The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [170]
Lirith's back was to him. “No, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice low. “You would not.”
“Turn around.” His eyes were clearer now. “And bring the candle closer. I think I might be able to see you.”
Lirith clutched her gown to herself. “Please, Your Majesty. Let me go.”
“No.” His voice was harder now, commanding. “I am the king's son. You will obey me, woman. If you do not, I will call for the guards, and either way I shall see who you are.”
At last there was an expression on Lirith's face: anguish. She drew in a breath, then turned around.
Like the flickering light of the candle, an array of emotions played across his face: shock, wonder, then shame. He lunged for his cast-off robe and threw it over his nakedness.
“By the Seven, what have you done?” He clenched his hands into fists. “What have I done?”
Lirith's expression was hard now. “We have done what we must, Your Majesty.”
A sound ripped itself from him: half bitter laughter, half moan of despair. “Are you mad? We didn't have to do this. We don't have to do anything—don't you understand?”
Lirith shook her head. “You're wrong, Your Majesty. I had to do this thing, even as you did. Whatever happens tomorrow, you must face it as a man of power.”
His eyebrows drew down into a single dark line. “What do you know of that?”
“Not much, I fear, but enough. I beg you, whatever you do, Your Majesty, remember your Dominion, remember your wife to be, and remember your father. Do not betray them, no matter what might be offered you.”
The prince's eyes were dark, unreadable.
Lirith reached out a hand. “I bring you a warning as well. There is another in this castle, one whom Liendra is in league with. We believe she is the one who—”
“Go,” Teravian said.
Lirith stared at him. His face was pale, and his eyes dark and wide with vision.
“She's coming,” he whispered.
Hands shaking, Lirith donned her gown and threw the cloak around her shoulders. She moved to the door, then cast a glance back at him.
“Please, Your Majesty.” Her voice shook. “If ever we were friends, and I believe we were, then listen to me now. No matter what happens on the morrow, do not forget who you are.”
He gazed not at her, but into the darkness. “I'd go if I were you. She's nearly here.”
Lirith gasped, then cast the hood of the cloak over her face, threw open the door, and rushed outside. Aryn jerked the circlet from her finger and opened her eyes. Her palms were slicked with sweat, and her head throbbed.
“Sia help us,” she said. “What do we do?”
For a moment her mind was dark and frozen. Then, like a whisper in her mind, it came to her. She hurried from the room and returned to her own chamber. It was dim and silent, lit only by the fireplace. She moved to the wooden chest in which she kept her jewels and other fine things. Kneeling, she lifted the lid, took out a small parcel wrapped in parchment, and undid it. Inside was a scarf. The embroidery on it was only half-finished, and in the center of the white cloth was a dark stain. Blood. Her own blood.
Words came back to her, spoken once by Lady Melia in this very chamber on a rainy day. Now the cloth contains a bit of your power. It will bring your husband luck in battle. . . .
Luck, yes. Or what else might it bring?
Aryn took needle and thread, then sat down and, by the light of the fire, began to sew.
40.
Grace stood atop the keep, wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, and gazed out across the vale of Shadowsdeep. She had risen an hour ago, when night still ruled the world, and had slipped from the cot without waking Tira. The sentries had nodded to her as she entered the keep and ascended to the battlements. She wasn't certain why she had come here. Perhaps, if she could look into the distance, she might see the future coming.
However, all she saw were shadows. They reached into the northern sky, higher than the Ironfang Mountains, blotting out the stars. Now, as dawn drew near, she saw the shadows for what they were: great plumes of smoke. The smoke rose up behind the snow-covered peaks of the Fal Threndur, black as ink, writing ominous