The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [95]
“You have forgotten me,” she whispered. It was her voice, but brittle and somehow distant, though she spoke in his ear.
“I have not,” he said. “My love, I have not.”
“Have. Will. It is the same.”
The light was stronger. He grasped her hand and pulled, determined that now, at least, he should see her.
“Do not,” she said. But it was too late. When he saw her, he screamed, and could not stop screaming.
He was still screaming when yellow light struck, and a face before him appeared as if in a sunrise. It was a woman’s face, but it was not Fastia.
At first he saw only her paradoxical eyes. They were so dark a blue that her pupils were lost. She seemed both blind and capable of seeing to the heart of anything. There was a nearly unbearable sadness there, and at the same time an uncontainable excitement. They were the eyes of a newborn and of a tired old woman.
“Be calm,” she said. Her voice had a faint husk to it. She was holding his arm, but suddenly she let go and stepped away from him, as if he had done something to make her fearful. Her eyes became shadows beneath her brows, and now he saw her face was strong, with high, broad cheekbones carved of ivory and hair like spider silk, cut very short, just beneath her ears. She glowed like a brand in the light of the lantern she held in one pale hand, but her gown was of black or some other dark color, and seemed not to be there at all.
Confusion gripped him. He was in a bed, and dry. It was air in his lungs, not brine, but he was still in the belly of the sea, for he could feel it all around him and hear the creak of timbers. He darted his gaze about the bulkheads of dark lacquered wood and understood that he was in a ship’s cabin.
“Be calm,” the woman repeated. “You are alive, if not entirely well. You only dream of death.” Her free hand went to her throat and fingered a small amulet there.
He knew he was alive. His heart was thundering, his head ached, and his side felt as if it had been split open.
Which, if he remembered correctly, it had.
“Who are you?” he managed.
The question seemed to perplex her for a moment.
“Call me Swanmay,” she said at last.
“Where—?” He tried to sit up, but something in his head whirled, and the pain in his side became overwhelming agony. He swallowed a howl so that it came out only as a grunt.
“Be still,” Swanmay said, starting forward, then stopping again. “You’ve had many injuries. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes,” Neil murmured, closing his eyes, trying to keep his stomach from heaving. “Yes, I remember.” He remembered her now, as well. This was the face he’d seen on the docks, the woman peering from the strange ship.
Which ship he was now likely on.
“We’re at sea,” he said. His thoughts were unschooled boys refusing to be brought to task. Fastia’s dead touch still lingered on his shoulder.
“Yes,” she said. “We put to sea two days ago.”
“Two days ago?”
“Yes. You’ve been unconscious that whole time. I was starting to fear you would not wake.”
Neil tried to think. Two days. What had happened to Anne?
Swanmay moved nearer again. “Do not think to harm me,” she said. “If I call, my men will come in and kill you.”
“I have no reason to harm you, lady,” he said. “Or none that I know of. And I would not even if I knew a reason.”
“That’s very sensible,” she said. “But in your sleep you made most violent sounds and motions. You fought whole battles, I think. Do you remember those dreams?”
“Nothing of battle,” Neil said.
“A pity. I’m sure your dreams would be interesting.” She paused. “I’m going to trust you. I’m going to sit here a moment, for I’m sure you have questions. I know if I awoke in a strange place, to a strange person, I would. I would be terrified.”
She sat down on a small stool.
“I’ll tell you this first,” she said, “in case you’re afraid to ask. The people you were fighting for—the people you were protecting—they escaped.”
Neil sighed, and felt something in him relax a bit.
“You were right,” he said. “I was afraid to ask that.”
She smiled tentatively. “They cast off safely.