The Eyes of God (54 page)
Authors: John Marco
By dusk, the flow of visitors finally ebbed, and Gilwyn and Figgis took a well-earned rest. Though the library remained open, they were no longer available to help patrons. They ate their evening meal together in the little kitchen off the library’s main living quarters, feasting on a grand supper of chicken and biscuits that Mistress Della, their housekeeper, had cooked. Mistress Della was a stoic woman who had lost her husband years ago in the wars with Reec. She had come into Figgis’ employ long before Gilwyn had arrived, when the library had first opened its doors. She was sweet to Gilwyn and feisty with Figgis, and the three shared most of the work of the vast place, though sometimes Figgis requested help from the tradesmen of Lionkeep, as when the roof was leaking or some other repair needed doing. Like Figgis, Mistress Della was paid by Akeela himself; the king never let them want for anything. She was comfortable in the library. Its solitude complemented her quiet nature.
After their supper, Figgis invited Gilwyn to play cards. It was a pleasant night, and Figgis suggested they play on the balcony of the main reading chamber, maybe even sip some brandy. Gilwyn knew it was Figgis’ way of mending fences, for the old man had apologized to him more than once for yelling at him the night before. Figgis’ sincerity made it all the more difficult for Gilwyn to decline his invitation. Since he didn’t have an excuse handy, he simply told Figgis that he would rather do it some other time, suggesting that the day’s labor had wearied him. Not surprisingly, Figgis saw through his pretense easily, but the old man didn’t press him. He merely smiled, saying that they could play cards any time.
Once he left Figgis, Gilwyn hurried to his bed chamber to dress for his meeting. He didn’t own a lot of clothes, but he had one nice shirt that he saved for special occasions. It had a stiff collar and a bright crimson pattern, and had been bought for him by Figgis so that he’d look good when meeting dignitaries. Gilwyn hardly ever wore the shirt, but it was perfect for his meeting with the girl. After he dressed he ran a comb through his hair, checking himself in a tiny rectangle of mirror, one that had belonged to his dead mother. As he stared at his reflection, he was sure his mother would be proud of him. She would never have approved of his skulking around Lionkeep, but she had always hoped he would find a girl for himself someday, perhaps even marry.
“This might be the one,” he told himself, smiling. Outside his window, the night was falling quickly. He smoothed down his shirt, put the ring he had purchased into his pocket, and took a deep breath. Tonight, he was taking a giant step toward manhood, a step he had always thought his crippled foot would prevent. Now, with the special shoe he wore, he could take man-sized strides. A nervous flutter turned in his stomach; excitement pounded in his temples. He looked out the window and knew that he needed to hurry, so he said good-bye to Teku in her cage and left his bedchamber, heading for Lionkeep and its long-abandoned garden.
With Jancis’ help, Cassandra left her chambers shortly after mealtime, once Freen the cook had vacated the kitchen and Megal and Ruthanna had stopped working for the night. According to Jancis, the two young housekeepers had gone for a walk to enjoy the splendid evening. It was the kind of statement that could still surprise Cassandra, even after years of experiencing the extraordinary abilities of the blind. Within an hour, her private wing had fallen silent and Jancis came into Cassandra’s bedchamber to report that everyone had gone off, leaving a clear run to the scullery and thus, the forgotten garden. Cassandra steeled herself. Now that darkness had come, Lukien was very near. With luck he was already safely in the garden, waiting for her. Cassandra let Jancis lead her as far as the scullery, then ordered her friend to turn around and forget everything she had done and heard.
“Admit nothing,” she ordered Jancis. They were in a darkened corner near the scullery, close to the rusted doors that led outside. The rest of the blind servants were nowhere to be seen, but Cassandra held her voice to a whisper. There was a tightness in her chest; she couldn’t tell if it was fear or desire. Jancis was gray. Her old friend let a tear fall from her eyes. Cassandra smiled and brushed it away. “It’s what I want, Jan,” she said gently. “You know I can’t live like this anymore.”
Jancis nodded, barely able to speak. “I know. But if you die. . . .”
“If I die, then it will have been worth it to see Lukien again. Remember that, Jancis. No matter what happens to me.”
“I should come with you,” said Jancis. “Maybe I could help you.”
“No,” said Cassandra. They had been through all this already.
“But if your sickness returns. . . .”
“Jancis, stop. There’s nothing for you to do. Now I have to go. And you have to get back to your rooms. If Akeela comes looking for me. . . .”
“I’ll tell him you’re in your room, sleeping.” Jancis grimaced, then held out her arms. “Good luck, Cass.”
Cassandra embraced her friend, a lump springing into her throat. “Thanks,” she whispered. She kissed Jancis on the cheek. “I will see you again.”
Jancis chuckled through her tears. “How do you know that?”
“I have faith,” Cassandra said. “Now go.”
With one last, forlorn smile, Jancis turned and walked quickly down the hall, leaving Cassandra hiding in the shadowy corner. Cassandra waited until her footfalls disappeared. The wing attained a cryptlike silence. She spied the doors, those magic portals that would take her back in time. But she could not bring herself to go to them.
Second thoughts, Cass?
she asked herself.
No.
she asked herself.
No.
It was like she’d told Jancis—she wanted this more than anything. Freedom lay just outside those doors, freedom that would flare like a shooting star before quickly burning out.
Quietly she made her way to the door. Confident no one could hear her, she opened the squeaking portal and peeked outside. Darkness rushed at her; the thick cover of weeds and branches reached for her. Her eyes fought the darkness, searching the garden for Lukien or anyone else. Not a soul was seen or heard. She stepped out into the long shadows, closing the door carefully behind her. Beneath her feet she felt the wetness of dew. Cassandra inched forward, not sure if she should call out for Lukien. How else would he find her? She cleared the castle wall and headed deeper into the garden. The moonlit faces of neglected statues startled her. She steadied her breath and looked around. Aside from the silent statues, the garden was empty. Cassandra’s heart sank.
Lukien,
she thought desperately,
where are you?
she thought desperately,
where are you?
She dared not shout his name, yet she wanted to scream. Had she gotten the time wrong? Or worse, had she been duped?
“No,” she whispered. Lukien wouldn’t lie to her. He would be here, because he had promised it. But Cassandra knew she had no time to waste. If anyone else saw her first. . . .
“Hello.”
Cassandra jumped at the intrusion. She whirled toward the castle and saw a figure in the feeble light. When she saw it wasn’t Lukien, her hoped crashed. And her fear spiked.
“Great Fate,” she gasped. “You’re not. . . .”
She turned her face away, wanting to bolt. But suddenly she realized there was nowhere to run. The figure was blocking her way.
“Go!” she cried. “Don’t look at me!”
“What?” She heard the figure moving toward her, grass crunching beneath his feet. “No, don’t be afraid. . . .”
“Go away!” Cassandra looked toward the trees, dashing quickly for their cover. She had been seen, but it was dark and maybe she would be all right. She hurried through the garden toward a tangled stand of pear trees.
“Wait,” pleaded the figure. His voice was young, like a boy’s.
Terrified, Cassandra ran for the trees and collided with a stout limb. Pain shot through her head. The world winked briefly out of existence, and when she opened her eyes again she was on her back. Wet ground soaked her legs and backside. Hurriedly she tried to sit up, but soon saw an unfamiliar face hovering over her.
“Are you all right?”
Cassandra heard the voice through a fog of pain. Her bleary eyes focused on the face, and saw the most sublime concern there.
“I’m dead,” she moaned.
The boy didn’t take her meaning. “No, you’ll be all right,” he said gently. He knelt down beside her, cradling his hand beneath her head and studying the bruise she knew was rising on her forehead. Cassandra thought of rolling free and running off, but she knew it was too late—she had been seen. All she could do now was wait until the cancer ate her insides again.
“Great Fate,” she whispered, “I’m going to die. . . .”
She reached to her chest and clasped the amulet beneath her dress, expecting to feel its ruby cold with death. Instead the gem still pulsed with warmth. Cassandra took a slow, calming breath. Remarkably, there was no pain in her belly, just the sharp agony from the blow to her skull.
“Can you sit up?” asked the boy. Carefully he coaxed her up. “That’s it. Easy. . . .”
Cassandra put her hand to her forehead and gingerly touched the welt. Pain shot through her skull. Miserable, she let out a defeated sigh. The boy was looking at her with a giant smile. Then she saw his left hand. It was twisted into a useless club, and when he noticed her studying it he pulled it back, hiding it at his side.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to stare. I. . . .” She shook her head. “I have to get out of here.”
With the boy’s help she rose unsteadily to her feet. Her head swam and she thought she would faint. The boy saw her distress and kept his good hand on her, propping her up.
“Here,” he said, guiding her toward the pear tree. “Sit down.”
Cassandra sat, knowing she had no choice. Once she collected herself she could go back inside. Then suddenly she thought of Lukien again, and looked around expectantly.
“Are you alone?” she asked the boy.
He laughed. “Of course. Who else would I bring? I thought you’d know I wanted to see you alone.”
Cassandra looked at him dreadfully. “What?”
“My note.” He studied her bruise as he spoke, obviously concerned. “This doesn’t look too bad. You’ll be fine.”
“Your note? You mean you sent it to me?”
The boy looked wounded. “Well, yes.”
“But you’re just a boy. I was expecting. . . .” Cassandra caught herself, then shook her head and started laughing. “I don’t believe it. What a fool I am!”
The boy leaned back, grimacing in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything wrong. I just wanted to meet you.”
“Meet me? How do you even know me?”
“I saw you in the garden the night of the moon shadow. You were with an older woman. I saw you and, well. . . .” He swallowed nervously. “You looked so beautiful, so nice. I just thought. . . .”
His voice trailed off with a shrug, so ashamed he could no longer look at her. He pulled his clubbed hand into his sleeve. Cassandra watched him, suddenly understanding. He was lovesick. And understandably, he thought them the same age. But he was horribly embarrassed now, and his pain tugged at Cassandra.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she said. She tried to smile. “I’m flattered, really.”
“But you thought the note came from someone else.” The boy sighed mirthlessly. “I should have known. If you thought it was me, you wouldn’t have come.”
“No,” said Cassandra quickly. Then, “Well, yes, you’re probably right. But I was mistaken, you see. I thought the note came from someone I know, someone I care about.”
“Oh,” said the boy. “So you’ve already got a . . . well, someone special.” He gave a sad smile. “I should have known that, too. You’re so beautiful.”
Cassandra flushed at the compliment. He seemed a kind boy, though shy. His awkwardness made her smile. Sixteen years ago, he could have been Akeela.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Gilwyn Toms,” he replied. “From the library.”
“The library? Oh, yes, I’ve heard about you. My . . . uh, my friend mentioned you once.”
“Really? Who’s your friend?”
“Doesn’t matter. But I have heard about you. You work with the old man.”
“Figgis,” said Gilwyn. “I’m his apprentice.”
“And you saw me in the garden?”
“Yes.” Gilwyn pointed toward Lionkeep. “I have a private place that I go sometimes, up there on that balcony.”
Cassandra had to squint to see through the darkness. But there it was, a broken, abandoned balcony clinging to the side of the keep. Her heart sank when she saw it. How foolish she had been to risk her life that night. Yet now the risk seemed to be none at all. She patted her belly, feeling fine. The realization of good health made her laugh out loud.
“I’m all right,” she chuckled. “I can’t believe it.”
“It’s really not a bad bruise,” said Gilwyn. “I told you, you’ll be fine.”
Cassandra reached out and took his hand. “Yes, Gilwyn Toms, I am fine. Fine as the day I was born!”
Gilwyn looked at her oddly. “Uhm, well, that’s wonderful.”
Other books
Winter (Rise of the Pride, Book 2) by Theresa Hissong
Eliza's Shadow by Catherine Wittmack
Heroic Abduction by Eve Langlais
Her Viking Wolves: 50 Loving States, Michigan by Theodora Taylor
Un final perfecto by John Katzenbach
Maskerade by Pratchett, Terry
The Glass Painter's Daughter by Hore, Rachel
Beginnings by Natasha Walker
Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage by Ed Lynskey
Intruder in the Dust by William Faulkner
