Shadow Over Kiriath (12 page)

He smiled down at her, full of gratitude and affection, thinking how complex and unpredictable she was, how quick-witted and, sometimes, like tonight, undeniably attractive. The way her eyes flashed with that indignation, the endearing tilt of her chin when she sought to be firm—and the tendril of fawn-colored hair that always found a way to dangle in a long curl beside her face and offset it all. Over and over she astonished him with her ability to predict and accommodate his needs. Sometimes he thought she knew him better than he knew himself. “Well,” he said softly, “it made the day.”

A moment she was silent. Then, “No, sir, ’twas
you
who made the day.” She turned to him, her eyes locking upon his own, and she spoke even more softly than he had. “Every inch a king you were. Even before the Light was on you.”

Her face, tilted up toward his own, glowed in the dim warm light of the kelistars, her pupils like deep, dark pools. And as he looked down into them, it was as if some imperceptible wind blew through him and everything changed. He felt a dangerous slippage, a stirring of some deep and powerful feeling within him, a sense of something monumentally disastrous about to happen. His heart pounded frantically against his ribs. . . .

Her face darkened as if she were blushing, and she stepped sharply away, turning her shoulder to him again, arms once more folded across her chest beneath her cloak. “I think it’s time for me to go, sir.”

Her words startled the breath out of him and brought the blood rushing inexplicably to his own face. His heart still galloped in his chest, his mind churning with confusion. What had happened just now?

It took him a moment to find his tongue, and he spoke lightly, striving to cover his discomfiture. “So you
are
feeling poorly, then.”

“What. . . ? No. I mean . . .” When her voice came again it was weak and trembling. “I mean, I think it is time for me to leave Kiriath altogether.”

At first the words didn’t register, as if they’d been spoken in a foreign tongue. Then, “Leave Kiriath? Why?”

“It’s just . . . It’s time. There’s really nothing more for me to do here.”

The teahouse floor sagged beneath his feet. “But what about your research? What about the songs? What about the
wedding
?”

She muttered something he could not distinguish, then snorted softly and turned to face him. “Oh, come, Abramm, you’ve never cared a fig about any of my songs. Truth be told, you’d rather they not be written, and don’t think I don’t know that.”

“That’s not . . . entirely true.” He felt his face burn anew.

“Well, getting away will help break this block I’ve had with them, if nothing else.”

“But your research on our history and the fortresses—”

“There are any number of men imminently qualified to assist you in that, and who would be euphoric to do so.”

“If I wanted them, Maddie, I’d have gone to them in the first place,” he said sternly, frowning at her. “I want
you
.”

She stared at him, startled, lips parted, face chalk-pale.

“I want
you.
”
His own words echoed in his ear as he realized how that might have sounded and flushed with embarrassment again. But surely she understood how he’d meant that. . . . He was sworn to marry her sister, after all.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I don’t believe I can be of help to you anymore.” With that, she pushed away from the brazier and left him there, listening to the sound of her hurried footsteps as they faded into silence.

Maddie fled the teahouse in a state of total discombobulation. She could hardly think, could hardly breathe, could hardly even see, as was proven when she ran smack into someone coming down the path into the teahouse grotto. She never saw his face, just bounced off of him, muttered an apology, and raced on without looking up, desperate to get away before everything came flying apart. She thought it might have been Simon Kalladorne, probably the worst person who could have happened upon that little scene. . . .

But what difference did it make now? She was leaving. She had told Abramm her intent, and it was final. Soon it wouldn’t matter what anyone thought.

Oh, Father Eidon! What was I doing? What was I thinking to look at him like that and say those things. . . ?
She had spent most of her adult life seeking to avoid the amorous attentions of men. On those few occasions where her usual off-putting persona failed, she had even resorted to physical persuasion, having once shoved a hapless suitor so hard the man had fallen down the bank of stairs at his heels. And while some she minded less than others, she could not recall ever thinking she might like a man to hold her in his arms. . . . Until tonight when she had stood there in that teahouse looking up at Abramm, her heart leaping at the change that had swept across his face and the sudden possibility that he might do a good deal more than take her in his arms.

He’s going to marry your sister! What is wrong with you?

She was tempted to blame it on the dream, but after a day of trying to do that—to say nothing of that cursed vision!—she knew it was useless. The rhu’ema had only pulled up what was already there. If she dared to be honest with herself, she had to admit she’d been in love with Abramm Kalladorne since the day he’d come ashore from the battered
Wanderer
nine months ago. He’d been filthy, disheveled, exhausted, and reeking of kraggin. Yet when he’d stopped to greet Kesrin and his gaze had briefly met her own, her soul had come alight as if she’d waited for him all her life.

But that’s all romantic nonsense. And even if there is one chosen soul mate for each of us, he can’t be yours because he’s already chosen Briellen. You’d best just get out of Springerlan before you humiliate yourself entirely
.

At least that little scene they’d just played out in the teahouse had taken place where no one but he could see. And she took comfort in knowing he would find the possibility she was in love with him to be so ludicrous, it would never enter his mind.

And yet . . . there at the end . . .
“I want
you,
”
he’d said fiercely, and the look in his eye . . .
Don’t think of it. It was only your imagination. Like the vision . . . your own desires and nothing more. Light’s grace, Mad! You don’t seriously believe the man could ever love you, do you?

And if he could, that would only make things worse.

Why didn’t you just let him think you were ill? It would have stopped the questions, at least, and you wouldn’t have been such a babbling fool
.

Not wanting to run into anyone, she went up to her east-wing, third-floor apartments by way of the service stair, wiping away the tears as she went. Her maid, Liza, took her cloak and gloves in the darkened sitting chamber, where a single lamp and the hearth fire provided the only illumination. Though it was well after midnight, she was too cold and agitated to seek her bed, and so stood by the fire, glad of its warmth upon her face and fingers, content to be safely alone at last. She stared blindly into the dancing tongues of amber, listening to them hiss and snap. From down in the valley, the University clock tolled the half hour, its deep tone mingled a heartbeat later with the closer, louder chime of the mantel clock. She breathed a sigh of release.

“Well,” came a low, familiar voice. “I was beginning to wonder if I would have to wait until morning for your return.”

She whipped around, aghast to find her brother seated in one of the chairs clustered behind her, sufficiently cloaked in shadow that she hadn’t noticed him.

“Leyton!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

He stared up at her, the firelight gilding his bushy blond brows and casting a ruddy glow across his weathered face. “You told me you were retiring for the night. I wished to speak with you privately, so I stopped by hoping to catch you before you’d gone to bed. Instead, I found you weren’t even here.” He paused, his gaze not leaving hers. “I’ve waited almost two hours, Madeleine.”

She frowned at him, suddenly and intensely irritated. “Well, if I’d known your intention I surely would’ve made the effort to accommodate you.”
If he finds out I was with Abramm there’ll be another lecture. Oh, Father Eidon, where have you been this day? I can’t take another grilling from Leyton. Have mercy on me and get rid of him!

“So where were you?”

“Walking in the royal garden. I enjoy the lights.” She turned back to the fire to continue warming her hands.

“Sharing a lover’s tryst, were you?”

She stifled an angry reply, stood there a moment to gather her patience, then let out a long sigh. “I thought we’d settled this.”

“So did I. Yet barely twenty-four hours later you’re wandering the gardens alone at night. Although I don’t think it ended alone.” He paused and the chair creaked as he rose and came to stand beside her, resting one hand on the mantel. “Were you with the king tonight, Madeleine?”

She sighed again, realizing he would find out anyway. And who knew what the story would have swollen into by morning. “He came upon me in the garden. We walked to the teahouse, where we spoke briefly, and then I left.”

He pushed away from the mantel, muttering something inappropriate for a lady’s ear. Madeleine turned to watch him. “We were there five minutes at the most. It was nothing.”

“Well, that’s not how the court’s going to perceive it. Even if you care nothing for your own reputation, why don’t you show a little concern for your sister? Do you know what they’ve been saying about you today?”

“You think I went out there looking for him?”

“Did you?”

“No! I went out there to get away from—”
Him
. But she couldn’t say that. “From you for one. From conversations like this. And frankly, I couldn’t care less what they’re saying about me.”

“Hagin’s beard, girl! After that little vomiting incident this morning—”

“Vomiting incident?”

“—and your apparent swoon during the coronation—” “There was no vomiting incident!”

“—the current consensus is you’re carrying Abramm’s bastard.” He finished as if she’d not spoken.

She stood there, mouth open to speak, no words coming out. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Then a tide of heat suffused her face, though not for the reason Leyton supposed. Or, at least, not solely.

He nodded, believing he’d scored his point. “Perhaps you begin to see the value of discretion. You and I may know the tale’s not true, and I’m sure eventually it will be manifest. . . . But plagues, Maddie, in the meantime it’s downright embarrassing!” He pressed his lips together. “Already people are laughing at Briellen. While others wonder if she might be used goods, as well.”

She gave a snort. “Once she arrives you know no one will even care. As for me, you can relax. There’ll be no more embarrassing indiscretions because I’ll be leaving as soon as I can arrange passage. I told the king tonight.”

And that set him back. Rather more soundly than she’d expected. He stared at her for a long moment, mouth half open. Then his bushy brows drew down. “You can’t just leave.”

“Of course I can. I’m Second Daughter. I can do as I wish. . . . And I wasn’t vomiting this morning!” She stepped to the chair he’d just vacated and dropped into it.

“But . . . if you leave now, they’ll be sure you’re with child.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be gone, Leyt. I won’t care. And Bree will walk into nasty rumors whether I stay or go.”

“But you’ve been living with these people. You know them. I thought you’d want to help her get settled, introduce her around. Try to make this thing work.”

Maddie stared at him in sudden suspicion. “We both know that Bree will have no need—or desire—of
my
help settling in.” She frowned at him. “She
is
coming, isn’t she?”

“Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Oh, only the small matter of our ancestors’ repeated attempts to steal Kiriath’s regalia . . . and your own far too obvious obsession with them. You weren’t exactly subtle at dinner tonight, brother.”

“I’m not here to steal them.”

“So then, were you simply trying to annoy the man?”

“I was trying to figure out if he had any idea what he has.”

“How could he not after what happened today?”

“I don’t know, but it seems he doesn’t!” And she saw the passion rise in him with almost physical force, sparking in his eyes and tightening every muscle into eager alertness. He dropped onto the chair beside her and leaned over its arm. “By the prophets, Mad! They proved more than half the legends true today—the wind clearing off the clouds, the Esurhites discovered, the healings . . . all those conversions. Even the transformation of the Hasmal’uk stone. I could hardly contain myself.”

“Yes, that was obvious.”

“And yet, he spoke as if it was all Eidon’s doing, a one-time event, not something he can control and wield against our enemies.”

“Well, he
was
the one at the center of it all. I’d be inclined to give him some credit for knowing who was doing what.”

Leyton shook his head. “He’s only been changed four years, Mad. It’s completely reasonable to think he’s as ignorant and undiscerning as he seems.” He sagged against the chair’s back, eyes drifting to the flames. “All that power . . . all that promise . . . It’s like giving a finely balanced rapier to a child.” His eyes came back to her. “And you— You at least
know
the tales. I’d expected you would have been studying them, hoped you might have stumbled onto something already. Instead he’s got you wasting your time on old fortresses.”

“Ophiran guardstars are a known entity. He’s seen one of them in action. I’d hardly call it a waste of—”

“The regalia may well be the key to the survival of both Kiriath
and
Chesedh!” he interrupted sharply. “Something that can be used offensively against the Shadow’s hordes. Something that can drive them back and utterly destroy them!”

But she hardly heard the end of his outburst, her focus honing in on what he’d said at the first.
Key to Kiriath and Chesedh’s survival?
She realized then that his passion sprang from more than the simple excitement of seeing longheld beliefs coming true. His tone held an undeniable note of desperation. And that was most unlike Leyton.