Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [150]
Leaving Joram alone — for which the young man was grateful — Simkin rose into the air and was immediately absorbed into the crowd. “Do you like it?” His voice floated back to Joram. “I call it Death Warmed Over …”
The hall was growing increasingly hot, the noise level rising. The presentations to the Emperor having ended, the people standing around the throne began to disperse, changing their raiment from mourning to more suitable colors of revelry. Joram leaned against the crystal wall, staring out into the night, wishing desperately he was out in the cool darkness that looked so inviting compared to the glaring light and heat within. He felt a momentary stab of conscience over the catalyst. Simkin’s use of the word “martyrdom” chilled him. The thought of what Saryon might well be suffering because of him made him close his eyes, guilt sliding its thin blade into his soul.
But, after a moment, Joram was able to ignore the pain, covering the wound with bitter salve as he had covered so many in his life, never noticing the ugly scars they left behind. He would make it right for Saryon someday. He would take care of the catalyst for the rest of his life….
“Joram?”
And here was Gwendolyn, looking up at him with the blue eyes that saw the wounds and longed to heal them. Reaching out, he caught hold of both her hands in his and pressed them against his feverish skin, finding another balm in her cool touch.
“Joram, what’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed by the grim, haunted expression on his face.
“Nothing,” he said gently, kissing the hands. “Nothing, now that you are with me.”
Gwendolyn blushed prettily and retrieved her hands, conscious of Lady Rosamund hovering somewhere near. “Joram, Father sent me with a message which I was going to deliver, only Simkin —”
“Yes, yes!” Joram said fiercely. A dark flush stained his face, his eyes devoured her. “What message?”
“He … he wants you to meet him in one of the private rooms,” Gwendolyn faltered, taken aback at the change in the young man. But the next moment, the excitement of her news swept all caution away. “Oh, Joram!” she cried, catching hold of his hands in her own. “The Druidess is with him! The Theldara who attended your mother when you were born!”
5
Child of Stone
Joram walked majestically through the crowd. In his mind, he was a Baron already; the beautiful woman at his side, his wife. Few people paid him any attention, except to wonder perhaps why he and the dainty young girl were walking on the floor like catalysts. But that would change, change soon! Maybe even in an hour or so, Lord Samuels would be walking — yes, walking — at Joram’s side, introducing him as Baron Fitzgerald, hinting to his friends that the Baron was about to become a permanent member of the Samuels family. Then they will take notice of me, Joram thought with grim amusement. There won’t be enough they can do for me.
I’ll find Saryon, he planned, and I’ll make that fat Priest who has used the catalyst to hound me apologize to both of us. Maybe I’ll even see what I can do to have him removed from his office. And then I’ll —
“Joram,” said Gwendolyn, speaking somewhat timidly. The expression on his face was so strange — elated, eager, yet with a grim darkness she could not understand. “We cannot possibly go any farther walking.”
“Why, where are your father and the Druidess?” Joram asked, suddenly realizing he’d lost track of his surroundings.
“On the