by John Marco
He stopped, releasing her and backing away.
"No," he stammered. "Not yet."
Sabrina flushed. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said in a small voice. Then she composed herself, drawing a shaky breath and turning around to face him again. "I must go now. We shouldn't be seen spending so much time together."
"Sabrina, I didn't mean to--"
"No," she pleaded. "Don't say anything more." She turned and made her way from the garden.
Richius reached out for her, but when he saw the determination in her stride he let his hand fall away. He wanted to call out to her, to beg her to stop and let him explain, yet he said nothing. There were no words for what he was feeling. In the next instant she was gone, swallowed up by the vines and blooms.
He was alone.
A rigid silence cloaked the balcony. And a name floated to him on the wind. It was a name that had come to him often in the last few days. He closed his eyes and dared to think it.
Dyana.
PHANTOMS
From the Journal of Richius Vantran:
Today is the eighth day of spring, and as I write this I am blessedly alone, without the blaring horns of docking ships or the rumble of incinerators to bother me. The air is sweet again, the woods around me quiet. I have missed it all so much. It is easy to forget the taste of good bread when there is only caviar to eat, and so it is with these woods, too. Like boyhood friends these trees are familiar to me. From here I can see the castle, looking small now against my memories of Nar, and to the north all the nothingness of Aramoor is beautiful. It is perfect, and if Arkus were with me now he wouldn't need his potions to keep him alive.
After seeing home again I have decided that it is Nar itself which has driven them all mad. They are addicted to their drugs because their city is unlivable. There is too much there for the mind to grasp. Everyone who lives in Nar is like a frightened rodent, terrified of the hawks that dwell in the palace. If there is a place on earth to rival Dring for evil, it is the Black City. I don't care to ever see its like again, and to be truthful it has shaken me. I am part of this Empire now, more than I ever was before. I have work to do for Arkus. But at least I am home, and even he cannot take the spring away or stop the trees from greening.
Last night I dreamt of Lucyler again. Another damnable nightmare. I have not had a sound night's rest since returning home, and I am starting to wonder what has gone wrong with me. It is as if some of Nar's drugs have made their way into my brain. They are vivid dreams, too, so much like my own thoughts that it is hard to separate one from the other. I had assumed I was over my guilt for Lucyler, but almost nightly I am reminded of the loss. He speaks to me in the dreams, but I cannot hear him. Or it may be that I simply cannot remember his words upon my waking. Whatever it is, I wish he would say it clearly and be done. The dead should stay buried and let the living get their sleep.
Being married has been stranger than I expected. It is odd to always share my bed with someone. But Sabrina has been wonderful. Though we have been home less than three weeks, she already knows the castle as if she has lived here for years. And Jojustin and the others adore her. They keep her company at night when I am away, as I have been often lately. Only Jenna has yet to warm to her. Apparently my marriage was more of a surprise for Jenna than I had imagined. We have hardly spoken at all since I returned home, and when we do it's only to pass pleasantries. Still, I'm sure she will come around in time. Sabrina is my wife, and Jenna has to accept it. I only hope she does so quickly. I will not be around for Sabrina much longer, and she will need friends to help her through the dark days ahead.
Thankfully, Sabrina seems comfortable here. Except for Jenna, we have all tried to make the change easier for her, to show her the land and the way we do things, and to include her when we can. At first she was quiet, but now she talks more at mealtimes, and she has a talent for keeping conversations interesting. Arkus was right about her. Most men would envy such a fine young wife. She gives me my time and lets me worry when I must. I have been doing a great deal of worrying these days. Though the Drol seem satisfied with Lucel-Lor for the moment, we still have war plans to make, and I know Sabrina can sense my fear. Jenna has told her how Father was murdered in the garden, and now she is worse than Jojustin at trying to keep me indoors. It is like having both a mother and a father again. Yet I know her concern for me is genuine. I have not been as open as I should be with her, and only rarely do we share any time together. It has been hard even to steal an hour to write this journal. Still, I think she understands. These are difficult days for us all.
I have done what I can to keep this bold scheme of Arkus' a secret. So far only we in the castle seem to know of it. I had expected Jojustin to be shocked by the news, but of all of us he seems the most enamored of the plan. The idea of us all going back to war has not soured his spirits at all. Perhaps he is too old to clearly remember his own war days. Like the old father, he grieves for the possibility of our deaths, but the soldier in him rejoices. His eyes twinkle when he speaks of it. Newborn warhorses, Arkus' legions, shipments from Nar; he tells me of these things like a greedy clerk eager to put his wares to use. To him this is all a second chance, a glorious moment for showing up the Gayles and proving to the world what Aramoor can do. When I told him of Talistan's exclusion from the war he was as giddy as a schoolboy. His hatred of that breed has truly blinded him.
I myself feel no such joy. For me, a kingdom without interference from Nar would be far more welcome. Jojustin has become fond of telling me how like my father I am. He says we all must accept the rule of Arkus now. But I would rather have my father's heart within me. Let the Gayles remain the emperor's pets. Arkus' favor means nothing to me. I have tried to convince Jojustin that Nar's love for us is only momentary, yet it seems that I alone can grasp what is really happening. Lately I am surrounded by peacocks. Everyone seems to share Jojustin's stupid pride. Even Patwin is consumed with it. Perhaps that is what Arkus knew would happen. It has not been easy for any of us to live with the humiliation of our loss, but to believe we can now win against the Drol seems foolish. I have agreed to this folly because I must, but the others are senselessly willing. They frighten me. If I do this insane thing it will not be simply for the empty pocket of revenge. At least I'll know my reasons.
And it may be that all this is for nothing, and none of us will ever really have our requital. Precious little news reaches us from Nar, but the talk among the merchants in Innswick is that Liss is still holding on. God bless those hearty bastards. I'm sure Arkus and that butcher Nicabar had expected them to be on their knees by now. Perhaps those new dreadnoughts are not as wonderful as they supposed. Either way, it buys us needed time. If we are lucky and Liss manages against this onslaught, then maybe we will not need to ready ourselves for war at all. I have sent word to Biagio asking him how the war with Liss is progressing. It will be weeks before I get a reply. So much the better.
Yet this too troubles me. There is a part of me that wants this war. I know it's insane to think it, but Dyana might still be alive. Somewhere in Lucel-Lor, hiding in a cave or cowering in the bed of that devil Tharn, she is waiting for me. It is like a dream or the sense one gets of danger: no more easily seen than the air. But I know it is so. And if Liss somehow holds on, if heaven grants them a miracle and spares them from Nar, I may never have the chance to save her. It is all I have thought about these past months. I have not even whispered her name to Sabrina, but I know she suspects something. I've seen her watching me when I write, and I know she is wondering. And when I do not touch her at night, what does she think? She has been more than any man could want, yet I am unable to love her. I have tried to be skillful in avoiding her, to stay away at night until she is asleep, but I'm sure she questions me. She does not deserve such coldness in a husband.
Nor do I deserve her. I mean never tell her of the terrible choice Arkus gave me, but I wonder these days if she is any better with me than she would have been with Gayle. It is only a differen
t kind of torture I offer her, a more insidious isolation. I cannot conjure up a love for her that is any more than a man might have for a sister.
Tomorrow I will ride with Patwin to the House of Lotts. It is time to start telling the other families about Arkus' grand designs. I'm sure Dinadin will be as foolishly anxious to fight again as Jojustin. He is too young to see how the emperor manipulates us. As for Terril and the others, they will make do as always. They are old enough not to argue about war.
I have already done my arguing. No one is listening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sabrina awoke with a start.
It was barely morning. A light rain tapped against the leaded window of the bedchamber. Beside her, Richius pitched in the throes of sleep, the heavy sheets wrapped awkwardly around his legs and chest. An incoherent babble streamed from his lips. His face was white and terrible, and the little frantic movements beneath his eyelids told her he was panicked-- again.
She slid away from him, gingerly pulling off the sheets. Waking him was a mistake she didn't want to repeat. He would come out of it soon, he always did. And perhaps when it passed he could sleep some more. Soundlessly she rolled off the bed, her naked feet recoiling at the chilly touch of the floor. The breeze outside the window stirred the air, making her shiver, and she quickly retrieved her robe from the bedpost. Even in early spring Aramoor was a cold corner of the Empire. She went to the window and glanced out at the day, noting the pall of clouds obscuring the sky. They had taken over the castle's master bedroom, and from here she could see almost all of the Vantran property. Every inch of it was muddied.
A bad day for traveling, she thought with a smile. Good.
It was a considerable distance to the House of Lotts, and Sabrina hoped that Richius would postpone the trip. Then perhaps they would finally spend some time together.
A violent shout from Richius yanked her from her daydream. She turned back to him, hurrying to the bedside. A sheen of sweat drenched his forehead and chest. He was mumbling something, saying it over and over in a bizarre, trapped voice. She cocked her head to listen, to try and piece together the fractured syntax. What was he saying? A name? Yes, she concluded quickly, a name.
At last the spell subsided and Richius was silent. Slowly his breathing fell back into a peaceful cadence. Relieved, Sabrina leaned over the bed to look at him. He was still colorless, but the perspiration seemed to be drying as she looked at him and his face was almost relaxed. She placed a kiss on his cheek, hardly forceful enough to stir a bird, and touched his damp hair. She had never really known a mother, not in any genuine sense, but she thought quickly that this is what a mother would be like, fretting over the illness of a child. Richius had been having dreams for weeks now, since returning home. It was as if some devilish fever seized him when he slept. Worse, he never talked about his dreams, but instead only offered vague apologies for waking her. Whatever these nightmares were, he considered them his alone, and his unwillingness to share them disturbed her. She was always alone in this big bed.
She went again to the window, trying vainly to locate the sun. The land was coming into flower, beautiful in the gentle touch of new morning light. Aramoor was indeed like Gorkney, and a pang she had not expected clutched at her. She missed Gorkney. She missed Dason and his odd friendship. And for some strange reason she even missed her brutish father. Today she wanted something familiar.
"Attention," she grumbled, and as she spoke the glass misted with her breath. After almost three weeks in the castle only Jojustin had really noticed her. He had even offered to teach her to ride, a promise Richius himself had made and apparently forgotten. But she wasn't in love with the old man. He was sweet and well intentioned, but it was Richius whose company she craved, that distant, beautiful man in her bed. Somehow, she had to crack the armor that kept him untouchable.
Again she looked at the sky. The rain was meager but steady. Bits of branches and blown sticks covered the courtyard, and muddy pockets of water collected in sunken corners. Soon there would be activity in the courtyard and castle halls. Her jaw tightened at the thought. They would all be making demands on Richius. Hardly a moment went by when someone wasn't looking for him. And when she would corner him at the end of the day, he would simply smile at her and say, "These are busy times."
Too busy, she thought miserably. But not today.
Today she and the clouds would conspire to keep him inside. Surely his trip could wait another day, though he had spoken quite anxiously about this fellow Dinadin. Maybe Patwin could see to it. She decided she would ask him.
Carefully she inched her way across the floor, avoiding the creaking of loose boards. Richius was still asleep, restful again. She was halfway past the bed when a hard edge caught her toe, nearly tripping her.
"God!" she hissed between her teeth, stifling the cry at the last moment. She was on her knees suddenly, her head bobbing at the level of the mattress. Richius gave a little moan but did not awaken. Quickly she scanned the floor. At the bedside was a small book with a leather cover. Richius' journal. She reached over and retrieved it. Usually she was glad when he left it in plain sight. It was the one small gesture of trust he managed, knowingly or otherwise, and she appreciated it. But as she held the journal in her trembling hands the image of flinging it out the window popped into her mind. Even this little book was getting more attention than she was lately, and for a brief, mindless moment she hated it.
And then another, more sinister idea occurred to her. Whatever was troubling her silent husband was probably somewhere in these soiled pages. All she had to do was open the book.
No, she thought suddenly, ashamed of the idea, I can't. I won't. He trusts me. He does, and I can't ruin that.
But the journal remained in her hands. She stared at it for a long moment, contemplating its secrets. There were names in here, names like codes to decipher his cryptic dreams. She could understand if she read the journal. It would be good for them both. And then he wouldn't have to talk about the war and all the ugly things that happened to him; she would know. She could help him.
"No," she whispered firmly. She placed the journal back beside the bed, tucking it slightly under the frame. A feeling of disgust writhed within her. That journal held Richius' private thoughts, and he was entitled to keep them away from everyone, even her. She rose to her feel. The skin on her knees tingled and she brushed at them, fighting back tears that seemed to come from nowhere. Richius rolled over, turning his back to her.
Attached to the bedroom was a tiny dressing chamber she used for her own privacy. It was full of clothing and jewelry, and had an elegant mirror that one could admire one's entire body in with a single glance. Sabrina stepped into the dark chamber. There was no light in the room but she closed the door anyway, shutting out the twinkling dawn. Blindly she moved across the room to where the mirror stood. Beside the mirror was a chest of drawers. Though there were a hundred things in the room to wear, stacked in piles or hung on racks in hidden closets, she didn't reach for any of them. Most of the dresses weren't hers anyway. They had belonged to Richius' mother, and Queen Jessicane had obviously been a tall woman. All her dresses needed severe altering if they were ever to fit Sabrina. But there were a few items in the room that she liked, mostly things she had brought with herself from Gorkney, and these she kept in the chest.
She opened the top drawer and felt inside. The emerald-green dress she had worn the day she had met Richius was placed exactly where she had left it. There was something in his eyes that day, something she meant to recapture. The dress, she hoped, would make the difference. Soundlessly, she dropped her robe to the floor and stepped into the dress, fussing with the ties in the back. Even in full daylight she had a problem tying the loose gold braids that cinched the dress around her waist, but in a few minutes it was done. With equal dexterity she hunted down her shoes, slipped her feet into them, and did up their laces. At last she found her hairbrush. She ran it through her hair until she guessed she looked
presentable, then slipped on her favorite bracelet and went back to the door.
She peered back into the bedroom. Richius was still asleep. He was not a sound sleeper, and it surprised her that she hadn't been overheard. But his back remained to her, making it easy for her to leave. As she tiptoed past him she gave him one last look. He was beautiful, she thought sadly. Even when asleep.
Outside the bedroom the hallway was empty and cold. There were no other chambers here save for Jojustin's, and he was always one to rise early. Most likely he was already downstairs, sitting at the breakfast table with his habitual glass of hot wine. Sabrina scowled. Jenna would probably be there, too, seeing to the workings of the kitchen. It wasn't a big house, not like the one she had left in Gorkney, but it did require many of them to arise early and see to all its needs. She would have to be canny if she wanted to avoid questions. The dress would certainly provoke them.
The steps of the stone stairway echoed as she moved down them. Already tiny candles burned in the iron sconces, lighting her way and telling her that Jojustin was indeed up and at work. She found him in the little room off the kitchen where they usually took their meals. His pipe was tucked neatly between his bearded lips. Wisps of sweet-smelling smoke rose up from it, making a little blue cloud around his head. He looked up at her as she entered the room.
"Hello, Daughter," he said cheerfully. He rose from his chair to greet her. Sabrina put out her cheek for his kiss.
"Good morning, Uncle," she replied. He liked to be called Uncle, she could tell. His smile always broadened when she addressed him so. Jojustin pulled out a chair for her. She sat down with a dainty crossing of her legs.
"You're up early," he said. "Did Richius wake you?"