She knew that something had to happen, eventually. She could not go on indefinitely. When it came, she was not prepared for it.
She turned one day from putting the bundle of soiled bedclothes outside the door to find Taya’s gaze upon her. The blue eyes were open, unblinking and clear.
“Demial,” she croaked, “I knew it was you.”
She was sane. Totally lucid, as she had not been in weeks, not since that first night. After weeks of babbling nonsense, Taya was looking at her, clear-eyed and sane. What would Taya say now? The words that Demial had feared all these weeks: Revelation. Condemnation. She had thought herself beyond caring, but she found she was breathing rapidly.
Taya tried to lift her hand to reach for Demial.
Demial drew back, just one tiny step. She flushed with shame. How many nights had she sat there, holding the crooked fingers, soothing a mad woman’s ravings, and now when Taya reached for her, she backed away in horror? Just when she’d thought there was nothing more Taya could take away from her. . Taya sapped her courage.
“Taya?” she whispered again, and she swallowed and forced herself to move forward, to sit on the edge of the chair and to slip her cold fingers into Taya’s.
“Demial. I knew it was you.”
The words were like sandpaper coining out, so dry they hurt to hear. Automatically, Demial caught up the cup of water she kept on the bedside table, lifted Taya’s shoulders, and held the cup to her lips.
Taya sucked at the water hungrily. It eased the harshness of her voice. She held onto the cup, held onto Demial’s arm with growing strength. “Demial. I knew it was you.”
“Of course it’s me.” Demial extricated her arm and the cup from the thin fingers, and Taya made no attempt to draw her back. She lay on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling with her sharp, blue gaze.
“I saw you. . on the path. The day I came. . back.” The voice, though stronger, was still ragged. Each breath was still an effort. “Mountains,” she said, then stopped to gulp for air, and Demial thought she was slipping into madness again. Instead, Taya went on. “I wasn’t sure. Didn’t know. But I had to. I came home. . to the mountains. Looked and looked. . for the mountains. For a long time, I. . couldn’t find my way.”
Demial could say nothing. She was amazed and just a little in awe at the image that came into her mind of the weak and half-mad Taya searching, determined to find her way home.
Taya turned her head, pinning Demial with the surety in her expression. “Then I found. . mountains. I hid. Saw you. On the path. Saw you. I knew. . I’d made the right decision.”
Demial shifted under the weight of Taya’s gaze, edging back in the chair. “I don’t understand.” But she was afraid she did. Taya was one of the few who knew who she was, what she’d done. Taya had come home to expose her.
Eerily echoing her thoughts, Taya said, “I know about you.” For this statement, the ragged voice had strengthened, had gone silky and soft. “I know all about you. I saw you. With Ariakan’s legions. With your gray wizards and your robes. You were. . You were like. . a storm. A fire. Lightning. Your leader fell, and you took up her staff. You carried on the battle. You were. . magnificent. Even the troops in my company were inspired by you. They charged for you, dying. Dying.”
Taya’s voice, at last, faded.
Automatically Demial lifted the cup of water and the thin shoulders, supporting Taya so she could drink. Her fingers were so numb, she couldn’t even feel the cotton nightdress or the burning flesh beneath.
The water strengthened Taya again. “They all died, didn’t they? All except you. I should have known you wouldn’t die. It’s what you’ve always been best at, isn’t it? Surviving.”
Praise and condemnation all in one. Admiration for someone who had betrayed her own people. “I don’t-”
She stopped, confused. Taya was the one person who knew, the only one who’d ever known that Demial had saved herself, had survived the raid on the village that fateful summer day, had secured herself a position in the Gray Wizards by betraying the location of the village and the valuable mine.
“I suppose you’ve come to tell everyone the truth.”
Taya stared at her with something like pity. “No. No, I haven’t. I wasn’t sure until I saw you, but then I knew I’d made the right decision. I came home to die.”
Demial jerked, dropping the cup. It clattered on the hard-packed floor, showering droplets of water in a shiny arc.
She jerked again as Taya reached out and grabbed her wrist. “I knew when I saw you. That you could do it, for me.”
“Do it! Do what?” Demial snatched her arm away. She jumped up and back, sending the chair clattering to the floor, but she knew. Oh, gods, she knew! She wheeled to run away, but Taya’s voice stopped her. It had gone soft and whispery again, low enough that the slither of Demial’s robe on the floor was enough to drown it out.
She couldn’t move away. “What?”
“You can do it, Dem. If not for me, for Quinn.”
“Don’t call me that,” Demial snapped automatically. She forgot all the careful schooling she’d given her face. Smile. Smile softly. Smile brightly, and no one will ever know. “Nobody calls me that. I hate it when people call me that.”
“Your father called you that,” Taya said softly, with pity and understanding in her face. As well there was a hard-edged something that Demial had tried so hard to school out of her own: determination and malice.
Fire and nausea rose up in Demial’s stomach. Her fingers clenched and unclenched. If Taya said it again, if she looked at her like that again, Demial could do it. She would do it and gladly. Except. . except. . Abruptly all the fire went out of her, all the anger and the hatred. She couldn’t do it. No matter what, she couldn’t do it. It was as much a shock to her, a revelation, as it would be to Taya. She really couldn’t do it. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
Taya laughed, an ugly, disbelieving sound that turned into a hacking cough. Her shoulders shook. Her lungs sounded as if they were old, brittle paper being ripped in half. She turned her head on the pillow, wiping her own mouth, leaving the linen cover stained with phlegm and blood. “Yes, you can. You’re the only one who can.”
Demial righted the chair and set the cup gently in its place. It gave a soft tap of metal on wood.
Taya reached for her arm again.
The other woman’s flesh burned, but she didn’t know if it was because Taya’s skin was so hot or because hers was so cold. Before she could shake her head again, Taya said, “You can do it, Demial. Kill me.”
“I can’t.”
“Help me die.”
“I can’t.”
Taya caressed the tender flesh on the inside of her wrist softly, like a lover. “It’ll make you safe. After I’m gone, there won’t be anyone, will there? There won’t be anyone who’ll know about you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t. I can’t.”
Taya turned her brittle nails inward and dug them into Demial’s wrist. “You have to. Why does it matter? I’m dying anyway. You’ll only be helping me. It’s not like it’s murder. You’ve never minded murder anyway, have you?”
Demial shook her head, aware that the movement might be interpreted to mean “No, I’ve never minded murder.” Something inside her was breaking, tearing, with a sound like Taya’s coughing. “You don’t. . I can’t. . I don’t. . You don’t understand. Things are different now.” She stared at Taya with mute appeal, wanting to beg.
Taya gave up. Her fingers went limp on Demial’s skin. Tears welled up in her eyes. They seemed tinged blue, like a high mountain lake reflecting the sky, until they escaped her pale lashes. Then they looked like big drops of silver, sliding down the pale cheeks. “Oh, Demial, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all the things I said in the past. You must know. I don’t think the others realize it, but you do. You know I’m never going to be better. You can’t think I want to lie here like this. I see you watching Quinn. I see you watching him wasting away, day after day. I saw him on the path, too, that day I came back. The man who comes in here every morning. . that’s not the Quinn I saw. Neither one of us wants him to waste away.”