse, the black hair, the pale face.

Melke turned her head away.
Wraith.

She held on to the bannister as she walked down the stairs. The wood was cool beneath her hand.

Hantje’s bedroom was empty. The kitchen was empty.

Her legs grew steadier with each step. Sunlight beckoned, dimmed by clouds in the sky, but still sunlight.

Bastian stood outside, in the yard.

Melke shrank back in the doorway. He hadn’t seen her. His attention was focused on Endal. They were silent, standing together at the well, but she knew that they talked, man and hound.

Amusement lit Bastian’s face. He laughed, a boyish sound, loud and delighted. Endal uttered a low bark and pranced and wagged his tail.

What had the hound said to make Bastian throw his head back and laugh like that?

Pale wolf-eyes stared at her.

Bastian stopped laughing.

They looked at her, man and hound, and then Endal came bounding towards her. She needed no gift to know that he was pleased to see her. It was in the joyful wriggle of his large body, the sweeping tail, the exuberantly licking tongue.

Bastian crossed the yard more slowly, his hands in his pockets.

She stood in the doorway, stiff and awkward, patting Endal. He had saved her, this man. A Bressen who spoke with short, hissing esses and guttural consonants and who wore his hair cropped so short that the nape of his neck was bare and vulnerable. He’d lain with the adult salamander in payment for her life. She didn’t understand how he could have done such a thing, or why.

“Good afternoon.” His voice was polite.

Melke swallowed past the tightness in her throat and watched her own hand stroke Endal’s black fur. “Good afternoon.”

She saw his boots, scarred and dirty, saw the dun-colored trousers, worn soft with use, faded and darned.

“How are you?”

She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. She was as tall as he was, standing on the doorstep. “I’m fine, thank you.”

The laughter that had lightened his face was gone. Stone. She had thought it once before, a face of stone. Not a mercenary, not brutal, but closed and expressionless, giving nothing away.

He had stood before the salamander as he stood before her now. Of course the creature had agreed to the bargain. A strong body and a strong face, handsome and sun-browned, eyes as green as the sea, hair the color of honey, and the eyelashes of a girl, long and curling and tipped with gold.

A prize indeed, this man.

Melke swallowed and raised her chin. “Thank you for saving me.”

She saw his mouth tighten fractionally, saw something flicker in his eyes. Surprise?

Melke clenched her fingers into Endal’s thick coat. “Why did you do it?”

He had stripped off his clothes and stood naked, had let the salamander take pleasure from his body. Melke imagined his skin, slick with sweat. She imagined the fear in his eyes.

“Because I had to.”

Melke shook her head. “No. You didn’t.” She lifted her hand from Endal’s hair and turned to go inside.