The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [46]
A pall of age and decay draped like a discarded veil over the entire room, but it coiled most thickly around the bed and the single frail figure nestled deep in its embrace.
“I am old, J’ross. Our people die young on this new world, but even by our reckoning before The Crossing from Vulcan, I am old.”
Garamond had uttered this petulant complaint so often that the woman at his side no longer tried to frame a soothing reply. Instead, she studied the blotchy, wrinkled skin of his face with new interest; his complexion had an ominous brown tinge that had not been there yesterday. His lean, bony features had turned gaunt. She wondered if either of the chamber’s sentries had noticed the changes.
Her hand searched for the basket tucked under the bed. The contents were intact. She pulled out a small leather-bound book and turned to a marked page. “Shall I read to you this morning?”
“No, I am dying.”
He had said this before as well, day after day for the last year, but she thought that today he might be right.
There was a soft, dry rattle when he breathed that warned of lungs grown brittle overnight.
Garamond had wakened only an hour before, yet there were dark smudges beneath his eyes and their puffy lids drooped down lower and lower.
His eyes closed. He drifted off to sleep.
Laying the book facedown, J’ross carefully shifted her weight off the bed so as not to wake the old man. With expert movements born of much practice, she straightened and tucked the tangled covers. He did not stir. She picked up the book and bent down. Her hands sought out the basket again.
“Who is there?” cried out Garamond, waking suddenly. His fingers clutched fitfully at his side. “Gone! It is gone!”
“Hush, my husband. It was only hidden by the covers.” She guided his fumbling hands to the right place, then cast a glance over her shoulder to check the sentries’ reactions.
Pymer had come to immediate attention with a drawn knife balanced in his palm; he took a hesitant step forward. Deemus was less alarmed, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword. They craned their necks to see what was happening.
“I commend your diligence.” She moved aside to give them a clear view of the bed where the old man cradled the stone in his arms. “But it was only another nightmare.”
Pymer grunted, then slumped back against the wall and began idly picking at his teeth with the blade. Deemus sighed heavily.
They were, to the best of her knowledge, loyal to Garamond, but there was far less reason to trust their loyalty to her. J’ross feared that a dying king’s young wife, no matter how beautiful, could hardly compete with Garamond’s nephew.
Taramuk’s political sway was based in part on his bloodlines, but even more on his ambitions he promised the Aegis a new purpose. Where Garamond had reduced the guard to a decorative, but essentially unnecessary, appendage to his House, Taramuk promised the soldiers global warfare, and ultimately, an empire.
All he needed was the Ko N’ya.
She moved back to Garamond’s side, anxious to quiet his mewling. Pymer was bored, and bored soldiers were too curious for comfort’s sake.
“Betrayed.” Fortunately Garamond’s voice had sunk to a whisper. “You have betrayed me.”
“No, not so.” She tucked a lock of straggling white hair back behind the elegant point of one ear. Despite his age, he had been a handsome man when they first met. “I have been true to you, Husband, in my own way.”
He fell back against the pillows, exhausted by the outburst, and the stone tumbled out of the crook of his arm. When he made no move to recover it, J’ross tucked it against his side. Then she took a soft cloth and wiped the tears that streamed down his sunken cheeks, but there was nothing she could