The Betrayal (28 page)

“When you are rested, write down all you have told me and anything else you remember.”

He looked mildly surprised but bowed. “As you will, Bright Lady. Do I then return to Fireshore?”

“Not yet.”

She watched him go, then strode to the gallery to look out over Nightsand. Cold air smote her, moist and sharp, stinging her face. The night was aging, but she had one task yet to accomplish before retiring.

Dareth joined her. She glanced at him, then took his hand and stepped out onto the gallery, letting the drape fall behind them, shutting them off from the warmth of the Cliff Hollows. He stroked her hair.

“What are you thinking?”

“How best to use the tools that come to hand.”

She watched the wind trouble the dark waters of the bay for a moment, then turned to look at Dareth. He was gazing at her, his face unreadable.

“Am I one of your tools?”

She caught him to her, kissed him fiercely. “No. Never think that.”

He made no answer. She searched his face, kissed him once more, then pulled open the drape and led him inside.

“I have an errand in the pens. I will not be long.”

She left him and hastened to the pens, not bothering to fetch her cloak. If she returned chilled, Dareth could warm her.

It had been some days since she had last seen the Steppegard and hence some days since he had fed, but she approached the door of his chamber with caution. He was on his feet and pacing, strength palpable in his khi even at a distance. He had taken advantage of the
washing water she had sent, and looked in far better health save for the raging hunger she could see in his taut face. He caught sight of her and came to the door, lacing his fingers in the grating.

“Bright Lady. Give me my freedom.”

His eyes shone darkly in the eternal night of the pens. Shalár tilted her head, watching him.

“What would that gain me?”

His hands tightened into fists around the grating. “I swear I will serve you, only let me free.”

“Serve me? You would run the moment you were freed.”

She took a step closer, observing his agitated state. He watched her with restless eyes.

“And where would you run? Across the Ebons, of course. But back to the Steppes? I think not.” She smiled and paced a few steps to one side, aware of his gaze following her. “Not for long. Certainly not once your hair whitens, which it will within a year, by the way.”

His glance shifted to his hair, which looked cleaner now, tumbling in curls to his shoulders, almost as wild as when she had first seen him. When he looked back at her, his intensity was diminished, replaced by confusion.

“What service can I perform for you? I will gladly earn my freedom.”

Shalár resumed her leisurely pacing, her steps echoing softly down rock passages. It might do. She would not even mind losing control of him, as she certainly would, if she sent him all the way to Glenhallow.

Her plan was coalescing. She smiled and glanced back at the Steppegard.

“I will think on that and return when I am ready to discuss it with you. You may pass the time considering how to assure me that freeing you will be worth my while.”

“Bright Lady, Irith is waiting in your audience chamber.”

Shalár smiled at Galir. “Thank you. Has the catamount been fed as I ordered?”

“Yes, lady. It was given a freshly killed buck.”

“Excellent.” Shalár glanced at the closed door of her bedchamber. “Put out my leathers and pack my gear for hunting.”

Galir blinked. “Yes, Bright Lady. I had not heard there was to be another hunt.”

“It is not a pack hunt.”

She turned away, thinking over all she had pondered during a lazy day in bed with Dareth. His strength was improving, as was his lust, but still there had been time for musing. She had tried to think of every possible flaw in her plan and had become more and more convinced that it could work. Therefore, she must not delay.

Dareth would be displeased. There was no help for it; she could only hope to return to him swiftly, before he again fell subject to gloom.

Hurrying to the audience chamber, she shivered at the evening's chill and sent an attendant scurrying for hot wine. Irith was waiting, looking city-clean instead of hunt-worn. He held a curl of paper in his hand and offered it as he bowed at her approach.

“Bright Lady. I have written everything I can recall.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

She took the pages, uncoiled them, and glanced through them, nodding. Irith had been thorough. It was a quality of his she liked.

The attendant returned with a tray bearing a steaming pitcher and two cups, which she placed on the table that had been brought in the previous night. Shalár took a cup of hot spiced wine and handed her Irith's pages.

“Have a fair copy made of this at once.”

“Yes, Bright Lady.”

Shalár took a chair at the table, inviting Irith to join her. “Did you visit any other towns in Fireshore? I failed to ask you before.”

“No. We made straight for Ghlanhras, and afterward I thought you would want our news as swiftly as possible.”

“You thought aright. Well done.” Shalár took a swallow of the spiced wine, feeling it warm her all the way down her chest. “I hope you rested well yesterday.”

“I did, my lady.” He glanced up at her over his cup, a smile twisting his mouth. “Do you mean that is all the rest I am to have?”

She set down her cup. “I need to know of Westgard and of Bitterfield. The sooner the better.”

Irith nodded and reached for the pitcher, offering to fill her cup before pouring more wine into his own. Shalár pushed it toward him.

“Am I to start to night, or may I have a night to prepare?”

“You may have a night. I will be occupied for the next few nights myself.”

Irith again looked curious, but she saw no need to enlighten him. She gazed past him at the ælven tapestry on the wall.

Dareth entered the chamber. She felt him even as she heard his step and turned toward him, smiling.

“Dareth. Join us.”

She saw unhappiness in his face before his tight smile replaced it. That he should burn so with jealousy pleased a small, greedy part of her, but her wiser self regretted it. She reached for his hand and pressed her cup into it as he took a chair beside her.

Irith tossed off the wine in his own cup, then set it down on the table with a sharp clack of pottery on
wood. “By your leave, Bright Lady, I have much to do this night if I am to return to Fireshore.”

Shalár nodded, dismissing him. He cast a glance at Dareth before departing.

She watched Dareth take a long draught of wine, then took the cup from him, drank what was left in it, and filled it once more. His face was closed, his khi withdrawn. She sipped the wine and handed it back to him, taking his free hand in hers. Even touching thus, she could not read his khi.

“I must leave you for a little while. A few nights only.”

“Going to Fireshore?” His voice was low with bitterness.

“No. Irith goes to Fireshore. I go west. I will take the catamount into the mountains and release it.”

She felt relief flood through his khi, suddenly open to her again. She squeezed his hand. He pushed the cup away and brought both her hands to his lips, kissing them passionately.

“Forgive me.”

“Hush.”

She leaned close, looking up at him until at last he met her gaze. She had more to tell him, and he would not like it, but delaying would make it no easier for either of them.

“I will do the same with the Steppegard.”

Dareth frowned. “What?”

“Take him into the mountains and release him.”

“Why?”

“I have found a use for him. I think he will do as I wish in return for his freedom. I am sending him to the Ælven Council.”

Dareth stared at her in incomprehension. “What good can that do?”

“He is to convince them he comes from Fireshore. He will enjoy that. He is deceitful by nature.”

Shalár smiled, remembering the Steppegard's sullen-ness whenever she had made him talk of Alpinon. Yes, she expected he would enjoy deceiving the Council.

“Why do you wish them to be deceived?”

“So they will leave Fireshore alone.”

“Oh.”

Dareth let go her hands. After a moment he reached for the wine. Shalár watched him, breathed his khi. No longer jealous, but sad again. So sad.

“I will return as swiftly as I can to you.”

“And then you will leave for Fireshore.”

“Not for a while yet.”

She felt him drawing away again, closing his heart. She dared not let him. Standing up, she pulled his hands.

“Come into the workroom.”

Dareth looked up at her. She wanted him, needed him now. She wanted to reclaim him. She leaned forward and kissed him, ignoring the sound of a step from the corridor: the startled, muffled gasp of an attendant. She leaned her knee on Dareth's thigh and deepened the kiss. Not until he warmed to her did she pause to raise her head.

The attendant stood frozen, staring, dismayed. In her hands were two scrolls of paper.

“Thank you. Leave them on the table.”

“Yes, Bright Lady.” The attendant scurried forward, dropped the papers on the table, caught one as it started to roll away and replaced it, then fled.

Shalár turned back to Dareth. She leaned her forehead against his, feeling a hot wave of lust.

“Come into the workroom, my love.”

His eyes reflected her desire as he slowly smiled. “Yes, Bright Lady.”

Shalár stood outside the Steppegard's chamber, holding her chalice. It contained but a scant mouthful of
food, all she dared give him, and that only to calm his hunger, which pounded at her even at this distance.

She herself was sated. She had drained a kobalen after sending a pitcher of its blood to the Cliff Hollows for Dareth and reserving this little for her captive. Strength flowed through her, and she knew she would need all of it this night.

The Steppegard appeared at the door to his chamber, drawn by the smell of the blood. Shalár brought it closer, saw him swallow.

“Yield to me and you shall have it.”

He looked up in confusion, then stepped back. She reached out with her khi, slowly surrounding him, feeling the bright tang of his own khi, still foreign, still ælven.

“Yield.”

She tightened her hold, demanding control of his flesh. His sharp glance told her he understood, but he did not yield at once. She pressed more strongly. The Steppegard shuddered, then closed his eyes. A moment later his resistance melted away.

“Good.”

Shalár stepped to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. The Steppegard's hunger drove him to try for the chalice, but she kept him still, noting his surprise.

He submitted to being turned, having his hands brought behind him. Shalár set aside the chalice and bound his hands, then retrieved the cup and made him face her. His gaze stayed on the chalice.

She held it to his lips and slowly tipped it up. He drank greedily and uttered a grunt of protest when she moved to withdraw the empty cup. She tipped it again and let him lick as much as he could reach.

New strength coursed through his khi, and as she expected, he tried to break her hold. She kept it and
bore down on him with increasing pressure as a warning not to try again. He winced but did not cry out.

Relenting, she turned from him and walked out of the chamber. He stood silent, watching her.

“Come.”

She nudged him with khi. He took a startled step forward, then slowly emerged. She made him precede her down the corridor.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away from here. Is that not enough?”

He asked no more questions, made no trouble as she paused to return her chalice and the keys to Nihlan's keeping. She caught the keeper's eye.

“Send fresh food to my steward every night.”

“Yes, Bright Lady.”

Shalár urged the Steppegard forward again, up the long sloping corridor to the cliff. As they emerged, he saw the sleeping catamount and recoiled.

“Be still.”

She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulders, then woke the catamount. It grumbled and yawned, stretching. The Steppegard drew back. Shalár mounted the cat, settled her pack more comfortably, then beckoned to her captive.