Children of the Blood (15 page)

Darin winced.

The lady laughed. “Right. Hundreds of the little monsters. My father nearly killed me.”

Darin laughed. The expression on her face was one that had often been on his, and the words she used were words that he had often used himself.

Then she stopped.

“My father ...” Her smile faded and she looked down at the hands that were already forming fists. Then she shook her head in frustration. “I almost had it. Almost ...” She sat
there, her lips clenched, and then her expression changed again. It often did; it was mercurial, unfixed, and entirely unpredictable. “You laughed!” The exaggerated roll of her eyes left Darin no room for fear. Even when she rose and grabbed either shoulder he felt none. “You’ve never laughed before.”

He thought about it. “No,” he said quietly.

For some reason, this cheered her immensely, and she put away the darker thoughts.

“I’ll have to keep telling you about the stupid things I did as a child, then. God knows they might as well be of some use to someone!” And she chuckled.

But lady, how can you remember things you did as a child, if you can’t remember who—who you did them with, or where?
He didn’t ask. But he worried for her.

And he laughed, too.

 

“But what is your name?”

Darin froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Such a harmless question. Such a guileless one. He swallowed, paling.

“I—I can’t tell you.” This, this was a risk. Not
I don’t have
one, but
I can’t tell you
. He hoped she would understand.

Maybe she did. She looked hurt. But she didn’t ask again.

 

Lord Darclan sat in the large chair behind his desk. When Darin walked into the room, he looked up.

“Good. I have been waiting for your report.”

Darin assumed his stance before the desk in silence.

“How does the lady fare?”

“Well, lord.” Darin wanted to look away, but averting his eyes in the presence of his lord would certainly be worthy of note.

“Does she eat?”

“Yes, lord.”

“Does she speak?”

Speak?
Darin thought about gophers. “Yes, lord.”

“Of what does she speak?”

“Her childhood. Things that happened when she was younger.”

Lord Darclan caught the frown that Darin made and returned it.

“I see ...” He glanced outward, into the darkening sky.

“So soon.

“Does she also ask questions?”

Darin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes, lord.”

“And these?”

“She wants to know who she is. Where she is, and why. Everything.”

“And your response?”

Something in the lord’s tone shot down Darin’s spine. He stiffened, his lips almost trembling. “I did as you ordered, lord.” His voice was low. “I told her you would tell her. I told her that I didn’t know the answers to her questions.”

“Ah.” A pause. Then, “You have done well, boy. Go.”

 

The child was forgotten before he left the room; he was of little consequence. Lord Darclan rose, his movement silent and elegant. With one hand he gestured, and the remaining light in the room was guttered. The shadow felt good, familiar.

Your childhood, lady. How is it that you remember this?
He turned, gave the curtains a vicious tug, and heard a tearing that marked the end of the fabric.
It is too soon.

The darkness made a low noise. The lord regained his composure.
How much more will you remember?

This was not in the parameter of his spell. But she was who she was. On reflection, that explained much. He straightened himself out to his full height, and his form shivered balefully where there was none to see.

 

A loud rapping on the door pulled Darin abruptly out of sleep. Groggy, he lifted his head as the noise grew louder.

“Darin!”

Bang. Bang.

He rolled out of bed, grabbed his tunic in clumsy hands, and tripped over his stool on the way to the door.

“Darin wake up!”

“I’m coming, Kelm. Leave off the door or you’ll break it and we’ll both be for trouble!”

The slighted door was yanked open, and Kelm nearly pitched over as his hand struck air with a forceful woosh. Darin yelped, stepped out of the way, and offered the unfortunate Kelm a hand up.

“Thank the Lady you’re awake, boy.” Sweat rolled off Kelm’s tired, round face. His lids blinked rapidly, a nervous habit that obscured dull brown eyes.

“What? What is it?”

“The lord’s guest. She’s not awake—but Helen heard her crying out. Lord’s orders say that you’re to tend her, and you alone, so she woke me and sent me down to you.”

Darin nodded crisply, sleep forgotten. He started to walk down the hall, then turned back.

“Does—does the lord know?”

“No one’s been to him.”

Darin nodded; more assurance than this Kelm could not give.

 

Before he reached her room, he could hear her voice. It was as unlike the gentle, quiet voice he’d come to know as it could be. But raw and wild as it was, he recognized it. He skidded to a halt before her door and threw it open without even bothering to knock.

The dim light from the hall transformed the room from darkness to shadows. With shaking hands, Darin fumbled with a lamp and, the moment a flare burned on the wick, he shut the door behind him.

The lady lay in her bed. She twisted from side to side, the covers disarrayed around her legs. Her face was white and strained with effort, but her eyes remained closed. This was bad enough. But her screams, too strangled to form words, cut into Darin as he ran to the bed.

Her arms shot up suddenly, straight and tense, and Darin reached out to grip one hand. The oil in the lamp sloshed ominously as he tried to put it down.

“Lady! Lady!” He held her hand tightly, forgetting for the moment who and what she was. Then her hands went limp in his, and her eyes snapped open. He could see a trail of tears in the corners of her eyes.

Her eyes focused slowly; her breath grew less ragged. She reached out as he set the lamp down, capturing his hand almost before it was free. She was very, very cold.

“I—I must have had a nightmare.” The words came with great difficulty. Her eyes were too wide open for Darin to meet easily.

“It’s all right, lady.” Now that she was awake and aware, he felt suddenly awkward. He tried to let go of her hands.

“Wait.” The word sounded as if it were dragged from her throat. She started to say more and then paused. Darin saw pain in her face, like the pain he had kept inside himself for years. It
was gone quickly, but her voice, as she continued to speak, still held it.

“It’s dark. It’s very dark in here.” She licked her lips nervously. “Can you bring more light?”

He nodded and started to move away. Then he cleared his throat. Very gently, he said, “Lady, my hands.”

“Your—oh. Sorry.” She released him then, but reluctantly.

He lit the two other lamps in the room with shaking hands. He felt her eyes upon him as he worked. Occasionally, he looked up to notice that her eyes would wander to the crack between the closed curtains of her window, to the night. Then they would find him again, and fasten onto him more tightly, as if her sight were a solid thing, an anchor.

When at last he was finished, he turned again toward the lady, half expecting her to be asleep. What he saw instead was a woman whose hands gripped the edge of her newly adjusted sheets as if they were the only solid thing the room offered.

In a voice as gentle as he could make it, he said, “Is there anything else you need?”

She shook her head.

He nodded and turned to leave, only to stop again at the sound of her voice.

“Yes, lady?”

“Can you—do you think you could stay?”

He froze for an instant, his face a mask of ice. Twice before this, two others had made such a request, and twice before he’d had no choice but to—he cut the thought short, burying the memories. She saw this, could not help but see it. He saw her face pale; saw a flash of pain and loneliness quickly submerged as her expression came under control. With a wan, tight smile, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll be fine.” She turned her head, and once again the dark of night caught her eye, almost freezing her in place. She drew the covers high around her chin and tried to settle back into bed. Her eyes were shadowed by more than the lamplight.

Darin was almost immediately sorry for his reaction. He knew that she wasn’t really aware of the reasons for it—she was barely aware at all.

He wanted to stay, then, and be of comfort. Something in her face brought back the sharp, bitter image of his first night as one among the nameless, listening to the footsteps of the Swords and holding Kerren’s hand as tightly as he dared.

Why
, he thought,
do you always bring memories?
He turned abruptly to pull a chair closer to the bed.

Of course, he had been a slave that night. It had been different for him. Hadn’t it?

“No, really. I’m fine. I don’t have any right to ask you ...” She shivered. “I’m adult now.” But all around her, the darkness was growing. The child seemed to be the only source of warmth and light in the room.

Seeing the way her eyes widened, Darin sat down.

“I’ll stay. Sleep. I’ll keep the lamps burning.”

He held out a hand and she took it, her grip tight and fierce, just as his grip on Kerren’s hand had been. Just so.

He wondered what her life had been like, then, wondered if all of the free men and women really had a pleasant, easy time of things. But he stayed, and his presence brought her a measure of comfort.

He nodded off when sleep forced her to relax her grip on the blanket.

 

The high, fluting sound of laughter reverberated in the stark stillness of the hall; one low, rich voice blending in subtle harmony with a high soft one.

The lord could hear it as he made his way toward the chamber. It called out into the stillness, a beacon of such strength that he failed to notice the slaves as they scattered before the familiar sound of his footsteps, suddenly busy with their allotted tasks.

He paused before the closed door, drinking in the sound of her laughter. Then he gripped the door firmly and entered.

At once the room froze in a tableau before him. She sat in his bed, her auburn hair in a clumsy topknot, her deceptively delicate hands clutching the end of a feather pillow. Her green eyes, crinkled just so at the corners, were upon him. He glanced at the white translucence of her skin beneath the dark blue robe-he would have to see that she spent time in the sunlight; she had always loved the sun.

It was almost too much for him. To see her awake, to see her respond to life after so long—no other victory could come close to this.

Then he noticed the boy. His hair was a tousled mess, and his hands also clutched a pillow. This in itself would have been cause for severe discipline. Worse still, the child was standing—standing!—on the bed, the pillow over his head. His face was
almost a death mask. Nerveless hands let the pillow fall to the bed. The soft thud it made was like thunder in the silence.

“Lord!” Darin croaked. His voice failed him, as did all else but fear. What had he been doing?

But the sound returned a semblance of motion to the room. Darin jumped off the bed and came to stand stiffly beside it. He couldn’t control the trembling in his limbs or the pallor of his face. The lady gently put her own pillow down. With a quick glance at Darin, she turned to face the man.

“My lord.” She inclined her head slightly.

“My lady.” Her eyes. He bowed. “I apologize for my rude interruption. Please forgive me. I had heard you were faring well and felt that I should make myself available to answer any questions you might have.”

“You’re very kind.” The sentiment did not quite reach her voice as she looked back at Darin.

Darin did not appear to notice.

Turning to the slave, Lord Darclan said, “You may go.”

Darin went.

 

It isn’t only me he’s afraid of
. The lady looked coolly at the man who stood, resplendent in black, before her. She was angry; it had taken the better part of three days of quiet coaxing to get even the hint of a smile from her young companion, and with a few words, this lord had driven that away. From the sounds of the boy’s retreating footsteps, she wondered if she would have to start to form their tentative friendship all over again.

His pale, fear-taut face wavered before her.

“Do you wish me to leave?”

“What?”

“You seem discomfited, lady. If it is my presence that has accomplished this, I will leave you. I did not wish to... disturb your rest.” His dark eyes flickered to the disarray of the bed and the lopsided heap of two feather pillows.

Her silence was response enough for a moment. He knew the tightness of jaw and the clamp of lips well enough to know what she felt.

But beyond that, Lady?
He did not ask; now was not the time.

“I am glad to see you are well. The physicians were not so certain of your health.”

“The child...” she said.

“Yes?”

“Why was he so afraid of you?”

The lord’s eyebrows raised a fraction, as if in surprise. “Do you not know this?”

“No.” Her answer came quickly, a short, terse word of frustration. She had always been this direct.

“Lady, how else should he react? He is, after all, a slave.”

Silence again. But this silence was colored by the sudden widening of the green of her eyes; the opening of her lips. He saw her brows furrow as she struggled with the information he had given her.