Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [113]
Skylan gave a moan and shook his head.
Draya grasped him tighter, whispering fiercely, “You are Torval’s choice for Chief, Skylan. I know it in my heart, and I will prove it. Say nothing to anyone, keep my secret, and we will sail to the sacred Dragon Isles to seek the gods’ forgiveness and their blessing.”
Skylan pictured his shame and humiliation. He could never again look his father in the face. Aylaen would loathe him. He would never be able to marry her. Though he might be able to prove he was innocent of having poisoned Horg, in the eyes of the people, Skylan Ivorson would be the warrior who had tried to cheat the god. His reputation would be destroyed. Men would refuse to follow him into the craphouse, much less let him lead them into battle.
“Vindrash knew what I did,” Draya said to him. “The Dragon Kahg knew what I did, for he is her servant. The Dragon Kahg honored you. He carried you in triumph back to Vindraholm. The dragon disposed of Horg’s body, so that no one would find out.”
Skylan looked at her uncertainly. “Vindrash knows you poisoned Horg?”
“Of course she did,” Draya said eagerly. “Vindrash is my goddess. I tell her everything.”
Skylan was still doubtful. There was something wrong with her words, but he couldn’t think what. His brain was muddled. Garn would know what to do. If there was ever a time Skylan needed his friend’s wise counsel, it was now. And this was the one time he could not seek it.
Skylan roughly shoved Draya away from him. “I will keep your secret,” he said. He placed his hand on the amulet, started to vow to Torval, and then let his hand fall. “Now get out of my sight.”
“We can still be husband and wife,” Draya said in pleading tones.
“I would sooner bed a daemon!” Skylan said harshly.
Draya gave a little whimper. She looked every bit her age and more. Her skin was sallow, cheeks sagging. Her eyes were sunken, her lips bloodless.
“I will keep your secret,” Skylan repeated, “but I will never sleep in your bed. And that will be my secret, one that you will keep.”
Two tears spilled out of Draya’s eyes, rolled down her face, and dropped unheeded onto her bare breasts.
“I want to give you a son,” Draya moaned. She pressed her hand against her belly. “I can give you a son. I know it!”
Skylan regarded her with loathing. “As if I would want a son with your tainted blood in him! Now bring me a blanket, lady, and then go to your bed.”
Draya rose shakily to her feet. She brought him blankets and bedding and arranged them on the floor. Skylan stood in a far corner and watched her. He had a horrible taste in his mouth, and he was parched with thirst, but his stomach recoiled at the thought of drinking or eating anything she had touched. After she made up his bed, Draya gave him a last pleading look. He averted his face and turned away. She went to her room and flung herself on the bridal bed. He could hear her weeping, great choking sobs. Skylan blew out the candles and lay down on the bedding and stared fearfully into the shadows.
Ghosts of murdered men did not rest quietly in their graves. They became walking corpses, known as draugrs, and they returned to haunt those who had been responsible for having cut short the thread of their wyrds. The Dragon Kahg had taken Horg’s body far away, but perhaps he had not taken it far enough. Perhaps Horg would come back to accuse his treacherous wife? Perhaps he would come back to haunt Skylan. . . .
And then the terrible thought occurred to Skylan that perhaps he had more to fear from the living than from the dead. He knew Draya’s guilty secret. He was a danger to her. She had killed one husband. She could easily kill another! How could he live with her, knowing that?
If he hadn’t broken his vow to Torval, he would be back in the feast hall, drinking with his friends, celebrating with Aylaen. His father, Norgaard, would be the one living here. He would be married to this murderess. Skylan groaned aloud.
“You have punished