Marguerite had to swallow hard at Wren’s use of past tense, but then she went and put her arm around Wren’s shoulders. She could feel the paladin trembling.
And not that long ago, you were thinking of how you would sacrifice this girl to your cause if you had to.
Not that long ago, I watched her and Shane kill a half-dozen men in less time than it takes to tell it. It was easy to sacrifice an unstoppable killing machine. Less so to sacrifice a younger woman on the edge of tears.
She didn’t say, “It will be all right,” because neither Wren nor Shane had believed that it would be all right, and they knew more about it than she did. She could still taste the kiss he had given her, all sorrow and sweetness and leavetaking.
Gods of all things, what if he’s really gone? What if the demon has already snuffed him out like a candle?
The thought did not have time to grip her, because she heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up and saw Shane and the creature called Wisdom descending the stairs.
Wren jerked free of her embrace and in an instant was a warrior again, balanced on the balls of her feet, as if they were about to be attacked. Marguerite watched Shane approach the bars. There was something different about him, something about the way he moved…
Wren backed away, shaking her head. “No,” she said softly. “Oh no.”
Marguerite met his eyes, and they were white ice and darkness.
Dread prickled her skin. “Shane?” she said. “Is that you?”
Shane reached through the bars and cupped her jaw. His fingers felt the same as ever, the same roughness of calluses against her skin, exactly the same pressure, as he tilted her chin up toward him.
“It’s still me,” he said, in the paladin’s voice.
She stared into his eyes, trying to see past them, feeling as if she was trying to see the silver at the back of a mirror instead of the reflection.
Something wrapped around Marguerite’s torso like a band of steel, and then she was being dragged back, away from the bars.
It was Wren. The other woman’s breath was harsh in her ears, but she showed no sign of strain at having physically pulled Marguerite away. “It’s not him,” she said. “It’s the demon.”
“I am not possessed,” Shane said, in the paladin’s voice, low and calm. “You know that I can’t lie like this.”
“When a demon’s involved, I don’t trust anything,” Wren snapped.
“Really, that’s fair,” said Wisdom, mostly to the ceiling.
Shane sighed, and it certainly sounded like Shane sighing. A demon might imitate the voice and the expression, but could it really get the sigh right?
“You’re free to go,” said Wisdom. “The rest of you, anyway. Bruno, unlock the door.”
“The rest of you?” Marguerite’s gaze swung from the demon to Shane. “What does that mean?”
“I’m staying.”
“Like hell you are!” Marguerite snapped.
Bruno cautiously stepped into the line of fire, unlocked the door, then hastily retreated.
“I have to stay,” Shane said, not meeting her eyes. “That was the deal so the rest of you could go free.”
“We’ll return your friend’s axes, too,” said Wisdom. “Though you’ll forgive me if we wait until after you’re outside the building.”
Shane pushed the door open. Wren immediately shoved Marguerite behind her and braced herself, clearly expecting a fight, even though Shane was doing nothing more threatening than standing there.
“We’ll renegotiate the deal,” said Marguerite. “You’re not staying here.”
“I’m afraid this particular detail is non-negotiable,” said Wisdom. “Or rather, the deal is already done.”
Shane finally met her eyes, and surely he couldn’t be possessed, because no demon could have poured that much agony into a single glance.
“No deal is non-negotiable,” Marguerite began, praying that it was true.
And then Wisdom’s mask…slipped. Or, more likely, the demon simply stopped pretending to be human. Much later, Marguerite would wonder if it was trying to prove a point, or if it simply was tired of talking.
“This deal is,” it said, and its jaw moved wrong and its eyes were wrong and its voice had a timbre that buzzed and crawled along the spine and drove needles in wherever it touched.
Marguerite stopped arguing. In the corner of her vision, she could see Davith pressed against the bars, trying to get as far away from that voice as he possibly could.
“Come on,” Shane said into the silence that followed. “I’ll see you as far as the river.”
THERE WAS A MOMENT, when Wren had her axes back, that Shane watched her think about attacking him. She didn’t look at him and she didn’t do anything so obvious as hefting the axes, but the battle tide hissed in his ears and told him to be ready.
“If you do it,” he said tiredly, “Wisdom will probably insist on taking you instead. Please just…
take this chance to get out of here. Please.”
In the end, he was fairly sure that the only reason Wren didn’t attack was because she couldn’t bear the thought that he might not fight back.
Marguerite wasn’t looking at him either. He couldn’t tell if she was furious or sick or sad. All three, maybe. He wasn’t used to seeing it, and some tiny part of him thought this is because of you and then he felt even guiltier.
He’d thought there would be a little more time. Weeks. Months. Maybe even a year or two, if he was very lucky, before things fell apart. Not a few days on the road, and then…this.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was the only way.”
“It can’t be,” Marguerite said. “There has to be something we can do. You said you’re not possessed. Then it can’t control you, can it? You can come with us.”
The channel in his chest burned. “I don’t think so. The demon did something. I’m pretty sure trying to double-cross it would be a bad idea.”
Marguerite pinched the bridge of her nose and stalked past him. Davith, who had been very carefully not saying anything, moved toward her, then apparently thought better of it.
“If you’re not possessed,” said Wren slowly, “then why do I still feel the demon in you?”
Shane rubbed his hand across his chest. “You know how it felt when the Saint was in you. That place?”
Wren nodded warily.
“Afterward, it was like a wound. A festering one. Like there was a pressure building up and I was so used to it that I had stopped noticing. And then the demon…I don’t know, lanced it, somehow.”
“And now you’re fine?” asked Wren bitterly. “The demon healed you and everything is wonderful?”
Shane snorted. “God, no. It hurt like the devil. I think I might be bleeding to death. But the pressure, at least, is less.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”
“I’m not sure it is. But also…” He swallowed, wondering if another paladin could understand.
Wondering if anyone but another paladin could. “I don’t feel hollow anymore.”
The woman he thought of as a little sister sagged. “Oh,” she said, as soft as a dying breath.