Dax knew that there was nothing more he could do. Another party of warriors would have to be sent out immediately to watch this deadly new phenomenon, and a message would have to be sent to the Jin'Sai at once.
Sadly he turned his gaze to the spot where Rufio had disappeared. The wall showed no trace of having engulfed him. With no body to immolate, it had been the worst possible of Minion deaths.
Launching himself into the sky, Dax turned toward the campsite. As his wings pulled him through the air, he did not look back.
CHAPTER XLVIII
"It's true, daughter," Wigg said, his voice cracking .
"You are dying, and we must return to Eutracia as soon as possible. It is now even more important that we make Tristan's blood whole again-not only to heal the orb, but to save your life." Wigg looked at Jessamay, who nodded.
"Jessamay believes that only another physical union with Tristan-after his blood is healed-might reverse this process," the wizard said. "After examining your blood signature, I agree. I wish things were different."
It was early evening in Parthalon. Wigg, Jessamay, Tristan, and Celeste were sitting quietly on the balcony of Jessamay's quarters in the Recluse. Three tension-filled days had passed since Wigg had learned the terrible news.
His first instinct had been to return everyone to Eutracia immediately. But Jessamay had been too weak to risk taking her through Faegan's portal. Now, at last, she finally felt well enough. Tomorrow they would travel back to the place where Faegan's portal opened each day at noon, and they would go home.
Tristan sat holding Celeste. His face was grief-stricken as she sobbed, her head buried against his shoulder.
Wigg had just broken the terrible news. He had put that task off until he could examine Celeste's blood signature for himself. Two days earlier he had obtained a drop of his daughter's blood under the weak pretext of checking to see that her Forestallment remained intact after the scorching of her fingertips. When he had examined her blood through Failee's signature scope, his world had fallen apart.
Nearly one-third of Celeste's blood signature was already gone. Glowing, azure bits-traces of Tristan's blood-coursed ominously within the bloodlines of the signature. Wigg had never seen anything like it. It was almost as if the azure bits were devouring his daughter's signature little by little.
Frustrated, Wigg shook his head. In truth, the only reason he hadn't told Tristan and Celeste right then and there was simple-he hadn't known how. It had taken all his courage to finally speak.
Tristan's eyes were red and shiny, and he pulled Celeste a bit closer to him.
"This can't be happening," he said. His voice shook with every word.
"Please tell us that this has all been some kind of mistake!"
With a heavy sigh, Wigg placed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. "I wish I could. But everything I have just told you is true. As her signature disappears, her aging will accelerate. When the signature is finally gone, there will be nothing left to sustain her time enchantments. Remember, despite how she looks to us, and how much we may love her, she is nearly three hundred years old."
Celeste looked at her father. Trying to collect herself, she wiped away her tears. "Isn't there anything we can do?" she asked. Her voice sounded very small.
Jessamay went to sit beside Celeste and took her hands. "There is hope," she said. "But first we must return to Eutracia. Our answers lie there."
The effects of Failee's magic now gone, Jessamay looked like a different person. After she had bathed and washed her hair, she had gratefully donned a spare dress of Failee's. It hung a bit loosely, but it would do for now.
Tristan guessed that Wigg must have granted Jessamay the time enchantments when she had been somewhere around thirty-five Seasons of New Life. She was pretty, with blue eyes and a seductive figure-a far cry from the chained, cowering wretch they had seen found trapped in Failee's research chambers. Her long blond hair was naturally curly and fell to her shoulders. Her color had returned, and with it much of her strength. There was a kind, candid demeanor about her that the prince found comforting.
Still, none of these things told him how powerful a sorceress Jessamay might be. Nor did he fully understand the ramifications of her having a blood signature that showed no appreciable lean. But since Wigg seemed to trust Jessamay implicitly, Tristan decided to put away his misgivings, at least for the time being. Right now, Celeste was his most immediate concern.
"How long does she have?" he asked the wizard.
Wigg shook his head. "I can't answer that. All we can do is monitor her condition through regular examinations of her blood."
Tristan looked back at Celeste, and a terrible memory struck him. When his son Nicholas had been draining the Paragon of its power, Wigg and Faegan had begun to age prematurely and lose their gifts. Had they not been able to stop Nicholas when they did, the wizards would have turned to dust.
Beside himself with grief, he lowered his head. After a few moments he looked back at Celeste. When he searched her face this time, he could see the truth of it.
Her appearance was already changing.
He had noticed it before, but had simply chalked it up to the immense stress they had all been under. She was still beautiful, but slight crow's-feet had appeared at the corners of her eyes, and lines had formed around her mouth. While they had walked to the Recluse stables two nights before, he had noticed that her gait was a bit slower, and that one of her ankles seemed to bother her. And he had assumed that the dark circles beneath her eyes were simply from lack of sleep. But now he knew differently.
His heart breaking, he stood and went to the balcony railing. Celeste followed. Summoning her composure as best she could, she laced one arm through his.
"I did this to you," he said after a long silence. "You have every right to hate me for it. Your life has always been difficult, and loving me has only added to your burdens. I'm so sorry."
Reaching out, she turned his face to hers. "You didn't know. It's as much my fault as anyone's." Then she let go and turned to look out over the balcony.
"I've changed already, haven't I?" she asked. "I'm aging. Don't tell me tales, my love. I've seen what is happening to me."
Her tears came again, and then she blurted, "Will you still love me?"
Her question broke his heart. He gently placed his forehead against hers. He could smell the lovely, familiar scent of myrrh in her hair. He pulled her closer.
"Always," he answered.
After thinking to himself for a moment, he finally made a decision. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to leave.
Celeste was puzzled. "What are you doing?"
"Something I should have done long ago," he answered.
Walking across the room, he went to the door and opened it. The two warriors standing on the other side immediately came to attention. Tristan whispered something to one of them. After clicking his heels, the warrior left his post. Tristan shut the door.
As the prince walked back to the balcony, Wigg and Jessamay gave him curious looks, but he ignored them. Returning to Celeste, he went to one knee and looked up into her face.
"Will you marry me?" he asked simply.
Celeste's face exploded with joy. "Yes," she answered, her voice cracking with emotion. "A thousand times, yes!"
Coming to his feet, Tristan turned to Wigg. "As Lead Wizard of the Directorate, you were empowered to perform marriages, were you not?" he asked.
Tears glistened in Wigg's eyes. "Indeed I was."
"Good," Tristan said, "because I respectfully request your daughter's hand."
It took Wigg several moments to find his voice. "Granted," he said.