The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [232]
It was time. If Melia’s plan worked, the Scirathi could begin showing up at the Etherion any moment. Vani took the obsidian artifact from a pouch and set it down in the center of the large balcony. The prism was still askew.
Sareth handed candles and a small sack of herbs to Vani. They were going to work the purification spell. Two minutes, maybe three—that was all Travis had before he went below the city. When Sareth faced the demon, he had lost his best friend as well as his leg. What would Travis lose? Everything, perhaps.
His gaze wandered across the balcony, to a tall, rangy figure. Beltan. The blond knight gazed out over the vast-ness of the Etherion, big hands gripping the stone railing. The knight looked whole and strong. All the same, something seemed to hang over him, dimming his light, and once again Travis wondered what Duratek had done to him.
They were trying to make me into a killer, Beltan had said. I guess they didn’t know I already was one.
Did those words have something to do with the crime Beltan had talked about last night? But whatever the Necromancer said he had done, it had to be a lie. Beltan was good, kind, and brave, not someone who had the power to destroy. Not like Travis.
I’m the monster, Beltan. Not you. I’m the one who’s supposed to destroy Eldh. That’s what the dragon Sfithrisir said. And Grace said the Witches believe it, too.
Travis started to move toward Beltan—
—then hesitated as a soft voice spoke behind him.
“You can see it, can’t you? His shadow.”
Travis turned to stare at Grace. “What?”
She wasn’t looking at him; her eyes were on the big knight. “I first saw it on the journey to Spardis, and then again when I bound our threads together. He has a shadow just like I do. Just like we all do.”
He gave her a questioning look, and she met his gaze.
“This morning, on our way into the city, I used the Touch to look at your thread, Travis. Yours and the threads of the others. Even Melia and Falken. It’s not just me and Beltan. Some are greater, some lesser. But we all carry shadows with us.”
Travis understood. They all had their ghosts that haunted them. He sighed. I love you, Alice.
For a moment he was almost there again, in the silent farmhouse in Illinois where his sister had died. Then his vision cleared, and he saw Grace gazing at him.
“Do you love him?” Grace said.
The question was flat, a doctor asking him if he had noticed any discomfort in his chest while she took his pulse.
“Yes,” Travis said, surprised at the certainty in his voice. “I’ve never really known anything in my life, Grace. Half of the time I can’t even tell left from right. But I love Beltan. That’s the one thing I do know.”
Grace’s eyes pierced him. “Then why aren’t you with him now?”
Travis opened his mouth, but no words came out. Now, just as on the previous night, something was holding him back. But what?
“Vani,” Grace said.
Only as she spoke the word did he realize he was no longer gazing at Beltan, but at the assassin. As if she sensed his attention, she looked up with gold eyes. Then she turned her gaze back to the artifact.
“What’s going on, Grace?” he managed to croak.
“I don’t know. I think maybe …” Grace drew in a breath. “Back in the hotel room, in Denver, Vani asked me about you and Beltan. She asked me if you loved him. When I said yes, she seemed … broken.”
Understanding washed over Travis, along with a sick feeling. “Last night, when Sareth was talking about their friend, Xemeth—the one who died—it was clear that Xemeth loved her. But Vani mentioned something about the cards, something they had said to her.”
Grace seemed to think about this. “The Morindai believe in fate, Travis. Maybe the cards told her who she was fated to fall in love with, and maybe it wasn’t Xemeth. Maybe—”
No, he didn’t want to hear it. Beltan loved him, and he loved the knight. That was the one thing he had finally managed to figure out in this mess of a life, and nothing was going to take that from him.
Except Grace spoke, and she did.
“Maybe it’s you she loves, Travis.”
In the