Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [177]
“I will, my lady, and gladly.”
After a cold wash and a change of clothes, she felt nearly alive again, but she lingered in her chamber. She was tempted to leave Cengarn, to step through a gate into Evandar’s country and leave the wounded and dying, the stinking streets and the ravaged countryside all far behind her. Yet if she left, what would happen to Carra and the baby? The raven mazrak still flew free, as far as anyone knew. Was she still a threat?
“Evandar, Evandar,” she said aloud. “I miss you.”
“And you’re never far from my thoughts, either, my love.”
All at once he appeared, leaning comfortably against the wall near the window. He was dressed in his green tunic and leather trousers, and he had a red rose tucked behind one ear. When she ran to him, he threw his arms round her, but he felt barely substantial, as if she clung to a creature of glass, all smooth and cold. The rose gave off the richest perfume she’d ever smelled, so Sweet and strong that she knew it had never grown upon the earth.
“It’s been a hellish time,” he remarked. “I’m glad I’ve seen this.”
“What?” She pulled away. “How can you say that?”
“It’s all been very interesting. I never quite understood before when you spoke of death.”
“Oh. I see. Well, there’s been enough of that and more to come, truly.”
“True.” Evandar held her close, stroking her hair. “It aches your heart so badly, my love. I wish you could find some comfort for it.”
“You’re comfort enough, but I know you can’t stay here long.”
“Won’t you come away with me, back to our country, just for a little while?”
“How long will your little while be as Cengarn measures Time? Days? Years?”
Evandar smiled with a rueful twist of his cherry-colored mouth.
“Well, so it might be if we grew distracted and lingered. Very well. I’ve things I must attend to, but you’ll see me again soon. But here, I’ve no objection to Rhodry, you know, none at all.”
With that he vanished, leaving the cool touch of his hands on hers like a scent. Dallandra raised her hands to her face to drink it in, then wept. She would just manage to force the tears under control when some image or memory would rise of the slaughter behind her—a wounded man dying even as she tried to staunch his wounds, the heap of corpses thrown outside the dun gates to wait for burial, the look on a man’s face when she told him his friend would lose a leg—and she would weep again. She rose from the chair, paced across the room, sobbing in frustration as much as grief, strode back and forth, until she heard someone walk up to the doorway and spun round, hoping for Evandar, finding Rhodry instead, clean and shaven and wearing a new linen shirt with Cengarn’s blazon upon it.
“You’ve not come out to the feasting,” he said. “Here, what’s so wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” She found herself screaming at him. “What do you mean? So many men dead and dying, and you ask me what’s wrong? Ye gods! How death-besotted are you people?”
In three quick strides, he crossed the room. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her close.
“Hush, hush,” he whispered. “You’re so weary you’re half-mad, Dalla.”
She looked up into his eyes and felt her rage leave her.
“Maybe so.” She twisted away from him. “I do know I can’t bear the feasting. I just can’t.”
“The worst is over. The bard’s done all his declamations, the gwerbrets have had their speeches, and the real drinking’s started.”
At that she managed to smile, but mostly because he wanted her to. It would be very easy, she realized, to fall into his arms and bed at that moment, just for the comfort of it, especially when she remembered Evandar’s odd little remark. Irritably, she turned and walked a few steps away. The room was growing dim with twilight. On her little table stood a pair of candles, stuck to a piece of broken plate with drops of wax. She waved her hand and lit them in a flare light and a dance of long shadows.
“Do you want me to go away?” Rhodry said.
“Do you want to stay?”
He shrugged and went to sit on the windowsill, perching there much as Jill had always done. She could