She struggled to remain upright as the strong sea wind roared over the promontory, buffeting her face, whipping the tatters of her shirt.
Michael took her wrist and dragged her forward on the promontory; it was a wide ledge, narrowing to a distinct point, where the wind was fierce. His dark hair streamed behind him like a triumphant banner, matched by the cloak, now blowing behind him as well; he seemed invigorated by the wind, Rhapsody noted. She struggled to keep from trembling in his grasp, but was finding it hard not to do so when faced with the reality of her captor’s strength; aside from his obvious advantages of size and strength, he was evidently tied to two elements, air and fire, both of which he seemed able to command at will.
And he was the bodily manifestation of a F’dor.
The sun turned red as it sank toward the ocean, hovering only a few hands from the horizon.
Michael ran his cadaverous fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, running the skeletal digits through the tresses, entwining them. He jerked her head up and turned her so that they were looking southward and pointed to the left of the setting sun, his arm bathed in bloody light.
“There it is, my love, our ship of dreams, come to sail us away from this place and back to Argaut, where I will make good on all my promises to you.”
He waved his free hand high in the air; a shower of black fire shot forth, burning through the dusty afternoon light in a screaming arc.
As the searing light faded she could see the ship, anchored deep. In response to the flash of fire, the sails began to rise.
Rhapsody started to shake with the effort to hold back from sobbing. I will not give this bastard the satisfaction of making me cry ever again, she thought, though her resolve was fading in the face of the circumstance.
She peered over the end of the promontory. The volcanic rock of the cliff stretched down directly into the sea a hundred or more feet below, leaving a shoreline scored with jagged rocks. The waves crashed menacingly below, surging violently against the cliff face. Rhapsody closed her eyes and staggered slightly as her balance shifted, leaving her nauseous and faint.
“Please,” she choked, “move back from here.”
The seneschal laughed harshly and pulled her away from the edge of the promontory, back toward his seven men, who were reconnoitering, getting their bearings and making preparations to descend to the ship.
“You are afraid of heights? Now, that’s odd, Rhapsody. I hadn’t realized you were afraid of anything. Perhaps it explains why you never liked being on top.”
Rhapsody swallowed her retort. Her head cleared as they moved away from the churning sea, making her realize that there was nothing to be gained by infuriating him.
“How did you survive, Michael?” she asked softly, no tone of contempt evident in her voice. “I have long believed you dead.”
The seneschal turned and looked down at her, his blue eyes piercing, as if trying to gauge her intent. Rhapsody forced herself to return his gaze without any of the disdain she felt, and had always felt, for him, searching his face for changes.
The chiseled lines of his jaw and cheekbones were the same as they had been when she had known him in the old world, but they had gone much more hollow; it was as if the skin was stretched over the framework of his face a little too tightly. When he was excited, however, he seemed to thicken, his gaunt frame gaining flesh, probably from the presence of the demon rising in his blood. She had seem similar physiological changes in Ashe, when the dragon was getting the better of him.
But while the dragon in Ashe’s blood was covetous and petty, avaricious and difficult to reason with on occasion, it was an innate part of him, a trait handed down from his grandmother and great-grandmother that had come into prominence because of a near-fatal blow, coincidentally from another F’dor, and the extreme measures that had been undertaken to save him in the land between life and death, the realm of the Lord and Lady Rowan. It was as much a part of him as the color of his eyes or his ability to ride a horse, and had as many endearing aspects as annoying ones.
Michael’s physiological manifestations were a sign of an evil spirit that had moved into his flesh as if it were an inn or a brothel, making itself at home.
But the eyes were the same. They were the same blue, like a cloudless summer sky, with the same propensity to gleam with unholy excitement, the same unstable gaze that could break like a sudden thunderstorm without warning. His eyes had always haunted her.
Those cold blue eyes were now tinged with the flame of the Underworld itself.
“Did it matter to you when you thought I was?” he asked quietly. His face was guarded, but Rhapsody believed she saw a vulnerability there, beneath the rictus of the demon.
“Yes,” she said directly and honestly. The belief that she had escaped him, would never again have to see his face, had been one of the few happy thoughts that comforted her when she came out of the Root and discovered the Island was gone.
“I found a way to live forever,” he said simply. “It involved taking on a partner.”
“You sold yourself to a demon?”
“In a manner of speaking, but in truth it made out far better in the deal. I am not a mindless host, Rhapsody; it is I who am in control.”
Liar, the demon whispered in his mind. Cast me off, then, and see if you can still make that claim.
Rhapsody could not hear it, but saw his face suddenly contort, and knew he was struggling with the monster. She stood as still as she could, fearing that the ire would turn on her if she moved.
“Your Honor! We’ve found the pathway down to the sand beach,” Fergus called from the southern side of the promontory. “If we leave now, we can be at the shoreline before dusk. The longboats are already on their way.”
Michael’s grip on Rhapsody’s arm tightened again, causing her to gasp against her will. He dragged her back over to the rim of the promontory, and stared out over the ocean, now bathed in rosy golden light.
Rhapsody looked out on the sea. Away from the base of the cliff walls below them, to the south, she could see a sandy shoreline past the rocks, where the incoming tide rolled in breakers, whispering up the beach and rolling away again, unlike the mad crashing of sea against stone wall that was the shoreline directly below.
Three longboats had been launched by the vessel that lurked in the depths, rowing smoothly to the sandy shore.
“Take an archer and start down,” the seneschal ordered his reeve. “When you get to the switchback, light it and signal me; I want to know where it is if it has gone dark before we make it down.” Fergus nodded, lit the lantern and signaled to one of the bowmen, disappearing into the rocky boulders that lead down the cliff face to the beach.
“Why are you tarrying, Michael?” Rhapsody asked, a nervous edge to her voice. She was exhausted and overwrought; her normal reserve was beginning to crumble.
And she feared she already knew the answer.
He turned slowly and looked down at her thoughtfully. A beam of red sunlight broke through the low-lying clouds at the horizon, illuminating his face, making it glow with a demonic sheen.
“Isn’t this a romantic spot?” he asked, his grin widening to the point of being malefic. “We have at least an hour before the longboats land. That should be plenty of time.” He tossed his head in the wind whipping up from the bellowing sea, his eyes sparking with its power, then fixing on her with a gaze that terrified her.
“I have been waiting for this for a very long time, Rhapsody. I’ve mourned the loss of you ever since the day you escaped from that ratty tavern, the Hat and Feathers, or some such thing, in Easton; do you remember? I sent my man to bring you to me, but you never came. They told me the Brother had taken you—was that true? What happened to him?”
“The Brother—is no more,” she stammered, her teeth chattering from fear and the chill of the night wind coming off the cold sea.