It looked, Lilias thought, like a beautiful prison-chamber.
Ingolin the Wise presided at the head of the table, with Malthus the Counselor at his right hand and Aracus Altorus at his left. The others were Ellylon. Lorenlasse of Valmaré she knew; the others, she did not, although their faces were familiar. All of it was familiar. One of the Ellylon was a woman, with features so lovely at close range that Lilias could have wept.
Instead, under the combined weight of their regard, she froze in the doorway.
"Go on," Blaise prodded her from behind. He pointed to an empty chair on one side of the table, isolated from the rest. "Take your seat."
Lilias took a deep breath and entered the room, crossing through the bars of blue light. She drew out the chair and sat, glancing back at Blaise. He had positioned himself like a guard beside the tall doorway. High above him, on the pediment that capped the entrance, was the rooms sole imperfection: a shattered marble relief that had once depicted the head of Meronin Fifth-Born, Lord of the Seas.
The memory evoked pain—the splintering pain she had endured when the sculpture had been demolished -but it evoked other memories, too. Lilias raised her chin a fraction, daring to face the assembly.
"Lilias of Beshtanag," Ingolin said. "You have been brought here before us that we might gain knowledge of one another."
"Am I on trial here, my lord?" she inquired.
"You are not." His voice was somber. "We seek the truth, yes. Not to punish, but only to know. Willing or no, you are a guest in Meronil and I have vouched for your well-being." He pointed at the ruined pediment, "You see here that which was once the work of Haergan the Craftsman. I think, perhaps, that it is not unfamiliar to you. Sorceress. Did you speak to us in this place using Haergan's creation, claiming that the Lady Cerelinde was in Beshtanag?"
"Yes." She threw out the truth. Let them make of it what they would. Around the table, glances were exchanged. Aracus Altorus gritted his teeth. She remembered how he had reacted when she had made Meronin's head speak words he despised, leaping onto the table, hurling an Ellylon standard like a javelin.
"How did you accomplish such a thing?" Ingolin frowned in thought. "It is Ellyl magic Haergan wrought, and not sympathetic to Men's workings. Even the Soumanië should not have been able to command matter at such a distance."
"No, my lord." Lilias shook her head. "I used Haergan's mirror."
"Ah." The Lord of the Rivenlost nodded. "It was in the dragon's hoard." Sorrow darkened his grey eyes. "We have always wondered at Haergan's end. It is a difficult gift to bear, the gift of genius. A dangerous gift."
"To be sure," Lilias said absently. Although she did not know the details of Haergan's end. Calandor's words echoed in her thoughts, accompanied by the memory of his slow, amused blink.
I might not have eaten him if he had been more ussseful
.
"
Why
?" It was the Ellyl woman who spoke, and the sound of her voice was like bells: bells, or silver horns, a sound to make mortal flesh shiver in delight, were it not infused with anger. She leaned forward, her lambent eyes aglow with passion. "
Why would you do such a thing
?"
Her words hung in the air. No one else spoke. Lilias glanced from face to face around the table. Plainly, it was a question all of them wanted answered; and as clearly, it was an answer none of them would understand.
"Why do you seek to fulfill Haomanes Prophecy?" she asked them. "Tell me that, and perhaps we may understand one another."
"Lilias." Malthus spoke her name gently. "These things are not the same, and well you know it. Urulat is Sundered from itself. We seek that which Haomane the Lord-of-Thought himself seeks—to heal the land, so restore it to the wholeness and glory to which it was Shaped, and which Satoris Banewreaker has perverted."
"Why?" Lilias repeated. They stared at her in disbelief, except for Malthus, who looked thoughtful. She folded her hands on the table and met their stares. "I ask in earnest, my lords, my lady. Was Urulat such a paradise before it was Sundered?"
"We had the light of the Souma!" Lorenlasse of Valmaré's voice was taut with fury, his bright eyes glittering. "We are Haomane's Children and we were torn from his side, from all that sustained us." He regarded her with profound contempt. "You cannot possibly know how that feels."
"Lorenlasse," Ingolin murmured.
Lilias laughed aloud. There was freedom in having nothing left to lose. She pointed at the lifeless Soumanië on Aracus' brow. "My lord Lorenlasse, until very recently, I held a piece of the Souma itself. I stretched the Chain of Being and held mortality at bay. I had power to Shape the very stuff of life, and I could have twisted your bones like jackstraws for addressing me in such a tone. Do not speak to me of what I can or cannot know."
"My lord Ingolin." The Ellyl woman turned to the Lord of the Rivenlost. The rigid lines of her body expressed her distaste. "It seems to me that there is naught to be gained in furthering this discussion."
"Hold, Lady Nerinil." Malthas lifted one hand, forestalling her. "There may yet be merit in it. Lilias," He fixed his gaze upon her. Seated among Ellylon, he looked old and weary. "Your questions are worthy ones," he said. "Let me answer one of them. Yes. Urulat
was
a paradise, once. In the First Age, before the world was Sundered, when the world was new-made and the Shapers dwelled among us." Malthus smiled, gladness transforming his face. "When Men had yet to discover envy and delighted in the skills of the Ellylon; when the Were hunted only with Oronin's blessing and the Fjeltroll heeded Neheris, and the Dwarfs tilled the land and coaxed forth Yrinna's bounty." On his breast, the clear Soumanië blazed into life. "That is the world the Lord-of-Thought shaped," he said quietly. "That is the world we seek to restore."
Lilias blinked, willing away an onslaught of tears. "It may be. Counselor. But that world was lost long before Urulat was Sundered."
"Through folly," Aracus said unexpectedly. "Men's folly:
our
folly. What Haomane wrought, we unmade through covetousness and greed."
"Men did not begin the Shapers' War," Lilias murmured.
"I am not so sure." Aracus shook his head. "It was Men who made war upon the Ellylon, believing they withheld the secret of immortality from us. If we had not done so, perhaps Haomane First-Born would not have been forced to ask the Sunderer to withdraw his Gift from us."
Ingolin laid a hand upon Aracus' arm. "Do not take so much upon yourself. The House of Altorus has never been an enemy to the Ellylon."
"Perhaps not," Aracus said. "But I would atone for the deeds of my race by working to see Haomane's Prophecy fulfilled. And then perhaps, in a world made whole, we might become what once we were."
A silence followed upon his words. Even Lorenlasse of the Valmaré was respectful in the face of Aracus' passion.
Malthus smiled at Lilias. White light flashed in the depths of his transfigured Soumanië, casting scintillating points of brightness around the room. "Is your question answered in full, Lilias of Beshtanag?"
"Yes, Counselor." Lilias rubbed at the familiar ache in her temples. "Your point is made. I understand the purpose of this meeting. You may now ask me once more to relinquish the Soumanië."
"I do not ask on my own behalf." Resonant power filled Malthus'
voice, making her lift her head to meet his eyes. "I ask it on behalf of the Lady Cerelinde, who suffers even as we speak. I ask it on behalf of the Rivenlost, who endure the pain of separation, dwindling year by year. I ask it on behalf of those noble Men who would atone for the misdeeds of their race. I ask it on behalf of all Urulat, that this vision we share might come to pass. And I ask it, yes, on behalf of those poor souls who have fallen into folly, through the lies of Satoris Banewreaker, that they might know redemption. The Soumanië that Aracus Altorus bears was Shaped by Haomane himself, carried into battle by Ardrath the Wise Counselor, who was like unto a brother to me. Lilias of Beshtanag, will you release your claim upon it?"
"No." The word dropped like a stone from her lips. Despite the welling tears and the ache in her head, Lilias laughed. "It is a pleasant fiction. Counselor. But there is a problem with your story. You are Haomane's Weapon, Shaped after the world was Sundered. How can you claim knowledge of the First Age of Urulat?"
At the head of the table, Ingolin stirred. With a frown creasing his brow, the Lord of the Rivenlost bent his gaze on Malthus. "How do you answer, old friend?"
Something deep shifted in Malthus' eyes, and it was as if a veil had been withdrawn, revealing ancient and terrible depths. "I am as the Lord-of-Thought Shaped me," he said softly. "And I possess such knowledge as he willed. More than that, Sorceress, I cannot say, nor may I."
Lilias nodded. "Can you tell me, then, why Haomane refused when Satoris offered his Gift to Haomane's Children?"
"Because such a thing was not meant to be." Malthus shook his head, and the semblance of age and weariness returned to his mien. "Thus was the will of Uru-Alat, which only the Haomane First-Born, the Lord-of-Thought, sprung from the very brow of the world, grasps in its fullness."
"Except for dragons, of course. But perhaps it wasn't Haomane's will that you possess
that
knowledge." Lilias pushed back her chair and stood, gazing at their silent, watching faces. Her vision was blurred with the weak, foolish tears she couldn't seem to suppress. "You should have tried to woo me," she said to Aracus. "It might even have worked." Thick with tears, her voice shook. "I am a proud woman, and a vain one, and if you had begged me for the Soumanië
I might have relented. But although I am flawed, I have lived for a very long time, and I am
not
a fool." She dashed at her eyes with the back of one hand, a choking laugh catching in her throat. "I'm sorry, Counselor," she said to Malthus. "It must disappoint you to learn that your Soumanië has not illuminated my soul."
"Yes," There was no mockery in Malthus' tone, only abiding sorrow. He gazed at her with profound regret, "it does."
"Yes, well." Lilias took another shaking breath. "Perhaps I am protected by the claim I have not relinquished, or perhaps this place suffers from a surfeit of brightness already. Perhaps, after all, my soul is not so black as it has been painted." She stood very straight, addressing all of them. "I know who I am and what I have done. I have endured your compassion, your mercy, your righteous outrage. But you should not have brought me here to humiliate me with your goodness."
"Such was not our intention, Sorceress," Ingolin murmured. "If that is your feeling—"
"No." She shook her head. "You claimed to want knowledge, Ingolin the Wise, but all you truly wanted was my repentance. And the Soumanië." Lilias smiled through her tears and spread her arms. "And yet. I cannot gainsay what I know. All things must be as they are. For the price of my life, the Soumanië is yours. Will you take it and be forsworn?"
The Lord of the Rivenlost exchanged glances with Aracus and Malthus. "No, Sorceress," he said with terrible gentleness. "We will not."
"Well, then." Lilias swallowed, tasting the bitter salt of her tears. "Then I will keep my claim upon it until I die of uselessness and shame." She turned to Blaise. "Will you take me back to my quarters, please?"
Blaise looked to Aracus, who gave a curt nod. Without a word, Blaise opened the door. She followed him through it.
Behind her, the silvery voices arose.
The lady Cerelinde smile at him. "General Tanaros."
"Lady." He bowed in greeting, thinking as he straightened that perhaps it had been a mistake to come here. The impact of her presence was always greater than he remembered. "Are you ready?"
"I am."
Out of the courtly habit he had kept for over a thousand years, Tanaros extended his arm to her as he escorted her from her chamber. Cerelinde took it as she had done the night he brought her to the moon-garden, her slender, white fingertips resting on his forearm. He had forgone his armor, wearing only the black sword belted at his waist, and he could feel her touch through the velvet sleeve of his austere black doublet. Clear and distinct, each fingertip, as though she were setting her own brand upon him through some forgotten Ellyl magic; as powerful as Godslayer, yet more subtle.
What would it be like, that delicate touch against bare skin?
The thought came before he could quell it, and in its wake arose a wave of desire so strong it almost sickened him, coupled with a terrible yearning. It was a nameless emotion, its roots as old as mortality; covetous envy thwarted, manifesting in the desire to possess something so other,
so fine
.
"Are you all right?" There was concern in her voice.
"Yes." Standing in the hallway outside her door, Tanaros caught the eye of the leader of the Havenguard quartet he had assigned to accompany them. The sight of the M
ø
rkhar Fjel looming in armor steadied him. He touched the
rhios
that hung in a pouch at his belt, feeling its smooth curves, and willing his racing pulse to ease. "Krognar," he said. "This is the Lady Cerelinde. Your lads are escorting us to the rookery."
"Lady," Krognar rumbled, inclining his massive head.
"Sir Krognar." She regarded him with polite, fascinated horror.
Tanaros could feel the tremor that ran through her. "This way, Lady," he said.
The quartet of Mørkhar Fjel fell in behind them as he led her through the winding corridors of Darkhaven. The marble halls echoed with the heavy pad and scritch of their horny, taloned feet, accompanied by the faint jangle of arms.
"You needed no guard the night you brought me to see Lord Satoris' garden," Cerelinde said presently. Although her voice was level, her fingers clenching his forearm were tight with fear.
"The moon-garden lies within the confines of Darkhaven," Tanaros said. "The rookery does not. I am responsible for your security, Cerelinde."
She glanced briefly at him. Despite her fear, a faint smile touched her lips. "Do you fear I will use Ellyl magic to effect an escape?"