Crown of Shadows by C. S. Friedman Read Free Book Online Page B

spilled its contents out on the table. They were thick coins, heavy coins, the kind of gold one bought for investment purposes, not the kind one normally carried around town for day-to-day expenses. He had brought them with him so that he wouldn’t have to wait for the local banks to clear his account before he could buy anything locally. Now he was infinitely glad he had them.
    She whistled softly. Despite himself he smiled, pleased with the drama of the moment. “Will that be enough?”
    “Oh, yes. I think so.” She picked up one of the coins and studied it with a smile. “Yes, I think Gresham’ll take these.”
    “How much do you want?”
    She hesitated, then picked out half a dozen of the coins; one was a beautiful memorial piece which she admired before putting it away. In a smooth, flowing hand she wrote him a receipt. “I’ll need some information from you.”
    “Of course.”
    “Your name?” she asked. And it seemed to him that there was more than professional interest in her tone. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?
    God, he used to be so good at this! Where was all that skill when he needed it?
    “Andrys. Andrys Tarrant.” Other questions followed, more difficult to answer. Where did he live? Permanent address? How long would he be in Jaggonath? Business references? Personal? He knew the questions were unavoidable, given the value of the work he was ordering, but some of them were difficult to answer. How long would he be here? Calesta had said that the process of vengeance would begin in Jaggonath. How long would that take?
    Later, when he was finally out of the shop, he leaned against the brick wall outside and shut his eyes and cursed himself for being a fool.
    You’re an idiot, Andri, you know that? The after-image of her face was burned into his soul. You could have said something useful. You could have made some kind of beginning. Though the fragile appeal of her was new to him, he was no stranger to games of attraction. If this had happened in the days before, he would have had her address by now and probably a tentative date as well. Had this project so unmanned him that he couldn’t even manage that?
    Good God. He laughed bitterly, mirthlessly; the sound devolved into coughing. I don’t even know her name.
    It was just as well. What did he have to offer a woman, anyway? Restless, distracted days. Bitter, frustrating nights. No, he had better reserve his attention for the whores who asked for nothing but money, and opportunistic wenches who could be purchased with gifts and small talk. That was his venue now, the comfort and prison of his new existence. Better stick to it.
    God, those eyes....
    With effort he pushed himself away from the wall and began the long walk back to his hotel. It was just as well, he told himself. Women like that usually had a man already, and if they didn‘t, there was probably a good reason for it. He had enough problems of his own to deal with, didn’t he?
    He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, cold despite the warmth of the city streets. The pills would help him. Little black pills. They were waiting on his dresser, a kiss of velvet oblivion. Under their influence he could forget it all for an hour, an evening, an eternity. The pain. The confusion. The fear.
    And the girl.
    Trembling, he hurried back to the hotel.

    For a long, long time after Andrys Tarrant left, Narilka stared at the door in silence. Her heart had been pounding all the time he had been there; only now, with him safely gone, did it resume its normal beat. Only now could she begin to breathe normally, as if nothing whatsoever were wrong.
    That face. So familiar. Those eyes... she could picture them cast in a paler hue (silver, cracked silver, the color of ice and sunlight) and that was enough to transform them, because in all other ways—in shape, in expression—they were the same as his. Just as this man’s hair was the same (golden brown, fine as silk), only Andrys