The scars on his wrist from her own teeth would never fade.

Magiere pulled out from behind Leesil and was at the kitchen doorway before he could get to his feet. She gripped the curtain's edge so tightly that her forearm ached, and she calmed herself before looking back at him across the room. Leesil watched her in confusion. Even Chap lifted his head.

Leesil was at least right about Miiska. At some point, if the town continued to wane, it meant the Sea Lion would have few patrons left. Any hope for building a new life here would be hollow. If the town died, so would the life she'd wanted.

If saving their life here were truly Leesil's only reason for accepting the letter's offer, she might have felt some peace in agreeing. But he wanted to be on the move again, always onto something new, and would never settle for what they had here.

"Go to Karlin in the morning and tell him we'll take the offer," she said. "We'll sail for Bela on the next northbound ship and destroy their undead. When we… when the payment is delivered, the town can rebuild the warehouse."

Uncertainty filled Leesil's voice. "Magiere-"

"It's all right," she said. This wasn't his fault, not really. "We should start packing."

She left him and headed through the kitchen to the back stairs. She was thankful he didn't follow.

Magiere paused upon reaching the upper floor. Leesil's door was the first on the left. He'd chosen it, wanting to be the first line of defense should they ever have another assailant enter their home. He swore that if anyone who didn't belong there tried to walk up those stairs or crawl through the hallway window, he would know. When he said it, she believed him. Leesil had very good hearing.

The next room down the hall was hers. Since the downstairs hearth was now near the center of the common room, its chimney rose through the upstairs floor between her room and Leesil's, and its warmth permeated her private space. Caleb's room was at the hall's end, and inside it to the left was a door leading to the fourth and final room, belonging to Rose, his granddaughter.

Inside Magiere's room was a narrow bed with a goose-down comforter-a gift from Aria's mother-and a small table and a chest. Opening the chest, she planned to pull out her old pack, a leftover from the days she and Leesil had spent in the backlands of Stravina. But of course the pack had burned with everything else.

So much lost. The blue dress she wore had been spared only because she'd changed at the Velvet Rose and left it with Loni the night that the tavern burned. Leesil had few things left besides his weapons, but he seemed to need little else. He'd always liked traveling light.

She fingered the amulets hanging around her neck. Tools of the trade. The topaz stone glowed brightly whenever a Noble Dead was near, though it gave off no heat. She had to see it for its property to assist her. The other amulet was more ambiguous: a small piece of bone set against an oval tin backing. She'd used it only once. Well, Leesil had used it.

He'd learned its property from the stranger named Welstiel Massing, who'd advised them concerning the Noble Dead. A dhampir, injured to the point of needing to feed on someone's blood, must place the bone side against his or her bare skin in order for the life force to be properly absorbed. Leesil had pressed it against her flesh before feeding her. There were times since when she'd wanted to smash it but could not. Amulets and falchion were all that had been left to her by her father.

Born in the inland country of Droevinka, she'd never known her father, but throughout childhood learned bits and pieces about him. A transient noble vassal, he belonged to the class that ruled the peasants for the lords and collected rents due on land plots. Staying in one place for months or sometimes years, eventually they always moved onward to wherever the higher lord sent them. Few had seen him except on late-evening collections, after daylight faded and everyone could be found in their hovels and cottages, retired from labor. Her mother was just a young woman from a village near the barony house. The nobleman took her for his mistress, and she remained mostly out of sight for nearly a year.

Her name was Magelia, and she died giving birth to Magiere. Her father was assigned to another fief and left his infant daughter with her mother's sister, Bieja. Magelia had been lovely, with a mass of black hair but no glints of crimson, as shown in Magiere's. She was also said to have been quiet, composed, and gentle. Although Magiere looked like her mother, she'd been born fierce, with a temper. Rumors that her father had been an unnatural beast who feared daylight dominated her childhood. She was hated and shunned by all in her village except her aunt. On her sixteenth birthday, Aunt Bieja gave her an inheritance left by her father: two amulets, leather armor, and a falchion with a strange glyph on the hilt. Magiere took them, and eventually fled from the village to fend for herself in the world until she met Leesil.

She now knew her father had been one of the Noble Dead. For some reason, her father had left her the tools to fight his own kind, but she didn't know why.

So much time had passed since the days with Aunt Bieja. Sitting in her new room, Magiere leaned her head against the edge of the open chest. There was little she needed to pack. Tonight's profits would be left with Caleb to keep the Sea Lion running until she returned. With or without Leesil.

Outside in the hall she thought she heard soft footsteps and the sound of Leesil's door quietly opening and closing.

Toret lounged on a mauve velvet divan in his lavish sitting room, feeling quite satisfied with the state of his domain. He fixed his eyes on his glorious beloved. His beautiful Sapphire paraded before a large oval mirror in her new mustard yellow satin gown. Dark blond ringlets framed her round and sensuous face.

Chane, his servant and bodyguard, stood near the dead hearth, leaning against the solid stonework and looking as bored as always. Although useful, Chane had little imagination, rarely spoke, and spent most waking hours sporting a flat, dour expression. He was quite…

What was the word? Tedious? Yes, he was quite tedious, really.

But Toret didn't care. He'd come so far in the span of two moons. Was it only two since he had abandoned Rashed and Teesha in Miiska? It seemed much longer, and puzzling that he'd lived under Rashed's oppression for so many years, never realizing how capable he was of creating his own perfect world.

Traveling up the coast to Bela, he discovered the joy of a large city. He killed and fed at will, stole money from his prey, and remade himself anew, dressing as Rashed had dressed, like a nobleman-only better. Then one night, while hunting near a brothel, he saw the most perfect woman in the world, with brilliant eyes that made him think of the bright daylight sky he hadn't seen in many decades. He could never destroy her, never simply consume her. She must belong to him. His Sapphire.

She was a goddess.

She stirred his desire to remake himself anew. He changed his name from Ratboy-an insulting label thrust upon him by his own undead maker-back to Toret, his given mortal name left behind long ago.

But Sapphire had needs and desires beyond what he could afford. When Toret found and turned Chane, a spoiled and arrogant young noble, their situation was safeguarded. Chane had come into his inheritance, and the amount was substantial enough to keep them all in comfort. Toret used part of the wealth to purchase their three-story stone house on the edge of an elite district of Bela inside the second ring wall. Why hadn't he struck out on his own sooner? Why had he endured all those years under Rashed's command? Well, now Rashed was dead, or so Toret had heard, and so much the better.