The Riddle - Alison Croggon [158]
He paused, perhaps waiting for Maerad to speak. She said nothing.
“It would be better if you sat down, instead of standing there,” he said. “Come, sit beside me.”
Maerad shook her head, and he sighed, as if he were a patient king dealing with one of the more querulous of his ministers. “As you wish, then,” he said.
“I wish to leave here,” said Maerad, looking up again and defiantly meeting his eyes. Like Ardina’s, his gaze was unsettling, disturbing hidden depths within her. “Would you say ‘as you wish’ to that?”
“Why do you want to leave? Do you not think my palace beautiful? Does your chamber displease you? Is the food inadequate? I agree, Gima is a little tiresome, but she is also kind. I can find you another servant. My desire is to please you.”
“You murdered my friends. My cousin.” A hot feeling spread in the pit of Maerad’s stomach, a deep anger. “Why should I wish to remain in the same house as my enemy?”
Arkan let his gaze rest on Maerad’s face. Something in her flinched, and she looked away. “I am sorry for the sins of my servants. I can punish them if you like,” he said. “I was not pleased with the state in which you were delivered to me: I could see you had been ill treated. But how else could I bring you here?”
“You could have asked me,” said Maerad hotly. “Instead of attacking me in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of — of thugs.”
“I shall punish them for you,” said Arkan indifferently. “If it makes you feel any better.”
“Not Nim,” said Maerad. “He was kind to me. If I’m alive at all, it’s thanks to him.” Her legs had started trembling with weakness, and she swayed slightly. “Punish Amusk. He’s an evil man.”
“I do not understand what you mean by evil,” said Arkan. “It seems to me that when humans make war, they say: this is good; this is evil. But the good and the evil often seem the same to me.”
“They’re not,” began Maerad passionately, and then thought of Enkir of Norloch, and of her own murder of the Bard from Lirigon, and bit her lip. “I mean, people do good things and evil things, but . . .” She stuttered to a halt, confused and dismayed; this was not at all how she had imagined her meeting with the Winterking.
“Are you so sure you can tell the difference?” said Arkan.
Maerad looked at him, at his strange blue eyes, which seemed lit with a cold laughter, and straightened her back. Her legs were trembling badly now.
“Yes,” she said. “I can tell the difference. People are both good and bad. But there are those who choose only to have power. And they are evil.”
“Your friend Cadvan of Lirigon. He is a powerful Bard and has worked all his life to be a man of power. Is he then evil?”
The unexpected mention of Cadvan pierced Maerad like a dart, and she gasped. “How do you dare speak of Cadvan to me!” she said. “When you —” She swayed again; the pain in her legs was almost unbearable now. “He never chose to have power. I mean, over other people. Everything he did was for the Light.” She clenched her hands, trying to impose her will on her body and feeling once again with a shock the absence of her fingers.
“Ah, the Light.” Arkan’s voice was expressionless. “But what is the Light without the Dark? It cannot be. And the Dark was first.”
“That darkness was a different dark,” said Maerad. “It was the night; it was innocent. . . .” She drew in a shuddering breath, and there was a short silence.
“You are just out of your bed,” said Arkan. “I think you ought to sit down.” He again indicated the stool next to his throne. Maerad stubbornly shook her head, and almost immediately her legs bent involuntarily beneath her and she stumbled forward, and found herself kneeling in front of Arkan, clutching the dais. Humiliated, she pulled herself up.
“It would be more prideful to sit than to kneel,” said Arkan dryly.
Maerad sat on the floor where she was. “I’ll sit here then,” she said.
“As you will.” Arkan suddenly looked bored. “Well, Elednor of Edil-Amarandh, I did not bring you here to debate