Brenden's fury increased, and Leesil feared his friend might attack the frustrated and equally enraged Ellinwood.

"Don't kill him," the half-elf said tiredly. "Or you really will be arrested, and I don't have a copper left to bail you out."

Dry humor was the only tool he had left, but it worked. Brenden held his ground, relaxing slightly.

"You do what you have to," Leesil told the constable. "But I somehow doubt the town council will allow you to sell anything that belongs to us over this."

Ellinwood looked shocked at these words, and Leesil decided the conversation was over. He reached out for Brenden's arm and pulled him into the tavern, leaving Ellinwood and the few remaining townsfolk out in the street. He then placed a wooden bar in the door's metal bracket.

"Let him knock if he wants to." But no sound came.

Inside, the common room was empty. Magiere must have gone upstairs. He and Brenden were alone.

"Someone needs to clean out those claw marks on your face," Brenden said matter-of-factly. "They're going to scar as it is."

Leesil sighed and ignored the comment. "How did that rabble get started?"

"I went to see the warehouse, to make sure it collapsed. When Ellinwood and his men showed up, the dockworkers started demanding action. I tried to be honest about what happened, about why you did what you did, but they just wanted someone to blame. He used you and Magiere as scapegoats, got everyone worked up. I couldn't stop them before they reached the tavern."

Leesil stoked the fire. Well, at least Brenden was still on their side. Considering how he'd reacted the night before, a change in his loyalties would not have surprised Leesil.

"Brenden, will you tend to Chap while I check on Magiere?"

His friend paused uncertainly. "What is she?"

"I don't know. I truly don't, and neither does she."

"She seems so much like a woman. I'd even thought about…" His words trailed off. "But now I just don't know what to think."

Leesil felt his body stiffen. What was Brenden saying? Had he considered courting Magiere? As if that were possible. As if Magiere would court anyone. Leesil suddenly felt an unfriendly urge to make Brenden leave. He calmed himself and realized how foolish he was being. Brenden was his friend, and he didn't have many of those.

Instead of its usual fiery red, the large man's beard was black-brown with dirt and dust, and Leesil knew how tired he must be. The half-elf didn't like leaving him to care for the dog, but Magiere was back and he had to see her.

"Will you see to Chap?" he asked again.

The blacksmith nodded. As Brenden began heating water, Leesil went up to Magiere's room, stood outside the still half-broken door, and knocked once.

"It's me. I'm coming in."

She sat on her bed in silence, head down, hair hanging forward. Not excited at the prospect of honest conversation, he remained standing in the doorway for the moment.

"What's done is done. Come to the kitchen with me. We've got to get started cleaning ourselves up and taking stock of each other's wounds. It's impossible to gauge injuries under all this dirt."

"I don't have any wounds," she answered quietly. "I only had one, and you healed it."

Exhausted or not, he wasn't getting out of this. "Magiere, they're dead. I burned that warehouse over their heads and it collapsed. Whatever happens to you only happens when you're fighting undeads, and they're gone now. It's over."

Her head lifted. "Your face. Look what they did to your face."

"Don't worry. I'll still be pretty."

She didn't smile. "You have to tell me what happened."

He stood straight and tried to exude an unbendable resolve.

"Brenden's downstairs. You come to the kitchen with me so we can get cleaned up. Then we make tea and breakfast. While we're eating, I'll tell you everything. Bargain?"

She started to argue and then stood up. "All right."

"Grab that dressing gown," he said. "Those pants you're wearing are so torn and dirty even I want to burn them-and you're the fussy one."

Although distressed by Leesil's insistence that they clean up and eat before talking, Magiere later admitted to herself that his instincts were right. Once she'd washed, braided her hair, and donned the thick, warm dressing gown, she made tea and sliced some bread, while he scrubbed his own soot away. These simple activities gave her time to collect herself, to feel more sound and capable of facing what they might tell her.

She'd had blood all over her last night and not all of it was her own. Her stomach had felt rock hard as she wandered alone in the hours before dawn.

Thinking about how much blood he'd lost for her last night, she found cold mutton and cheese for Leesil. Then she carefully cleaned the angry scratches on his face and applied the ointment Welstiel had supplied. Sitting on a stool, softly smearing medicine on his skin, she began to feel more like herself again. She felt better just doing something, anything, for him. He would have some scars, but he was right, and his narrow features would still be handsome.

During this process, Brenden came in to tend himself, and the three of them made no references to the night before until they were all comfortably seated around a table in the common room. The tea tasted good, and she was thirsty.

She finished one cup and poured another before asking, "Are you going to start talking?"

So far, she and Brenden had managed to avoid speaking to each other, but his questioning, sidelong glances were difficult to miss.

Leesil swallowed a mouthful of mutton. "How much do you remember?" he asked.

"I see bits and pieces of the fight, but the last clear memory I have is jerking Rashed's coffin lid open." Both her companions shifted in their seats at the mention of the undead's name. "That is his name," she insisted. "He must have told me."

Leesil sipped his hot tea. She noticed the skin on his face looked less jagged and swollen. Perhaps the ointment would diminish any scars.

"After that," he said somewhat matter-of-factly, "Ratboy smashed through his coffin lid from the inside."

He went on for a long time recounting the chain of events. She knew he wasn't one to tell well-ordered stories in this manner, and she appreciated his concentration and use of detail. But she became-and remained-embarrassed from the point where Brenden had to carry her out all the way to the part when Welstiel showed up. Brenden glanced away as Leesil faltered. There was little mention of specifically what happened when he had fed her.

"I didn't know what else to do," he said. "You were dying."

Leesil had fed her his own blood, and the act somehow saved her life. She did not know how to respond to his sacrifice. Brief memory flashes came unbidden, of his fingers gently moving on the back of her head, of his wrist in her mouth, of his strength supporting both their bodies close together until that strength passed into her.

"You breathed for me and brought me back after that cave-in," he said. "I don't see the difference."

But Magiere found his comment too simple. Everyone alive needed to breathe. They did not need to feed on blood to survive. What exactly was she?

"There's something else," Leesil added. "But I don't know what it means." He pointed to her neck. "Welstiel had me pull out one of your amulets and lay the bone side against your skin. Do have any idea why?"

Further confused, she shook her head. "No, I don't. He seems to know much more than we do. But he also talks in circles and how much can we believe? You said he used the word 'dhampir'. He said that once before when I was standing at the spot where…" She looked at Brenden. "Where Eliza died."

"A dhampir is the offspring of a vampire and a mortal," Brenden finally spoke. "But they are only a legend, a folktale. My mother's people are from the far north, and her mother was a village wisewoman, a practitioner of hedge magic, rural spellcraft, and the like. I've heard some things about the undead, and they cannot create or conceive children. Such an offspring would be impossible."