Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [130]
“Suppose I said yes?” she asked in a cold voice, her eyes on the glass in her hand. “What could you give me in return for what I would lose?”
Tanis drew a deep breath. “The commander of your forces is dead,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I know. Tas told me he killed him. I’ll take his place.”
“You’d serve under … in the dragonarmies?” Kit’s eyes widened in genuine astonishment.
“Yes.” Tanis gritted his teeth. His voice was bitter. “We’ve lost anyway. I’ve seen your floating citadels. We can’t win, even if the good dragons stayed. And they won’t—the people will send them back. The people never trusted them anyway, not really. I care for only one thing—let Laurana go free, unharmed.”
“I truly believe you would do this,” Kitiara said softly, marveling. For long moments she stared at him. “I’ll have to consider …”
Then, as if arguing with herself, she shook her head. Putting the glass to her lips, she swallowed the wine, set the glass down, and rose to her feet.
“I’ll consider,” she repeated. “But now I must leave you, Tanis. There is a meeting of the Dragon Highlords tonight. They have come from all over Ansalon to attend. You are right, of course. You have lost the war. Tonight we make plans to clench the fist of iron. You will attend me. I will present you to Her Dark Majesty.”
“And Laurana?” Tanis persisted.
“I said I would consider it!” A dark line marred the smooth skin between Kitiara’s feathery eyebrows. Her voice was sharp. “Ceremonial armor will be brought to you. Be dressed and ready to accompany me within the hour.” She started to go, then turned to face Tanis once more. “My decision may depend on how you conduct yourself this evening,” she said softly. “Remember, Half-Elven, from this moment you serve me!”
The brown eyes glittered clear and cold as they held Tanis in their thrall. Slowly he felt the will of this woman press upon him until it was like a strong hand forcing him down onto the polished marble floor. The might of the dragonarmies was behind her, the shadow of the Dark Queen hovered around her, imbuing her with a power Tanis had noticed before.
Suddenly Tanis felt the great distance between them. She was supremely, superbly human. For only the humans were endowed with the lust for power so strong that the raw passion of their nature could be easily corrupted. The humans’ brief lives were as flames that could burn with a pure light like Goldmoon’s candle, like Sturm’s shattered sun. Or the flame could destroy, a searing fire that consumed all in its path. He had warmed his cold, sluggish elven blood by that fire; he had nurtured the flame in his heart. Now he saw himself as he would become—as he had seen the bodies of those who died in the flames of Tarsis—a mass of charred flesh, the heart black and still.
It was his due, the price he must pay. He would lay his soul upon this woman’s altar as another might lay a handful of silver upon a pillow. He owed Laurana that much. She had suffered enough because of him. His death would not free her but his life might.
Slowly, Tanis placed his hand over his heart and bowed.
“My lord,” he said.
Kitiara walked into her private chamber, her mind in a turmoil. She felt her blood pulse through her veins. Excitement, desire, the glorious elation of victory made her more drunk than the wine. Yet beneath was a nagging doubt, all the more irritating because it turned the elation flat and stale. Angrily she tried to banish it from her mind, but it was brought sharply into focus as she opened the door to her room.
The servants had not expected her so soon. The torches had not been lit; the fire was laid, but not burning. Irritably she reached for the bell rope that would send them scurrying in to be berated for their laxness, when suddenly a cold and fleshless hand closed over her wrist.
The touch of that hand sent a burning sensation of cold through her bones and blood until it nearly froze her heart. Kitiara gasped with the pain and started to pull free, but the hand held her fast.