Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [60]
They left.
Twilight was normally Riltana’s favorite time of the day. The thousands of lights dotting the facing cliffs and twinkling on the floating motes of the magnificent cliff city were a wonder. But she looked inward, and relived the scene of her last interaction with Carmenere. It was a memory she tried not to brood upon constantly. Thinking about other things had proved to be a skill, and one that she’d improved at.
Except with the night’s trip destined to end at Carmenere’s door, that terrible night came crashing back down on her.
She’d been in her loft, enjoying a delicate wine from a renowned cellar somewhere west of the Sea of Fallen Stars. Carmenere stormed in.
When Carmenere was upset, she yelled, her face flushed, and her hands fluttered like birds. Riltana had seen it enough to know the woman’s harsh words were a temporary squall. Carmenere was high-strung, but she was always willing to be mollified by words of contrition and quiet companionship.
That time Carmenere did not come through the door with her arms waving and her face red with emotion. She was pale and quiet, as if drained of all emotion. Her face was expressionless as a cliff face.
Oh shit, thought Riltana.
“How could you?” said Carmenere. Her voice was dull with fatigue.
“How could I what?” said Riltana.
But she knew what. Guilt rose like bad wine in the back of her throat. Carmenere knew. Riltana swallowed and tried to formulate her next words. It was important she get each one of them right—
“How could you trade on our friendship like that?” said Carmenere. “I thought we were …” The woman trailed off. She didn’t scream, she didn’t yell. She just dropped her head in resignation. That tiny movement spoke volumes.
Denials leaped to Riltana’s lips, but she couldn’t force them out. It wouldn’t do any good.
Carmenere had obviously discovered that the painting of the first queen of Akanûl was missing from the foyer of the royal court. She’d apparently assumed that Riltana was the one who’d taken it.
And she was right.
Riltana’s eyes teared up. Carmenere would never forgive her. But she had to try to make it right.
“I can explain!” said Riltana, her voice taut. “I was going to bring it back! I just borrowed it for a fortnight, so we could study the style and get it just right; my friend Threneth and I were going to surprise you …”
Carmenere just stared at her, her expression boring into Riltana like a waterwheel-powered drill bit. The woman said, “You were never my friend. All we had was a charade, and one I was foolish enough to fall for. The very tenday I show you around the royal court, and you steal something. You’ve been using me all this time. It was your plan all along.”
“No, it’s not like that! I didn’t even know who you—”
“I don’t want your excuses, Riltana. I’ve heard them all before. I thought your tiny thefts were exciting; daring. They made you dangerous. I’d never had a friend like that before. More importantly, you seemed to like me for who I was, not who I was related to. I’m such a fool.”
Riltana swallowed again because her words had stopped. She could well imagine how it looked to Carmenere. Anything she said would sound hollow, a made-up pretext. If things had gone as she’d planned, her activities would have culminated in something wonderful.
Of course something had gone wrong, and instead of only spending a night outside the royal court, the famous painting of the first queen had gone missing. That bastard Threneth had run off with it! She’d spent the two previous evenings looking for him in all his favorite haunts.
“Carmenere, please, I was going to bring it right back, you’ve got to believe me! I was going to commission a series of two more pieces, after the style of the first, and I wanted it to be a surprise!”
“Then where is it?” Carmenere’s voice remained dead.
“I … I lost it. But I’m looking, and I’ll get it back. I promise!”
Carmenere’s blank expression never wavered. She said, “I never want to see you again. Don’t contact me. If you