The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [20]
These words sent a chill through Travis, only he couldn't say why. He tried to speak, but his tongue was dry as chalk.
6.
They gathered in Calavere's great hall for a late supper, though no one had much of an appetite. However, Grace knew it was important that they eat; they had to keep up their strength. She gagged down a bite of cold venison to set a good example, though only a generous swallow of wine kept it from coming right back up.
She surveyed the familiar faces around the high table, and it was easy to make a diagnosis: exhaustion and emotional trauma. They had all witnessed terrible sights in their journeys over the last year. Feydrim and wraithlings. Dragons and plagues. Demons and sorcerers. But it was different when the perils followed you back to the place you called home. If the darkness could reach them here, then no place was safe.
Grace knew she should feel every bit as exhausted as the others; instead she felt strangely, keenly alive. Not since her days in the Emergency Department at Denver Memorial Hospital had she worked so hard and for so long to save so many lives. She had labored on nearly twenty patients that day, though she could never have done it without help. Sareth and Falken had made excellent triage nurses, and Lirith was able to set broken bones and stitch wounds, allowing Grace to see to the worst cases. More than that, the dark-eyed witch was able to soothe away fear and pain with the cool touch of her hand in a way Grace had never been able to do.
Grace had kept Melia and several guards constantly running for supplies, and soon even Tira would come dashing back into the bailey, her small arms filled with bandages. By the time the sun sank behind the castle walls, it was over. Grace had lost just three of her patients—though there were nine more who had died in the explosion and whose bodies had been pulled from the rubble. A dozen in all. Still, when she thought of the crowded castle, it was hard to believe it hadn't been worse.
It would have been, if people hadn't run into the middle of the bailey after the first explosion to try to see what had happened. But what exactly had happened? In the aftermath of the explosions, all of their energy had gone into plucking people from the debris and treating their wounds. Only what had caused the explosions in the first place?
Just as she opened her mouth to ask the others what they thought, a tapestry fluttered, and Vani was there. She stalked toward the high table, silent in her form-fitting black leathers. She carried a small cloth sack. Grace hadn't seen her since just after the last explosion. Where had she been?
Travis smiled at Vani, a look that was weary but warm. “It's good to see you,” he said, and at the same time Beltan said, “Did you find anything?”
Vani gazed at Travis, and for a moment her face softened. Grace often forgot how beautiful the T'gol was. Intertwining tattoos accentuated the graceful line of her neck, and thirteen gold earrings glittered on her left ear. Then Vani looked at Beltan, and her features sharpened. “Yes, we did find something.”
“We?” Durge said, stroking his mustaches; they were gray with dust. “Who else was with you?”
Vani glanced at the wall. Grace saw only blank gray stones. Then the stones rippled, and a man stepped away from the wall. He was slightly built, with a pointed blond beard, and flicked back a shimmering gray cloak that had blended seamlessly with the wall.
“There you are, Aldeth,” Aryn said, setting down her wine goblet. “I was wondering if you would show yourself.”
“Actually, I wasn't really planning on it, Your Highness. However, it seems someone had other ideas.” He cast a sidelong glance at Vani.
The T'gol shrugged. “I cannot be blamed because you did a poor job of hiding.”
“I let you find me in the north tower,” the Spider said hotly.
“You mean in the same way a sheep graciously allows a wolf to catch it?”
The Spider glared at the assassin