The Riddle - Alison Croggon [14]
Her rooms, like Nerili herself, were elegant: she eschewed the usual silk hangings, ubiquitous in Busk, and instead the stone walls were painted a pale blue, with a faint stenciling of birds in a deeper shade. The only other decoration was a series of exquisite glazed blue-and-white tiles around the doors and windows and fireplace, each painted with a different scene from Thoroldian life: fishermen, silkweavers, goatherds, children playing. It was a calm, beautiful room. Through a half-open door Maerad could see what she supposed must be Nerili’s study, from the chaos of manuscripts, scrolls, and books she glimpsed piled on a table, and on the far side of the main room she could see a dining table set with candles in glass holders and a generous meal — flat rounds of unleavened bread, little bowls of pickled vegetables and sauces, cold meats and cheeses. There was a plate of round black spiky things that looked like strange fruit, and a large bowl of shells with orange lips. Her mouth started to water: she was very hungry.
Nerili invited them to sit down and poured out a light red wine. “So,” she said, glancing at Cadvan with an unusual directness. “Elenxi tells me you have news? Serious, important news. And he said you were seeking refuge. Refuge from what? Though I see you have suffered some battles.” She was looking at the whip scars on Cadvan’s cheek.
Maerad suddenly thought: she’s a Truthteller, like Cadvan. She couldn’t have said how she understood this; she simply knew. It was a gift some Bards possessed: as Silvia had told her, Truthtellers could bring the truth out of a person, even if they didn’t know it was there. It was impossible to lie to them. She examined Nerili with new interest.
Cadvan raised his glass. “Good wine, Neri. It’s been a while since I tasted Thoroldian grapes; I had forgotten how excellent they are.” Nerili smiled briefly, and Cadvan leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.
“I will tell you the worst news first.” His voice hardened. “Maerad and I are seeking refuge from Enkir of Norloch, who has betrayed the Light. We fled the citadel only four days ago; it was then in flames. I fear civil war in Annar and I know that the Nameless One returns, the Dark moves on Annar, and even as it rises, the White Flame collapses from within. The First Circle of Annar is broken.”
Nerili swallowed hard and was silent for a few moments as she studied Cadvan’s face.
“I see that you say no untruth,” she said quietly. “But I can scarce credit it. Norloch burns? The First Bard betrays the Light?”
“It’s true,” said Maerad. A sudden image flashed into her mind of Enkir’s face, cold and vicious with rage, and she felt a bitter anger rising within her. “He has long been a traitor. The First Bard Enkir sent my mother to be enslaved, and betrayed Pellinor to the Dark. I was only a little girl when it happened, but I recognized his face. He knew he was discovered, and he tried to imprison half of the First Circle for treachery. He sent soldiers for us, and we only just escaped, with Owan d’Aroki’s help.”
“He sent an ondril to pursue us,” added Cadvan. “And no ordinary ondril either.”
Nerili shook her head in bewilderment and put up her hand. “Let’s go back to the beginning,” she said. “You are saying that Enkir caused Pellinor to be sacked? That is a grim accusation.”
“He did. He wanted me.” Maerad looked up at Nerili, her jaw jutting out. She was tired of having to explain her story. “He knew the Fated One would be born to my parents. We don’t know how he knew. But he took my brother, Hem, instead of me; he thought only a boy could be the Fated One.”
Nerili gave a small, barely audible gasp.
“My father was killed with everyone else. My mother died later, in slavery.” Maerad stopped suddenly,