Lies of Light

by Philip Athans

  “That’s cruel to say it like that.”

  “Is it cruel to say it, or cruel to do it?”

  “I don’t understand,” she admitted.

  “No,” he teased. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

  “It’s not altruism that brought me here,” Halina admitted. “And no, I don’t think that I’m going to single-handedly feed thousands of starving people.”

  “Then what do you want, girl?” he pushed. “Say it.”

  “Happiness.”

  “And what makes you think you deserve that which has eluded so many?”

  “I said I want it; I don’t think I deserve it,” she whispered. “And that’s why I’m here.”

  “You don’t know why you’re here.”

  “I’m here because he wouldn’t marry me,” she said.

  “And that’s what you wanted?” he asked. “That’s what would give you this elusive ‘happiness’?”

  She nodded and sighed again. She sounded as tired as she looked—as beaten.

  “I’ve told you before, Halina, that your happiness, your needs, are of no consequence,” the Red Wizard said. “You are not some goddess, or some lone creature inhabiting a plane of her own. You are a young woman who is a part of two societies. You are a part of the community of the city-state of Innarlith, and you are a citizen of Thay. Those communities require your service, not your happiness. They require your obedience, not your opinion. They require that you do as you’re told. At times, I’m afraid, they require that you don’t run off to some convent to wallow in self-pity, digging in the dirt while you cry over a lost love.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and he grimaced at the sight of it.

  “Halina,” he said, “I want you to listen to me very carefully while I tell you precisely how you will live every day of your miserable existence from this day forward. When I am finished, you will have the choice of doing what is required of you or—”

  “Pardon me,” Willem Korvan said.

  Marek almost gasped.

  “Master Rymüt,” Willem said, “please excuse me, but may I ask that you step out for a moment and allow your niece and I a moment to speak with each other?”

  Rymüt was less surprised to see Willem Korvan standing there than he was by the young man’s appearance. If the homespun clothing and dirty hands aged Halina, Willem appeared even older, and his clothing was as fresh and clean as his hands. The Cormyrean’s eyes had sunk deep into his face, rimmed underneath with dark bags that made him look as though he’d been punched in both eyes.

  “Senator Korvan,” Marek said with an over-wrought bow.

  He glanced at Halina, who didn’t notice him. She stared at Willem with her mouth hanging open and tears in her eyes. The young senator stared back, and appeared as surprised by her appearance as she was by his.

  Marek walked out of the greenhouse, past Willem. When he was out of earshot he muttered a quick incantation that would allow him to listen in on them. He walked at a brisk pace, under the watchful eye of more than one priestess, but was not prevented from sitting on a low stone bench under a strange sort of tree he’d never seen before, which grew in the central rotunda of the sisterhood’s glass house.

  “… awful, Willem,” Halina said. Her voice was clear to Marek, though he knew no one else around him could hear her. “You’ve been drinking. Have you been drinking?”

  “Yes,” Willem replied.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “Why am I here?” Willem replied. “Why are you here? You disappeared. I couldn’t find you. I had to call in favors before I was told where you were.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d—”

  “Halina—” Willem grunted.

  Marek sighed. It was going to be a long conversation if they both insisted on stopping midsentence, and his spell wouldn’t last forever.

  “I came here when I finally realized I had nowhere else to go,” Halina said.

  Her voice sounded different to Marek, and it wasn’t just the spell’s occasional distortion. She spoke differently with Willem than she did with Marek. She was more relaxed.

  “You’re looking at me,” she went on, “as though you don’t understand what I mean.”

  “I don’t,” Willem admitted. “I didn’t drive you away, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t,” she agreed. “But you didn’t take me in, either.”

  “I—”

  “Loved me?” she finished for him.

  “Yes,” he said with much eagerness.

  Marek heard footsteps, a sound of some small disturbance, and Halina said, “No, please don’t.”

  More shuffling feet then Willem replied, “You won’t let me touch you? Have you taken some vow of chastity here?”

  “Don’t be vulgar,” she scolded, and Marek lifted an eyebrow at her tone. “I am not a priestess here. I’ve come to help, and to think, and the sisters ask nothing more of me.”

  “And that’s it, then?” he asked.

  “Willem, you just said you loved me.” There was a pause during which Willem might have nodded. “Loved me. Past tense.”

  “No, Halina,” Willem whined. “I love you. I love you in the present tense.”

  “Then why won’t you marry me?” she asked and Marek was relieved that she’d finally come to the point.

  “I will,” the Cormyrean replied.

  “Why?” she asked. “And when?”

  “Halina,” said Willem, “I will marry you now, this precise moment, if that’s what you wish.”

  “What do you wish?” she pressed him.

  “I want you,” he said. “I want you now, and forever. If I have you, maybe I won’t have to drink to keep from shaking. If I had you to come home to at the end of the day, I would come home. If I knew that you loved me and would love me forever, I would never again ki—”

  He stopped short, and Marek held his breath. Was he going to say “kill”?

  “Willem?” Halina said.

  “I love you,” he replied. “I love you with my whole heart. I’m only happy when I’m with you. I’m a better man, with a brighter future. I smile only when I am with you.”

  “Willem …”

  “Forgive me,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Halina, please forgive me for everything I’ve done and will ever do. Forgive me, and love me, and save me.”

  “Save you?” she asked.

  “Save us both,” he begged.

  “And my uncle?” she asked.

  Marek’s ears perked up at that, of course.

  “What of him?” Willem answered, and his voice was so dismissive, Marek’s blood almost began to boil.

  “If he doesn’t approve?” she asked.

  “We don’t need his approval,” Willem said, though Marek thought quite differently. “I am a senator, and you are a grown woman. We can do as we please.”

  “At the risk of an ally as powerful and important to you as my uncle?”

  Ah, Marek thought, good question, girl.

  “I don’t know that your uncle is an ally of mine as it is, Halina,” Willem said—a point that Marek found surprisingly perceptive. “He is friends with several of my friends, and more than one of my patrons. I don’t think he’ll risk those relationships to stop ours.”

  And there you are entirely wrong, my dear boy, Marek thought. Should I decide to, I will grind you into gravel.

  “Marry me today,” he said.

  “That can’t be possible, Willem,” she replied.

  “Tomorrow then.”

  Marek smiled again at Willem’s eagerness and thought, So much a boy still, this one. “Tomorrow,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, Willem,” Halina replied.

  “I love you,” he told her.

  “I love you too,” she said.

  Marek rolled his eyes.

  “Come with me now,” Willem said.

  “I can’t,” replied Halina. “I’ll need to speak wi
th the sisters.”

  “If I come tomorrow to collect you …?”

  “I’ll be ready,” she said.

  “Tomorrow, then,” he said.

  “Tomorrow, my love,” she replied.

  There were more sounds of shuffling feet, then the unmistakable echo of a kiss, and Marek cut the spell off with a scoffing grunt. The sound drew the further attention of the sisters, and he smiled and nodded at a few of them before rising and crossing to the door out of the temple of Chauntea. He left laughing.

  47

  19 Alturiak, the Year of the Shield (1367 DR)

  SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH

  He couldn’t remember buying most of the clothes in his closet. They all looked the same, and none of them looked good. People often complimented him on his taste in clothing, on the cut and material, and so on, but looking at the contents of his closet, he couldn’t believe that. He didn’t let himself think about what he’d spent—thousands of gold pieces—on those pointless rags.

  “Really, my dear,” his mother said. “Whatever are you doing?”

  He ignored her. He didn’t have much time, and accommodations had to be made.

  “You can at least answer me,” she pressed. “Willem?”

  He stood back and looked at the closet. It wasn’t quite half empty, but it would have to do.

  “Just like that, then?” his mother went on. “And you refuse even to discuss it? We aren’t a family anymore. Is that it? I’m no longer welcome here? My opinion is of no consequence to you? You have no care at all for—”

  “Please, Mother,” Willem finally said.

  “Did I raise you to interrupt people?” she asked, her eyebrows arched, and the eyes underneath them cold and angry.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” said Willem, “but I am a grown man, and I have to ask you to respect—”

  “Your mother,” Phyrea said. Willem jumped, his heart skipping a beat, and Thurene gasped. “You should respect your mother, Willem dear.”

  “My goodness,” Thurene gasped, a hand on her chest.

  “Phyrea?” Willem asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” Thurene cut in, “I for one am delighted to see you, Phyrea dear. I’m sure you’ll be able to talk some sense into my lovesick son.”

  “Lovesick?” the master builder’s daughter teased, winking at Willem and leaning against the doorjamb. “Do tell, Senator.”

  “It’s that Thayan girl,” Thurene sneered.

  Phyrea glanced off to one side as though she’d heard a sound from somewhere downstairs. The gesture made the hair on the back of Willem’s neck stand on end.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Phyrea tried to smile, and she shook her head, but still it appeared as though she heard someone downstairs.

  “Is someone with you?” asked Willem.

  “No,” she answered, but he didn’t believe her. When she said, “Of course not,” she seemed sincere.

  “Don’t be silly, my dear,” his mother said. She seemed confused by the whole exchange—and truth be told, so was Willem. “Now, Phyrea, please help me convince my son that he’s opening his home, his life, and his family, to the wrong young woman.”

  Phyrea smiled and said, “Willem, you’re opening your home, your life, and your family, to the wrong woman.”

  Willem rubbed his eyes and sighed.

  “Besides,” Phyrea added, “we both know you’re going to marry me.”

  Thurene gasped again, and Willem’s blood ran cold.

  “I need to sit down,” he said, but didn’t sit down.

  “My stars!” his mother exclaimed, again with her hand on her chest.

  “Halina is waiting …” Willem started.

  “She’ll get over it,” Phyrea said, then she looked back behind her again and sort of shook her head.

  “Someone’s down there,” said Willem, crossing to the door.

  Phyrea held out a hand to stop him, and they ended up in an uncomfortable embrace.

  “Did you hear something?” Thurene asked.

  “Hello?” Willem called down the stairs. “Is someone there?”

  Phyrea stood with her eyes closed and her head down while Willem listened for a response, or any sound at all. There was nothing. When he relaxed Phyrea sighed and pressed herself into him. All he wanted was to hold her, to touch her, and for a moment he forgot that his mother was a pace and a half behind him.

  “Come with me,” Phyrea whispered in his ear, her breath hot on the side of his face.

  She took him by the hand and started to lead him into the hall and to the stairs.

  “Should I come with you, my dear?” Thurene asked.

  “No,” Phyrea told her.

  “Oh …” his mother breathed. “Well, I … I’ll wait for you here, then. Willem?”

  Willem couldn’t look back at his mother. All he could see was Phyrea. Her perfect beauty eclipsed everything.

  “Don’t worry, Madam Korvan,” Phyrea said. “I’ll take him from here.”

  His mother was left at the top of the stairs, blustering and confused.

  Phyrea led him out of his house. A coach waited in the street, and she all but pushed him into it. Phyrea rapped on the wall of the coach, and the driver whipped the horses out into traffic. Willem brushed his fingers through his hair and was surprised that it was wet.

  “It’s raining,” he muttered, not having noticed before.

  Phyrea nodded and leaned in toward him. Her lips met his, and he drank her in. Her hands were on the side of his face, and he put his on her shoulders. When he moved them down to her breasts she didn’t flinch or pull away.

  Her lips came away from his, and she whispered, “You knew this would happen, Willem. It had to. It had to be us, after all.”

  Willem shook his head and tried to think of Halina, waiting for him at that awful temple, waiting for him to come and get her so that they could live happily ever after. But he couldn’t get a picture of her to form in his mind, and the thought of her waiting, and waiting, and waiting for a husband who would never come didn’t make him feel anything at all.

  She drew away from him, but gently, and took his hands in hers. She squeezed his hands a little in a calming, reassuring way, and a hiss passed her lips as though she was shushing him, but he hadn’t made a sound.

  Willem sat still, listening to the sound of the coach’s wheels clatter over the cobblestones, and the rain patter against the roof. A little wisp of steam escaped his lips when he exhaled. It was chilly and damp—winter in Innarlith. Outside the coach the Second Quarter streets went by in a blur, not because they were moving particularly fast, but because Willem’s eyes refused to focus on distant objects. The rain kept most of the people off the streets, and the dull gray air was lit by the warm glow of candlelight and hearthfires in the passing windows.

  They’d gone south away from his house and at the end of the street turned left to head east toward the Third Quarter. He wanted to ask where they were going, but he liked the quiet better.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Phyrea whispered to herself, though it sounded as if she was talking to someone else.

  Willem looked at her, but she avoided making eye contact and squeezed his hands again.

  He hoped she was right. He hoped she knew what she was doing. He certainly didn’t.

  At the next major thoroughfare the coach turned right to lead them back south, along the very edge of the line between the Second and Third Quarters.

  “Why me?” he asked, not sure where the question came from, or why all of a sudden he wanted to talk. Part of him hoped she wouldn’t answer.

  “My father wants it,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

  “I love you,” he said.

  To her credit she didn’t wince. He felt her hands grow warmer, though, and begin to sweat.

  They rode in silence for a while longer, and the coach turned right onto the wide avenue of Ransar’s Ride, what some people called Sunset Boulev
ard because it lined up almost perfectly with the Midsummer sunset. They headed back into the heart of the Second Quarter and Willem noted a few of the shops where he’d bought the clothes he’d moved from his closet to accommodate—

  Phyrea.

  He’d made the space for Phyrea to move in with him, so they could be together as man and wife.

  They turned left again, near the Peacock Resplendent, heading south once more. Though Willem couldn’t see out of the front of the coach he knew that the Chamber of Law and Civility was only a few blocks ahead of them. Could it be she was taking him there? Wedding ceremonies had been held there, according to common law. Phyrea’s father would likely wish the blessing of Waukeen, but Phyrea might have talked him into a civil ceremony.

  When the coach passed by the ornate edifice without a moment’s pause, he grew only more confused.

  “Of course I won’t,” Phyrea whispered, so low he could just barely hear her.

  He wanted to ask her who she was talking to, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He gently squeezed her hands, which felt slick with sweat, and sat in silence as the coach continued south. The wide avenue curved to the west, leading them to the First Quarter and the docks beyond, but they turned left at a fork in the road and were heading south again. They’d nearly crossed the entire length of the city from north to south. They could have been headed to the Cascade of Coins—the temple of Waukeen—after all.

  He looked at Phyrea and his breath caught. Her beauty overwhelmed him. He took a hand away from hers and touched her cheek. She leaned in to his touch and frowned. She looked sad—as if she might even cry—then she smiled.

  The coach pulled to a stop, the horses clomping to the side of the street.

  Willem looked around. He knew the neighborhood—not well, but he knew it. They hadn’t come to the Cascade of Coins.

  “Master Rymüt’s house?” he asked, recognizing the large manor home with its walled grounds.

  Phyrea nodded, making no move at first to exit the coach, and said, “He wants people to call it the ‘Thayan Enclave’ now. I don’t know why. Maybe he thinks he’s some kind of ambassador now.”