The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [261]
With a cry, shredded robe fluttering, the figure flung itself forward—
—and passed through the shrinking iris of the gate.
Like an eye shutting, the gate blinked out of existence, and the Etherion of Tarras—which had stood in splendor above the city for two thousand years—collapsed, forming its own burial mound as it fell.
87.
Grace huddled alongside the others, watching as the great blue dome of the Etherion slumped, sagged inward, and collapsed. Thunder rumbled on the air, and a white plume of dust rose into the sky.
The citizens of Tarras crowded the streets of the Second Circle, pointing and crying out as they watched the collapse of the great edifice. Tarrasian soldiers ran in all directions, barking orders. No one paid any attention to the companions, nor had anyone seen them run from the Etherion, for a cloud of rock dust had billowed forth with them, concealing their escape.
Everyone will think an earthquake brought down the Etherion, Grace. They’ll never know about the demon that almost consumed the city and everyone in it.
But maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better they thought it an act of nature rather than an ancient and ravenous magic. Sometimes it was best not to know what dark things dwelled in the world.
Now the walls of the Etherion fell inward, sending more dust into the sky. Aryn sighed, leaning her head on Grace’s shoulder, and Grace wrapped her arm around the young baroness.
It’s all right, she spun the words over the Weirding, amazed at how easy it was. We’re safe now, Aryn.
I know, the young woman replied, and sighed again.
Beltan and Vani stood close to one another, their expressions thoughtful. Grace was suddenly struck by how brilliant the big, blond man was next to the dark-haired assassin. He was like bold, bright day to her deep, secret midnight. She couldn’t imagine two people who were greater opposites.
But they have something in common, don’t they? They both love Travis. Beltan because that’s what his heart tells him, and Vani because of the cards.
“I can’t bear to watch it,” Melia said softly, tears shining on her coppery cheeks.
She turned away from the destruction, and Falken held her, his faded eyes grim. In her arms the small lady held a tiny black kitten. Grace wondered where it could possibly have come from. The kitten let out a soft mew and patted Melia’s cheek with a paw.
More soldiers ran into the street, sun glinting off their breastplates, shouting at the onlookers to stay back.
“We should not draw attention to ourselves,” Vani said. “There might yet be Scirathi about. We cannot hope all of their number were destroyed in the Etherion.”
They moved into the mouth of a narrow street where they could watch the chaos from blue shade. Again came a low rumbling, and more dust rising into the air.
“Xemeth,” Vani murmured, her eyes full of pain.
Grace glanced at the assassin and thought maybe she understood. In a way it was because Vani had rejected Xemeth’s love that he had allied himself with the Scirathi and freed the demon. All the same, that had been Xemeth’s doing, not hers. Grace gently disentangled herself from Aryn and moved to the T’gol. She hesitated, then laid a hand on Vani’s arm.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.
Vani gave a stiff nod but did not reply.
Falken flexed his black-gloved hand. “Now that the demon has been destroyed, I hope the river of time will return to its rightful flow.”
Melia had dried her tears. “It already has. Mandu tells me that there are yet a few eddies and ripples, but no more, and that even those are growing calm. We shall not lose ourselves in the past any longer.”
Beltan shuddered. “Yes, that’s what it was like—getting tangled in the past.”
Aryn looked up, her eyes wide. “I thought … I thought it was just me.”
Grace gazed at the young woman, concerned. “What happened, Aryn?”
“It was horrible.” The baroness folded her arm around herself. “Like a bad dream, only so much more real than that. It was Midwinter’s Eve again, and I …” She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders.