Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [16]
Rhys took off the child’s sopping-wet smock, rubbed her dry with the silk cloth, and wrapped her up in it, winding it around her much like the cocoon from which the fabric had been spun. The girl ceased to shiver. Some color came to her pallid cheeks, the blue faded from her lips.
“Thank you, Zeboim,” said Rhys softly.
“You’re not very welcome,” said the Sea Goddess, sharply. “Just make certain you scrub my cloth and put it back when you’ve finished.”
Zeboim entered the grotto quietly, subdued—for her—with a only a moderate breeze stirring the blue-green dress that frothed about her bare feet. She cast a bored glance at the girl on the floor.
“Where did you dredge up the kid?”
“I found her washed up on the shore during the storm,” Rhys replied, watching the goddess closely.
“Who is she?” Zeboim asked, though she didn’t seem to much care.
“I have no idea,” Rhys replied. He paused, then said quietly, “Do you know her, Majesty?”
“Me? No, why should I?”
“No reason, Majesty,” said Rhys, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Nightshade must have been mistaken.
Stepping over the girl, Zeboim came to Rhys and knelt down before him. She reached out with her hand, caressed his cheek.
“My own dear monk!” she said in dulcet tones. “I am so glad to see you safe and sound! I’ve been consumed with worry for you.”
“I thank you for your concern, Majesty,” said Rhys warily. “How may I serve you?”
“Serve me?” Zeboim was dismayed. “No, no. I came merely to inquire about your health. Where is your friend, the … um … dear little kender. And that mutt. Dog. I mean, dog. Sweet dog. Oh, my dear monk, you’re so cold and wet. Let me warm you.”
Zeboim fussed about him. Drying his robes with a touch of her hand, she lit the pile of driftwood with a flick of her finger. All the while, Rhys waited in silence, not fooled by her blandishments. The last he’d seen of the Sea Goddess, she had told him she would watch in glee as Mina put him to death.
“There, isn’t that better?” Zeboim asked solicitously.
“Thank you, Majesty,” Rhys said.
“Is there anything else I can do for you—”
“Perhaps tell me why you’ve come,” Rhys suggested.
Zeboim looked annoyed, then said abruptly, “Oh, very well. If you must know, I’m looking for Mina. It occurred to me she may have come to you, seeing that she found you interesting. I’m sure I don’t know why. I think you’re as dull as dishwater. But Mina couldn’t stop talking about you, and I thought she might be here.”
She glanced about the grotto, and shrugged. “It seems I was mistaken. If you see her, you will let me know. For all the grand times we had together—”
As she started to leave, her gaze fell again on the child wrapped in the altar cloth. Zeboim halted, staring.
The girl lay on her side, curled up in a ball. Her face was hidden by the cloth, but her tangled red braids were clearly visible in the firelight. The goddess looked at the girl, then she looked at Rhys.
Zeboim gasped. Swooping down on the girl, the Sea Goddess grasped hold of the altar cloth and dragged it from the child’s face. Zeboim grasped the girl’s chin and wrenched her face to the firelight. The girl woke with a cry.
“Stop it!” said Rhys sharply, intervening. “You’re hurting her.”
Zeboim laughed wildly. “Hurt her? I couldn’t hurt her if I drove a stake through her heart! Did Majere do this? Does he think he can hide her from me with this stupid disguise—”
“Majesty—” Rhys began.
“Ouch!” Zeboim cried, snatching back her hand. She glared down at the child in shock. “She bit me!”
“Come near me and I’ll bite you again!” the girl cried. “I don’t like you! Go away.”
She wrapped herself more snugly in the altar cloth, curled into a ball, and closed her eyes.