The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [39]
“What is it, Durge?” she said. “Has something happened?” She reached a hand toward him.
The knight’s brown eyes went wide and he shrank from her touch. Her fingers curled in, and she drew her arm back. Then Durge took a half step toward her, as if realizing what he had done.
“My lady …”
“No, Durge, I don’t blame you. Not after what I did to you in the Barrens. You’re wise to keep your distance.”
There was silence for a long minute.
“Have you told her?” Durge asked.
“I have not,” Lirith said. “I gave you my word. I will never tell her.”
Durge nodded. “That is well, my lady.”
Without further words, the knight turned and left the shrine. Lirith sighed and gazed into Mandu’s empty eyes, searching for solace. But the god only smiled, waiting for his inevitable death.
14.
Purple twilight gathered outside the window as Aryn paced back and forth in her chamber, chanting under her breath, her snow-white robe rustling softly.
“Snuff out the candle, ring the bell, then speak the incantation. Snuff out the candle, ring the bell, then speak—”
She froze and looked up, her blue eyes wide. “Or is it ring the bell, speak the incantation, then snuff out the candle?”
Her head buzzed as if her brains had been replaced by a swarm of moths. No thought would hold still for her long enough to grasp it.
Dread filled her. What would happen if she were to perform the ritual incorrectly? Would the entire Pattern unravel? She wasn’t certain, but there was one effect she knew she could count on: If she did not act out her role as Maiden perfectly, Tressa would change her into a gnat.
Aryn drew in a deep breath.
Concentrate, sister. You can do this. Remember, everyone will be watching.
Panic surged in her chest.
All right—so don’t remember that. Just think of your last lesson with Tressa, then. Everything went perfectly.
A shred of calm crept into Aryn’s mind, and the fluttering eased. Of course, that was it. How could she have been such a goose? It was bell, candle, and then—
A knock sounded on the door, shattering her thoughts. A second knock spurred her into motion. She hurried to the door and opened it.
“Well, it’s about time, deary. These old bones aren’t getting any younger just standing here.”
Aryn gulped. The coven hadn’t even started, and she was already making mistakes. “I’m so sorry, Sister Senrael. I didn’t mean to trouble you.”
The old woman laughed. “Well, of course not, deary. Not a precious thing like you. There isn’t a cruel bone in your body. But fear not. Sia willing, you’ll get to be old and disagreeable like me one day.”
You’re wrong, Aryn wanted to say. I once killed a man with my magic. Is that not cruel? However, no words came out.
“Come along, deary. The moon will rise soon. We must be ready by then.”
The old woman’s ash-gray robe swished as she turned and hobbled down the corridor. Aryn hurried after, heart pounding.
Will I have to make decisions about what goes into the Pattern? she had asked Tressa nervously that morning.
Only so much as any witch does, the red-haired woman had said. All threads are woven into the Pattern. The Maiden, the Matron, and the Crone are there simply to help, just as the shuttle helps pass a thread through the warp when you weave. But it is the threads themselves that determine the Pattern.
After her meeting with Tressa, Aryn had gone in search of Lirith, to see if her friend had any wise words to guide her. However, she had not been able to find Lirith anywhere in the castle.
You’ll see her at the High Coven, she had told herself. Yet for some reason Lirith’s absence troubled her.
“A pox on it all!” Senrael said, stopping so suddenly that Aryn nearly ran into her.
“What is it?” the baroness said, hoping she was not included in the rather wide scope of the old witch’s curse.
“I knew I shouldn’t have had that last cup of maddok,” Senrael grumbled. “Now I need to make a