by Court Ellyn
The guard hesitated, then shifted a few inches to the left, leaving room for Rhian to press his ear to the crack in the door. Carah crimped at the knees and ducked in beside him. The heat of his chest pressed against her shoulders. Whether or not he was aware, his hand came to rest on her hip. If it weren’t for the guard’s proximity, Carah might’ve let Rhian have his wish. She couldn’t understand a word the Elders spoke anyway. She shook her head, about to give up and move on, but whatever was being said piqued Rhian’s interest. He made no move to leave. His face was grave.
“What is it? What are they saying?”
Murienna shifted another half-step away. She wanted no part of it.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” Carah demanded.
“Something about humanity remembering,” Rhian said, straining to hear, “and this time they may choose not to forget. It will be the Human War all over again. Ah, there’s Laniel, I think. He says, ‘if we don’t help, humanity will be lost’.”
One of the Elders shouted; Rhian scrambled through the translation, “ ‘Send them all to the Abyss, in exchange for the Elarion they murdered.’ Now Laniel is shouting: ‘Would you join Lothiar?’
“ ‘Lothiar fights for justice.’
“ ‘Lothiar fights for revenge. Whatever my brother’s motives, his methods are heinous. Just as when he summoned the rágazeth. He had a grudge against Dathiel alone, yet the demon endangered the entire city and slew many of us. He didn’t mourn the loss of innocents then, and I doubt he mourns now. Whether or not you believe Lothiar to be right, he cannot be allowed to determine the fate of humanity. That is not his place any more than it is yours. Who does he think he is?’ ”
A jumble of voices vied for the floor. Laniel’s won out. “ ‘I will fight beside my oath-brother and die alongside him if necessary. If I am so resolved against my own birth-brother, how can you…?’ ” Dragonslayer, Carah thought, smiling.
Interruptions tumbled over each other. Rhian had a hard time keeping up. “ ‘If the dranithion depart our Wood, you leave us vulnerable.’ ”
“ ‘If we join Lothiar, we have nothing to fear,’ ” said another of the Elders. “ ‘The ultimatum Iryan delivered yesterday stated that clearly.’ ”
“ ‘Aye, nothing to fear but living long years with a guilty conscience. This cannot be the Mother-Father’s will. I will never believe that, nor will I stand by and let it happen.’ ”
“ ‘What Iryan didn’t state,’ ” said another, “ ‘is what Lothiar means to do if we don’t join him.’ ”
“ ‘If we hand over the avedrin, he will be appeased.’ ”
Laniel roared, “ ‘You misunderstand everything. If you think Lothiar will stop his crusade before the last human is dead or enslaved, you’re a fool. Harm Dathiel and the young ones, and you and I will fight our own war!’ ”
Carah backed from the door, shaking head to heel. Even this beautiful city provided no haven. The old nightmare struck her full force. A monster chased her in the dark. Walls wet with the smell of blood closed in. Hundreds of trapped people screamed. Sightless eyes laid among stained tablecloths. Wine swirled with blood in the grooves between tiles. And the screaming, screaming, screaming.
She stumbled along the corridor beneath the bright hovering orbs, unable to catch her breath. She had to get out of this palace, out of this city rife with cold eyes and hateful voices.
“Carah!” Rhian caught up, clasped her hands and lowered them from her ears. She sagged into him, sobbing. With an arm tight around her, he led her down one corridor and another, she didn’t care where, and when he sat her down on a settee, it took her some time to realize she was back in her own suite. By then, Rhian had tugged off her riding boots and poured her a brandy. He dipped his fingers into the glass and rubbed the liquor on her temples.
“I’m all right,” she insisted, trying to brush him off.
“You’re white as a sheet.”
“Fuck fainting.”
That rocked Rhian back on his heels. He sat amid the rug and laughed.
“I’m glad you’re amused,” Carah exclaimed. “Those Elders could storm up here any minute and toss us into some dark dungeon until Lothiar comes to drag us off to Goddess knows where.”
“That won’t happen.”
“How do you know?”
“ ‘Cause I’d burn the palace down before they reached us.”
“That wouldn’t help our cause.”
“By then, it would be too late anyway.”
“Aren’t you ever afraid of anything?”
He rolled to his knees; his hands cupped her face. All masks off, she saw that his only fear was for her. Losing her to Lothiar’s chains, an ogre’s axe, another man, it was all the same. His kiss was soft at first, a taste of the salt tears on her cheeks, as if he was afraid to step on someone else’s soil, but Carah remembered the kiss in the trees beside the moonlit lake, after they fled Bramoran, and through the touch of their skin, her memory became his memory. He stopped being gentle. His mouth, his hands became a wildfire. Carah clenched onto him, nails digging into the leather jerkin, a heel hooked behind his knee.
Tell me to stop, he said, devouring the hollow of her throat while his hands untucked her blouse.
No. Where were the fairies, where the voices calling for them? Carah longed to use Veil Sight and see her lifelight entwined with Rhian’s, but she didn’t dare for fear she would find Zephyr scowling in disapproval.
They fumbled with laces. Too slow, too tedious. As soon as her corset came loose, Carah gave it a toss. She gasped as his mouth blazed over her nipples.
Panic tried to steal in. She glanced toward the door. They’ll find us. He’ll kill you.
Rhian’s thoughts returned a raging blank. He was past caring. In here. He drew her off the settee, and she almost had time to think, but she didn’t want to think. Thinking brought the fear, so she let him kiss her and lower her down among cloudlike pillows and draw the curtains on her bed. She nestled against him, skin to skin, embarrassed all of a sudden. A kiss rolled her gently onto her back. His knee lifted her thigh, and he filled her with delicious agony. She clamped her teeth on his shoulder to stifle a cry, but it was Rhian who moaned. Carah’s hand covered his mouth. Tears rolled into her hair. Tasting them must’ve reminded Rhian of the sea. Carah’s mind was filled with lapping waves, a shoreline she had never seen. She lay on the sand. No, she was the sand and he the tide. Waves washed over her, she rose and dispersed, then fell together again, throbbing.
Rhian raised himself up and looked at her for a long moment. You’ll be the death of me, he told her, then he smiled as if that was all right with him.
Sunlight squeezed a finger between the curtains. They couldn’t lay here forever. Someone would come looking for them. Was it noon yet? Carah’s belly rumbled, but she was too happy, too astonished to move. Had this glorious thing really just happened? Rhian held her close; her finger traced his beardless jaw. He stared up at the ceiling looking all too serious. At last he said, “When we go back—”
“Shh.” Don’t spoil it.
He took her hand away from his face. “When we go back to Ilswythe, Car, we leave this behind. You’re going to ignore me, and sure I’m going to try my damnedest to ignore you.”
“Impossible.” She rolled away from him, even though she understood the good sense in his words.
“For everyone’s sake, Car.”
“Aye, everyone. Everyone but us. This is going to hurt.”
“We’ll have plenty to keep us busy. We won’t have time to think about it.”
“Hnh, how will I think of anything else? I need you.”
“Aye, like a shark bite.”
“Like poppy wine.”
“Don’t open the bottle.”
“Too late and you know it.” Could he be so callous? She scrambled out of bed. Beyond the curtains, the sunlight was a slap to the face. “And what will you do? Run to Elliona any time you miss me?”
“Don’t do th
at.”
“Why shouldn’t I? Better to be angry with you than … not.” She seized her riding leathers off the floor, squeezed into them, laced them up tight. “Damn it.” She had to unlace them again to get her corset on. She fetched it from the parlor, then shook it at him. “Well? I can’t cinch this by myself.” Sobs ached in her throat. She’d be damned if she’d give in to them.
Rhian dragged himself to his feet and into his clothes, then tugged at Carah’s stays. “This might take a while. Never tied one up again.”
Carah tossed her head. “Uncle Thorn seemed to know how.” How embarrassing that had been, too, her uncle cinching her corset. And humorous. Another less-than-horrifying memory she’d brought out of Bramoran.
“That’s because he’s a lecher.”
Carah laughed. “And you’re not?”
“Uh-uh.” He was concentrating too hard for a more articulate response.
“Tighter,” she ordered.
“Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Well, of course it does, but what does that matter?” A corset and a road of someone else’s design seemed to have something in common.
Rhian tied off the stays, then wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t be angry,” he said against her ear. “We still have a couple days. Maybe more.”
Carah disentangled herself, planted her fists on her hips. “And the first order of business is food. After that, Uncle Thorn promised me a new robe. Show me to a tailor.”
Rhian smirked. “Yes, m’ lady.”
~~~~
Thorn’s fingers were chilled to the bone. Needles of pain stung them as they thawed out. He might’ve guessed the Abyss would be so cold, but the touch of it was worse than he imagined. The rágazeth, all those years ago, had been neither hot nor cold, yet somehow both at once. Thorn’s first attempts to weave a thread had failed utterly. The spell broke open a pinhole, as Le’orish promised, but the spindle remained empty. The threads he drew out from that bottomless darkness dissipated into nothingness. Or, at least, he hoped so.
A single lamp lit the cozy parlor that separated his rooms from Rhian’s. Thorn couldn’t bear stronger light. Seemed someone had filled his skull with caltrops. He curled up in his favorite reading chair while Lyrienn occupied a footstool and massaged the blood back into his fingers. He grit his teeth against the sting. “Are you sure you want to try again?” she asked.
“I’ll learn it. I just have to concentrate. If that oaf Le’orish can do it, so can I.”
“You must be careful, Dathiel,” she insisted, as if the pain wasn’t enough to teach him that lesson.
Carah’s laughter echoed in the corridor. The door opened, and she traipsed into the parlor with Rhian on her heels. They stopped cold at the sight of the parlor’s occupants, their conversation forgotten.
“There you are,” Carah exclaimed, tripping forward to kiss her uncle on the cheek. “Where’ve you been?” She scowled at his red, swollen fingers. “Who did you set on fire?”
“No one. Yet. Learning something new.”
“Will you teach me?”
“No. And I’ll be lucky if I can master it myself, so never you mind.”
“Why’s it so dark in here?” she asked. “Should we leave you two alone?” She reached for the drapes covering the windows, but Lyrienn stopped her.
“Dear one? Why don’t you pour your uncle a drink instead.”
Carah filled a glass at the sideboard, stole a sip of the mead, then handed the rest to Thorn. Holding the glass burned his raw fingers anew. He gulped the mead fast, then set the empty glass aside. Carah plopped down on a divan, smoothed her windblown hair and all the while smiled a smug little smile.
“You look satisfied with yourself,” Thorn said.
The smile grew brittle. She recovered quickly. “I had a lovely day. Rhian took me across the river to a place where they sell nothing but food. No inn or tavern attached. Can you imagine? I had river trout crusted with andyr nuts. Then he took me on a tour of the isle. The Lady has the most beautiful gardens I’ve ever seen. And the horses! I can just imagine how splendid they look all accoutered and lined up for parade. Záradel made it home all right.” Carah turned to Rhian. “She greeted us, didn’t she?”
Thorn’s glance sliced toward his apprentice. Just a bit of sightseeing, eh?
Rhian replied with thoughts of a great white wall.
Infuriating how you do that, Thorn told him.
Rhian raised his chin in a maddening display of disdain.
“And then there was this lovely filly with a white star on her forehead,” Carah was saying. “She followed me around like a puppy. Oh, and I saw the tailor. You’ll have a bill, I’m afraid, but I’ll soon have a new robe. It should be finished in a couple of days.”
Thorn pressed a smile onto his face. “Good. I’ll send an order for them to work through the night. We leave first thing in the morning.”
Carah surged from the divan. “Tomorrow?”
“Before a decision is made?” demanded Rhian. Where was his disdain now? He seemed to share Carah’s alarm.
It didn’t take Thorn much effort to puzzle out why. Here, they were free to flirt, to spend time together, with only himself to admonish them for it. He knew he shouldn’t have left them alone. He glared at Lyrienn, wanting to share the blame like the flu, but she didn’t notice. Her face reflected the suffering she detected in the youngsters. Thorn snatched his hand away from hers. “We can’t wait for the Elders,” he insisted. “Saffron reported trouble at Ilswythe. We’re needed back immediately. We’d leave tonight if I weren’t desperate for rest.”
“But—” Carah was unable to speak her excuses. In her distress, her mind tossed the truth carelessly at her uncle. It was like glimpsing a diary. Thorn kicked himself out of the armchair. The heel of his hand shoved Rhian back a step. I’ll break your fucking neck!
Carah caught the thought too and cried, “Leave him alone! It’s none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t!”
She turned and ran out the door.
“I warned you—”
The threat bounced off Rhian. It was like trying to chisel stone with jelly. With a parting snort, he followed Carah from the parlor.
Thorn rushed to stop him, but Lyrienn caught him by the wrist. “Let them go. This may be the only time they have.”
Carah’s new robe delayed their departure until mid-morning. They fought about it at breakfast. “Your da needs us home now!”
“I’m not leaving without it!” Carah fled the table, sobbing, and Thorn knew it wasn’t the robe she was upset about.
The tailors would not be rushed. Thorn walked to the shop to hurry them along, but they barred the door against him. All he could do was peer through the windows as they completed the stitching. Of course, Carah chose silver velvet that shimmered between white and ash gray depending on the angle of light. The artistry outshined anything that her seamstress in Ilswythe Village was capable of making. Thorn took one look at the bill and choked.
The head tailor crossed her arms. “It would’ve cost half that, but we didn’t sleep all night, thanks to you. I had to call in every apprentice I’ve ever taught to finish on time. But I assure you, we missed not one stitch nor detail.”
“No, the bill states that plainly.”
Thorn delivered the robe to his niece. Carah changed into it and turned in front of the mirror. It had a full skirt and plunging v-shaped neckline, a cinched waist and embroidered sleeves so wide that when she lowered her arms, they nearly touched the floor. She had brought her silver sash from home. Its white seed pearls glistened on her hips. The only thing missing was girlish giddiness. The mirror reflected a woman in mourning.
“Avedra,” she said dryly. “Doesn’t really mean anything, doesn’t it? I still don’t get to live my own life.”
Thorn clenched his teeth. “Who does? And yet it is yours to live. Mope about it or make the most of it. Be downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
The cou
rtyard bustled with horses, grooms, and dranithion. Laniel greeted his oath-brother over the splash of fountains and jingle of horse harness. “We missed you yesterday. Did you listen to the debates at all?”
Thorn shook his head morosely.
“Just as well. They’re still at it. They may reach a decision in the next century or so.”
“No thanks to Aerdria.”
“To the Abyss with what they decide,” Laniel declared. “I’m forced to leave half my troop in the trees, but the rest of us are going east with you.”
Thorn noticed some of the dranithion giving their arrows to their brethren; they couldn’t be sure about the quality of human-made arrows, and better safe than sorry.
Laniel shuffled a toe on the cobblestones. “I admit, I’m a bit nervous. I can’t remember the last time I traveled without trees over my head. If I start to fall into the sky, do catch me and hold me down, will you?” His eyes arrested on something over Thorn’s shoulder; his mouth opened a little, but for once, he was speechless.
Carah had made her appearance. She descended the palace steps looking more Elaran than human. In the morning sunlight, the velvet robe dazzled the eyes. She graced her uncle with a chilly glare and asked, “Where’s Rhian? He rode ahead, didn’t he? Hnh, typical.”
“He’s waiting for us at the south gate. I sent word to the wardens to not let him leave without us. Iryan and his ogres might still be lurking out there.”
“Stay close to me, wee Carah,” Laniel said. “The best scouts in the Wood are escorting you home.” His boast failed to lift her spirits. He leaned toward Thorn and asked, “What did you do?”
“Me?”
“Musta been something. I’m too charming not to earn a smile.” Laniel strode off before Thorn could plea his innocence. A few sharp commands and his troop divided into two lines, those who were to march and those who were to stay. With Amyrith dead, the lines were uneven. Laniel meant to take more warriors than leave behind. Thorn detected feelings of excitement and grief among them. Goddess knew how many would return. For some, this was a final farewell.