slowly. “No, all I could do was plan my escape from the Jandari as best I could, and keep you far from any harm. Besides,” here he smiled again with a twinkle in his eye, “I knew you’d find me sooner or later.”
Mariana realized that this was reasonable enough. Better a cautious lover than a dead one.
Ramagar sat back against the straw and put a bent piece of twig between his teeth. At his side rested a half-full cup of wine and he stared disconsolately into the still, dark brew. “Why are they after me, girl?” he asked. “What have I been accused of that Inquisitors would break down your door?”
“Then you really don’t know?”
The smile turned wan. “I didn’t stick around to ask.”
Mariana flew to his side, kneeling beside him and holding his hand between both of her own. There were tears falling down her soft, unblemished cheeks. “They say a noble was murdered in the Jandari yesterday,” she said slowly, her voice little more than a whisper. She closed her eyes and felt her lashes press against the wetness. “And the soldiers say that you … you …”
Ramagar stared at her in dawning understanding. “They accuse me of the crime?”
She nodded slowly, painfully, putting her head to his chest, burying her face so that he couldn’t see her while she cried. The thief ran his hand through her long black hair and whispered her name softly. “Do you … believe them?” he asked.
She lifted her head and gazed at him sharply. “Of course I don’t! It’s all a lie—a cruel and terrible lie. And I told them as much!”
“Ah, Mariana,” he sighed, “if only the soldiers of Kalimar had your trust, your love …”
She sniffed and blew her nose into the worn handkerchief he gave her. At that moment she seemed little more than a frightened child, lost and forlorn, caught in a web of events she did not understand and could not alter.
“What are we to do?” she asked haltingly. “The Inquisitors are combing every inch of the Jandari. They’ll never give up. Never.”
He spit the piece of wood from his mouth and scowled. “I never killed any man,” he said, “although I can think of some I should have.” There was venom in his voice, deep-seated anger and hatred she had never known him to express before. And it frightened her even more.
“What are you saying?” she asked breathlessly.
His eyes darkened. “Someone was paid to tell this lie,” he growled. “And he was paid by someone who might benefit with me dead.”
She gasped. “Oro!”
“Yes, Oro. That little weasel would stop at nothing if he felt he had something to gain.”
In her despair she covered her face with her hand, sobbing so hard that her shoulders shook. “It’s my fault,” she cried, “because of me it’s come to this. Because of the dagger-—”
He grabbed her wrist tightly. “The soldiers didn’t find it, did they?”
She shook her head and he drew a long breath of relief. Possession of the glittering blade had become a more dangerous risk than he had ever dreamed. But as long as he still had it he controlled his fate. Too many men would be willing to make any bargain to claim it as their own.
“It’s clear that the soldiers will never believe I’m innocent,” he said at last. “And if they finally do manage to catch me—”
“You’ll never see the light of day again,” Mariana finished the thought with a voice that cracked. “Oh, Ramagar! What can we do?”
He downed his wine with a single swallow and tossed the cup across the floor. A small water mouse scurried out of harm’s way, then dashed back into the hole in the wall.
“You’ve got to flee the city,” pleaded Mariana. “Right away, as fast as you can.”
The thief nodded sullenly. The Jandari was not a place many men could love; indeed most dreamed of one day being able to make their way far from it. Yet to Ramagar the Jandari was home, the only one he had ever known.
He stood and walked to the tiny slit in the wall