“My white one,” Maelga whispered, “when you disappeared that night from your hall, I knew I would never see you again, and there was such a sorrow in my withered heart. And today, again, there is that sorrow… you will step again into the night and when I see you again I will look into a stranger’s eyes.”
“Strange to you, but Maelga, I think I have never been less strange to myself as now. It is a terrible thing to say, but there is a triumph in me that I do not even have the sense to fear. It is as though in my thoughts I am Gyld, flying high, high in the night sky, huge, powerful, irresistible, with pride in all the memories of battles, of slayings, of stealings, of songs where my name is a beat of awe and fear. There is no one in all the world to check my night flight of triumph. When it is done, that thing in me will find a place to coil and sleep and I can forget it.”
“But will you forget? Rok will ask more of you, and more— I saw that in his Lion’s eyes. And Tam—you may teach Tam to ask of you—”
“No. Tam is good. And Rok will spare me for Coren’s sake.”
“Will he? Will you even care by then for Coren’s love?”
“I will care. I care now.”
“But you fly alone, away from him— I wonder, will you want to come back earthward after that flight?”
Sybel sighed. She loosed Maelga’s hand and touched her eyes with her fingers. “I am tired of the ceaseless weave to and fro of questioning, wondering, thinking. I will set Eldwold aflame and then find out if I am trapped within the ring of fire, or safe outside it… Maelga, you must be tired, too, after your long walk. Let me take you to my chamber, where you can eat, and wash and rest.”
“I will not rest in this house“
“Well. Then if you will not stay here with me, let Rok send someone with you to Herne’s house, or Bor’s house.”
Maelga patted Sybel’s hand. She rose a little unsteadily and brushed the grass off her skirt. “No. I will rest here a while, with your animals. I will go and sit with the Black Swan. Such a lovely swan fountain, there. I never cared much for men’s houses—you cannot get in and out of them easily.”
Sybel smiled a little. “No.” She put her arm around Maelga, walked with her to the lake. The Black Swan glided to meet them. “I will bring you food and wine. If you want to sleep out here tonight, I will stay with you.”
Maelga sank down at the lake’s edge. “Oh, my bones. The sun is so kind in summer to an old woman. And you are kind, still, to powerless things. It is comforting.”
“I will be back soon,” Sybel said.
“There is no hurry, my white one. I will take a little nap.” She closed her eyes. Sybel went quietly to the gate, closed it softly behind her as she left. Then she looked up to see Coren standing before her, and she blinked, startled.
“Oh—”
He lifted his hands slowly, gripped her arms. His eyes moved back and forth across her face, narrowed, bewildered, as though he were reading ancient words he could not understand. Then he drew a breath and shouted,
“Sybel, what are you doing?”
ELEVEN
Her heart grew withered and chill within her, slowing the startled leap of her blood. She lifted a finger to her lips, feeling the beat of her heart in her mouth, her throat dry as powdered earth. “Be quiet, Coren. Maelga is sleeping.”
“Sybel!”
“Let me go. I will not lie to you“
His hands loosened slowly, fell clenched to his sides. He stared down at her, sun streaking his eyes, the blood high beneath his skin. He said slowly, distinctly,
“I went—”
“Sh—”
“I have been still too long! I went to the stables, and Ceneth and Bor were there, and Bor was saddling his horse to ride back to his house; I heard your name on their lips, and your name again—they laughed, saying how you drew the old Lord of Hilt like a child to Rok’s hall. I stood there as they laughed, and I felt as though—as though they had struck me and laughed—there was a sickness in me, and—then they saw me, because—a sound had come out of me, and the laughter left them like flame blown out.”
“Coren—” she whispered.
“Sybel, why? Why? Why am I the first man to know every outward part of you and the last of all men to know your inward mind? Why did Rok, Ceneth and Bor know, and not me? Why did you not tell me what you are doing? Why did you lie to me?”
“Because I did not want you to look at me the way you are looking now—”
“Sybel, that is no kind of reason!”
“Stop shouting at me!” she flared suddenly. She caught her breath and pressed her cold hands briefly against her eyes. She felt his nearness, his taut stillness, heard in the moment’s darkness the deep beat of his breathing.
“All right,” he whispered. “I will not shout. You healed me once when I might have died, and now you had better do it again because there is a thing in me that is hurt and sick. I am beginning to wonder, Sybel, why you chose to marry me at all, and so suddenly at that, after your dark night away, and what great anger you have against Drede that you would stir Sirle against him. Sybel, my thoughts are pounding against my brain—I cannot still them. Do not lie to me anymore.”
Her hands slipped from her eyes, and they were dusted with a bloom of weariness. “Drede paid Mithran to capture me and destroy my mind.”
A sound came inarticulate from him. “Drede? Drede?”
She nodded. “Drede wanted to marry me and use me without fear. Rommalb killed Mithran, crushing him. And I will crush Drede with his own fears, take his power from him through Sirle. I used our marriage to frighten Drede; I planned from the beginning to use my powers for Sirle against him. I did not tell you all this because my revenge is my own affair, not yours, and I did not want to hurt you with the knowledge that I had used you. Now you know and you are hurt, and I do not think this time I can heal your wounds.”
He stared at her. His head turned a little, as though he were trying to catch a faint sound lost in the wind. His words came finally in a hollow whisper, “I do not know, either—Ice-white Lady, I think I hold you in my hands and then you melt and slip cold through my fingers… How could you hurt me like this? How could you?”
Her face crumpled. Hot tears gathered in his eyes and he wavered, glittering before her. “I tried so to keep you from knowing—to keep you from being hurt—”
“Did you really care? Or am I just one more in your collection of strange, wondrous beasts to be used at your need, to be put aside while you go about your business?”
“Corers—”
“I could kill Rok for this, and Ceneth and Bor, but if I blasted all of Eldwold from the earth there would still be that blind fool in me who will mock me until I die. I love you. I love you so much. I would have torn Drede apart for you with my hands, if only you had told me he had hurt you. Why did you not tell me? I would have plotted a war for you such as Eldwold has never seen.”
“Coren—I could not tell you— I could not drag you into my hate and rage— I did not want you to know how—how cold and terrible I can be—”
“Or how little you need me?”
“I need you—”
“You need Rok and Ceneth more than you need me. Sybel, I do not understand this game you are playing. Do you think if I know you, I will fear you? Cease to love you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “As you are doing now.”
He gripped her suddenly, shook her, hurting her. “That is not true! What do you think love is—a thing to startle from the heart like a bird at every shout or blow? You can fly from me, high as you choose into your darkness, but you will see me always beneath you, no matter how far away, with my face turned to you. My heart is in your heart. I gave it to you with my name that night and you are its guardian, to treasure it, or let it wither and die. I do not understand you. I am angry with you. I am hurt and helpless, but nothing would fill the ache of the hollowness in me where your name would echo if I lost you.” He loosed her. She watched him, wide-eyed, her hair drifting across her face. He turned away from her suddenly. She reached out to him.