The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [16]
—and a sharp rapping noise fractured the air.
Lirith clamped her mouth shut. In an instant the Weirding vanished, replaced by mundane sight. Gold light spilled through the chamber’s window: dawn.
Again came the sound. Someone was knocking at the door. Lirith threw back the covers and tumbled from the bed. She could think later about what she had witnessed—perhaps she could discuss it with Ivalaine and Tressa—but not now, when she felt so cold and empty.
Lirith staggered to the chamber door and jerked it open. Only when she saw the wide eyes of the guardsman did she realize she still wore only her nightgown of loose gauze. Never had she cared for the craft of illusion, but there were times when it was necessary. Lirith spun a quick thread around herself. The guard shook his head, then his expression relaxed. Lirith knew he now saw her clad in a pretty gown of russet and blue, and that he believed it was what she had been wearing all along. It was easy to make people see what they expected.
“My lady,” the guardsman said, “they are asking for you. Will you come?”
Lirith sagged against the doorframe as if struck a blow. Once again, words spoken long ago sounded afresh in her mind.
They are asking for you, Lisenne, shouting for you. It is you they want to see over all the others. Listen to their voices! Will you not dance for them?
“My lady?”
“Who asks for me?” she managed to croak.
“Did you not see them ride up to the gate? Lord Falken Blackhand and Lady Melindora Nightsilver. They are here, in Ar-tolor.” The young man grinned. “My grandmother used to tell me tales of them when I sat at her knee. But they were just stories, or so I believed. I never thought I would see those two with my own eyes. And it is said you know them, my lady.”
Now the guardsman blushed, evidently embarrassed by his outburst. Lirith absorbed his words. Melia and Falken were in Ar-tolor? It would be good to see the bard and the lady, of course. She had grown fond of them both, despite their unusual natures. But why were they here? Last she knew, they had been journeying in search of their friend—and Melia’s kindred—Tome.
“They are going even now to the great hall to beg hospitality of the queen. Are you coming, my lady?”
“I’ll be there in a moment.” Lirith did not want to meet Lady Melia in an imaginary gown. Something told her the amber-eyed woman would see through any enchantments she might hope to spin.
Lirith shut the door and turned around. Her mind was clearing, like the mist in the morning light. Tricks and illusions, that was all. However, as she reached into the wardrobe for her gown, she could not help glancing again at the corner of the room. This time she saw only empty air.
Minutes later, Lirith stepped into Ar-tolor’s airy great hall. A small group of people stood before the dais on which rested the queen’s throne. Ivalaine was nowhere to be seen.
“There you are!” Aryn said, holding up the hem of her yellow gown as she rushed forward. “We’ve been waiting for you. Where have you been all this time?”
Lirith managed a wry smile. “Getting dressed.”
Ignoring Aryn’s puzzled look, she moved to Falken and Melia, who stood with Durge. Both appeared little changed since the last time she had seen them—although that was to be expected. For Falken had been born in the kingdom of Malachor, which fell centuries ago, and he was over seven hundred years old. And Melia was older yet, a goddess of Tarras who had forsaken her celestial realm to walk the world in a more limited, human form.
Falken was clad in his usual travel-worn garb: fawn tunic, scuffed boots, and a cloak the color of deep water. His silver-shot hair was as shaggy as ever, and his lined mien as wolfish. Melia had traded her blue kirtle for a simple shift the color of moonlight. Otherwise the small, regal woman looked as she always had: her