“Show me the supply,” Lord Kilworth interrupted. His footstepssounded very near their tomb. Leena held her breath, wondering where in this vast chamber Rami was hiding, and whether it was good enough to keep him out of trouble.
A scuttle. A harsh grunt. Then the sound of stone grating against stone—the lid of a tomb being pushed open.
“It’s all here, and it’ll fetch a good price.” Martin’s voice was low, but Leena didn’t miss the admiration in it. “I know it would’ve saved us some time had we kept the supply in the smugglers’ caves as you requested, my lord, but the low oxygen in the vaults will keep the Tar exceptionally pure.”
Leena looked at St. Silas.
She expected him to be listening with his usual predatory intent; what she didn’t expect was the change that had overtaken him. Even within the thin slash of light creeping through the slit, Leena saw that his face was stripped of color and his body was as rigid as a corpse.
She remembered his uncharacteristic reluctance earlier when she had pointed to the tomb, so at odds with his usual decisive manner.
Was he afraid of enclosed spaces?
Leena nearly banished the thought; the dreaded Saint of Silence was not afraid of anything. Still, when his eyes met hers, there was a wildness in his gaze.
Deliberately, she reached through the dark to find his hand. She heard his sharp intake of breath, then his fingers tightened around hers crushingly.
Outside, she heard a smattering of piano keys, then a tune being played. Lord Kilworth cursed a few times when he hit the wrong note.
“Aye, I’ll send for the Black Coats to retrieve this delivery soon,” Martin said over the din. “A shipment this large should pay off both of our debts by the end of the month.”
“By the by, how much money did you lose betting against that cripple?” Kilworth asked casually.
Leena clenched her teeth. Shehatedthat word.
“Enough. Coupled with the collapse of most of the mines I’ve invested in, as well as the end of the Algaraan civil war and any arms deals I had pending, my coffers have run desperately dry of late. I must gain it all back to remain the master of Weavingshaw.”
The music abruptly stopped. “Oh my. You have not been investing very wisely these days, Martin.” Kilworth had a smirk in his voice.
“I would say the same for you,my lord.”
The loathing between the two was exceeded only by their need for each other.
The sound of the lid being pushed back over the tomb was grating. Both Martin and Kilworth could be heard making their way back toward the entrance of the chamber, their voices fading.
Then they were gone.
St. Silas and Leena lay in darkness, neither of them moving to untangle their hands. St. Silas’s breathing had slowed, but the fierce grip of his fingers didn’t relax.
“Are you frightened of enclosed spaces?” she whispered to him.
His hand reluctantly let go of hers just as the lid above them was suddenly slid back by Rami. “No. Not small spaces.”
Leena blinked into the light of the lamp that Rami had relit.
“Are you both well?” he asked, helping Leena out of the tomb.
She nodded.
“Where did you hide?” she asked him.
“They kept the door open,” he replied. “I hid behind it.”
“Clever,” she remarked, looking back to see that St. Silas had already climbed out. He stood forlornly beside the tomb, keeping his back to them.
Her heart ached a little for him. She didn’t know the reason for his paralyzing fear, but fear like that was not a stranger to her.
Then come seekme.
