The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 1c

Trickery is noble wit, but a lie is just a lie.

To those who say I wronged them

Let them look again and sigh.

—Last words of the thief Jack Pilgrim before his escape from the gallows.

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CORNERED

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"Just me," Harric called. "All is well."

Her frown relaxed, but she did not put her sword away. As she strode up the shelf she held up a candle lantern in her off hand.

Harric let out a long breath of relief. If she'd seen Fink, she'd be screaming.

The moonlight and lantern light made Caris look like some kind of glorious warrior maiden spirit. She'd tied her hair back in a simple warrior's tail, thrown on boots and breeches, and belted her sword over her night shirt, which hung to her knees like an airy surcoat. Not your average maiden. But his heart leapt on sight of the curves moving under that thin fabric. At that distance, he could imagine her as the same size as he, for everything about her was in proportion with any other well-formed woman. It wasn't until she drew nearer that the hard-muscled limbs and the out-sized scale of her horse-touched body became undeniably clear.

"Who's up there with you?" she said, as she neared. Her eyes drilled past him to the spot where Fink had been.

Fink's voice entered Harric's head through the oculus at the top of his mind. This isn't over. You try to hide in that little fort and I'll drag you out in front of your friends.

"Where would I go?" Harric put a hand over his mouth and whispered. "Just piss off for a while."

"Who are you talking to?" When Caris's eyes found the ledge beside him empty, her eyes flew wide and she threw her back to the cliff and swept her sword before her. "Your mother? Is your mother here?"

"Gods leave us, no! Caris, she's gone. I'm alone."

She looked at him like she suspected him of madness. "Then who are you talking to?"

"My shadow?" He forced a welcoming smile. "Sorry to scare you. Come sit with me."

She made no move to sit. Her brow remained bent with concern. "You need sleep, Harric. You look terrible."

"Please. Sit." He scooted forward to hang his knees over the shelf and patted the stone beside him. "Besides, you must be upset about something or you'd be sleeping yourself. Tell me what's wrong."

Some of the worry drained from her brow. With a tentative half-smile, she sat beside him on the ledge. Tall as she was, her feet hung below his, and he had to look up to meet her eyes. Like all horse-touched she wasn't merely taller and heavier than most men, she was also stronger and broader in the shoulders. Most men found that repugnant. Harric had ceased to wonder why he did not. He'd always been smaller and leaner than most men, so he never derived his sense of manhood from size or strength. With Caris, there was more to love. Plus, she beat the snot out of people who hurt him, which was handy.

Her eyes flicked to him and away. "What are you smiling about?"

"You."

Her brow furrowed. One hand twisted the ring on her smallest finger.

Harric knew what was coming, and his stomach dropped. Whenever they were alone together, that cursed ring was the monster in the room with them.

"Stupid thing makes me love you, Harric," she said. "And it won't come off."