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“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly pulling coins and a note or two from his inside pocket. “Once again, duty is going to wrest me from your side.” Already on his feet, he took her hand as she rose. “I swear, Maelin, next time, no hurried exits.”

Nodding, she watched him leave, heading across the wharf.

Huffing out a breath of annoyance, she followed him. He turned once, then twice, then strode toward a light watchman’s cabinet.

And opened the door himself.

“Oh no you don’t,” she muttered, gathering her skirts and running full tilt, crashing into him just as he stepped inside. There was barely room for both of them, but she wasn’t going to let him vanish into thin air again.

He grunted as he took the brunt of her arrival, and the door shut behind her with a clang.

“Fuck, woman,” he snarled angrily. “What the Hellforge d’you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?” She wanted to laugh at the expression on his face...as if he didn’t know whether to strangle her or kiss her. “I’m not about to let you vanish again. You might not come back.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“But anyway, if you’re going to the Gloamtide, which—from the motion of this thing—I assume you are, then it might have something to do with the Theryn sigil. Therefore I might be able to be of assistance.”

He sighed. And since they were plastered together like wallpaper on wood, it wasn’t an unpleasant thing at all.

Maelin wriggled a bit.

“Don’t do that,” he warned.

She grinned.

He sighed. “All right. Yes, I’m going to the Gloamtide. You will stay behind me at all times. You will not speak to anyone, or look at anything except the back of my jacket. And when I tell you we’re leaving you will do so. Do you understand? Behind me at all times. Right behind me. Or I swear I’ll leash you to my wrist.”

She paused and licked her lips. “Really?”

“Maelin.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead on hers. “This isn’t a game. Or a joke. It’s bad, at least. Really bad, at worst. Like nothing you’ve ever seen if it’s what I’m afraid of.”

She straightened as best she could. “I’m no fragile wallflower, Cyrus. Don’t ever mistake me for one, all right?” Gazing straight up into his dark eyes, she willed him to understand. “I was underestimated for a good portion of my childhood. Even at Tidehold I was...less, because I’m a woman. Do not, please, ever think of me that way. I am not less. I am...me.”

The cabinet clanked loudly and bumped to a stop, jostling them both and preventing Cyrus from replying.

Behind Maelin the door swung open, and only his arms around her prevented her from falling out into the gloomy darkness that gave Gloamtide its name.

A massive figure stood outside, and she caught her breath as she looked up...up...into a rather well-used face that stared at her with interest.

Then he turned to Cyrus. “Not enough women here for you? Brought one of your own?”

“No,” he replied. “This is...oh, never mind. She’s with me. Ignore her.”

“Excuse me,” frowned Maelin. She pulled free of Cyrus and walked to the enormous man. “Hello.” She held out her hand. “I’m Maelin of Theryn. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?”

The giant blinked at her hand, grunted, then wiped his on his trousers and accepted Maelin’s. “Bram.” He managed what might have passed as a bow.

To Maelin’s credit she didn’t duck, even though his bow was more like a tree about to fall on her. She simply smiled. “I’m a friend of Cyrus’s, and I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Bram looked at Cyrus. “Mr Cy?”

“You heard the lady. She’ll be coming with us.” He narrowed his eyes. “She’s a Theryn, Bram.”

Bram stared at her for a moment, then the significant of her name registered. “Good.” Turning away, he walked off.

“A man of few words,” muttered Maelin as she followed, walking beside Cyrus, quickening her pace to keep up with him.