“And where was that? Do you even know?”
“In servitude proper to your meager abilities. You are nothing to me. Servants are nothing to me. It doesn’t matter if they’re all dead.”
Some struggle was going on inside him. I pressed hard, hoping to find some crack, some chink in the walls the Lords had built to imprison him. “But your masters have promised to give me to the Preceptors.”
“Only if I wish it. They do everything I wish.”
“And what is it you wish?”
He clasped his hands together and pressed them to his chin, as if to quiet their agitation. “I don’t know.”
“You made them promise to save my life. Can you even remember why?”
“A stupid and childish whim. I am no longer burdened with such.”
“Does it matter what I wish?”
“Not in the least.”
“But if it did matter, I’d wish to stay with you. I would care for you and be your companion. You are my-”
“I have no need of companions!” He circled the throne again and sank slowly into its stony embrace, pressing his clenched hands to his forehead. “I want to be left alone. And I have no further need of servants. All my servants have been disposed of. They can no longer interfere… or leave their thoughts cluttering up my head… dead men’s thoughts… slaves’ thoughts…” In that instant, he might have been transformed into the same stone as his chair. Agitation stilled, cold anger muted, imperious manner quenched, his words dwindled to a whisper. “Impossible. Impossible. How could he be here?”
The diamond eyes jerked up. A searing lance pierced my forehead. “You lied! What were the two of you doing? What was he doing here?”
My mouth worked soundlessly as the pressure in my head grew… only to be abruptly halted when the round blue glow in the floor began to pulse rapidly. Gerick jumped up, spread his hands, and pressed his palms outward, and in a stomach-wrenching explosion of enchantment, the vast, empty darkness of the Lords’ hall was transformed into a more ordinary sitting room.
Even as I blinked and gaped at soft couches, polished tables, well-stocked bookshelves, and bright lamps hung from a high, painted ceiling, the air in the center of the room shivered with the discontinuity that signified an open portal. Beyond the portal lay another room, somber gray stone, a long table and seven high-backed chairs, backing on a massive hearth. I could not fail to recognize the place-the Preceptors’ council chamber, where I had last seen my husband as he plunged a knife into his belly. The Preceptors stood waiting in the center of that chamber.
First to step through the portal were Madyalar and Exeget, followed by Y’Dan and the two old ones, Ustele and Ce’Aret. Last came Gar’Dena, and only in looking at the giant sorcerer did I regain a sense of the months that had passed. His massive flesh sagged, as if he had lost a great deal of weight, and with it, the joy and genial sweetness that had illuminated his presence. His broad face was grave and creased with care.
I expected jaws to drop in horror when the Preceptors beheld the fearsome aspect of their Heir-to-be. The Preceptors were secretive, imperious, single-minded in their intents, yes. But the corruption of a few-Exeget, certainly, and perhaps some ally or two-could not blind the rest. They would never anoint an Heir so clearly the tool of the Lords. But when I turned to the one who stood beside the crackling hearthfire to greet the Dar’Nethi, my heart sank. Gerick looked entirely himself, a tall, slender youth, skin darkened by the sun, dressed elegantly in purple and silver. His eyes were the brown that matched my own. Surely it was my imagination that I saw the icy brilliance of diamonds in their depths. An image, of course… as Darzid’s face had been… so the Preceptors could not see what had been done.
I jumped to my feet. “Gar’Dena, good Preceptors, don’t be deceived. This is the Lords’ house! They’ve changed my son… corrupted him…”
No one acknowledged me. All their attention was focused on Gerick. I hurried across the room, intending to grab their sleeves, to pluck their robes or hair, whatever it would take to get them to heed my warning, but my steps did not reduce the distance between us, and none of them seemed to see or hear me.
“Welcome to the house of my protectors, Preceptors,” said Gerick, bowing slightly, his earlier agitation as hidden as his true face.
Exeget stepped forward and bowed deeply. “We rejoice in your ascendance to majority, Your Grace, but we cannot but wonder at its venue. Your refusal to return to Avonar even for this glorious day has given rise to great disturbance among your people. The rumors rampant in this past year are multiplied a hundredfold, and though the Gate-fire yet burns white, you cannot fail to know that seven villages and innumerable households have been destroyed in the past months. The Zhid have grown bold, and your people worry about friends who do not reveal their names”-he waved his hand to encompass the room-“yet stand so high in their Prince’s regard.”
“My protectors have done me great service, Master. No Dulcé have been sent to poison me, as happened to Prince D’Natheil two years ago. No knife has appeared in my hand, and I suffer no madness to make me turn it upon myself as my late father did. I have lived in safety and comfort until my majority, and have put the time to good use developing my skills on many fronts. When I venture the Bridge, I will not be broken by it.”
“Indeed you have grown fairly, my lord,” said Madyalar, smiling. Ustele and Ce’Aret murmured their agreement.
Gerick acknowledged the compliment with a gracious nod. “Clearly I am not Zhid, and it is one hour past my coming of age. I am safe in the house of my friends, and my Preceptors are welcomed here. If the Lords wished to corrupt me, then they have made a great miscalculation, have they not?”
“Who are you?” growled Gar’Dena. “Show us your true face. Show us your friends and prove that they are the friends of Avonar.”
“What greater proof of loyalty is there than saving my life?” snapped Gerick. “My protectors did so when I was an infant, condemned to death in the mundane world, and then they brought me to this haven to shield me both from execution in the mundane world and the murderous traitors in Gondai. And they saved me yet again this year when they discovered a foul plot that invaded this, my sanctuary. Some thought to prevent my taking my place as the Heir, sneaking in here disguised as servants to steal me away.” His finger pointed at me.
All of the Preceptors looked startled when they saw me. But two of the astonished faces registered another emotion as well-distress, quickly suppressed. One of the two-Gar‘Dena’s-I expected, and the other… the other I most assuredly did not. I did not trust myself even to think the name, for if what I glimpsed was truth, then the implications were profound and dangerous.
“Oh, my lady-” began Gar’Dena.
“Master Gar-”
“Be silent in my presence, traitors!” spat Gerick. He whirled from me to the giant Dar’Nethi. “How dare you speak when you have so violated my trust? My first act as Heir of D’Arnath will be to remove you from this Preceptorate. I cannot trust anyone.” And then he glared at me in accusation. “No one… no one is who they seem. Everyone lies.”