The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [246]
“Love you? I worship you, Vani. Ever since we were children, I knew there was nothing in the world I wanted so much as you. And then …” A grimace twisted his face.
“I’m sorry, Xemeth,” she said.
He drew closer. “No, do not be sorry, beshala. You will never have to abase yourself before me, not like these dogs. I was not worthy of you before, I know that now. But that is not true anymore. I can be anything you want me to be, beshala.”
Xemeth passed his hands before himself, and suddenly his robe was gone. Now he was clad in loose black trousers and a crimson vest. His bare arms and chest were gleaming and muscled, and his face chiseled and handsome. A short black beard adorned his chin.
Vani winced, and Grace understood.
He’s made himself look like Sareth. Sareth, who he always felt was better at everything when they were children.
Xemeth must have noticed Vani’s reaction, for his lips turned down, casting a shadow on the beautiful visage that was a mask as surely as the face of gold he had worn before.
“What is wrong, beshala? Does my new countenance not please you?”
Vani’s eyes were solemn. “I am fated for another, Xemeth.”
He brushed these words aside with a sloppy gesture. “What is fate to one such as I? I am the greatest sorcerer since the god-king Orú. I can make fate as I will—or I can break it. Tell me what I must do to win you, and it shall be done.”
Again Xemeth stumbled and caught himself. Grace traded a look with Beltan, and the knight nodded. He had reached the same conclusion Grace had.
“Very well,” Vani said, her voice rising above the sound of the wind. “There is one way you can win me, Xemeth.”
Grace saw the hard light in the assassin’s eyes. Vani was buying them time.
“What is it, beshala? Tell me what I must do to make your heart mine.”
“Bind the demon, Xemeth. You have the power—I can see it in you.” Vani reached out a hand and brushed his radiant cheek. “I know you can do it … beshala.”
Xemeth’s eyes went wide. For a moment Grace could see him—the small, sad boy who could never get what he wanted. Pity started to blossom in her heart. With a thought as cold as a knife, she excised it.
“Very well, beshala. I need the demon no longer. The Scirathi have been disposed of, and no one else can possibly stop me now. It will be done as you wish, and then we will be away from here. Together.”
“Yes, Xemeth. Together.”
He turned from her and approached the edge of the balcony. The wind tugged at his clothes, but that was all; the demon had no effect upon him.
The air of the Etherion was clearing. The spiraling flotsam was nearly gone. Grace could see it hovering there in the center of the Etherion: a spot of perfect blackness. Her eyes could not seem to hold on to it, and a sickness welled up in her stomach. Every few seconds there was another burst of light as something reached the center of the spiral. Grace thought she saw a figure in a black robe draw close.
Flash. It was gone.
She forced her gaze to Xemeth. He tottered on the edge of the balcony, then steadied himself.
“Behold the power of Orú!” Xemeth called out.
He stretched his arms toward the demon, and a corona sprang into being around his body, like that around the sun. Golden rays shot from his hands, speeding toward the center of the spiral, striking the demon.
Grace did not hear it cry out so much as felt it. Like a shock wave it spread outward, rippling through air, stone, and flesh.
What is he doing to it? Aryn said in her mind.
Grace tried to answer her, but the threads of the Weirding twisted and snapped, and she could not grab hold of them. The walls of the Etherion seemed to pulse. The very fabric of being was unraveling.
Xemeth threw back his head, exultant.
“This is for you, Vani!”
The gold rays extending from his hands grew brighter yet, striking the dark blot of the demon. Grace watched, her fear forgotten in awe. Xemeth was going to do it. He was going to bind the—
Xemeth shuddered and skittered an inch closer to the edge. He shook his head, gazing down