nyctasia had let herself be taken prisoner without resisting, She was no match for three swords, and it better suited her dignity to surrender than to be seized by force. The one gesture of defiance left to her was to die in her own way, as befitted a devotee of the Indwelling Spirit.
She had known herself for dead the moment she’d heard Thierran’s voice, and she wasted no time on flip replies or futile struggles. Even as he gave his orders, while the guards bound her wrists behind her, she had begun the spell that would end her own life. She had spoken the truth when she told Corson that it was harder to kill with spells than to heal, but magic is always easier to work upon one’s self than upon another. And death itself may sometimes be a healing.
Nyctasia was hardly aware of where she was taken, or how. She did not notice the landlady’s satisfied smirk, or the wondering stares of the others, as she was led out of The Crow’s Nest. She heeded nothing but the voice of the vahn within her as it ceaselessly repeated her name. By the time she found herself alone with her captor, she had already achieved the trance known as the First Consolation-her name no longer held the slightest meaning for her.
Lord Thierran removed the gag from her mouth. “Well, ’Tasia, surely by now you’ve prepared some fabulous lie to persuade me to release you. Perhaps you can convince me that I died along with Mescrisdan.”
His words came to Nyctasia from a vast distance. She considered them dispassionately, judged them unworthy of her attention, and forgot them at once.
In a vague way, she knew that she was bound to a chair, that Thierran stood over her, but she no longer took an interest. She had begun to move towards the Second Consolation.
“Answer me, fool, while you have the chance. I have you and I can break you!”
Threats could not reach Nyctasia now, but the hard slap across her face did disturb her concentration for a moment. She looked up at Thierran without recognition and said the only thing that was in her mind, repeating it over in a flat, lifeless voice.
“Nyctasia ar’n Edonaris nyctasia arnedonaris nyctasiarnedonaris nycta…”
“Stop that!” Lord Thierran struck her again and again, infuriated by her indifference. It was precisely Nyctasia’s indifference that had always enraged him. The blows stopped her chanting, but pain was only another Influence to hasten her towards death. Her eyes slowly closed, and Thierran could sense her calm conviction that he did not exist. For a moment it frightened him.
Like most of the aristocracy, Lord Thierran had been raised as a Vahnite in name only. He had never practiced the Influences, Balances, or Consolations, but he knew of them, and he knew that Nyctasia took the Discipline seriously. She rarely drank spirits. She never wept. There was no doubt in his mind that she was capable of dying from sheer willfulness.
“Nyctasia!” But it was useless to call her by name. He seized her shoulder, shook her. “Listen to me, curse you! I want you alive!”
Though shielded by the profound apathy of the Second Consolation, Nyctasia could not dismiss Thierran’s promises as easily as she had his threats. The vahn would destroy itself only if the alternative were a less desirable death. If Thierran offered her life, she would have to listen.
“Do you hear me? You throw away your life to no purpose, witch! I have no mind to kill you!”
Without allowing a shadow of emotion to disturb the even surface of her impassivity, Nyctasia decided on her response. Eyes still closed, and with the same toneless, unnatural voice, she said, “You tried to kill me only days ago.”
He smiled, triumphant. “No, cousin-I tried to capture you. If I had tried to kill you, you would be dead.”
She considered this with detached impartiality. True, he could have killed her easily enough before Corson arrived, while Mescrisdan still pinioned her arms.
But instead he’d toyed with her, taunted her…
She would hear more. She allowed herself to look at him, but her face remained as expressionless as her voice. “What do you want of me, then?”
“Only two things, my dear ’Tasia. The first, of course, is your hand in marriage.” He leaned toward her. “You know that the family thinks it my duty to take a hand in the management of your affairs. Scholars are a fanciful lot, after all, ill-suited for governing. When we’re wed, you’ll be able to devote yourself to your studies and leave such things to me.”
Reluctantly, Nyctasia accepted the burden of hope. She would have to make an effort after all. “I see. You stand to inherit much more if I die as your wife.”
He had wanted to make her look at him, but now he found her even gaze unnerving.
He walked around behind her, “You might live longer as my wife than as my cousin, ’Tasia,” he murmured, laying his hand lightly against her throat.
Nyctasia controlled her urge to pull away from his touch. Instead, she only stiffened her shoulders slightly, enough resistance to flatter his pride, but not enough to provoke him. If she pretended to consent too easily, he would not be fooled. “And how long do you think you’d live as my husband, Thierran?” she asked coldly.
He laughed. “Oh, ’Tasia, you’ll have to hope that nothing happens to me. While you’re under my protection the family will tolerate you, but if I should meet with an untimely death, my grieving widow would bear the blame, guilty or not.
You wouldn’t live through the funeral, my dear.”
“That would be a pity,” said Nyctasia, “I look ravishing in black.”
She understood, now. She’d be forced to sign a marriage-alliance ceding control of her major estates to Thierran. Then, if she were not killed at once, she’d be held under guard in her own household. She would stay alive as long as it amused Thierran to keep her. “And what is the second thing you want?” she asked, without agreeing to the first.
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “The mercenary.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know very well. Your hireling, who killed Mescrisdan and crippled my arm.
It may never heal! Where is she?”
Nyctasia gave no sign of her astonishment. It was not Corson who had betrayed her, then… This meant more to her than she would have expected.
“She could be anywhere on the coast by now,” she said, with a slight shrug. “I sent her away long before I came to Chiastelm. She’d have told my whereabouts to anyone who paid the price. For that matter, how did you know where to find me?”
“I did not know, I suspected. When Shiastred left these parts he took ship from here. Others may have forgotten your upstart lover, but I was sure you’d follow after him. My people have combed the docks between here and Ochram, offering a large reward for you.”
“Of course,” thought Nyctasia wearily, “I betrayed myself.” Aloud, she said, “I see I’ve underestimated you, cousin.” He’d like that, the gloating snake. “I’ll have to be more careful of that in the future, if I have a future.”
“We’ll discuss your future after you’ve told me where to find the mercenary.”
“For vahn’s sake, Thierran, forget about her! I told you I got rid of her days ago. She rode north on the border road and that was the last I saw of her. I don’t know where she is now!”
“And will you pretend that you don’t know who she is, either? Her name?”
“Well, she called herself Brendal, but-”
He chuckled. “’Tasia, I’ve known you all your life. Do you think I still believe your ridiculous lies? You called her Corson that night, have you forgotten? I mean to find her, and I’ll have the truth from you one way or another, I promise you.”
Nyctasia shook her head. “An Edonaris does not take revenge on an inferior. She acted on my orders, and only I am accountable, you know that. If you want vengeance so badly, you have me-and you can strangle me with only one hand!”
“I have other plans for you, but you will not shield my brother’s killer from me, Nyctasia. You dare speak of the honor of an Edonaris, who have done everything in your power to disgrace our house!” He gripped Nyctasia’s hair, pulling her head back. “This assassin is only part of the price you’ll pay for your life, do you understand me?”
It was useless, Nyctasia realized. Nothing but Corson’s blood would satisfy him.
“No,” she said simply. “I do not understand you. I never have.”
“What does that mean?” he demanded, coming around to face her, furious. “You’re in no position to-”
“It means that you can kill me any way you choose, Thierran, except one. I can still prevent you from boring me to death.”
The way was still open to her, and she followed it easily now, meeting no resistance. She did not even have to close her eyes this time-past the Second Consolation, it made no difference.
Peace was within her reach at last, and life and death were reconciled. To cease to be part was to become one with the whole, to be not merely a life, but Life itself.
Nyctasia was content.