Page 59 of Paladin's Faith

“Good. I was a little worried when Maltrevor cornered you.”

“Oh, he tried to grab my ass,” said Wren cheerfully.

Shane, who had been sitting, stood up again. Marguerite groaned and put her hand over her eyes.

“Sit down, brother. I said tried. He got a very nice handful of tablecloth for his pains. Then he just panted on me for a while.” Wren rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why, there were plenty of other women there.”

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” said Marguerite. “It was nothing you did.” Shane was still looking murderous. She and Wren shared a look.

“Did you learn stuff?” asked Wren, clearly trying to change the subject. “I mean, useful stuff?”

“I did not magically learn the location of our artificer, but I did rule out a few people as being involved with the Sail.” Marguerite grimaced. “Which is extremely useful, in that it lets us concentrate our efforts, but is not as satisfying as providing an actual target. Still, it helps to narrow things down.”

Wren sighed. “I wish Ian had been able to come.”

“Ian?”

“The man I…err…met. It would be nice if you could meet him too.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know anyone here named Ian…” And then, when Wren looked suddenly worried, “No, that’s good, that means I don’t know anything bad about him.”

Shane muttered something that neither of them could make out. Marguerite thought that was probably for the best.

“Right,” said Wren, getting up. “I just waited up until you got in to make sure that I didn’t need to search the halls for your bodies. Night, all.”

Marguerite leaned back in the chair with a sigh. Now that her feet hurt less, her scalp was beginning to complain. She cursed the fashion that had turned against hats in the last few years. She’d liked hats. They covered a multitude of sins in the hair department.

She began pulling out combs. Shane watched in silence, then finally said, “No click, then?”

“No click.” She sighed heavily and yanked a comb out with a bit more force than necessary. It came out, trailing several dark strands.

“Perhaps it’s still too early,” he offered.

“Probably. I was hoping, though.” More than I’m willing to admit, actually. In her heart of hearts, she’d been hoping to swoop in, have the critical information fall into her lap, and go out after the artificer while the Sail was still trying to figure out if she was the person from the wanted posters. The longer it took, the more danger that the operatives at Court would actually communicate with one of the branches of the Sail that wanted her dead. Not to mention the chance that they’ll locate the artificer and have them quietly shoved off a cliff, which would be extremely detrimental to both their health and my plans.

One of the combs didn’t want to come out. She pulled harder on it, annoyed.

“Here, let me,” said Shane behind her. She hadn’t heard him move. “It’s caught up on a hairpin.”

Gods above and below, he was using the voice. Marguerite let her hands drop as the words poured over her, soothing as warm honey.

If I could bottle that, I would make so much money.

“Just a bit of a tangle,” he murmured, coaxing the pin loose. “I don’t want to take half your hair out with it.”

“That’s fine,” said Marguerite, with only a vague idea what she was agreeing to. His fingers were very deft and she felt a shiver going through her as he worked. Oh yeah. That’s the stuff, right there. If I was a cat, I’d be purring.

He removed the offending comb and then carefully began to pluck out the remaining ones. Her hair fell down across her neck, and she shivered again.

When the last one was out, Shane rested his hands on the back of her chair. She tilted her head back slightly, looking up at him, wondering if he was going to do anything, or she was.

If he’d kissed her then, she would have dragged him into the bedroom, never mind how tired she was or what Wren might think of the noises.

But he did not, and the moment stretched long enough for Marguerite to remember that he did not approve of her, and also for her feet to remember that they ached. She sighed and patted one of his hands as if she were an old lady. And at the moment I feel like one. “Tomorrow,” she said wearily. She got to her feet, wincing. “And maybe we’ll be lucky and out of the blue, there’ll be a click.”

“May the gods will it so,” said Shane politely. Marguerite felt his eyes following her as she went to the bedroom, but he didn’t say anything more, and neither did she.

TWENTY-FIVE