Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [99]
“All I know is you took my brother’s life and made him one of your slaves—”
“Not my slave!” Mina cried with unexpected vehemence. She glanced around guiltily, as though fearing someone might be listening. “He is not my slave. None of them are my slaves. They are followers of my lord Chemosh. Stop that blubbering, kender! What’s wrong with you? You were sniveling like that the last time I saw you!”
She rounded on Nightshade, who crouched on the floor, his eyes brimming with tears that trickled down his cheeks. He was trying to be quiet. His lips were clamped shut, but every so often a whimper would escape him.
“I can’t help it, ma’am.” Nightshade wiped his sleeve across his nose. “It’s so sad.”
“What’s so sad? If you don’t quit that, I will give you something to cry about.”
“You already have,” said Nightshade. “It’s you. You’re so sad.”
Mina laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! I am not sad. I have everything I want. I have my lord’s love and trust, and I have power …”
She fell silent. Her laughter died away, and she clutched the shawl more closely around her. The air in the grotto was chill, after being out in the warmth of the sunshine. “I am not sad.”
“I don’t mean you are sad,” Nightshade faltered. He glanced at Rhys, seeking his help.
Rhys had none to give. He had no idea what the kender was talking about.
“When I look at you, I feel sad.”
“You should,” Mina said ominously. She turned back to Rhys. “Tell me, monk. Tell me the answer to the riddle.”
“What is the riddle, Mistress?” Rhys asked wearily.
Mina thought back. “The dragon seemed surprised to see me. She was not angry or furious. She was surprised. She said, ‘Who are you? Where did you come from?’ ”
Mina knelt down in front of Rhys to meet him at eye level. “That is the riddle. I cannot answer it, but you can. You know who I am.”
Rhys tried his best to explain. “Mistress, the dragon asked you the eternal riddle—the riddle all mankind asks and which none can answer. ‘Who am I? Where do I come from?’ We strive throughout our lives to understand—”
Mina’s gaze grew abstracted. She stared at him, but she did not see him. She was seeing the dragon.
“No,” she said softly. “That is not right. That is not how she said it. The inflection is wrong.”
“Inflection?” Rhys shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Mistress.”
“The dragon did not say, ‘Who are you?’ The dragon said, ‘Who are you? Where did you come from?’ ”
Mina’s amber eyes focused again on him. “Do you hear the difference?”
Rhys shrugged. “I don’t know the answer. It is the dragon to whom you should be talking, not to me.”
“The dragon grew angry. She thought I mocked her, and she would have nothing more to do with me. I truly do not know what she meant, but you do, and you will tell me.”
Mina caught hold of his chin and slammed his head against the jagged stone wall. The blow sent splinters of fiery pain through his skull. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he was afraid he would pass out. He tasted blood in his mouth from biting the inside of his cheek. His head throbbed.
“I cannot tell you what I do not know,” Rhys said, spitting out blood.
“Will not tell me, you mean.”
Mina glared at him. “I have heard you monks are trained to withstand pain, but that’s only when you are alive.”
She leaned over him, put her hands on the stone floor on either side of him. Her amber eyes, up close, seemed to swallow him. “One of the Beloved would tell me whatever I wanted him to tell me. The Beloved would not lie to me. You could taste Mina’s kiss, monk.”
Her lips brushed his cheek.
Rhys’s stomach clenched. His heart shriveled. He thought of Lleu, a monster burning with pain who could find ease only in murder.
Rhys drew in a breath and said, as calmly as he could manage, “I must swear an oath to Chemosh, and that I will never do.”
Mina smiled in disdain. “Do not pretend to be so righteous, monk. You are sworn to Zeboim. She told me as much. If I ask her, she will sell your soul to Chemosh—”
“I am sworn to Majere,