Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [91]
Joram had decided to make Gwendolyn his wife.
4
A Falling Star
The next day was Seventh Day, or Almin’s Day, though few in Merilon ever thought of it in those terms. It was a day of rest and meditation for a few, a day of pleasure and relaxation for many. The Guilds were closed, as were all other shops and services. Prayers were held twice in the morning at the Cathedral, with an early mass at sunrise for the ambitious, and what was laughingly known as the Drunkards Mass at noonday for those who found it difficult to rise after a night of revels.
The family of Lord Samuels, as might be expected, was up with the dawn — which the Sif-Hanar always made particularly ethereal in honor of the day — and off to the Cathedral. Lord Samuels stiffly and perfunctorily invited the young men to come with him. Joram might have been inclined to accept, but an alarmed look from Saryon caused him to decline. Mosiah refused summarily, and Simkin announced himself as being unwell and quite incapable of summoning the strength needed to attire himself properly. Besides, he added with a prodigious yawn, he had to wait for the Emperor’s response. Saryon might have gone with the family, but he said, quite truthfully, that he had not yet had the opportunity of making his presence officially known to his brethren and added, also quite truthfully, that he preferred to spend this day alone. Lord Samuels, with a smile more chilled than the melon, left them to their breakfast.
It was a silent meal; the servants being present hampered conversation. Joram ate without tasting a thing. From the dreamy look in his eye, he was feasting on rosy lips and white skin. Mosiah ate hungrily, now that he was no longer under the laughing eyes of the cousins. Simkin went back to bed.
Saryon ate little and retired from the table quickly. A servant took him to the family chapel, and the catalyst knelt down before the altar. It was a beautiful chapel, small yet elegantly designed. The morning sun streamed in through brilliantly colored windows of shaped glass. The rosewood altar was an exact replica in miniature of the altar in the Cathedral — carved with the symbols of the Nine Mysteries. There were six pews, enough for the family and servants. Thick tapestries carpeted the floor, absorbing all sound — even the song of the birds outside.
It was a room conducive to worship. But Saryon’s thoughts were not on the Almin nor was his mind on the ritual words he was mumblng for the benefit of any servants who might happen past.
How could I have been so blind! he asked himself over and over, clutching the darkstone pendant he wore around his neck, concealed beneath his robes. How could Prince Garald have been so blind? I saw the danger we faced, certainly. But what I saw as a dark crevice that might be leaped has widened into a gaping, bottomless pit! I saw the danger in the large things but not in the small! And it is the small that will entrap us in the end.
Yesterday, for example, when viewing the wonders of the town, Saryon had seen Gwendolyn on the verge of asking him to grant them all Life that they might float upon the wings of magic — something which, of course, was absolutely impossible for Joram to either do or fake. Fortunately she had said nothing, probably assuming they were tired from their journey. Today they had been fortunate as well; catalysts were given the Almin’s Day to meditate and study, and so were not expected to provide Life for the family except in great need.
Everyone walked to the Cathedral, therefore — a feat that was quite a novelty for the residents of Merilon, who wore special shoes — known sacrilegiously as Almin Shoes — for the day. These took varying forms — depending on the wearer’s wealth and class — from silken slippers to more elaborate shoes of crystal, shoes of gold encrusted with jewels, or shoes molded from jewels themselves. It was quite the fashion,