She put a crust covered with fresh hot gravy down on the table, and started to cut it into smaller pieces. “Would you like to sit here? We’ll just make this a little easier to chew, yes?” she said, speaking loudly the way people who work with old people learn to. She smiled and the scars tugged at her full lips.

No. He’d put her here, with these people who adored her, where she could afford to share a crust. Elene had made her own choices to become who she was, but he had made those choices possible. If there was one good thing he’d done, it was this. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes and looked at her without guilt darkening his vision, she was stunning. Elene’s hair was lustrous gold, aside from the scars her skin was flawless, eyes large and bright, cheekbones high, lips full, teeth white, neck slender, figure entrancing. She was leaning forward to cut the crust for him, her bodice gapping in front—

Kylar tore his eyes away, trying to slow his pulse. She noticed his sharp move and looked at him. He met her eyes. Her look was quizzical, open. He was going to ask this woman to betray her employer?

A tangled snarl of emotions that he’d kept shoved into some dark corner closet of his soul surged and burst through the doors. Kylar choked on a sob. He blinked his eyes hard. Get a hold of yourself.

Elene put her arm around him, heedless of his filthy clothing and stench. She didn’t say anything, didn’t ask anything, just touched him. Tingles shot through him, and his emotions surged again.

“Do you know who I am?” Kylar asked. He didn’t use the beggar voice.

Elene Cromwyll looked at him strangely, uncomprehending. He wanted to stay hunched, to hide from those gentle eyes, but he couldn’t. He straightened his back and stood up, and stretched his fingers.

“Kylar?” she asked. “It is you! What are you doing here? Did Mags and Ilena send you? Oh my God, what did they tell you?” Her cheeks flushed and her eyes lit with hope and embarrassment. It wasn’t fair that a woman could be so beautiful. Did she know what she was doing to him?

Her face was the face of a girl surprised by a boy in the best way. Oh, gods. She thought he was here to ask her to Mags’s party. Elene’s expectations were about to meet reality like a toddler charging the Alitaeran cavalry.

“Forget Kylar,” he said, though it pained him. “Look at me and tell me who you see.”

“An old man?” she said. “It’s a very good costume, but it isn’t a costume party.” She flushed again as if she were presuming too much.

“Look at me, Doll Girl.” His voice was strangled.

She stopped, transfixed, peering into his eyes. She touched his face. Her eyes went wide. “Azoth,” she whispered. She put a hand on the table to steady herself. “Azoth!” She flung herself at him so fast, he almost tried to block her attack. Then she was squeezing him. He stood stock still, his mind refusing to understand for a long moment: she was hugging him.

He couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t think; he simply felt. The smooth skin of her cheek brushed his scruffy, unshaven one. Her hair filled his nostrils with the clean scent of youth and promise. She hugged him fiercely, the notes of strong hard arms joining with supple firm stomach and back joining with the pure feminine softness of her chest pressed against his making a chord of perfect acceptance.

Tentatively, he lifted his hands from his sides and touched her back. He tasted salt on his lips. A tear, his tear. His chest convulsed uncontrollably, and suddenly he was sobbing. He grabbed her, and she squeezed him harder still. He felt her crying, staccato breaths shaking her slender frame. And for a moment, the world was reduced to a single hug, reunion, joy, acceptance.

“Azoth, I heard you were dead,” Elene said, all too soon.

You will always be alone. Kylar froze up. If tears could stop halfway down a cheek, his would have.

He released Elene deliberately, stepped back. Her eyes were red, but still shining as she dabbed her tears away with a handkerchief. A sudden desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss her crashed over him in a wave. He blinked, held himself still until reality could reassert itself. He opened his mouth, couldn’t say a thing, couldn’t ruin it. He tried again, ready to lay out his lies, couldn’t. Relationships are ropes. Love is a noose. Durzo told me. He gave me a chance. I could have been a fletcher, an herbalist. I chose this.

“I was ordered never to see you. By my master.” His tongue was leaden. “Durzo Blint.”

He could tell even Elene had heard of Durzo Blint. Her eyes tightened in confusion. He could see her working through it: if Durzo was his master, that meant …He saw a quick little disbelieving smile, as if she were about to say, “But wetboys are monsters, and you’re not a monster.” But then the smile faded. Why else would her Azoth never contact her? How else would a guild rat disappear so completely?

Her eyes grew distant. “When I was hurt, I remember you arguing with someone, demanding that he save me. I thought it was a dream. That was Durzo Blint, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you …now you’re what he is?” Elene asked.

“Close enough.” Actually, I’m not even full-fledged horror, I’m just an assassin, a hack.

“You apprenticed with him so he would save me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “You became what you are because of me?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. He gave me a chance to leave after I killed Rat, but I didn’t want to be afraid anymore, and Durzo was never afraid, and even as an apprentice, he paid me so well that I could—” he stopped.

Her eyes narrowed as she puzzled it out. “That you could support me,” she finished. She put her hands over her mouth.

He nodded. Your beautiful life is built on blood money. What was he doing? He should be lying to her, the truth could only destroy. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I—”

“You’re sorry?!” Elene interrupted him. He knew what the next words out of her mouth would be: You’re a failure. Look at what you’ve done to me. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “You’ve given me everything! You fed me on the streets when I was too young to find food for myself. You saved me from Rat. You saved me when your master was going to let me die. You put me with a good family who loved me.”

“But—aren’t you mad at me?”

She was taken aback. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“If I hadn’t been so arrogant, that bastard wouldn’t have come after you. I humiliated him! I should have been watching. I should have protected you better.”

“You were eleven years old!” Elene said.

“Every scar on your face is my fault. Gods, look at you! You would have been the most beautiful woman in the city! Instead, you’re here, giving crusts to beggars.”

“Instead of where?” she asked quietly. “Do you know any girls who’ve been prostitutes since they were children? I do. I’ve seen what you saved me from. And I’m grateful for it every day. I’m grateful for these scars!”

“But your face!” Kylar was on the edge of tears again.

“If this is the worst ugliness in my life, Azoth, I think I’m pretty lucky.” She smiled, and despite the scars, the room lit up. She was breathtaking.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She actually blushed. The Drake sisters were the only girls Kylar knew who blushed, and Serah didn’t blush anymore. “Thank you,” she said, and touched his arm. At her touch, shivers went through him.

He looked into her eyes, and then he blushed, too. He’d never been so mortified in his life. Blushing! That only made it worse. She laughed, not a laugh at him in his discomfort, but a laugh of such innocent joy it pained him. Her laugh, like her voice, was low, and it brushed over him like a cool wind on a hot day.

Then her laughter passed and a look of profound sorrow stole over her face. “I’m so sorry, Azoth—Kylar. I’m sorry for what you’ve had to pay to put me here. I don’t even know what to think. Sometimes it seems the God’s hand doesn’t reach very far into the Warrens. I’m sorry.” She looked at him for a long time and another tear tracked down her cheek. She ignored it, just absorbing him. “Are you a bad man, Kylar?”