The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [8]
Then someone stood behind him, and a hand fell on his shoulder. “Do not turn,” a feminine voice whispered.
“Fastia?”
But now he saw her face instead of his mirrored in the wine. He smelled her lavender fragrance.
“I was called that, wasn’t I?” Fastia said. “And you were my love.”
He tried to face her then, but the hand tightened on his shoulder.
“Do not,” she said. “Do not look at me.”
His hand trembled the wineglass, but the image of her in it remained untroubled. She smiled faintly, but her eyes were lamps burning sadness.
“I wish . . . ,” he began, but could not finish.
“Yes,” she said. “So do I. But it could not have been, you know. We were foolish.”
“And I let you die.”
“I don’t remember that. I remember you holding me in your arms. Cradled, like a child. I was happy. That is all I remember, and soon I will not even remember that. But it is enough. It is almost enough.” Fingers traced chills on the back of his neck. “I must know if you loved me,” she whispered.
“I have never loved anyone as I loved you,” Neil said. “I shall never love another.”
“You will,” she said softly. “You must. But do not forget me, for I will forget myself, in time.”
“I would never,” he said, vaguely aware that tears were coursing down his face. A drop fell into the wine, and the shade of Fastia gasped. “That is cold,” she said. “Your tears are cold, Sir Neil.”
“I am sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for everything, milady. I cannot sleep—”
“Hush, love. Quiet, and let me tell you something while I still remember. It’s about Anne.”
“The queen is here, asking about Anne.”
“I know. She speaks to Erren. But there is this, Sir Neil, a thing I have been told. Anne is important. More important than my mother or my brother—or any other. She must not die, or all is lost.”
“All?”
“The age of Everon is ending,” she said. “Ancient evils and fresh curses speed it. My mother broke the law of death, did you know?”
“The law of death?”
“It is broken,” she affirmed.
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I, but it is whispered in the halls of bone. The world is now in motion, rushing toward its end. All who live stand at the edge of night, and if they pass, none shall follow them. No children, no generations to come. Someone is standing there, watching them pass, laughing. Man or woman I do not know, but there is little chance they can be stopped. There is only the smallest opportunity to set things right. But without Anne, even that possibility does not exist.”
“Without you, I do not care. I do not care if the world goes into oblivion.”
The hand came onto his shoulder and stroked across the back of his neck. “You must,” she said. “Think of the generations unborn and think of them as our children, the children we could never have. Think of them as the offspring of our love. Live for them as you would for me.”
“Fastia—” He turned then, unable to bear it any longer, but there was nothing there, and the touch on his shoulder was gone, leaving only a fading tingle.
The queen was still staring at her wine, whispering.
“I miss you, Erren,” she said. “You were my strong right hand, my sister, my friend. Enemies surround me. I don’t have the strength for it.”
“There is no end to your strength,” Erren replied. “You will do what must be done.”
“But what you showed me. The blood. How can I do that?”
“You will make seas of blood in the end,” Erren said. “But it is necessary. You must.”
“I cannot. They would never allow it.”
“When the time comes, they cannot stop you. Now hush, Muriele, and bid me peace, for I must go.”
“Do not. I need you, especially now.”
“Then I’ve failed you twice. I must go.”
And the queen, who these past months might have been forged of steel, put her head down and wept. Neil stood by, his heart savaged by Fastia’s touch, his mind burning with her words.
He wished for the simplicity of battle, where failure meant death rather than torment.
Outside, the sounds of the storm grew stronger as the dead returned to their sleep.
Sleep never came, but morning did. By the sun’s first light the storm was