The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (26 page)

“No,” I said.  “All that has happened is that the Gamesman’s
necropolis has been wrenched from his control.  He will never again use that wretched city against anyone.”

D’elia put the piece back on the board.  “And you had a hand in that?”

I said nothing.  My thoughts turned to Angelique—an unhealed wound in my heart opened, bleeding afresh.  Grief strained for release, for expression.  I gritted my teeth and felt the muscles of my jaw clench painfully.  No, later—when all this is over.  I could not afford to be distracted.

The spirit-caller drew a deep breath, and I knew she had seen something in my eyes to chill her soul.  She turned to the men and waved them away.  “Leave us for a time.  I will speak
with her alone.”

Faang inclined his head in agreement, turned, and left.  The others had no choice but to do the same.

D’elia gestured toward a bench padded with furs.  “Sit.  Warm yourself.  Speak to me when your heart is ready.  Take all the time you need.”

I dropped my cloak and pouch to the floor and settled on one of the benches.

She silently eyed the hands I clenched in my lap.

I turned my face to the dancing flames of the fireplace.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her settle at my feet, waiting with an air of patience that told me time meant nothing to her.  Though she plainly had dignity, she thought nothing of casting it aside.  Such humility in a person of power impressed me.

In the barest of details, I told her of Phillippe
being stricken, his soul stolen.  The memory was too painful for long exposure, so I moved on quickly to other things.  The rest of the story fell from my lips in slow, halting passages that at times made little sense, even to me, but she never interrupted with questions.  I turned my face to her, as I told her of meeting Silver Wolf, and his words to me.  I had to look away again when I recounted chopping off the hands of the Red Dragon.  I told her of the woman with grudges, and the Leech.  I spoke of the Gamesman and his champion, and then I fell into a long silence.

She beckoned to someone waiting in the archway.  Cups of some warm, honeyed beverage were brought by a soft-footed servant.  D’elia took a cup and held the other out to me.  I took it gratefully, but knew that the cold went too deep in me to ever be exorcised this way.  Still, the cup helped me through a graphic description of the field of crosses and the feral children below them.

As I told her of Angelique’s transformation, tears tracked my face.  My free hand curled into a tight fist on my thigh.  Grief burst free and I shuddered, sobbing.  I could mourn for Angelique, if not my son—she was beyond hope, he was not.

She joined me on the bench and held me against her soft warmth, offering comfort until I ran out of tears, emotionally spent.

She whispered, “Is there more?”

I nodded and wiped the tears from my face.

She released me, but wound an arm around my own.  Silence settled once more.  She let me break it when ready.

I told her of the storm of roses, my retreat into madness, and all that came thereafter.  Exposed and defenseless, I awaited her judgment—fearing it—yet needing it in some way.

But all she did was rise to her feet and walk away, saying, “I will help you.”

I learned I had a few tears left to spill after all
, as they came anew.

Slowly, I grew aware of many voices.  I glanced back toward the fire pit and the high table.  Faang sat at supper with the older warriors bracing him.  They were enjoying themselves, politely ignoring me until I should choose to join them.  I was being rude, and I was hungry.  I walked from the fireplace, into the dining area, feeling better than I had any right to.

Faang looked up as I passed, nodding approval, as I offered him an unburdened smile.

“The elf is yonder,” he waved vaguely, “gorging himself.  You
, too, are welcome to sample our hospitality.”

Recalling my manners at last, I curtsied to him though I had no gown to spread.  “You are too gracious.”

He grinned, reaching for his cup.  “Maybe so, but we all have our faults.”

I laughed and continued, receiving openly curious stares from the elders at the main table and the warriors at other tables I passed.  I noticed that the men outnumbered the women by a large margin.  The men without female company showed more interest than most.  Several of these beckoned encouragingly for me to join them.

I kept a smile in place, and hastened to where Amberyn sat.  He rose as I reached his table and urged Rhaul to move farther down so that I might sit between them.  Rhaul was quick to respond though he knew my heart rested with Azrael.  I supposed my presence alone was some balm for these hard, lonely men, so like the wilderness they lived in.

A quiet young girl with large, bright eyes stared in wonder as she brought me a plate made of baked clay.  It contained vegetables such as I had never seen, mixed in with garnet-spotted mushrooms.  There were slabs of venison as well.  A cup was placed before me.  I took a large drink only to gasp and splutter as the table erupted in laughter.  My throat burned.  My eyes watered.  I had thought the drink more of the honeyed brew from before, but what I swallowed was much stronger even than wine.

“I will take care of that for you,” Amberyn said, “if you have no taste for it.”

I growled hoarsely.  “Trying to kill me?  You could have given warning!”

“Is it my fault,” the elf said, “if you do not look before you drink?”

A hand fell on my shoulder, turning me gently.  D’elia stood there with a man dressed in singed leather clothing, bearing scars, as though he worked often with hot metals.  She looked at me, but spoke to her unnamed companion.  “Can you do this in two days?”

He studied my face with the utmost care, reaching out to turn it left and right.  “If I have the silver and my apprentice and I work through tonight, I can have it done sooner.”

D’elia nodded.  “Where did you leave Silver Wolf’s mask,” she asked me.

“By the fireplace, in my pouch, but I’m sure he will want it back.”

“No,” D’elia said.  “He has no more use for it.  He meant for you to keep it.”

“What are you going to do with it,” I asked.

“Return it to the fire, dissolving the spells hammered into the metal.  Once that is done, a new mask will be forged—one that will serve you even better.”

His face eager, Amberyn faced the smith.  “Can I watch?”

The man grinned.  “I can use another pair of hands on the bellows if you think you can last the night.”

“It will not be the first time I have done without sleep,” Amberyn said, “and likely will not be the last.”

The smith gave the elf a friendly slap across the back that nearly had him sprawling across the table, wearing his food.  “That is the spirit!  Come, we have much work to do.”

D’elia took Amberyn’s place at the table.  Her inscrutable eyes were dark and mysterious as she turned my way once more.  “I recommend you turn in soon.  I will awaken you at dawn.  We have a journey to make.”

I lifted eyebrows.  “We do?  Where are we going?”

She looked solemn.  “To see the wolves and owls.  We shall ask for any help they are willing to offer.  Faang and I can only speak for the shifters.”

I agreed at once.  I had come seeking allies.  If the wild creatures were willing to help me assail the Courts of Death by way of the Necropolis, I would accept their assistance with profound gratitude.

“There may be some difficulty,” D’elia warned.  “The wolves and owls are our kindred, not yours.  You may be required to join one of their clans.  Or they might ask some trial of you to test your heart.”

I
cut a piece of gravy-drowned venison and slid it in my mouth.  The meat’s texture was a bit powdery, but good none-the-less, especially after so many days of bread or broth.  I swallowed and said, “I can only do my best.” 

D’elia nodded agreement.  Her voice remained grave with concern.  “It may not be enough—I know of the darkness you carry, that you fear.”

My face reddened with embarrassment.  I sawed a second piece of meat with more energy than required.  “Are you telling me not to try?”

She gave me a smile warmed by concern.  “Would it do any good if I did?”

In my mind, I saw Phillippe’s smiling face framed by golden curls, so handsome, so full of the joy of life … so vulnerable.

At last, I felt the first
flush of my old strength returning.  Determination became iron in my spine.  My hand curled tightly around the fork, gripping it like a sword as my spirit ignited with purpose ... setting my course ... sealing my fate.

I answered her.  “No.  Phillippe’s need is too great for me to spare anyone one, least of all myself”

“Then I shall save my words for another time.”

13.
TEST OF HEART

The great hall behind me was empty and dark, abandoned to night.  In front of the fireplace, I lay on furs with another pulled over me.  The crackle of orange flames, the heat, and the smell of burning wood lulled my mind.  A sudden pressure cupped me from behind.  Icy breath caressed the side of my face as an arm draped itself over my covered waist.  I knew Phillippe would not begrudge me rest and intimacy to restore my spirit, but I felt more than a twinge of guilt, comforted while my son endured dwindling hope.  Love had made things complicated—deliciously so.

“Azrael…”  My lover’s name fell softly from my lips.

“I am here.”

“I missed you.”

“I never left.”

“I know.  I missed
seeing
you.”  A sigh of pleasure escaped me.  As my mind crept toward sleep, I mused dreamily, “How is it possible that Death just … let you go?”

“I, too, expected him to be angry when I cast away the office and honors he had granted, but when I told him that I had found love and needed to pursue my heart—he stared at me with dire fascination, then laughed deeply, as I have seldom heard.  Vastly amused, he waved me away, bidding me to find my heart’s desire and learn the pain of it.”

“Pain of it?” I murmured.  “How odd.” I yawned as more of my mind was soothed toward sleep.  The last thing I remembered was an icy tongue flicking my earlobe and a mouth tugging gently at it before slipping lower to plant a chill kiss on the nape of my neck…

It seemed I had only just closed my eyes when D’elia roused me, shaking my shoulder.  I groaned, pried my eyes open, and rubbed grit from them.  From the red embers that lingered in the ashes of the fireplace, I knew hours had passed.  I sat up and received a warm cup of that honeyed nectar I had grown so found of.  Bread and a chunk of pale-gold cheese were also thrust upon me.  “Thank you.”

“Finish that and prepare yourself,” D’elia said.  “We must leave soon.”

She settled on a bench to wait for me.  Her constant and full attention should have unnerved me, but I basked in it, drawn to her presence as if it filled some long forgotten need.

“You don’t have many friends, do you,” D’elia commented.

“That was true before I began this quest,” I admitted.  “But of late, kindred souls have been turning up with startling frequency.”

She smiled.  “Perhaps you are meeting a better class of people.”

I nodded, swallowing some of the bread.  “That is true; and a more fearsome class of enemies as well.”

D’elia sighed softly. “It is because you do not fit the age you were born into, or the world you are from.  When you grow into your destiny, White Rose, you must do something about the goblin hoards that are taking world after world; you must restore the cosmic balance.”

“I have no interest in being the White Rose any longer than need dictates,” I said.  “The balance is not my concern.”

“Is it not?” she asked.  Her gaze went vague, unfocused, as though some strange vista had opened for her alone.  She spoke after a small pause, “Great joys and savage struggles will test you.  You will often stand poised between hope and despair as you carry the dreams of others toward dawn.”

The faraway look left her eyes.

“I do not need to see the dark angel that hides in the shadows to know this.”

“You see him?”

D’elia turned her gaze toward the weapons rack.  “He is there, examining the toys on display.”

The shadows congealed into a fluttering cloak that stirred in the absence of wind as though it had a mind of its own.  Azrael bowed in greeting to the spirit-caller.  “You have sharp eyes.”

D’elia inclined her head at the compliment.  “You know, if the wolves and owls put the White Rose to the test, you cannot help her.  I will know.”