Children of the Blood (40 page)

“As you already know who I am, I shall spare you a like introduction. ”

“Nonsense, lady. I would be pleased to hear your name and title. ”

I’m sure you would.
She ignored his request. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He was silent a few moments. “Perhaps, lady, you might tell me what I’ve done to offend you.”

“Offend me?”

“Indeed; you seem to be displeased at something, and I can only assume it is my presence.”

This surprised her. Whoever this Vellen was, he was unlike Derlac, the high priest she’d been forced to deal with too often.

“I’m not used to having the infirmary sealed off by armed guards. ” She turned warily to face him again, arms crossed, head to one side.

He saw in her expression fear, confusion, and irritation. All amused him. Clearly her stay with the First of the Sundered had not broken her. The fact that she was whole pleased him immensely.

“Forgive me, lady.” He bowed. “I shall have the Swords removed at once. ”

Standing in front of a perfectly attired, perfectly civil priest made her feel suddenly awkward and gawky. She had never imagined that any Malanthi could carry such an air of beauty about him. It made her very uncomfortable. Motionless, Kandor might once have looked as Vellen did.

“Look, Lord Vellen,” she said, drawing her arms tighter around her body. “I’m rather busy, rather tired, and rather disinclined to play at word games. If you want something, state it plainly. If you don’t, you can leave with your Swords. ”

“It appears that I have caught you at an inconvenient time.” He turned to the door. “But I assure you, Lady Sara, that I only wished to meet you. For the moment you have nothing more to fear from
me.
”

She nodded, not trusting the words. She did not relax at all.

He turned back, his smile faltering only fractionally.

“Your bravery is commendable. I believe I shall see you at this evening’s meal. ”

He opened the door, and Lord Darclan walked into the room.

They watched each other without a trace of surprise.

“Lord Darclan. ”

“High Priest.”

They fenced with their smiles; Sara saw the identical glint of teeth on each face, and noted that the warmth had left Vellen’s. Stefanos looked up to meet Sara’s eyes.

“Stefanos. ”

“Lady. ”

She smiled, very conscious of Vellen’s gaze.

“Darin?”

This caused the only discomfort that Lord Vellen had yet shown. His brows rose, and the look he shot his former slave held all of the anger he had not yet shown.

“Lord,” Darin said quietly.

“You are both well?”

They nodded, and Stefanos stepped quietly toward Sara.

“I will leave now, Lady,” Lord Vellen said, plainly aware that he was about to be forgotten. “I will have the pleasure of your company later this eve.” He bowed a last time and left the room.

When the door had closed, Sara walked into the waiting circle of Stefanos’ arms. She leaned into his chest.

“He’s dangerous,” she told him quietly.

He held her tightly, too tightly. She looked up.

“Stefanos, what is it?”

“Nothing, lady.”

“Not nothing. Something troubles you. Please, look at me.”

He did, with pain and an odd sort of hunger.

“Lady, will you close the infirmary for the day?”

Quietly she looked at Darin and nodded. She walked around the room, putting things away. When she finished, she followed him out of the infirmary, and with shaking hands locked it.

Darin asked his leave, and Stefanos gave it without paying too much attention. He turned to Sara, caught her hands, and kissed her forehead.

Together, by mutual silent consent, they walked toward Sara’s chambers. There, in the curtained light, they held each other against the coming of the night.

Vellen stared down at the corpse in front of him. With a slight grimace of irritation, he rolled down his sleeves. Taking care to avoid blood, he wiped the blade of his knife clean and placed it, almost reverently, into the box that the Sword to his left held.

Risky,
he thought,
but I may need the power
.

Still, he felt annoyance. He was not inclined to rush through a ceremony, or to end a life too quickly. The need for a semblance of secrecy annoyed him further, not that it would matter in the end. With the coming of dawn, he would blood the altars several times, free from the constraints that held him now.

“Redak, take the body out through the slaves’ quarters. Make sure you are seen by no one but the slaves. On your way back, tell them this: The Lady Sara is not to leave the premises again; if she is seen, she is to be stopped. At midnight, those unwilling to serve the Church in this fashion will serve it in another. ”

Redak gave a low bow and set to his task. It was a fairly easy job, for since disposing of the body might have posed a problem, Vellen had chosen a young child, one easily carried by a single Sword.

He turned to look out of the window.
What game do you play, Servant?

He had wanted to see the blood of the Enemy, wanted more to defile it and destroy its potency. That desire was not to be granted to him. On the three occasions that he had tried to leave the castle and enter the grounds, he had been firmly, fearfully, and forcibly halted. Without the four Servants as escort, he could do nothing short of cutting down those who opposed him, which would accomplish little.

But the evening approached, and with it the power he needed. If the First Servant wished to guard the blood of the Enemy against him, it mattered little—no one else would reach it. They were two against nine, and they would be overpowered.

But it vexed him, and not a little. He was patient when necessity decreed it, but he had no love of waiting.

Good enough. He noted the sun’s position and began to lay out clothing for the evening meal. The only thing he would regret was lack of time to satisfy his curiosity about Lady Sara. What did she hold that could bind the First Servant so strongly?

What about her, among all others, had elevated her to such a level?

 

Stefanos held Sara, feeling again the warmth of her, seeing without sight the luminosity of her life. Already the sun was cooling into its daily death and the chamber was sinking into darkness. He knew that he would never again hold her or know the peace that she could bring him.

What did you say about
the light, Sarillorn ?
That you would hold it within you, hold it against me like a shield?

He tried to smile, but there was too much grim bitterness to allow for it. She had always kept her word. And now, now there was no like thing he could call up within himself to use as a shield against the loss. He felt like the husk of a living thing and pulled her closer to share the warmth of her life.

Without speaking, Sara returned his embrace. She knew what he was feeling, and the intensity of it banished her desire to know why.

 

“No, Darin, you can still see the staff.”

Darin reached down and pulled at the hem of his tunic. It was slightly oversized, but both he and Gervin agreed that this would probably not be noticed or remarked on—the occupants of the dining hall would hopefully have their attentions focused elsewhere.

“Better?”

“Slightly.” Gervin rubbed wearily at his eyes. Between the two of them they had gotten maybe four hours of sleep, and sleep was badly needed. No time for it, though. No time at all. “Now practice walking again.”

Nodding, Darin crossed the length of the room.

“Still limping, Darin. Try again.”

It was perhaps the fiftieth time he had done so, but he made no complaint—the cost of a mistake was too near and too high.

“Did you find out if the Swords will be dining?”

Gervin smiled grimly. “Yes. They won’t be dining formally.” He did not expand upon this, but Darin shivered at the darkness of the smile.

“The Servants?”

“Places will be set for them. Don’t think they’ll be eating much—not yet. That’s better. Can you get it out of the strap?”

They both knew the answer, but Darin pulled the staff out from under the side of his tunic anyway.

“Good. Put it back.”

Easily said, and after hours of practice, almost easily done.

The voice of Bethany replied firmly, but wearily.
As I’ve said many times,
Darin,
I will not put out the power. Without it, there is little reason for them to suspect your existence. But if I am visible at all,
they will know me,
as your lord did.

Right.
Self-consciously, he checked the length of the tunic, pulling it again into position.

I hope so.
He continued to walk, more out of nervousness than any desire for perfection.

Gervin checked his dagger sheaths almost casually.

“The Swords will be my problem, Darin. I believe I can accomplish something against them. ”

Darin stopped walking and checked the staff again. He sighed. “When shall I report to the kitchen? ”

“You’ve another hour. Keep walking. ”

“I’ll want some time to practice balancing dishes.”

Gervin shrugged. “How difficult can that be? You’ve served before. ”

“Not in the dining hall. They said I was too small.”

“True. But I’ve told you all you’ll need to know here.”

“I know. But if I start serving from the wrong side, or in the wrong order—”

“You won’t, Darin. Have some faith in yourself. ” Gervin sat down, stood up, and sat down again. He shrugged, trying to relax muscles that were riveted with tension. “I’ve taken the liberty of providing a dinner here for the both of us. ”

“I’m not very hungry,” Darin said quietly.

“Neither am I,” Gervin confessed. “But we’ll need the energy, so we’re both going to eat. ” He tried to smile, and for the most part succeeded. “Besides, if your stomach starts growling while you’re serving dinner to our exalted guests, you’re liable to come under some scrutiny. ”

Darin nodded seriously and sat down. He grimaced and set the staff of Culverne aside.

“Gervin, if we do make it as far as—”

“Don’t think of it. Think as far as the dinner. If we’re still around after that, we’ll have time.” He frowned.

They sat together in tense silence until someone knocked at
the door. In a flurry of motion, Darin grabbed the staff and jammed in into the strap beneath the tunic. Gervin rose and answered the door.

“Master Gervin, we’ve brought your dinner. ”

“Come in, quickly.”

Two men walked into the room, carrying large trays with an ease that Darin envied. One was an older man, his dark hair streaked with steel gray, his eyes sunk into his face and ringed with dark circles. The man beside him was younger, but his face no less gaunt. Many people had had sleepless nights.

“Set them down on the bed.”

They did as he commanded and turned to face him.

“The doors?”

“It’s been arranged.”

“Good. The gate?”

“Also arranged.”

“The children?”

One of the speakers, Reynis, paled. Wordless, he shook his head.

“Why not?”

“The Swords of the Church are keeping an eye on our quarters at all times. If we evacuate the children to the Vale, it will rouse their suspicions.”

Gervin nodded grimly. “Very well. Begin the evacuation of the children when the Swords are in the dining hall. I believe they’ll be sufficiently distracted at that point.”

Michael nodded.

“Anything else to report?”

A shadow flickered dimly across Reynis’ face, a hint of grim doubt. Then he swallowed and made his choice. He said nothing.

“Good. Go back to your families
.
”

They left the room as quietly as they had entered.

“Dinner, Darin.” Gervin waved a hand toward the trays.

“Best eat up now. You’ll be wanted in the kitchen soon enough.”

Darin did as he was bidden; he found it easier to follow directions now than to try to decide what to do on his own. His hands shook-there was nothing he could do to stop that—but he managed to lift food from the tray to his mouth. Everything had the texture of sand; it clung tastelessly to the inside of his throat until washed down with tepid water.

“Darin. ” Gervin’s voice was soft. “It’s time. Go to the kitchen now.”