The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [204]
Aryn only shook her head, unable to form words. Sorrow was like a knife in her heart. She touched the king's face with trembling fingers. Faint but clear, she sensed one last glimmer of life, like the flare of a candle just before it sputters and goes out.
I love you! she cried out to the darkness. My king, my true father. I love you with all my heart!
No words came in reply, but she felt warmth, love, pride. He felt no pain; he regretted nothing.
She wept openly now. “I sense him still.”
Teravian gripped her shoulders. Hard. “Tell him. Tell him that I didn't betray him.” Tears ran down his cheeks. “Tell him I would have given my life for him.”
Aryn met Teravian's haunted eyes. “He knows.”
The candle flared, went out. The thread, as bright as steel, went dark. Boreas, King of Calavan, was dead.
A chant rose on the air, deep and thrumming. Men had gathered in a circle around them, and they were speaking a lament in low voices.
May he dwell in the halls of Vathranan now
May his blood bring life to the land
May he feel the winds of Vathranan now
He sits at the right hand of Vathris
A gentle touch on Aryn's shoulder. “Sister?”
She turned and gazed into warm brown eyes that looked out from a smooth, dark face. It was Lirith, shapely and perfect as Aryn knew her. She gripped Lirith's slender hand with her own withered one.
“You're whole,” Aryn breathed. “By Sia, you're whole.”
Lirith smiled. “As whole as I can be. Thanks to you. Your magic undid the spell of the Necromancer.”
“I think it did more than that, beshala.”
They looked at Sareth, who stood above them. He pointed down, to his feet planted firmly on the ground. One foot was shod in leather. The other foot was bare and perfectly formed. The women looked back up. In his hands, Sareth held a length of carved wood. His peg leg.
Lirith leaped to her feet and threw her arms around him. “Sareth—oh, Sareth.”
He held her tight, his expression one of wonder. “Beshala,” was all he said, stroking her black hair. “My beloved.”
Aryn looked down at her hands. The right was still withered. Why had the magic not made her whole like Sareth?
Because you are whole, Teravian spoke in her mind, and he placed his right hand over hers.
She looked up, into his eyes, and nodded.
When their threads touched, she had learned more than just how to weave the spell he had devised to harm Shemal. She had glimpsed his memories as well. King Boreas had known of the Witches' plot to use Teravian against the Warriors of Vathris; it was Ivalaine herself who had told the king, and he in turn had told Teravian. Their counterplot was simple: Teravian would let Liendra and the Witches think they had his allegiance. He would get close to them, learn what they were planning, and reveal it to the king before they could succeed.
Only Boreas and Ivalaine had not counted on the presence of the Necromancer. Shemal had made it clear to Teravian that if he revealed her presence, she would slay his mother and father. Teravian had known she had the power to do it, and so he had been bound, unable to tell the king the full truth. However, even as he did Shemal's bidding, in secret he probed her, sought out her weaknesses, and devised a spell that could do harm to her.
“The spell would have killed you,” Aryn said. “You would have poured your whole life into it, and it would have taken you. Only it still wouldn't have been enough.”
Despite the grimness of his face, a smile touched his lips. “Only it was enough—because you were there.”
He sighed, then laid Boreas gently back on the ground. Around them, the men continued their chant.
“So now what do we do?” Sareth said, still holding on to Lirith, his gaze on the fallen king.
Aryn gripped Teravian's hand. “They will still follow you. The Warriors saw you drive Shemal away, they've seen you weep over your father. They know you were true to him. All you have to do is create the illusion of the bull again.”
“No, Aryn.” His expression was resolute. “I'll work no more illusions. I think Liendra's cronies have all fled, but the men saw