The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [87]
A shadow appears on the stone pavement behind Megaera. Creslin watches as the dark countenance of Florin takes in the scene. The Duke’s guard-master nods at him soundlessly and steps away, a faint smile on his normally immobile face.
“Don’t you understand?” demands Megaera.
“What am I supposed to say? If I say I understand, you’ll say I don’t. If I admit I don’t understand, then I’m damned, because no one can possibly understand your trials.” Creslin swallows, but the words have been bottled up too long. “You’re the one who insisted on branding yourself, on flinging yourself against cold iron. You had a choice. Not much of one, but you had it. There were times when you could have walked away, like at that banquet. What guard could have stopped you?” His words continue to rush out. “You didn’t have to fight for every little step. You didn’t have to prove yourself against the guards of Westwind. You didn’t have to cross the Westhorns in winter and on foot. You didn’t have your mind stolen by the White Wizards. Or your skull nearly split twice. I never did any damned fool things that threatened you. Your sister may have, and the Marshall may have, but I didn’t. So stop laying all your troubles on me, as if somehow I caused them.”
Megaera’s mouth is wide open. “You . . . you still don’t understand anything. Your mind—if you have one—is as closed as Westwind itself. You were trained as a warrior—who would stop you? You’re one of the most powerful Storm Wizards born—who could stop you? The only chains you’ve ever had are those in your head, and you still wear them!” Now she is standing, and her eyes flash brighter than the sunset.
Creslin blinks. What chains?
“I had chains, and they couldn’t hold me,” she continues. “You have chains and you don’t even know it. Light help me! You certainly won’t.” Reddish fire plays on her fingertips, then vanishes, and her face pales. “Damn you! Damn you!”
The footsteps of her riding boots echo on the stones long after she has fled from the parapets.
Chains? What are his chains? Or is Megaera just imagining something?
He lets his arms rest on the stone still warm from the day’s sun. Megaera is telling the truth as she sees it, and that is more disturbing to him than the enmity of all the wizards of Fairhaven.
In time, he looks out upon the twilight, letting a few words slip out into the darkness.
. . . harp strings tell the story’s old,
from when the angels fled the fold,
and yet you sing that truth is strong,
when every note you strike is wrong.
Should I trust what singing brings,
when hatred hides in silvered strings?
The song is wrong, the words not quite right, and he wishes he had his guitar. For all he knows, it rests somewhere in Sarronnyn.
LIII
CRESLIN KNOCKS ON the heavy door and waits. The note that had been handed to him by Aldonya at the noon meal is in his belt. Megaera had not been present. All the few neatly scripted words state is that he and she need to work together.
“Coming . . .”
Megaera’s door is iron-bound, just as his is. Sometimes, the obvious constraints are easier to escape.
The heavy oak swings open, and Aldonya stands there. “Come in. Her grace will be here shortly. She is expecting you.”
As he steps into the room, Creslin looks around. A closed door to his right leads, presumably, to a bedroom. A high-armed wooden couch and an armchair flank a low table on which rest two cups and a covered pot from which a wisp of steam drifts.
The wood paneling, brass wall lamps, small table, and matching chairs by the window are the same as in his room. The colors are different, for Megaera’s spreads and hangings consist of blues and creams, unlike the greens and golds of his quarters.
Aldonya steps away from the closed door. “Would you like some hot tea?”
“No . . . no, thank you.” He pauses. “Have you been with Megaera long?”
“No, your lordship. I . . . entered her service here.”
“You were with the Duke’s household?”
“No, ser. Her grace . . . found me herself.” The girl’s eyes do not quite meet his, and he wonders how much of the truth she