“Aye, my lady,” he answered solemnly. “Even I sometimes regret my actions.”
Another stretch of silence as she took in all this. Then he saw the lines in her brow smooth away, watched them be replaced by a smile. She laughed softly.
“Hmmm…you know what? Off topic, but this is probably the longest conversation we’ve ever managed without arguing. Momentous occasion, right? We should probably make a note of it, so when we go back to hating each other, we’ll have something to look back on.”
Where had that notion originated?
“My lady, I have never hated you,” he said.
She blinked, taken aback. “You haven’t?”
“I have not.”
“Oh, c’mon. I know you had to have hated me. Disliked me intently, at the very least.”
Rubbing his jaw, he considered her protestations.
“Nay, neither have I disliked you intently. I have resented my duty toward you, perhaps…”—and here he chose his words carefully—“but I have never hated or disliked you.”
“Isn’t it all pretty much the same?”
His gaze was direct. “No.”
She pursed her lips, dropping her gaze once more to her lap. “Well, I all but hated you,” she admitted, almost inaudibly. “I also disliked you intently as well as resented you.”
“But my lady is past that now.”
She peeked up through her lashes. “Well, I’m not gonna lie and say you’ll never make me mad again or get on my nerves, but I definitely don’t dislike you the way I used to.”
That was putting it mildly, considering how she’d flown at him in the courtyard. When he thought of it, he was still amazed she had done that publically, despite everything that troubled her.
“Ilgard,” she went on, after another brief conversation lapse. “Now that we’re on better footing, may I ask you something? Something I’ve been wondering about for a long time?”
“As you wish.”
Tilting her head to the side, she considered him carefully. “Do you—well, all the Simathe, really—do you all, like, want to live forever? Don’t you ever think about death and sometimes just sorta wish it would all end?”
The warrior-lord shrugged in simple acceptance.
“Long ago, I learned not to question what is or hope to change what cannot be altered.”
“But that’s not even human! Everyone does that, even if they know it does them no good.”
Again, he simply shrugged. “What would you have me say? We are Simathe. We are not as other humans.”
She bit her lower lip, frowning, contemplating this. “Then I’m sorry for you. For all of you,” she stated quietly.
“Why? There is no need.”
A gentle shrug. “I don’t know. It obviously doesn’t seem to bother you too much. But to me it seems so sad, so empty. So final.”
Her eyes were full of pity, which induced a strange discomfort in him. Never in his life had he been pitied; he was not certain he cared for it now.
“You are not Simathe,” he said at last, concluding the matter.
“No,” she agreed soberly, “I’m not.”
Twists and Turns
A knock on the door effectively ended our conversation. I couldn’t say I was sorry. Right now, I had much to think about, including the way I’d acted earlier in the courtyard. At the time, I hadn’t stopped to think. At the time, running to Ilgard had felt right. Now, however, seated across from this silent, imposing lord, I wondered what he thought of it all. Did he think I was crazy? Had he played along, letting me babble on like an idiot without pushing me away, just to humor me? Calm me down? Had he been shocked, affronted, scandalized?
Unfortunately, with him being what he was, there was no way to ascertain his true feelings on the incident, and I was too embarrassed to bring it up, although part of me wondered if maybe I should, if only to apologize for my behavior.
Instead, I called, “Come in,” to our visitor and was thankful for the distraction.
The door opened, admitting Rosean, my servant girl. She studied the marble floor while speaking, as if its erratic silver veins were suddenly of great interest.
“My lady, the evening meal has been prepared. Do you wish it served here for the High-Chief and yourself?”
I glanced at Ilgard, a silent question, and caught the barely perceptible shake of his head.
“You may serve me, Rosean, but please have the High-Chief’s supper sent to his rooms.”
A nervous bow. “As you wish, my lady.”
She promptly backed away, scooting out the door so hurriedly it closed on my “thank you.”
I turned to my companion. “See what I mean? She’s acting really weird.”
“The lass is frightened.”
“Well, I can see that. It’s pretty obvious she must be listening to the gossip going around. She’s freaked out by being in the same room with me.”
Ilgard nodded thoughtfully but otherwise made no comment. Abruptly, he pressed his hands to the arms of his chair, pushing himself to his feet.
“If I might have my lady’s permission to retire, I will do so now.”
“What?” This made me laugh. “Since when do you need my permission to do anything? Since when do you ask?”
He shrugged. “You are now our ruling Artan.”
His expression was utterly straightforward; I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Yeah, right. And I suppose next you’ll be coming to me with all your problems and asking my advice on how to rule Treygon.”
“Perhaps.”
I gave a very unladylike snort. “Boy, that’d be the day.”
“It will.”
I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Okay, you’re obviously pulling my leg. I know for an absolute fact that’s never going to happen.”
“Never know anything absolutely,” he warned. “The world is easily toppled on end.”
As if to demonstrate this truth, he reached for my hand, bowed over it, and brushed the backs of my fingers with a kiss that left my skin tingling.
“Good night, my lady.”
I sat there, stunned. He was halfway out the door before I snapped upright.
“Hey, wait a sec—I didn’t give you permission to retire!”
He looked back, those deep, alien eyes reflecting a subtle gleam of humor. “Good night, my lady.”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I collapsed in my chair, emptying my lungs in a heavy sigh.
“And that, Hannah, is why you never underestimate anybody. Even a Simathe.”
It was good advice. And I was about to get a lesson in following it.
A soft knock at my door registered in my sleeping brain, urging me to wake. Groggy, I pushed myself up, blinked a couple times, and croaked sleepily, “What is it?”
“My lady?” A follow-up knock, more urgent this time. “My lady, might I enter?”
Someone wanted to come in, I realized distantly. My brain felt fuzzy, my mouth hot and sticky. I swallowed against the dryness of my tongue.
“Who is it?”
“Elisia, my lady.”
Elisia? What in the world is she wanting at this time of night?
Both her voice and her knocking had been no louder than absolutely necessary for waking me. Did she not want to be overheard?
“Come in,” I called, pushing back the blankets and swinging my legs off the edge of the bed.
“I cannot my lady. Your door is locked.”
“Hang on.”
I got up. Grabbing a light wrap off the chair beside my bed, I slung it around my shoulders to ward off the palace’s nighttime chill.
“Please, my lady, make haste!”
Her whispers were urgent, fast and low. Something was definitely wrong.
“I’m right here,” I said, opening the door.
Not bothering with any niceties or greetings, the Spinner pushed past me into the room, closed the door, and bolted the lock. Next, she pressed
her ear to the solid wood as if listening for something.
“Elisia, what is it? What’s up?” I whispered.
“Shhh!”
She shushed me with a forefinger to the lips, continuing to listen with her ear pressed to the door. I tried listening from where I stood but heard nothing. Did she think she was being followed? Shoving an unruly hank of hair out of my face, I waited impatiently for my friend to let me know what was going on.
Eventually she pushed away from the door, grabbing my hand. “I do not think anyone is about. But to be safe, we’ll talk over here, please,” she said, and drew me down on the edge of the bed.
“Okay, what is it?” I repeated the instant we were settled.
She squeezed my fingers so hard I winced. “My lady, I’ve uncovered a terrible secret.”
I felt my entire body tense. “Go on, I’m listening.”
She drew a deep breath. “You may have noted my absence from Laytrii these past few days.”
“Um, well…” Actually, I’d been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn’t. “Where did you go?”
“To the Valley of Flax, home of the Spinners. In our halls, we have numerous written records of Aerisia’s history. They are called lorlin, and I went home to study them.”
“I thought you wove stories into tapestries,” I interrupted. “I didn’t know you kept written records, too.”
“Aye, we do. Anyway, as I studied the lorlin I discovered something of weighty significance.”
“What was that?”
She frowned, smoothing the skirts on her lap with hurried, nervous strokes. “You know, my lady, that I have distrusted the Adragon since first they arrived. Something about their considerably queer mannerisms prompted a forgotten memory—one which, try as I might, I could not recall to mind. Therefore, I returned to the Valley of Flax, and in a very timeworn, very aged scroll, I found—”
She broke off, surprisingly hesitant to speak it aloud.
“Well, don’t stop now!” I protested. “Go on, what did you find?”
“My lady, I found proof the Adragon are not as they seem. In comparing their actions with the descriptions given in the scrolls, I came to believe they are none other than the Doinum.”
“The Doinum? Never heard of them.”
“Nay, few have.”
She bent closer, her emerald eyes burning with intensity and…fear?
“My friend, the Doinum are adamant servants of The Evil. They are ones who have chosen to serve shadow, even from youth. Not only chosen it, but actively served it, living in the depths of a darkness so remote and so blinding, physically and spiritually, that it is as if they cannot tolerate any form of light. Not even sunlight.”
“Those cloaks and hoods,” I whispered grimly.
Elisia nodded fervently, pleased I was catching on. “Precisely! The lorlin mentioned these as one method by which they shield themselves from light.”
“Did it mention any other characteristics shared by our friends the Adragon?”
“Aye, more still. According to the lorlin, the Doinum typically appear as the most wholesome of persons—true servants of the light, helpful to all, kind, benevolent, and generous. Nevertheless, this is only an appearance utilized to hide their true natures.”
“So they’re basically wolves in sheep’s clothing, pulling the wool over people’s eyes.”
“I am unfamiliar with those expressions, yet I see how they are applicable.”
“Right. So basically they appear all sweetness and light, fool people into thinking they are—and then what? What’s their point?”
“According to the lorlin, they are used by the Dark Powers for many purposes: besmirching of character, undermining authority or status, assassination—”
“Wait, hold on! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
She nodded gloomily. “I fear so. These terrible rumors circulating about you… Doubtless, we’ve no conception yet of the damage already caused by their lies. Truly,” she summed up, “these so-called Adragon must be the Doinum.”
“Everything fits,” I agreed.
“Aye, all things.”
“Elisia.” I grabbed her wrist. “Who else have you told? How long have you been back?”
“Not long, my lady. I have told only one other.”
“Who?” I demanded.
“The High Elder, Lord Elgrend.”
“You told him? Just now?”
“Aye, my lady.” Anxiety furrowed her brow. “Whatever is the matter? The High Elder is trustworthy. Also, I passed his chambers while journeying to yours. Should I not have told him?”
“I don’t know.” Releasing her, I slid off the bed. “Did you see anyone in the halls? Did anyone see you?”
She also rose. “The hour is late. I saw some Ranetron; I saw Master Dilk.”
“Master Dilk? Why the heck would he be up this time of night?”
“He is the Chief Steward,” she reminded me, unconcerned. “His duties in a place this size are many and unending.”
Grabbing her shoulders, I forced her to look at me. “Elisia, think hard. Were Dilk and the Ranetron the only ones who saw you? You’re certain?”
“Why, yes, my lady. Positive.”
I pressed a palm to my forehead. “Okay, I’ve gotta think. What do we do?”
“The Simathe?”
Lowering my hand, I stared at my friend.
“We might inform Lord Ilgard,” she went on. “The Simathe and Ranetron must be informed. I only told you first because I knew you would believe me even if no others did.”
“Okay, you’re right,” I agreed, my mind made up. “The Simathe—we’ll tell Ilgard first. C’mon.”
Springing from the bed, I grabbed her hand and drew her to the door. Once it was unbolted, we lost no time slipping out into the hallway. Together, we flew down the hall. My wrap slipped off, leaving me wearing only a short, knee-length nightdress. My feet were bare and my hair uncombed, but I didn’t once contemplate going back to get dressed.
The Adragon, actually the Doinum. Servants of the Dark Powers. Lord Elgrend knows, and she saw Dilk. She saw Dilk…
Nope. This couldn’t wait. We rushed for Ilgard’s room.
Murder
“Ilgard, open up,” I hissed, keeping my voice low and my knocking quiet. “I know you can hear me in there, so open up this door!”
Trying something I’d never attempted before, I knocked down any barriers checking my stress and let the fear flooding out call to him. I was pretty sure, given the unusual nature of our bond, that he’d feel this, even if he was asleep. I was right. An instant later, his door flew open. I didn’t know if he’d been asleep or not, but he was barefoot like me, and his unbound hair fell messily about his shoulders. I drew immediate comfort from seeing the blade in his hand.
“What is it, my lady?”
I dragged my Spinner friend forward. “Here, Elisia will tell you. I’ve gotta run.”
Whirling, I sped off down the hall, hearing the Simathe’s voice calling after me, demanding I turn myself around and come back, but chose to ignore it. Some inner urge told me to find the High Elder now, and I knew there was no time to spare. As fast as my legs could carry me, I darted through the sleeping palace, speeding toward his chambers. I turned left, dashed down a long hall, and then turned right once more. His room was at the end of this corridor.
All at once, I noticed the unnatural silence. Moonlight dripped from an open window, creating a patch of liquid silver on the floor. Other than this, the hall was dark and murky. Where were the candles, the moonstones? More cautiously, I stole past the window and felt in the wall socket where a candelabra of moonstones ought to be. It was empty, as were the silver sconces on the wall. Someone, surely with foul intentions, had removed all means of light in this short corridor.
This is all wrong.
I pressed my back to the cool marble wall while considering my next move, hardly daring to breathe, knowing my worst fears were materializing
. My heart pounded madly, and my mouth was dry. Not only were the moonstones and candles gone, but so were the guards who should’ve been standing on either side of the High Elder’s double doors.
What do I do now?
Although I listened hard, trying to hear anything that might clue me in on somebody in the vicinity, my human ears weren’t picking up any noises.
Human ears?
I smiled to myself. No longer limited to that.
I was blessed with the power to Become…and in the twinkling of an eye, I was exercising some of the new skills I’d been practicing so hard in private. Basically, this involved opening up my mind to the stream of magic rippling beneath the surface of my consciousness. Whereas before it had gone untouched, unnoticed, and unknown, now—once awakened, once purposefully used—it could no longer be ignored, and I found it easily.
It was pure strength, raw magic, unadulterated power in its truest form, and the trick to using it was learning how much to take and where to direct it. I was getting better at figuring this out and now lightly skimmed the surface, dipping in mental fingers and pulling them out, dripping, wet, and cold. Taking the magic, I painted a picture with those fingertips, a picture of keener senses. Better eyesight, better hearing, better smelling, quicker reflexes. I felt the magic drape over me in a silken cocoon, experienced the heady rush of power as I Became what I sought. Standing my ground, I allowed myself a few seconds to adjust to these changes. Such increased hearing—I listened hard, able to discern a hundred different noises and whispers. Nothing nearby warned of danger.
Using my newfound sight and physical prowess, I glided noiselessly down the hall, encountering nothing alarming. One of the doors to the High Elder’s bedchamber was slightly ajar. Placing a hand on the glossy mahogany, I pushed, entering the room.
I heard no breathing except my own but smelled an odd scent. Tracking its source, I quickly caught sight of the horrid, dark stain on the floor.
Oh no, I plead, even as I advanced forward. Please no.
My bare toes touched something wet, sticky. I jerked my foot aside and saw to my horror an ominous trail of what appeared to be smudged boot prints. From the smell, color, and texture, I knew what the intruder had to have stepped in.
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