The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [130]
Liendra's eyes narrowed, and she drew close to Lirith and Aryn, speaking softly.
“Do not think you can toy with me. Sisters. I have no evidence of your treachery, yet I have great suspicion of it. I am your Matron now, and as you are bound to the Pattern, so you must do as I say.” She lifted a slender finger. “If I sense any disobedience in you two, if I see even the slightest hesitation in following my orders, I will have your threads plucked from the Pattern. And do not think I cannot do it. I have three covens at my disposal, and powers you cannot even guess at.”
Aryn could not catch the gasp that escaped her lips. Next to her, Lirith shuddered.
Liendra smiled again. “I see I have made myself clear. Now, I must present myself to the Bull King. I will see to both of you later.”
Liendra started after the guards, the two young witches following on her heels, leaning their heads toward one another and whispering. Once they were out of sight, a sudden weakness came upon Aryn; she felt as if her knees were going to give out. However, Lirith gripped her hand, holding her up.
“What do we do now?” Aryn whispered.
“We pray to Sia,” Lirith said.
32.
From horseback, Grace watched as the desolate landscape slipped by, and she wondered if they would ever reach their destination.
They had forded the River Serpent's Tail yesterday evening before making camp; Perridon lay behind them, and it was through Embarr they traveled now. All day, the gray line of the mountains had receded to their left as they rode across a windswept moor. There was little to break up the monotony of the plains—only the occasional clump of wind-stunted trees and great boulders that stood alone, as if set there by giants.
“Are you glad to be home, Durge?” Grace said when the knight's charger drifted near Shandis.
“Glad, Your Majesty?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
She bit her lip. That probably wasn't the best word. In her experience, Durge hadn't actually ever been glad about anything.
Except that's not true. He was glad to see Aryn when we returned to Calavere. You could see it in his eyes.
But Calavere was leagues and leagues away, and Grace hadn't received any more messages from Aryn. It was too dangerous to speak across the Weirding. Since encountering the pylon three days ago, they had come upon two more of the Pale King's magic stones. However, this time they had been prepared. Senrael, Lursa, and the other witches had sensed the evil of the pylons from a distance, and the Spiders had scouted a trail for the army that gave the stones a wide berth.
Grace glanced at Durge, trying a different tactic. “How long has it been since you've been to your manor?”
He stroked his mustaches with a gloved hand. “It is nearly two years since I have set foot upon the lands of Stonebreak. Nor will I have an opportunity to do so on this journey, as it lies many leagues to the east.”
“I'm sorry, Durge,” Grace said, and she meant it. “I'm sorry I've kept you so long away from your home.”
His look was one of genuine surprise. “Why, Your Majesty? What is tending after a patch of rocky soil compared to serving the queen of Malachor?”
Safe, she wanted to say. But all she could do was nod and try to keep from weeping.
They rode in silence after that, Durge's craggy face turned forward, and Grace lost in her thoughts. Over the last few days, she had gone over her conversation with the Duratek operative a hundred times. Duratek was going to open a gate to Eldh. They had perfected the technology, and they were close to synthesizing the fairy blood they needed. But when was the gate going to open, and what was it going to let into Eldh when it did? An army of Duratek agents, or Mohg?
Maybe both.
“Time,” she murmured. “How much more time do we have?”
Durge glanced at her. “What did you say, Your Majesty?”
“I said it's time to start looking for a place to camp.”
The knight nodded. “I'll inform Sir Tarus.”
There was nowhere on the moors that offered much protection from the wind, but the Spiders managed to find a patch of ground that sat