Keir Read Free

more serious than she’d imagined? Was he ill? Whatever the reason, it seemed he needed her help.
    With the worst of the stench rinsed away, she trudged back to her clothing and took her tunic from the pile. After a quick sluice in the sea, she wrung the water from it as best she could and tugged it over her head. It was scant improvement, but better than nothing.
    Oh, for a hot shower. She almost groaned with longing at the prospect.
    She approached Keir, arms wrapped around her body as shivers took her. “We have to get you out of those wet clothes and cleaned off,” she told him with chattering teeth. When he didn’t respond, she stepped closer, intending to help, but he shoved her back.
    “Do not touch me,” he breathed, his voice fainter than ever.
    Tired and chilled to the bone, Quin’s fragile patience shattered, the rush of anger providing a faint flush of warmth. “Fine, do it yourself,” she snapped, “but if you die, I’m leaving your corpse to rot right here!”
    As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Keir stood trembling like a beaten animal, head and shoulders bowed. If she felt weak after their ordeal, how much more had he suffered?
    Despite her guilt, the harsh words seemed to have the right effect. Without further protest, he stripped off the outer layers of his robes–no more than scraps of fabric tied over each other to hide the gaps in other places–before staggering into the sea and allowing the waves to wash him clean.
    Quin glanced at the pile of abandoned tatters then back at Keir with a mind full of questions. Even without the threadbare cloak, he remained covered from top to toe–not the smallest patch of skin visible–hiding himself from the world. He even wore a flap of cloth across his mouth, muffling his voice. She had no idea what he looked like, or how old he was, but nothing could disguise his skeletal condition.
    Poor devil.
    Quin gathered up her ruined robes and Keir’s discarded rags, rinsing them out as best she could in the seawater before laying them out to dry in the sun. She wished she could lie down with them but Keir had crawled out of the waves and knelt shivering in the shelter of the rock face that divided beach from land. Quin crouched some distance away, giving him the space he seemed to require but fearful his health would take a turn for the worse. She had no supplies with her, having hidden them in the city where she had expected to be safe–a naïve assumption that had cost her dearly.
    Bereft of even the most meager of useful things, she would have to find her bearings before they made a move, especially if Keir was unfit to travel far. She had no intention of leaving him behind despite his first threat to kill her. In the end he’d saved her life by pushing her out the way when the prison ceiling collapsed. She owed him that debt if nothing else.
    Intent on salvaging what she could of their filthy clothing, she nonetheless sensed his gaze on her and glanced across. From somewhere within the shadow of his hood, unseen eyes stared back and it spiked her curiosity. Why had he chosen to conceal himself, to refuse help when he so desperately needed it?
    Slowly, she made her way to him. The movement of his head matched her progress across the beach, a sure sign of his suspicion.
    “Why are you still here?” he asked, his tone weary and bewildered, as if her companionship was beyond understanding.
    “Why shouldn’t I be?”
    “You are free of the city, of the Corizi. Why do you not leave?”
    She chose to ignore the question, crouching in front of him instead. “Are you ready to go?”
    Keir sagged forward, one hand touching the sand for balance as his head sank lower. “Go where?” he said, his voice so faint Quin had to lean forward to catch the words before the breeze swept them away.
    “Away from here.” Quin shuffled closer, her concern deepening. Keir seemed to be sinking toward the sand, no longer able to keep himself