Carol Berg - Son of Avonar

“As long as it’s an ordinary knife, not enchanted. I tried several ways to get loose, with sorcery and not, and wished I hadn’t.”

It was nearly impossible to wedge Rowan’s heavy blade under the bindings, and I knew the pain must be excruciating as I sawed away at the cord. “I’m sorry to hurt you.”

“I’ll not complain. Honestly.” But his voice was very tight, and he mumbled a curse when I had sliced through the first one and peeled the cord away, a strip of blackened skin attached. With a grunt, he drew his freed foot under him, supporting his weight less precariously.

The other ankle was even more difficult. His foot was dark and swollen, and I could feel the cord tightening as I worked at it. This was taking too long, and his hands were still bound. Stupid, why didn’t you do his hands first? Where were the guards? There! Ankles free.

I could scarcely reach his hands. They’d put five turns of cord around his wrists and the beam. Five knots, so that each turn had to be cut individually. I jerked violently, almost slicing his flesh, when I thought I heard someone outside the door. But the pounding was only my heart. Three turns done. A quarter of an hour, Kellea had said. Who could tell how long it had been? Another layer cut. Then the last.

After we wrestled the loop of silver cord from his neck, I gave him Rowan’s cloak, unbuckled the sheriff’s heavy sword belt from around my waist, and held it ready. “Maybe this time you’ll keep your clothes on,” I said.

“I promise I won’t throw them back at you tonight,” he said, shaking the blood back into his hands. He stuck his arms through the side-slits in the cloak, pulled the garment tight around his middle, and buckled the sword belt over it. Then I gave him his own dagger—D’Arnath’s blade.

As we slipped into the deserted gallery I felt fortunate, and when we reached the stairway unchallenged, I allowed myself the beginnings of hope. But as I took the first step downward, the Prince caught my hands and stopped me.

“I can’t go with you,” he said. The darkness hid his face. “Though everything in me wants to follow you, I must go up instead.”

“No. Surely, you need—”

He put a finger on my lips. “There are no words to thank you for all you’ve done. You’ve fed me, clothed me, nursed and healed me in countless ways, taught me of this world and how to live in it, and given me a part of yourself that I’ll carry with me always. But now it’s time for me to stand on my own. I had time to think tonight. Once I figured out that I’d best not even move if I valued my limbs, I—I don’t know how to explain it—my mind took itself away from my body—”

My neck prickled. “You don’t have to explain it.”

“Giano has said over and over that my death on the Bridge will destroy it, but I think perhaps it’s only if I let them bind and slaughter me like some stupid sheep. The answer is so simple, I can’t think why it seemed so difficult. Someone’s come to fight me, set me a challenge. If I fail to meet a challenge to the Bridge, D’Arnath’s oath is violated—so the Zhid want me captive… or to run away. It’s not my death will cause the Bridge to fall, I think, but my failure. No one thinks I’m capable or willing or clever enough to see their trick. I have to be there, and I have to fight. That has to be enough. It’s all I know how to do.”

“So you’re going to the Gate to wait for them.”

“You’ve given me the chance.”

Nothing more could be said. It was his Bridge, his battle, his choice. Berating him that he needed more than some wild supposition before tangling himself in mortal enchantments would only bring the others down on us. I had done all I could to bring him to this point, and the fact that I could not bear the thought of leaving him had no relevance to the matter at all. “Have a care, D’Natheil.” I could scarcely form the words.

“And you, my lady.” And then he kissed my hand, there in the midnight of Vittoir Eirit. “There are no demons in this darkness,” he said. “No need to be afraid. Such beauty lies within you, such light. You’ve pushed away the shadows and given me life.”

I didn’t hear him walk away. But my hand stung with fire, and his words hung in the air like the tail of a comet. … no demons in this darkness… Where had he found those words? Words extraordinary only in their familiar composition and the fact that they’d been spoken in another time, by another voice, comforting me when I was afraid. How did he know of my terror of dark places? I’d never told him of it, and yet, in the tunnels under Mount Kassarain, in the darkness of the rift valley…

My boots moved downward to the next step of the curving staircase. It was as if the burning of my hand and the tale of his words had penetrated the barriers of reason and uncovered a jumble of questions I’d stored away there as too odd, too difficult, too inexplicable to think about.

What did Celine mean when she asked what miracle had brought this man to me? What had made the old Healer laugh with delight at the moment of her death? What had made Tennice cling to D’Natheil in the madness of his fever? Why had the Prince come to me… as a storm-wracked ship will follow a beacon to safe and familiar harbor?

You will shine as a beacon to me…

My body trembled with the thoughts that blossomed within it like bonfires at a midsummer’s fair. My mind refused to give credence to the absurd speculation taking shape from its confusion. Impossible. Inconceivable. Lunacy.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “Are you mad?” Kellea whispered fiercely in my ear. “You’re a fool. Any one of these bastards could see you standing here. Let’s go some place safer, if you don’t mind.”

I let Kellea lead me. I couldn’t have said where we were.

“Did the soldiers come back before you got him loose? Is he still prisoner?” Kellea asked, when we reached the second-level gallery.

“No, it worked wonderfully well.” I could not focus on Kellea’s words for the chaos inside me and the fire that lingered on my hand.

“Where is he then?”

“The Gate. He went to the Gate to wait for them…” I crushed her hands in mine, knowing what I had to do. “Kellea, you’ve got to put me back.” Now I dragged her down the stairs.

We reached the next turn of the stair, and she balked. “What are you saying?”

“They’ve not discovered I’m gone. The ropes are still there. Put me back.”

I tugged at her again, but she held her ground. “In the name of reason, why?”

“Because I have to know. I can’t explain. I must be at the Gate in the morning, and there’s nowhere to hide in the chamber. So, Giano wants an audience for his triumph. He’ll take me. Please, Kellea. Put me back.”

“You’re mad.”

I yanked free of her and glided downward on airborne feet. Kellea followed me around the dark perimeter of the cavern until we reached the column where I had been held prisoner. A few moments fumbling and I found the lengths of rope. I pressed the bindings into Kellea’s hands.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure. Perhaps this will keep you three safe, too. If you stay hidden until we win or lose, they won’t suspect you’re here. Do it quickly. Please.”

I stretched my arms around the column, paying no attention to the ache of my shoulders or the pull of the bindings or the scratch of the ropes about my abraded wrists. Oh, holy, blessed gods…

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” whispered Kellea as she tied the last knot.

“Be safe, Kellea.”

The Dar’Nethi girl laid a hand on my shoulder, and then slipped silently into the darkness.