The chamber had been arranged entirely to Nyctasia’s taste, as only one who knew her well could have done it. The furnishings were sparse but rare, of marble and oak and ivory. In the center of the carpet there stood a round table of petrified wood, and the bed filled a niche draped with curtains of dark brocade, shot with silver threads. A mirror in a silver frame hung on one wall, flanked by brackets holding silver candlesticks.
The deeply arched window overlooked a pool amid overgrown gardens, and on the window seat stood a small, silver-stringed harp of black ebon wood. Shiastred set it aside and laid Nyctasia, half-asleep, among the cushions.
Not until he had left her did she open her eyes and try to sit upright. Her head ached cruelly, and the sight of the chamber sobered her still more, as she began to remember her reasons for leaving it the day before. She took up the black harp and very lightly brushed the strings, but set it down again when she heard Shiastred’s footsteps in the corridor.
He handed her a heavy goblet of a steaming, fragrant liquid which she accepted gratefully, knowing that it would ease the throbbing pain behind her eyes.
“And since when have you taken to drink?” he asked.
Nyctasia looked at him over the rim of the goblet, “Since when have you taken to human sacrifice, ’Ben?”
“Don’t talk nonsense, ’Tasia! You too have destroyed your enemies-”
“To protect myself, not to increase my own power!”
“Which of them would not do as much to me if they could?” he demanded angrily, but then said more gently, “Sometimes that is the only way to protect oneself.
You do not yet know the Yth as I do.”
Nyctasia shook her head, still too tipsy to argue. She knew there were reasons, but it was so hard to arrange her thoughts. “I don’t care what you do to your enemies, ’Ben. I care what you do to your own spirit.”
Shiastred stood over her, as if undecided whether to stay or go, but now he sat at her side, looking out over the dark gardens. “Are you so changed to me
’Tasia? I would not have believed that you could mistrust me, turn from me…
To what end have I won this safe hold if not for you-that we might be together, beyond the reach of any enemy?”
“It is not I who have changed. We never thought to pay such a price for our freedom.”
“We were children then! Yth-land is not won for the asking, or held by the weak.
Kastenid lost this place because he would not do all in his power to keep it.
But together we would be proof against any challenge. We’d have no need to use our enemies’ ways to defend ourselves. That is what we wanted!”
He drew her into his arms, caressingly massaged her aching temples with strong, knowing fingers. “But if you would renounce our plans now, ’Tasia, we shall leave here together. Let Kastenid take back his own-what can it mean to me if you no longer want it? We will travel if you wish. Only tell me what you want me to do!”
Nyctasia closed her eyes. “I want you to hold me, ’Ben.” She knew that she was vulnerable, in her confusion, to Influences she should resist, and that lovemaking would only weaken her further. She knew that there were questions to be asked, plans and promises to be made. Yet she told herself that they would wait, that her desire would not. A chill went through her as Erystalben lightly kissed the back of her neck. “I want you to hold me,” she said.
Corson was awakened next morning by a servant who informed her that she was wanted by Her Ladyship and must come at once.
She had not spent a peaceful night. Too weak to seek other shelter, she’d had no choice but to remain under Shiastred’s roof. The sickening dizziness had gradually left her, but sleep had not brought her rest. In her dreams, she was harried by a great hawk that circled about her, raking at her with its talons.
Each time she tried to strike down the raptor it swept out of reach of her sword, letting her wear herself out with useless blows, biding its time to strike. She woke still exhausted from the losing battle.
She was suspicious of the summons. Suppose it were a trap? She knew she was at Shiastred’s mercy as long as she was within his walls, but how could she get away if every road only led her back to this cursed place? The sense of confinement struck her with a cold panic terror. All her prowess would be unavailing against Shiastred’s sorcery. Would she really be allowed to see Nyctasia?
She followed the servant up a long staircase and through a series of winding corridors. He left her at the curtained doorway of Nyctasia’s chamber.
“Good morning, Corson. I trust you’ve been well looked after?” Nyctasia said graciously. She was sitting in bed, wrapped in a robe of silver-grey watered silk.
At first Corson was dumbfounded by Nyctasia’s distant manner, but then she saw Lord Erystalben watching them from the alcove window.
Corson stiffened. “I want to talk to you alone.”
“Do you hear, ’Ben?” laughed Nyctasia. “You are dismissed!”
He shook his head, smiling tolerantly. “You were always too familiar with your servants, ’Tasia.”
“Oh, but one must allow for some spirit. One doesn’t want a bodyguard with the gentle temper of a ewe-lamb.”
He came to Nyctasia and, leaning over her, lovingly raised her head. “You’ve no need of a bodyguard now.” Pulling her close, he gave her a lingering kiss.
Corson moved well out of his way as he went to the door, but he passed her as though she weren’t there.
“You’ve changed your mind again?” Corson asked, feeling like a fool. She sat down on the bed by Nyctasia, uninvited, “When I found you at the hostel you said you would never come back here.”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember much of what I said last night,” Nyctasia admitted ruefully. “I ought not to drink. ’Ben had insisted that we make a marriage pact, and we quarreled-but as you can see, I gave way in the end.” She held out her hand to show Corson the slender golden band.
“But what of you, Corson? I thought you were eager to return to Chiastelm.” She pointed to a well-filled purse on the table at her bedside. “That will more than meet your needs, though of course you are welcome to stay. You will always be welcome here. I know what I owe you.”
Corson did not dare to slap her. “You owe me nothing, lady,” she said, rising.
“I want to reach the crossroads before dark-have I your leave to go?”
“Of course. A safe journey to you, Corson.” She summoned a servant to show Corson out.