The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [41]
He didn’t know.
But he nodded when she opened her eyes. “Very well,” he sighed. “I shall do as you ask.”
Even as he said it, he felt something turn in him and knew that he had never agreed to anything in his life that felt more wrong.
CHAPTER NINE
ZEMLÉ’S TALE
STEPHEN WOKE paralyzed, a shriek of terror fused in his throat. Invisible things crawled in the darkness, and just at the corner of his vision a hard red light sparked. He couldn’t look at it because he knew that whatever it was was so terrible that his heart would stop from the sheer horror of it.
He felt tears start in his eyes as he tried again to scream but could not.
Then, abruptly, the light vanished, and his whole body seized. He flailed his arms at the dark things, and finally the shriek tore from his throat.
Something grappled at his arms, and he sobbed another low howl, striking frantically at his attacker.
“Stephen! Stephen!”
At first he couldn’t identify the voice, but he was suddenly free of groping fingers.
“Why?” he heard himself shout.
“Stephen, it’s a Black Mary. Do you understand? It’s me, Zemlé. It’s me.”
“Zemlé?”
“It’s me, meldhe,” she said more softly, using her lover’s name for him. “It’s only me. You were thrashing in your sleep.”
“Where are we?”
“In our bed,” she said. “Wait, let me kindle the lamp.”
A moment later, features appeared and the darkness backed into the distance.
But it wasn’t Zemlé’s face.
When he woke again, every lamp and candle in the room was glowing. Zemlé sat across the bed from him, looking concerned.
“What?” he murmured.
“Well, at least you didn’t scream at me this time,” she said.
“It wasn’t you,” he tried to explain.
“Black Mary follow you back, then?”
Stephen nodded without understanding. Zemlé offered him a cup of something that smelled minty.
“Saint Weylan’s root and siftras,” she explained. “That will chase off the Mary.”
He nodded and took a sip. “There’s something wrong with me,” he murmured.
“Everyone has bad dreams.”
He shook his head. “Do you remember what I saw in the scriftorium in Demsted? The face in the flame?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“And the thing that passed through our room a few months ago?”
Her brow crinkled. “Meldhe, that might have been a dream, too,” she said softly.
“I wrote something in someone else’s hand,” he said, knowing it sounded quite mad. “It was a warning against that thing, I think, against something evil come into the mountain.”
“Who do you think was warning you?”
“Kauron,” he said. “I think he’s helped me before, on the way here. Maybe before that. And these Black Marys—I’ve had those before, too.
“I know,” she said. “More and more often. Almost every night now. But not usually so violent.”
He nodded and took another sip of the tea, then noticed something.
“What happened to the side of your face?” he asked.
She turned away, but it was too late to hide the red mark that by the morning would be starting to purple.
“I did that?” he asked.
“You did not mean to.”
“That’s no excuse!” he cried. “Saints, Zemlé, I’ve hurt you.”
“You were in a terror. You didn’t know me.”
“That’s…“ He reached forward, “I’m so sorry,” he said.
He was afraid she would flinch, but she let him touch her face.
“I know,” she said. “Believe me, if I thought you did it on purpose, you would know it.” She touched his arm lightly as she said it. “Now, tell me more. About today.”
“I found the journal.”
“The journal. Virgenya Dare’s journal?” Her voice pitched up.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the shelves, like any other book. I thought it would be hidden away in a secret compartment, but I just happened upon it.”
“That was lucky.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think it was luck. I think I was led to it. I started reading it, and when I stopped, I found that I had been writing.”
“And that was a warning about something come into the mountain.”
“Yes. And not to tell anyone about finding the journal.”
“Which you just did,” she pointed out.
“Well, yes. But if I can’t trust you…”
The remainder of the thought cloyed before it reached his tongue.
“What?” she