Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [96]
I loved her. My love for her flowed out of me to her as the Life had flowed out of me to Mosiah.
I had loved her since we were children together and I would go on loving her, no matter what happened, until the day came when I would present that love as a gift to the Almin and reside forever in His blessedness.
The images of our past, our youth, and our present were still confused—I remembered her as a newborn child, I remembered an undercurrent of fear throughout my childhood. I remembered years spent in study at the Font, holiday time spent in my home with the one who was my foster sister, and so much more. I remembered leaving a sassy, willful child and returning to find a beautiful, spirited woman. But who had raised us? Where had we lived? That was hidden from me.
“Your safety was my only concern,” I signed.
“You understand that there could be no other way,” she returned. “That this was something I had to do, being my father’s heir.” She regarded me intently, awaiting my answer.
“I understand,” I signed. “I understood then. I only said those things to provoke you. It worked. I thought you’d take a swing at me again, like in the old days.”
I was hoping to make her laugh. My mischievous delight as a child, I am sorry to say, had been to tease her until she lost her temper and struck at me with her small fists. Though I always protested that I was the innocent victim, I was not believed and we were both sent to bed without our suppers on those occasions.
She did not laugh, though she smiled at the memory. Impulsively, she reached out, took hold of my hand, and whispered, “Like in the old days, Reuven, I can count on you and you alone to brush away the glittering faerie dust the rest would scatter over my duties. You alone show me the ugly reality beneath. You force me to look at the ugliness and then to see beyond it, to hope. Admit it”—her eyes gleamed with a hint of triumph— “if I had refused to come, you would have been disappointed in me.”
“I would have thought that for once in your life you had made a sensible and rational decision,” I signed, attempting to look stern. “As it is, my only disappointment would have been if you had not permitted me to come with you.”
“And how could I leave you behind?” she asked, smiling and mocking me. Forgetting herself, she spoke out loud. “I’d have to hear you whine about it for days. ‘Eliza got to go and I didn’t!’ “ she concluded in a childish voice, talking through her nose.
“Hush!” said Scylla, turning. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. It’s just that—”
“We’re not on a picnic, Your Majesty,” Mosiah said dourly, gliding up to stand beside us.
“You are right, both of you,” Eliza murmured, her cheeks flushed. “It won’t happen again.”
“We are very near the meeting place,” Scylla said. “Enforcer?”
The oak trees had creaked and rattled their limbs as we walked along and I guessed that they must be continuing to provide Mosiah with information.
“Father Saryon is in the clearing and he is alone. He has, however, heard our approach and is more than a little unnerved. I suggest we ease his fears.”
“I will go forth into the glade,” said Scylla. “You remain here with Her Majesty.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Eliza, losing patience. “We’ll all go together. If it is a trap, we’ve already walked into it. Come, Reuven.”
Emerging into a glade, we came upon an elderly priest, who had been looking nervously to his right and left previous to our appearance.
At the sight of us, he breathed a gentle sigh. He smiled and extended his hands, one to either of us.
“My children,” Saryon said in heartfelt tones.
My eyes blurred with tears. I knew then the man who had been father to Eliza and to me, the man who had taken two orphans into his home and into his heart.
No wonder I had felt the love of a son for a father in that other life. Such love knows no bounds, would stretch across the gulf of time.
He gave me his hand and looked with pleasure and pride upon my white robes with their red trim. The white marked me a house catalyst, one who is in the employ of some noble family.