The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [175]
“I haven’t,” Osne said. “Word came to me that you might pass this way. Do you think it coincidence that my husband found you?” She placed her hands on the table, palms up. “Sister Ivexa,” she said softly. “One sister of the coven Saint Cer did not die in the attack, and the coven has many graduates and allies across the land. Word has spread quickly both of your plight and of your pursuers.”
Anne felt as if all she had to walk upon was a sword’s edge beneath her feet. The simple thought that someone actually knew who she was and wanted to help her instead of kill her was nearly too much to accept. It ran hard up against the fact that this could just be another betrayal in fair disguise.
She was far too tired to parse out which was more likely.
“If you wanted me dead, you could have had that,” Anne said.
“I do not wish any harm to you, Anne,” Osne assured her.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to easily trust words like that.” She placed one hand flat on the table, feeling the solidity of the wood. “Who survived the massacre?” she asked.
“You did not know her as a sister,” Osne said, “and in some ways she is not, but more.”
Anne knew then, without thinking, as if she had always known. “The countess Orchaevia.”
Osne nodded. “Unfortunately, you fled her estates before she was aware of what was happening. But now you are among friends again.”
“What do you want from me?” Anne asked warily.
Osne reached across the table and took her hand. “Only to help you return to Eslen and your destiny.”
Anne felt the callused hand in hers, as substantial and real as the table.
“You—you are a sister of the coven, Osne?”
“I attended,” the older woman said. “I did not take my vows, but still when they call, I will answer. I would not risk all for the coven Saint Cer—not my life, or the life of my husband and sons—but I will risk them for you, Anne Dare. I have seen. The Faiths have sent me dreams.”
“The Faiths!” Anne exclaimed. “You know of them? Who are they?”
“Some claim they are merely very powerful seers, others say they are as old as the world, goddesses of fate. Even the sisters of the coven argued over their nature. I think the truth lies somewhere between, myself. What cannot be denied is their wisdom. Whether they are centuries old or eons old, they have seen more of this world than we, and they know much more of its future.” She paused. “You have seen them, spoken to them?”
“Three of them,” Anne said.
Osne sighed. “I have never been so blessed as to be called. I have heard their voices in my dreams, caught glimpses of what they see, that is all. You are a lucky young woman.”
“I don’t feel lucky,” Anne said. “I feel trapped.”
“We are all trapped,” Osne said, “if that’s how you want to think of it.”
“Is there another way?” Anne asked.
“Yes,” Osne said. “We are all vital. Each of us may be just a thread, but without the threads, there is no tapestry.”
“Then how can one thread be more important than the others?”
“Some threads are warp and some are weft,” Osne said. “The warp must be there to weave the other threads through. The warp must be there first.”
“You’re as bad as the Faiths.” Anne sighed.
Osne smiled and gripped her hand more tightly. “They’ve told you what you must do, haven’t they? And given you at least some hint of why.”
Anne conceded that with a nod. “It’s not that I’m fighting it,” she said. “I’ve been trying to return to Eslen.”
“And now you shall,” Osne vowed. “My husband and sons will take you across the river and past your enemies in town. They will escort you to Eslen.”
“I can’t go straight home,” Anne told her. “Not yet.”
“But you just said that was your goal,” Osne said.
“The two men who rescued me at the coven, and have been protecting me since, were captured by the horsemen. I have to rescue them first.”
Osne’s brow bunched in worry. “I’m sorry about your friends,” she said, “but they aren’t your first duty.”
“Maybe not,” Anne said, “but I won’t leave them to die. I have to do