Armageddon's Children - Terry Brooks [144]
When they were well into the trees, she wheeled back angrily and poked him in the chest. “What happens between my father and me isn’t any business of yours, cousin.” She emphasized the word. “You have no right to question me about him.”
Kirisin held his ground. “I do when he lies to me. Or when you lie. Like you just did again back there. I spoke to Biat after I came back from your home.
You never left the gardens. You told your father, all right. But it wasn’t then; it was much earlier. That’s why the Ellcrys asked me why she had been forsaken.
That’s why she said to me that I had to listen to her: because even she—meaning you— hadn’t. She told you everything before she ever spoke to me, and you did nothing about it. Why are you lying to me?”
Her face was hard and angry. “I’m not lying!”
But he could tell by the way she said it that she was. He gave her a pitying look. “You know, when this is all over, Erisha, you’re going to have to live with the consequences. You seem to think nothing will happen to the Ellcrys, but what if it does? What if she dies? You took an oath to care for her, just like the rest of us. How will you justify failing her?”
She shook her head defensively. “I won’t fail her.”
“You already have. So have I. All of us have. We haven’t done a thing to help her! She has begged for our help, pleaded for it, but we’ve ignored her. I don’t know about you, but I can’t live with that. It means something to me to be a Chosen. I accepted that duty, and I won’t neglect it just because you or your father or anyone else decides it’s all right to do so. What’s wrong with you?
Don’t you feel any obligation for her safety? Why are you acting like this?”
Her lips were compressed into a tight line, and she was still shaking her head. She tried to speak and couldn’t.
“Well, you have to do what you think is right,” he continued, stepping close again. “You have to answer to yourself for your choices. But I am going back to your father and demand that he do something. And if that fails, I will go to the High Council and ask them! And if that fails, I will go to anyone who will listen. In fact, I’ll start with Biat and the others. Right after I walk away from here, I’ll go straight to them and tell them what you and your father are doing!”
“You’d better not, Kirisin!” she said with a hiss. “You don’t know what my father would do to you for that!”
“Oh, so now I’m being threatened? I am not like you, Erisha. I am not afraid of your father!”
“I’m not afraid of him, either!” she snapped, tears springing to her eyes.
“You’re scared to death of him,” he said, and realized suddenly that it was true, that for reasons he didn’t understand, she was.
“You . . .!” she started, but couldn’t finish. She had collapsed inside herself, and she lowered her head; her hands came up to hide the tears and distress. “I hate you,” she said softly.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do!” she insisted.
“Tell me the truth,” he pressed.
“You don’t understand anything!” she shouted loud enough that he backed away a step.
“Then why don’t you help me understand? Tell my why everyone is lying to me!”
She threw up her hands, her hair flying everywhere. “I can’t tell you! My father ...” She choked on the words as they left her mouth. “I mean, I ... I can’t!”
“He said you couldn’t tell me, didn’t he?” Kirisin guessed. “Isn’t that right? Admit it.”
She looked at him, defeated. “You won’t give up, will you? You won’t quit asking until you know.” She took a long, slow breath and exhaled. “All right, I’ll tell you. But if you tell anyone else, I’ll say you’re lying.”
It was an empty threat, but there was no reason to point that out. “Just say it, Erisha,” he said.
She compressed her lips, tightening her resolve. “I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t know about the Ellcrys, but my father said I had to.
He said I couldn’t tell anyone.” She wiped at the tears. “He is not just my father; he is the King. What was I supposed to do?”
Kirisin didn’t say anything; he simply waited on her. After a moment, she glanced up, as if to make sure he was still