Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [33]
Alhana looked up into Sturm’s grieved face and saw etched there pride, nobility, strict inflexible discipline, constant striving for perfection—perfection unattainable. And thus the deep sorrow in his eyes. Alhana felt herself drawn to this man, this human. Yielding to his strength, comforted by his presence, she felt a sweet, searing warmth steal over her, and suddenly she realized she was in more danger from this fire than from the fire of a thousand dragons.
“We’d better go,” Sturm whispered gently, but to his amazement Alhana pushed herself away from him.
“Here we part,” she said, her voice cold as the night wind. “I must return to my lodging. Thank you for escorting me.”
“What?” Sturm said. “Go by yourself? That’s madness.” He reached out and gripped her arm. “I cannot allow—” The wrong thing to do, he realized, feeling her stiffen. She did not move but simply stared at him imperiously until he released her.
“I have friends of my own,” she said, “as you do. Your loyalty is to them. My loyalty is to mine. We must go our separate ways.” Her voice faltered at the look of intense pain on Sturm’s face, still wet with tears. For a moment Alhana could not bear it and wondered if she would have the strength to continue. Then she thought of her people—depending on her. She found the strength. “I thank you for your kindness and your help, but now I must go, while the streets are empty.”
Sturm stared at her, hurt and puzzled. Then his face hardened. “I was happy to be of service, Lady Alhana. But you are still in danger. Allow me to take you to your lodgings, then I will trouble you no more.”
“That is quite impossible,” Alhana said, gritting her teeth to keep her jaw set firmly. “My lodgings are not far, and my friends wait for me. We have a way out of the city. Forgive me for not taking you, but I am never certain about trusting humans.”
Sturm’s brown eyes flashed. Alhana, standing close, could feel his body tremble. Once more she nearly lost her resolve.
“I know where you are staying,” she said, swallowing. “The Red Dragon Inn. Perhaps, if I find my friends—we could offer you help—”
“Do not concern yourself.” Sturm’s voice echoed her coldness. “And do not thank me. I did nothing more than my Code required of me. Farewell,” he said, and started to walk away.
Then, remembering, he turned back. Drawing the sparkling diamond pin from his belt, he placed it in Alhana’s hand. “Here,” he said. Looking into her dark eyes, he suddenly saw the pain she tried to hide. His voice softened, though he could not understand. “I am pleased you trusted me with this gem,” he said gently, “even for a few moments.”
The elfmaid stared at the jewel for an instant, then she began to shake. Her eyes lifted to Sturm’s eyes and she saw in them not scorn, as she expected, but compassion. Once more, she wondered at humans. Alhana dropped her head, unable to meet his gaze, and took his hand in hers. Then she laid the jewel in his palm and closed his fingers over it.
“Keep this,” she said softly. “When you look at it, think of Alhana Starbreeze and know that, somewhere, she thinks of you.”
Sudden tears flooded the knight’s eyes. He bowed his head, unable to speak. Then, kissing the gem, he placed it carefully back into his belt and he reached out his hands, but Alhana drew back into the doorway, her pale face averted.
“Please go,” she said. Sturm stood for a moment, irresolute, but he could not—in honor—refuse to obey her request. The knight turned and plunged back into the nightmarish street. Alhana watched him from the doorway for a moment, a protective shell hardening around her. “Forgive me, Sturm,” she whispered to herself. Then she stopped. “No, do not forgive