The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [35]
Lirith didn’t know how—perhaps it was simply experience—but somehow she knew exactly where Cirynn was heading, even if the scheming young woman did not know herself. She sighed. Lirith, of all people, knew what a brutal and hardening place a brothel could be.
Sia watch over her, she prayed silently, then turned and stepped back into the castle.
The next morning, just after dawn, Lirith rose and went in search of Aryn—of whom she had not seen so much as an eyelash in the last two days. She found the baroness just leaving Tressa’s chamber.
“Our new Maiden is doing wonderfully,” the red-haired witch said with a motherly smile. “She will be thoroughly prepared for her role tomorrow evening.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” Lirith said.
When the door shut behind them, leaving the two alone in the corridor, Lirith grinned and squeezed Aryn’s hand.
“You’re marvelous,” she said.
Aryn gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t know about that. But I have managed to keep my head from exploding, despite all the things Sister Tressa has stuffed into it. I had no idea there were so many rules to follow just to be a Maiden.”
Lirith nodded. “I’ve heard it’s much simpler to be Crone. But then, by the time you’ve made it to that age, I don’t think you want a lot of younger witches telling you what to do.”
“I should think not,” Aryn said.
They walked for a time past sun-dappled windows. Lirith spoke of what she had done at the coven, and Aryn described the things she had learned in her studies. At last they made their farewells in the castle’s entry hall. However, just as they began to part ways, a woman stepped through the main doors of the castle.
She was a witch, that much was certain, although Lirith could not recall seeing her at the coven. And she was certainly striking enough to remember. Her dark eyes were slightly tilted, and her midnight hair marked by a single lock of pearl. The witch passed the two women, her multicolored robe fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.
“Good morrow, sister,” the witch said, nodding to Aryn. Then she moved through an archway and was gone.
Lirith looked at the baroness. “Who was that?”
“Her name is Sister Mirda.”
Lirith had not heard the name before. “Is she one of Liendra’s group?”
“No, I don’t think so. At the first meeting of the coven, she wished for Sia to bless me.”
Lirith considered this. Surely no one from Liendra’s faction would impart such a blessing. However, Lirith knew the great majority of the witches in the Dominions by name if not by sight. Only she had never heard the name Mirda before.
“Maybe she’s a friend of Ivalaine’s,” Aryn said with a shrug.
Lirith sighed. “Sometimes I’m not sure Ivalaine has any true friends among the Witches. Many respect her, of course. But she has made it her place to stay a step removed from the others, to be a source of unity when there is dissension.”
“Do you think she can remain that way? She tries to balance herself among all views, but Liendra is not the only one who wants to know what Ivalaine believes.”
Lirith could not disagree. But as for what Ivalaine truly thought—that was a mystery that would have to wait.
Kissing Lirith quickly on the cheek, Aryn turned and dashed down a corridor, looking like nothing so much as a dark-haired girl, although this coming winter would be her twentieth. Lirith smiled, then turned to make her own way through the castle.
This time it came utterly without warning. She had not even been using the Touch, but it was there all the same, undulating in the corner of the entry hall: a tangled mass of threads. Lirith’s mouth opened to scream, but no air passed into or out of her lungs. Even as she watched, the seething knot seemed to reach out hungrily, drawing more shimmering threads into itself. They dimmed to dull gray as they merged with the tangle. Then Lirith felt the first few tugs on her being. Memories flooded her. Once before she had been pulled like this toward a destination that would devour her.
Dance, my little grackle. Ah, but you are not so little anymore, and you can hide