Guilt

Oh gods! What a mess. What a stupid, stupid mess! What have I done?

Of course, Danno knew full well what he had done. He'd betrayed the woman who'd stuck by him through thick and thin. The woman who'd been true even through torture and magical compulsion. The woman who'd declared "I'm not going to turn on the one person who showed me kindness - and if it costs my life, so be it!" Guilt writhed like a worm inside him. But the worst part was, if he had it all to do over, he thought he'd do the same.

He lay holding the sleeping Nalia in his arms, staring at the ceiling. A few candles lit the room with a soft golden light. I wish she had more lights in here. That was the problem with the Coronet, never enough candles. I liked the Mithrest Inn, they always gave us lots of candles... He knew he was distracting himself. He didn't want to think about Neeshka, about what a bastard he was.

Hells. Hells, hells, hells! Why did I do it? Why?

Danno looked at Nalia. Why had he slept with her? Because she was beautiful? Because she was available? Because she... oh gods, I don't even want to think it... because she was the mother he'd never had? Someone to cuddle him and comfort him, to stroke his hair and make it all better? He cringed at the thought, then felt a flash of petulant anger. So what if she was? Was that really so terrible? How many men in West Harbor had, in a sense, married their mothers? Married nice, ordinary girls who would cook their dinners, clean their house, have their children and be happy doing so?

Why... oh damn, why had she slept with him? Pity? Was that all he was to her, a poor wretch that she felt sorry for? No, surely not. This was the Lady Nalia De'Arnise. If she spread her legs for every man she pitied, she'd never get up off her back for long enough to boil an egg! No, it wasn't pity. Not... not just pity. She was attracted to him. Wasn't she?

A nasty thought wormed its way to the surface. Had he slept with Nalia because she reminded him of Retta?

Of course you did, fool. Weren't you remembering Retta the whole time you were walking to Nalia's chambers? Of course you were. Weren't you thinking of Retta the whole time you were... No! No I... I wasn't. I wasn't! Was I?

Horrified, Danno stared at Nalia, trying to see Retta in her. She looked nothing like Retta, that was certain. With her round face and strong, slightly plump frame she looked more like a peasant girl, more like a Harborwoman, than the slender and graceful Retta ever had. Odd that, Retta had looked more aristocratic than the aristocrat did.

Was Nalia like Retta in other ways? She was... motherly (and we're back to that, aren't we?) in a way. Yet Nalia hadn't run off to a village to look after a farm, have a herd of children and... do nothing much else, really. Far from it. Nalia had spent over a year in hard travel and deadly combat; she had become an archmage of frightening power; she had single-handedly seized back her lands from a powerful Lord; and she was trying to take on the highest powers in an entire country on their own terms, outfox and outmanoeuvre them at their own game.

No, Nalia was nothing like Retta. She looks so young! Lying there, curled up like that, sucking her thumb. She is young, really, not even thirty. Danno wondered at the contradiction. She looked so confident, adult and (sometimes) hard when she was awake. Asleep, she looked like the eighteen year old girl who'd sneaked out at night to give coins to the beggars. Retta had been the other way around, younger than her years awake, but asleep...

---

They had only lain together one other time. A few days after that first night, Danno had been so incompetent in his lessons that Tarmas had told him to "get out, and stay out until you have finished wool-gathering." Pleased with his success, Danno had wandered over to Retta's. He knew Bevil would be at his sword lessons with Georg, and the older children would either be learning their letters with Brother Merring or off scouring the swamps for herbs and small food animals. Only little Danan would be there, and he could barely walk.

Danno had found Retta hoeing her vegetable plot. She'd looked both pleased and embarrassed to see him. He'd helped her with her chores, and then they'd gone in to talk. They'd both agreed (with some relief) that it would be best if Greengrass night remained just one night; a special night. Danno had got up to leave, and they had kissed each other goodbye, a quick and polite little kiss. Then, a longer one. Then they had stumbled urgently into her bedroom.

It had been different this time. Even as he was making love to her, Danno had felt awkward and ashamed. Just minutes ago he had wanted to so much. Now he didn't even know why. And afterwards, as she dozed, he had looked at her in the light of day, at her tired and careworn face, and had thought "She's old." He had dressed quietly, sat in the kitchen watching baby Danan until he heard her stirring, then slunk off.

Neither of them mentioned it again, except once. Six months later, Danno had screwed up his courage, and asked her "Is it mine?" He had been terrified she'd be furious with him; in West Harbor there were some things one simply did not ask. But she had just smiled, rested her hand on her belly, and said "It's mine. My gift from Chauntea." That was an end of it. A Gift from Chauntea.

There were usually a few such gifts nine months after Greengrass. Gifts from the Earthmother to unmarried women; to women whose husbands had been banished in disgrace to sleep on the tap-room floor for the last year; to girls scandalously young even by West Harbor's relaxed standards; in retrospect, to women whose husbands could in no way be seen in the child. A Gift from Chauntea was the mother's only. Even if, in truth, everybody knew who the father was, neither the mother nor the child would ever have any claim on him – and he would have no claim on either of them. Cuckolded husbands ground their teeth in frustration, and grimaced politely at whoever they chose to suspect. In any village that celebrated Greengrass properly, there was the same tradition.

Even so, when West Harbor was attacked by the Githyanki, and Retta's house invaded, he had abandoned the defence of the village to save Retta and the twins without a second thought.

---

Reluctantly, Danno dragged his thoughts back to the present. He was glad he'd never found the twins' bodies, or encountered them as shades; he thought that might have destroyed him. He was sure they were dead, but at least a little part of him could dream that Retta had sent them away with Tarmas, or one of the few who had left before the end.

It was still dark outside, but there was a faint hint of grey in the sky and a few sleepy chirps from the nearby woodlands. Danno wanted to just slip away, but he knew Nalia deserved better than that. He touched her face, said her name. Then, when she just snorted at him, poked her gently in the ribs. She opened her eyes sleepily, closed them again. Then opened them with a start, pulling away from him... then she stopped, relaxed, laughed a little shakily.

"Oh. Oh dear, you must think me... I'm sorry. It's just... well, it's been a long time. Since I woke up with someone that is. You startled me."

"No, it's alright, I should be apologising. Sorry I didn't mean..."

"Don't be silly." She sighed contentedly, and then to Danno's consternation she snuggled up to him, sending the blood rushing from his head to his groin. "It's nice. I'm just not used to it. I could get used to it." She smiled happily at him, then glanced at the window. "It'll be dawn soon. Do you need to go back to your friends? If they wake up and you're not in your room," she yawned hugely, "they might get worried."

And just like that I'm off the hook. No need to explain to her, no need to explain to the others. I made a mistake, but I don't have to admit to it, I just don't do it again. He looked into her eyes.

"It's still early. I don't have to leave just yet."

"Oh good." She smiled coquettishly, and her fingers moved to wander across his skin. "I am glad."

---

The guard was new at his job, and still nervous of getting things wrong. His Sergeant's careful instructions seemed less and less clear or helpful each day.

"Now remember," the Sergeant had said, "it isn't your job to spot trouble, find intruders or secure the castle. The castle, well, the Lady's spells on the castle, will do that better than you can. It is especially not your job to keep an eye on the Lady's guests, it is your job to see they are happy.

"If you're walking your rounds at midnight, and you meet a bald giant talking to a hamster, you do not try to escort him back to his room and lock him in. You ask him if his hamster wants some cheese – or if he does. If you encounter a gnome trying to brew explosives from turnip juice, you do not douse his experiments in water, you ask if you can hold his retort for him. If one of her guests takes it into their head to climb onto the roofs stark naked and sing the Luskan national anthem, you offer to wave their flag for them.

"If, however, you hear the alarms, then you RUN! Get there fast! You've got your armour, you've got your sword, you've got your potions. Use them. Don't, I repeat don't, let any of the Lady's guests (or gods forbid the Lady herself) be dismembered or mutilated. Because that makes this," tapping the Rod of Resurrection on the guard's belt, "useless. They have to be in one piece for it to work right.

"Now don't use it frivolously, it's worth more than you'll ever make in your whole life. But it's there to be used if necessary. In an emergency just keep calm, be decisive, and you'll be fine. Any questions? No? Good."

All very well, but what was he supposed to do if he saw one of the vault doors open, but when he blinked it wasn't open at all? And when he looked closer, all the locks were locked, all the traps were set, but... but it really did look like there were some things missing. Should he tell someone?

Or, for example, how should he react if he encountered a young man, a wizard by his robes, standing in a corridor near the Lady's chambers, banging his head against a bare stone wall in time to a litany of "Stupid! Stupid! Shit! Scum! Bastard! Moron! Idiot!"

"Ahem. Ah. Er... would you... would you like a cushion Sir? Er... for your forehead... Sir?"

---

Danno trudged miserably to his room in the guest wing as dawn broke. Why did I stay? I could have just left, I should have just left, but no, I had to stay and... and... oh gods! Idiot! Damn, my head hurts, what must that guard think of me? What will Nalia think if I avoid her tomorrow... no, tonight? Will she be angry? Will she stop helping us? What will Neeshka do if I avoid her? What will I say about last night? Gods, why do I never, ever have any answers!?

At least the helpful guard had told him which room was his. Nalia obviously didn't know about him and Neeshka, because she had another room. Danno hesitated outside it, wondering if he should try and talk to her now, or wait until breakfast. He could pretend he'd been talking to Nalia until late and had wanted to let Neeshka sleep – except he had never been good at bluffing or lying.

Hang on a moment. Is she laughing in there? No, not laughing. Chortling. Gloating! Damn! That is a bad sound, very bad.

He opened the door quietly, and went in. Neeshka was sitting on her bed, dressed all in soft dark cloth. She was admiring a flail that she was holding, fingering through the heads and holding them up to the light. Even from the doorway Danno could see that each head had a different enchantment. The thing looked deadly, and fabulously expensive. From Nalia's earlier stories, he knew what it was.

Neeshka looked up at him, grinning impishly. "Danno! Gee, shut the door! Look at this, just look at it. Isn't it great? I can't decide whether to keep it or sell it. I mean, don't you just want to swing it at something? Not that I'd be any good with it, but it would be so much fun!" She sighed regretfully. "I guess it'd be better to sell it. How much do you think it's worth? Hells, there probably isn't a fence in all Athkatla who could afford it! Still, I reckon if we break it up, we can sell the bits and still make a fortune. What do you reckon Danno? Um... Danno?"

Fury at her indifferent greed, frustration at her stupidity, guilt at his own weak and selfish faithlessness, all fused together into a seething mass that rushed up his throat in a bellow of rage – which he throttled and crushed. Still, when he did speak his words came hissing out between clenched teeth.

"Put. It. Back!"

For a moment she looked alarmed, cowed. She'd looked like that when he'd threatened Ammon with hanging. Then alarm was swept away by angry indignation.

"What? What?! Hells no! I worked really hard for this! I mean, she's got locks and traps and alarms like I've never seen before, and I got through all of them, right under her guards' noses! If she can't keep her stuff she doesn't deserve to have it, and anyway she's got tons of other crap left! No way am I putting it back! Why should I?"

Danno slumped wearily into a chair. Oh gods, what have I done to deserve this?

You mean apart from tumbling the first wench to pat you on the head and tell you what a poor thing you were, instead of paying attention to Neeshka? Well, really I can't imagine.

Get out of my head, Sand!

Sand? Oh I'm sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else. I'm your good sense, not that you ever listen to me either. Really, I don't know why I bother.

He groaned, buried his face in his hands for a moment, looked up again. "Neeshka, you can't... we can't steal from people who are trying to save our lives! Lady De'Arnise is going up against the Cowled Wizards and the rest of the Council over this. She's taking a terrible risk for us. Why should she help us if we're just going to rob her?"

"But nobody saw me!" She had drawn her legs up, hugging them, and her tail was writhing and flicking. "She won't know it was us, it could've been any of her dopey guards, I'll bet they've got the keys to the vaults! Hells, I could plant something on one of them and we'd be in the clear, no problem."

"Neeshka! You don't... you don't turn on the people who are trying to help you, it's just wrong! Do you remember Fort Locke? I helped you, back then. Would you have back-stabbed me for my gear during that fight?" Of course, I back-stabbed you last night, you just don't know it yet. Why am I preaching to her like this? I'm no better than her. I'm Worse. Far worse. "And that flail, Lady De'Arnise mentioned it to me last night. Neeshka, her father died trying to reassemble that flail. Trying to save her, this keep, the people in it. It's important to..."

It was the wrong thing to say. She'd been looking guilty and defensive – now her expression hardened to bitterness and anger.

"Oh yeah? What, it's all she's got to remember her daddy by? Sure, this and the keep and her lands and her money! Well the only thing my parents left me was 'goat girl' and 'demon spawn' and being run out of every place I ever called home, and G-Garius..." Her voice choked, she almost sobbed, then anger won the upper hand... "and nearly getting burnt alive! If she wants that she's welcome to it! Here!"

Neeshka flung the flail into his lap. Danno caught it awkwardly, burning his hand on one of the heads.

"If it's so important to you, you put it back!" She rummaged under the bed, hauled out a satchel and threw it at his chest. "And this!" Then she turned her back on him.

Danno felt, if possible, even more guilty than before. He stood up, trying to juggle flail and satchel. Opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He turned to the doorway, but he couldn't bear to leave the room with this between them.

"Neeshka, please try to..."

"Get out!"

Danno retreated.

He wandered the corridors of the keep for a while, wondering what to do. He briefly thought of going back to Nalia's chambers and making a clean breast of it, but he dismissed that idea. He knew what he'd end up doing (what part of him hoped he'd end up doing) if he did. There were a few servants around now, cleaning grates, re-laying fires and doing other chores. They all politely ignored him. In the great entrance hall he encountered the young officer from the day before talking urgently to (it seemed) Nalia's castellan.

"Um. Excuse me, Sir..."

At Danno's hesitant approach, the officer looked up and smiled courteously. "Not Sir, just Captain. Captain Randolph. May I help..." A sharp intake of breath. "May I ask what you are doing with that?"

"I'd rather you didn't. But perhaps you could put it and these other things back in the Lady De'Arnise's vaults?"

Randolph hesitated. "Of course. I... I will have to inform her Ladyship of this."

"Please don't. She didn't mean... oh hells!" Danno could have kicked himself. 'She' could only mean Neeshka or Elanee, and no-one would suspect Elanee over Neeshka. "Look, she was nearly burnt at the stake yesterday! She just wanted to prove to herself that she's not just a victim. That she can do something really well. And she's an idiot. If I haven't returned everything, alright, but if it's all there, can't you just put it back?"

The castellan had quickly glanced through the satchel, and taking Randolph's arm drew him to one side. After a brief conversation the castellan hurried off with flail and satchel. Randolph turned back to Danno.

"Very well. I won't mention this to Lady De'Arnise. Unless..." His expression hardened. "Is this likely to happen again?"

Danno desperately wanted to say that it wouldn't. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then shook his head helplessly. "I... gods, I don't know! Maybe. Neeshka... well, she's incorrigible. And we had a rather heated discussion about this. I'm sorry. I wouldn't put it past her to try again just to spite me."

Randolph drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his sword hilt, weighing up his options. He came to a decision. "I'm afraid that I'll have to suggest to the Lady that she improves the security on her vault. Even without saying why, she will guess." He tried to smile encouragingly. "If it's any consolation, I think she will be impressed rather than angry. Even Jan Jansen has never managed to get into the vaults, though not for lack of trying, and he's one of the best thieves I've heard of. I've already seen your friend's remarkable magical skills. Her thieving skills must be quite extraordinary."

Hardly daring to believe his and Neeshka's luck, Danno started to relax. He laughed shakily. "I didn't even know she was this good myself. Thank you. For being so understanding, I mean."

"It's quite alright. Breakfast won't be served for another few hours, but I'm sure some food can be organised if you wish."

"No, no that's alright. I should try and get some... some more sleep."

Danno headed back to the guest rooms. He paused outside Neeshka's room, his hand on the catch. Then he heard her swear viciously, and there was a loud and expensive sounding crash. A pause, then very quietly, "oh hells." Danno retreated to his own room, where he lay and stared at the ceiling until a servant came to tell him breakfast was served.