The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [8]
She licked her lips. “It’s nothing. I just need some air.”
“I will help you outside.”
Aryn and Durge looked concerned as the Mournish man helped her stand.
“You flee your fate,” came the old woman’s voice behind her. “Yet you cannot escape it, for it lies within you.”
Lirith stiffened, then stepped from the wagon into the gray-green air of the grove. She turned toward Sareth. His eyes were filled with such a strange softness that she almost gasped aloud. Why should he act this way for a stranger?
“I must apologize for my al-Mama,” he said, his deep voice husky.
Lirith forced her chin up, meeting his eyes. “Why? Are her tellings not true?”
His cheeks darkened, but he did not reply.
“Your leg,” Lirith murmured before she could stop herself. “Was that the price you paid for your shes’thar?”
His smile returned, but it was fiercer now, sharper. “No, beshala. That was the price I paid for my pride.”
Lirith opened her mouth, but before she could answer Durge and Aryn stepped from the wagon. Aryn’s face was pale, and Lirith did not fail to notice the way Durge hovered close to her.
“We should get back to the castle,” he said.
Aryn lifted her hand to her chest. “I don’t feel well.”
Lirith took the woman’s hand. “Do not fear, sister. You have only eaten too many sweets, that’s all. The feeling will soon pass.”
She led Aryn from the grove as Durge followed three paces behind. Only after a moment did she remember to look over her shoulder, to bid Sareth farewell. But the grove was empty, save for the now-shut wagon and the soft music of chimes.
Lirith turned her face forward. Together the three walked back toward the castle in the fading light of sunset, their shadows stretching out before them.
4.
They arrived at the castle just as the gates were closing. The land in all directions was steeped in twilight, but the last few rays of sunlight still fell upon Ar-tolor: a golden island in a deep, purple sea.
“Your Highness,” said a guardsman clad in black and green, stepping from a side gate to bow to Aryn. He turned and bowed to Lirith. “My lady. It is well you are here. We have scoured the castle for you.”
Alarm rose in Aryn’s chest, and she glanced at Lirith.
“What is it?” Lirith said.
“Queen Ivalaine wishes to see you both. We have been searching for you all afternoon, my lady.”
Durge stepped forward. “If the ladies’ absence has caused trouble, then you may lay the blame for it upon me. It was I who accompanied them from the castle.”
Aryn grimaced. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t because of Durge they had gone to see the Mournish; it had been her idea.
“Why does the queen want us?” she said before she could consider the wisdom of the words.
The guardsman started to make a crude gesture with his left hand. Then, as if remembering in whose company he stood, he hastily changed the motion and straightened the yellow sash slung over his shoulder instead. “It is not my place to suppose the mind of Her Good Majesty.” His voice was overloud, as if he believed it might be overhead.
“Of course,” Lirith said. “Thank you for this service, guardsman. We shall attend the queen at once.”
Aryn felt a firm tug on her left arm as Lirith pulled her through the gate.
“What is it?” Aryn whispered. “Do you think she knows that we went to see the Mournish?”
“Don’t be foolish, sister. Ivalaine doesn’t have a magic mirror. There’s no way she could know where we went. If she is displeased with us, then it is merely for answering late to her summons. So let us make haste.”
Aryn swallowed, wishing she could be as confident, but she said nothing more as they hurried through the castle. Unlike the dark, smoky corridors of Calavere, the vaulted halls of Ar-tolor were airy, lined with slender arches and rows of high windows that let in the silver-gray twilight.
“My ladies,” said a rumbling voice behind them.
The two women skidded to a halt, then turned to gaze into somber brown eyes. Aryn winced. They had completely forgotten about Durge.
“If my assistance is no longer needed, I believe I shall retire.”
“Of