The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (30 page)

“I shall see you later,” the elf announced.  “I am going to recapture lost sleep.  Please see to it that I am awakened for dinner.”

I gave no answer.  My steps quickened to a full rush.  Azrael’s arms opened for me and I threw myself into them.  He embraced me with a fierceness I thoroughly enjoyed.  Cold darkness wrapped us both away from the gray light of day.  His icy kiss stung my lips, my cheek,
firing the rapid pulse in my neck.  Walled in velvet shadows, my world was reduced to sensation and sound as Azrael whispered softly, “You do not have to risk yourself.  There is another way to regain your son.”

One of my hands held the silver mask pressed to my side.  My other hand slipped along his ribs, going on to tighten against the cold flesh of his back.  “What do you mean?”

“I cannot give him back the life he has lost, or return him to his place in your world, but I can take you to the Courts of Death.  You can stay there with him … and me … for all time.”

Gripped by pitiless night, I turned my face from Azrael and his suggestion, putting my back to him.  His arms still held me, refusing to let go.

“I can’t just give up.  There is no justice in such a course.  The Gamesman must be punished, Amberyn’s wife must be returned to him, and Silver Wolf must be freed.”  I drew a deep breath.  “I
will
give my son back all that was stolen from him.  He is meant to shine in the sun, not be a prisoner in a land of cold shadows.”

“I fear greatly for you,” Azrael said, “going up against Death’s son.  Though he is as mortal as Death himself, his power is great.  For all your new strength, you m
ight not win.  You should take the safer course.”

Azreal’s grip on me tightened even more, making it hard to breathe.  My body melded to his, I felt his manhood pressing me from behind.  He began to strip my borrowed clothing away, kissing my neck.

Understanding burst across my mind like a blinding flash of lightning.  This was not Azrael.  His attitude was wrong, and his engorged endowment betrayed him as well.  I turned in the imposter’s arms and slammed a knee between his legs.  He made a painful, wheezy sound and half-crumpled, hanging on me for support until my fist connected with his face, rocking it back with the force of my outrage.  I knew who this had to be: the Gamesman himself, still trying to make me a prize possession.

The darkness fell from me as the false angel tumbled back to lie in the snow, staring up with a face twisted by agony and chagrin.  His lip was split and bleeding and he cupped his injured member.

I drew my sword and set its point over his heart as he found his voice.

“You could have simply…” he paused to groan with much feeling as he shifted slightly, “…declined my offer.”

The face he wore was too good for him to die in.  “Show me your true face!” I demanded.

I heard the sound of surprised voices, of feet slogging closer through the slush.  Faang and a small number of his people formed a crescent behind me.  A whirr of wings died away as D’elia dropped to the earth, changing to human form.  Her thin hand clutched my arm like a talon as I thrust.  My tip pricked him, drawing blood, but the wound was not as deep as I wished.

D’elia’s words lashed at me.  “What are you doing?  Is this not an ally?”

“No!  Do not be deceived by his looks.  This is not Azrael.”

“No?” Faang boomed.  “Then who is it that skulks within my village?”

I glowered at the Gamesman, daring him with the vehemence of my gaze, to stir an inch.  “You might as well show them,” I said.  “This particular game is over.”

He laughed softly, as though he were not a last breath away from oblivion.  “As you wish.”

The cloak he wore lightened from black to midnight blue.  His face reshaped itself, growing younger, smaller, as did all of his body.  Robes wove themselves from thin air to cover him.  I looked to his sash, but did not see the sickle that should have been there.

“The Gamesman!” D’elia said.  “He looks to be a twin to the piece on my game board, though he lacks a weapon!”

“I am not here for a fight,” he said.

“Your presence offends,” Faang thundered.  “Why are you here at all?”

“I am terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you while you plot against me.  Next time, I’ll send a flaming arrow ahead to announce myself.”

“There will be no ‘next time’ for you,” I said.  It was infinitely hard for me to kill a man who had no weapon in hand.  It went against everything my father taught me.  My own sense of right and wrong protested the necessity, but I had hesitated once before with the Dar’kyn king and had paid the price in pain.  It was an important lesson.  I took myself in a firm mental grip and steeled myself for a killing strike before some idiot decided to try reason with this lunatic.

“Can we not simply talk this matter out, and come to some mutually agreeable solution?” D’elia asked, her hand still firmly clasping my arm. 

Too late.  I relaxed my posture and pulled my rapier back a few inches, as if withdrawing my threat.

D’elia’s hold on me loosened.  In that moment, my entire body thrust forward, every muscle feeding power into my diving blade. 
For Angelique … for Phillippe…!

But something in my eyes had betrayed my intent, because the Gamesman’s hand swatted the tip as it plunged in.  My point dug into his shoulder instead of deepening the wound over his heart.  He grunted and grimaced, features tight with pain, as I pulled back for a finishing blow.

D’elia laid no hand on me again, but put sharp authority in her tone, “Celeste, stop!”

             
Respect for D’elia stalled my response, though every fiber strained for the satisfaction of heart’s blood.  My words came out, deep and rough.  “Why?  You know how he has used me, and hurt so many others!”

“Is this something your son will take pride in?” she asked.  “Or will you become the monster you fight?”

“What I become matters little if it serves my son’s need, and no other innocent suffers.”  My glance went to her for a second to show her I would not be moved on this.

The Gamesman’s voice thinned as if with distance.  “That is what I wanted to know.”

My eyes sought him, as my rapier struck once more.  But there was nothing to pierce.  Whatever method he used to bring himself here carried him safely back to his miserable city.

Gripping my sword hilt tightly, I turned to D’elia and saw her pale at the fury of my gaze and the sword between us.  I held my words, not trusting myself to speak.  I finally broke the impasse of silence by lowering my point and storming past her.

I left cold winds behind as I entered the Great Hall and approached the fire pit, but ice that might never thaw remained deep in my heart.  I wondered suddenly, if the dark rose in my soul were exerting some influence on me.  Would I, in time, become a threat to those who disagreed with me? 

I hoped not—but it could happen.

If this same darkness lay embedded in the Gamesman’s soul, perhaps he had reason for being the way he was—not that it could ever serve as an excuse.  No matter what, you do not hurt the ones you love, unless it is to spare a greater pain.

I rounded the pit and entered the left wing.  Azrael waited before the fireplace, star-bright eyes staring at me from the shadow of his hood.  His gaze went to the blood on the tip of my sword, and he hurried to me.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“It is
you
this time?” I asked.

“This time?”

“Never mind,” I felt my eyes brimming with unshed tears as battle tension suddenly released me.  “Hold me.”

He did, saying nothing, letting me lose myself in the only darkness I loved.

A new fear haunted the back of my mind.  I realized that Azrael’s darkness might one day be consumed as easily as the Dar’kyn souls I had drained from the obsidian tree.  I dropped my sword and the wrapped mask upon a fur rug and clasped his body tightly.  I never wanted to let go, but eventually, I would have to—for his sake.

But not yet.

Not just yet.

15.
THE BANNER OF THE ROSE

In time for breakfast, a band of elves in dark, silver-studded leathers swept into the Great Hall, resplendent in cloaks that borrowed color from nature—iris blue, leaf-green, the moss green of murky water, the red blaze of a sunset...  Many wore headbands and wristlets of woven silver, set with opal, sapphire and emerald.  The warriors approached the high table with unsuppressed swaggers, and bowed in formal greeting.  Plainly expected, they bristled with weapons that had not been confiscated.

I dragged my attention back to what I was doing in the side room, stamping my feet into boots by the fireplace.  I hoped to make a good impression wearing freshly cleaned white leathers with my rapier riding one hip, thorn whip on the other.  Not quite used to an outfit that bared shoulders so seductively, my face warmed.  Still, to command men’s eyes was a power too useful to dispense with.  Phillippe’s need required I use every weapon at hand. 

It would be interesting to see if these elves knew the significance of the outfit and the ring I wore.  The impression Amberyn gave was that he was far more widely traveled than his people.  I was unsure what these elves might expect of me, and uncertain about playing a larger-than-life role for them.

But there was no use putting it off.

I bid farewell to Azrael, though I was only going a room away, “Later, my love.”  I could not see him, but felt his presence icing the air.  He hid, not wanting to sour things with Amberyn’s forces, for they despised reavers as supernatural predators.

His voice spun out of thin air.  “I will only be a whisper away ...  my love.”

Two steps from the fireplace, I noticed D’elia toward the end of the chamber, passing the elves with scarcely a glance their way.  She paced toward me with a look of great resolve that stalled my progress.  Things had been strained between us since the day before.  I was not sure that we were still friends, and had no words to mend the breach.  I waited.

She nearly passed me, as if heading for the embers, but stopped and faced me with a turn that cast half her face in orange relief from the dying flames.  Her eyes were shadowed, mysterious.  Her hands clutched each other as she spoke.  “I do not apologize for seeking a peaceful resolution yesterday.  While you have a right to pursue your feud, what is done within the village by my guests is very much my concern.  Killing the Gamesman prematurely, without your allies ready for Death’s inevitable response, would have been unwise.”

She was right, beyond question.  Acting hastily, I might have spoiled a larger game.  I saw it clearly, so I listened respectfully and made no defense of myself as she continued.

“That being said, I am pained by the anger and awkwardness that has come between us.”

I answered her from my heart.  “I regret … that I raised my sword to you.  You have been a friend and deserve much better from me.  Please forgive my lapse.”

D’elia smiled suddenly, becoming truly human in that moment.  Her hands grasped mine, reclaiming our friendship.  “We shall not mention it ever again.”

“I would know one thing.”

She raised an elegantly arched eyebrow in inquiry.

“I will be leaving today, taking my battle to the Gamesman and then his father.  Will you be coming?”

Her widening eyes were ghost coins, glowing softly like the eyes of an animal.  “I never entertained any other possibility.  Both Faang and I will join you, along with any of our people that choose to go.  I haven’t told you this before, but perhaps you should know…   Silver Wolf was—is—my son, so I must do all I can to aid his spirit.”

I tightened my grip on her hand, suddenly understanding how she could so deeply empathize with the battle I waged for Phillippe’s soul.

She tugged me from the fireplace, and dragged me toward the high table.  “Come meet your new recruits.  And remember, the elves will not credit you as a proper leader unless you act at least half as arrogant as they do.”

I smiled at the comment, finding it quite likely.  “I will do my best.”

Arm in arm, we walked in step to the high table.  The elves had moved on into the other wing.  Alone now, Faang occupied his usual place.  He lifted a cup to me in greeting and fearlessly threw its contents down his throat, as if strong drink could never bewitch him.  His gaze settled next on D’elia.  “Come sit on my lap and feed me honeyed cakes as the elf maidens do their lords,” he said.

D’elia paused to send him a piercing gaze.  “Do I look like an elf to you?”

Faang laughed.  “Not around the ears anyway, but I would put your curves up against theirs any day!”

“Are you slipping into senility, my husband?  Can you think of no better place to put my curves than that?  Once I have seen to our new guests, I will meet you in private to test your endurance.  You had best be sober enough to function.”