The fire sputtered low in the fireplace, but Denlira did not rise to shift
the log. Nor did she reach to touch the bowl of cold stew that sat in
front of her on the table.

Ever since her Fillip left she had been sitting, with her shawl clenched
tightly to her - against a cold that would not leave her heart. She knew
that her man would not hear of leaving town - it was their last chance he
said, but she could feel the noose tightening around them. The thought had
scurried through her mind that _perhaps_ she should flee - that in doing
so she would unburden Fillip so that he would stop thinking that he had to
stay in Montfort and find a job (as if he could dodge the murder forever),
or at least shock him enough that he too would flee. That leaving would
also safeguard her wellbeing never crossed Denlira's mind.

But she knew that such an act would only drive Fillip into madness; that
he would feel like she had deserted him - he who had stood by her through
all the difficulties that she had brought down on her own head. Including
this one - since it was she that Netit had tried to accost. And she who
had hit her unwanted suitor over the head with a fireiron.

In dispair she leaned over the table, hiding her head in her arms, and
began to cry into her limp blond hair. They could have gone to the Guard
with the truth - it had been in self-defense!! And though what they had
was wrong - dumping the body and all - surely they wouldn't hang for
that!! But now .....with Fillip off to kill Netit's friend there would be
another murder and one that could not be explained away!!

The cold night air came in when Fillip opened the door and stepped into
the shack.

Denlira sat up like she had taken an arrow straight into her heart, and
held her breath while she studied her man. He had slicked back his dark
hair with grease, and his face and neck showed deep scratch marks -
obviously caused by his own hand since he was still furiously scratching;
his expression was dark and angry.

"Get me some grease!" he commanded, "Don't just stare!"

She scrambled from her chair and pulled out a tin of grease. Obviously
something had gone wrong, but she knew, truly knew, better than to ask.
She hurried back to where he had settled himself and took out a dab of the
rancid lard to smooth over the enflamed areas.

Slowly, with each agonizing minute passing, Fillip seemed to relax under
Denlira's gentle ministrations, and as the itching eased so did his
countenance - going from outright anger to brooding. "That's better," he
said curtly, waving both she and the can away. And while she was putting
the grease away he said, "You're going to have to go to the market
tomorrow and listen around."

"Why?" she asked, feeling her stomach knot up cold with the thought of
hearing of another murder.

"'Cuss I need to know where that old man goes," Fillip said. "Probably
won't be able to get at him again, but I want to know what's going on."

"He survived?!" she said, trying hard to hide her relief.

"That's what I just said!!"

"I know," she whispered - her relief just as quickly turning to terror.
"But won't he know......."

"He won't recognize me!" Fillip said, glaring at her, "And my spells are
good enough they can't track me!""

Denlira found herself trembling, and without thinking she turned and threw
herself at his feet - looking up at his angry, lard smeared, face. She
clenched her hands together to keep from grapping hold of his legs, but
begged, "Fillip, please  - we have to leave!! You're spells are good but
too much has happened - someplace, anyplace, would be better. Maybe we
could go to the coast...You could hire out on one of the ships they need
mages....."

Fillip looked down in disgust at the groveling woman who had brought him
to all of this. Who had no faith in his abilities. Who had weighed like an
alabatross around his neck since he had rescued her from Montfort; if it
hadn't been for her he would have never stolen the amulet from that
snobbish pup....to bring in a little more coin so they could live
decently, and he would have been able to find work befitting a mage
of his talents (graduated or not _that_ didn't matter) if she
hadn't been in tow!! Here she was - with him obviously in pain from trying
to clean up her mess - and all she could do was belittle him.

His anger focused - he could see his life clearly now, and he said, "I
should have let you burn."

Denlira's eyes got large, but before she could scream his dagger plunged
deep into her throat.

_________________

Fillip did not leave Denlira's body to burn up in their shack - the
structure offering up a pathetic blaze in the night; the Tower Guard or
one of the mages in town - if anyone cared about a poor woman - might be
able find evidence of a more violent death. He really doubted that they
would concern themselves with a girl from the shanties, but he wasn't
taking chances. And with no body in the fire there would be little reason
for the authorities to take that close a look.

As for their neighbors - most were either drunks or prostitutes who
wouldn't care about the fire, except to keep it from reaching their own
shacks. Luckily for them the burning shack had sat slightly separate from
the others.

He teleported Denlira deep into the woods - out to where he had intended
to leave the old man. The area around the open grave was still chill -
though the "forgotten ones" had been found and taken back to Montfort for
a decent burial.

As Fillip worked he tried to ignore Denlira's staring eyes, which wouldn't
stay shut, and it was with some relief that he destroyed them so that he
could concentrate on his masking spells. There could be no trace of his
magical signature on her, or any residual hint of how she came to die. Not
that anyone would find her so far out in the forest.

But as he finished burying her, and he prepared to teleport, Fillip found
the chill settling into his bones; a vast lonliness opened in his heart -
he had no place to go, and nobody to go to. He fell to his knees to cry
for the woman who had been with him for so many years.

"Why did you make me do it?" he whimpered, "I loved you..."