Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [104]
She paused, then said softly, “It’s not dark in Torval’s Hall. It’s not silent, either. There’s singing and dancing. If Torval was with me, standing beside me, I don’t think I’d be afraid.”
Skylan started to tell her that women did not pray to Torval. Women prayed to Vindrash or Aylis or one of the other female goddesses who protected women during childbirth and guarded the home. Then he saw the fear in her eyes.
“I cannot speak for Torval,” he said gruffly. “But you could try. If the god does not want you to pray to him, he would tell you so himself.”
Chloe’s eyes brightened. “He could speak to me? What would he do?”
“Torval would tear the door to your villa off its hinges and come stomping into your room with a sound like thunder, raising the roof with his anger. He would demand to know why a grown-up young lady comes whining to him that she is afraid of the dark. And then he would slam his hammer down on your fine bed and smash it to bits.”
Chloe laughed. Her room rang with her laughter and the house slave, Rosa, poked her head in the door.
“And if Torval doesn’t come?” Chloe asked, her dimple flashing.
Skylan shrugged. “Then he is not angry with you.”
Rosa glided timidly into the room. “My lady, your honored father reminds you that you must rest if you are going to the palace with him this night.”
“Yes, Rosa, very well. Go tell my father I will take my nap.”
She held out her hand for Skylan to shake.
“Come, you may touch me. I won’t break.”
He kept his distance, not sure what to do. He knew quite well that Acronis would have seven sorts of apoplectic fits if he saw the barbarian near his beloved daughter. Chloe understood his hesitation and waggled her fingers insistently.
“I am accustomed to being obeyed,” she said with mock sternness.
Skylan took her hand, which was small and thin and fragile in his calloused, rough palm. Yet her grip on his was firm. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return.
“You will do well in the Para Dix,” she said.
Skylan shook his head. “I will be lucky if I don’t fall in the fire pit.”
Chloe laughed and snuggled down in her bed. Rosa fussed around her, plumping pillows and arranging the silken coverlet.
Skylan bowed and turned to leave. He was fumbling at the door, unable to figure out how it operated, when the door slid open of its own accord and he came face-to-face with Acronis.
The man’s face was grim, stern. He made a sign that Skylan was to keep silent, not give away his presence. Skylan walked out of the room. The slave, Kakos, closed the door softly behind him. Skylan thought he was in trouble, until he saw tears glimmer in Acronis’s eyes. The Legate motioned to Zahakis, who stepped out of the shadows.
“Make Skylan presentable,” Acronis said. “We leave for the palace at sundown.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off.
“He was listening,” Skylan said.
“Of course,” said Zahakis. “What did you expect?”
“He heard her ask me about praying to Torval. Was he angry?”
Zahakis shook his head. The two men walked through the long hallway, past the fish ponds and the fountains, across the marble floors, through the atrium and into the yard, heading for the outbuildings. Zahakis seemed to be trying to make up his mind to say something.
Glancing around to make certain they were alone, he said, “There is something you should know, Skylan. Chloe doesn’t have long to live. The physicians all say so. They’ve done everything they can for her, but there’s no hope.”
Skylan felt an ache in his throat and he was angry at himself. A crippled child like her would have never survived in his land. The harsh winters would have killed her. Pampered and showered with wealth, she was lucky to have lived this long.
“Has her father told her she is dying? Does she know?” Skylan asked.
“Of course