The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [35]
Only sacrificing herself wasn't what she was afraid of. At Denver Memorial, she had always given of herself without limits to heal the wounds of others. No, it was sacrificing the hundreds who were to march with her, and the thousands more that would follow after with Boreas, that terrified her.
If there's no way to stop these things from happening, Grace, then you can't let it all be for nothing. You have to get to Gravenfist Keep, and you have to find a way to hold the Pale King back.
Only how was she supposed to discover the key to unlocking the magical defenses of a centuries-old fortress? Falken always seemed to know about everything, but even the bard didn't know how she was supposed to accomplish this. It was hopeless. She sighed and turned to walk from the garden.
Music chimed on the cold air, high and distant—the sound of bells.
Grace froze, listening. She could hear wind over branches and the thudding of her own heart. Then it came again, faint but clear, like sleigh bells on a winter's night.
She turned and ran farther down a path. Why hadn't she thought of it before? They were more ancient than anyone. If anyone knew what she had to do, the Little People would. Clutching her cape, she raced around a bend in the path—
—and came to a halt. The path ended in a grotto; there was no way to continue on. Yet Grace was sure this was the direction the sound of the bells had come from.
“Are you searching for something, Grace?”
A lithe form separated itself from a shadow and stalked forward.
“Vani,” Grace said the name like a gasp. “I didn't see you there.”
The T'gol shrugged, as if to say this was only to be expected. Grace knew Vani hated the cold. What was she doing out here?
“Did you hear them?” Grace said.
“Hear what?”
“The bells. I was following the sound of them when I ran into you.”
Vani frowned. Dark circles hung underneath her eyes, as if she had not slept well lately. “I heard no such sound. The only noise was the sound of your approach.”
The sound of the bells had been distant, but the T'gol had keen ears. Surely if Grace had been able to hear it, Vani should have as well. Unless the music had been meant only for Grace. But if so, why had they led her to this place? She doubted Vani knew anything about Gravenfist Keep or its ancient magic.
Not that she was sorry to run into Vani. Grace had seen little of the T'gol lately. Ever since their time on the fairy ship, Vani had been acting every bit as strangely as Beltan had, and things had only gotten worse since Travis left them three weeks ago.
“You miss him, don't you?” Grace said the words when she had only meant to think them.
Vani stiffened. “As we all do.”
“No, not as we all do.” Grace knew she should leave the T'gol alone with her pain. Instead, she closed the gap between them. “You love him, Vani. And so does Beltan. Travis's leaving has been hard for you. For both of you.”
Vani crossed her arms over her stomach. “It is for the best that he's gone. This way he will not see . . .”
“He won't see what?”
Vani only looked away.
Grace studied her, searching for signs and symptoms, things she could assemble into a diagnosis. She listed everything unusual she had noticed about the T'gol in the last two months. There was her sudden bout of seasickness on the white ship, her unusual weariness on the journey to Calavere. Then there was the way she often folded her arms over her stomach, and the fact that her cheeks were flushed despite the cold.
Think, Grace. Nausea, fatigue, abdominal cramps, and a slightly elevated temp. It could be something viral, or maybe an infection, or—
Grace's eyes went wide. “You're pregnant, aren't you?”
Vani did not look at her. “Yes.”
It took a moment for Grace to gather her wits. Vani was an assassin, a highly skilled killer. However, while it was difficult to see Vani as a mother, it was not impossible. Some of Grace's shock was replaced by warmth.
“How far along are you?”
“Two cycles of the