The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [15]
Not that the looking was hard. Long, flowing hair cascaded in a dark flood over slender shoulders, framing eyes that glittered with fury in a face whose cheeks and chin shaped more beauty than either of them had ever seen.
Barefooted, Embra Silvertree stood as tall as Hawkril, or taller, and moved more gracefully than any tavern dancer, a smooth shifting of softnesses that was all the more alluring because it was but herself, and no deliberate lure for men. Her hair might be blue black, her eyes might be dark blue-it was too dim to tell, with the only light in the room raging like fire around them and flickering fitfully on the ends of those long, graceful fingers.
The Lady of Jewels spun the fingers of one hand in a gesture that shaped an ending and then sat down on a lounge to regard her two prisoners with eyes that were dark and dangerous. The thousands of glistening gems on garments hanging behind her seemed to add their weight to her grim gaze, like so many dark and disapproving eyes.
No magic occurred that the procurer or the armaragor could see or feel-but when the lightnings slowly flickered and died, much of the tinglings and pain fading with them, the two men found that an unseen force held them against the wall as securely as before.
"Why are you here?" the Lady Silvertree asked, as calmly as if she'd been discussing what hue of garments would best go with their hair. Her gauzy gown did nothing to hide a figure that was sleek and beautiful. The severe expression she wore stole nothing from the beauty of dark eyes and brows and a face that would have been breathtaking on a corpse.
On a corpse…
Craer licked his lips in the hanging, slowly lengthening silence, tried not to look at a swan wing, made of diamonds clustered as thick as his closed fist, that hung not four inches from his nose, and said, "Lady, you will find this hard to believe, I know, but we were hired by your father to test the defenses of the Lady Turret, to-"
Slender fingers moved slightly, and the procurer gasped as sudden pain arose in him again, raging along his limbs like fire. He could feel his limbs twitching uncontrollably as fell power surged through him, and-thank the Three!-faded.
"Very hard to believe, sir," Embra Silvertree replied coldly, "and your claim makes it quite clear to me that you're unfamiliar with… this household. My patience is limited. Honest and direct answers are desired of you, good sirs."
Her other hand lifted from her lap, fingers wriggling in a silent reminder of the power she commanded. Emeralds flashed green fire here and there along the walls, as if in eagerness to acknowledge the power their mistress wielded.
Craer banished all pain from his face, gave the Silvertree heiress a smile, and said smoothly, "Of course. My apologies, Lady. You'll appreciate that we were given several tales to tell, in place of the truth. In the time before he served your father, the wizard Gadaster Mulkyn had several apprentices, and one of them-you'll understand that I'd rather avoid names at the moment-was promised something by Gadaster that he was to inherit at that great mage's passing. We've been sent to find and fetch that something, and-"
His gasp was almost a sob, this time, and became a low, wet moaning as the procurer writhed against the wall, limbs trembling. Craer watched in wide-eyed horror as his own right hand rose stiffly from his side and awkwardly swept sideways to strike his face so hard that tears swam and his ears boomed. She'd made him slap his own mouth.
The armaragor snarled and thrust himself away from the wall, teeth set and veins quivering in his throat. He got perhaps half a pace forward before being slammed back so hard that the thud of his head against the wall shook several ropes of pearls off their stand, to hiss smoothly to the tabletop beneath.
Beautiful lips tightened once more before they coldly spoke the words, "The limits of my patience fast approach, good sirs. Choose your utterances carefully, for you choose