Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [188]
Wulfe was panic-stricken until he realized Aylaen was sitting on the floor with a blanket wrapped around her. She was not asleep. Her shadowed eyes stared at him.
“Wulfe?” she whispered, her voice muffled as though she had been crying. “What do you want? Skylan’s not here. He left.”
“Garn is here,” Wulfe whispered back. “He’s outside. He wants to talk to you.”
Treia stirred in her sleep, muttering something. Aylaen clasped hold of Wulfe’s wrist. Her fingers were cold and smooth, like he imagined the fingers of the draugr. He didn’t like her touch, and he squirmed out of it. Treia settled back down. Aylaen gave a wistful sigh.
“Is he very angry with me?” she asked.
Wulfe shrugged. He had no way of knowing, nor did he particularly care.
“Tell him . . . No.” Aylaen abruptly threw off the blanket and stood up. “I’ll tell him.”
She walked almost as softly as Wulfe. The two slipped out the door. Wulfe pointed to where Garn waited amidst the trees.
“Thank you,” said Aylaen, and she added sharply, “You can run along now.”
Wulfe trotted away obediently. When he’d gone a short distance, he turned around and doubled back, placing himself where he could see and hear.
“Skylan was wrong when he asked you to undergo the ritual, Aylaen,” Garn was saying. “He knows that now. He made a mistake. You don’t have to do this for him—”
“For him?” Aylaen repeated, amazed. She ran her hand over her shorn head. “I didn’t do this for Skylan!”
“For the goddess then—,” Garn said.
“I didn’t do this for Vindrash, either,” Aylaen said softly. She gazed at him. “Are you so blind? Don’t you really know why I did it?”
Garn shook his head.
“For us!” Aylaen whispered, and she twined her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him.
Garn took hold of her arms, pushed her away. He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
“I did this so we could be together,” Aylaen explained. “Skylan didn’t tell me to do this! He told me the story of Griselda, and that put the idea into my head.”
“You lied to Treia, to the Kai,” said Garn. “You said the goddess wanted you to do this!”
“It may have been Vindrash who put the idea into my head,” Aylaen said defensively, unknowingly echoing Skylan’s claim about Torval. “Who knows? Are you mad at me? I thought you would be pleased!”
“For what? That you could be killed—”
“And so could you! And if you died, I would die, for I could not live without you!”
“This is wrong,” said Garn. “You can’t go through with this, Aylaen. You’re as bad as Skylan. Putting your own selfish wants first. How can I stand in the shield-wall and think of what I have to do to stay alive if I’m worried about you? I’ve been furious at Skylan, Aylaen. I thought this was his idea. I didn’t know it was yours.”
Treia came storming out of the dwelling. The lovers saw no one but each other, and they did not notice her. Wulfe did.
“Garn! Please!” Aylaen was clinging to him. “I did this for us. Because I love you. I never thought—I never meant—What are you going to do? Where are you going?”
“You have to tell your sister the truth,” Garn said, trying to free himself.
“It is too late for that,” said Treia.
The lovers sprang apart and turned guiltily to face her.
“She cannot tell the truth,” Treia continued. “Not now. If the Kai found out my sister made all this up just so she could sleep with you, the Kai would think I was a willing participant in her lie. That would ruin my chances to become Kai Priestess. I will not let that happen.”
“You can’t stop me from telling them—,” Garn began.
“Oh, yes, I can,” said Treia calmly. “She inherits land from her father on the day she is married. I will tell Sigurd that you seduced Aylaen to force her into marriage because you wanted her wealth.”
“Sigurd would kill him!” Aylaen gasped.
“Very probably,” said Treia. She stood with her arms folded tightly across her breasts. “Aylaen, come back inside. We must rise early in the morning.”
Garn looked grim. His fists clenched. He gazed at Aylaen, then turned and walked off into the darkness.
“Garn!” Aylaen cried. “Please . . . I’m sorry.