A Thread in the Tangle (56 page)

The unit of guards began as four, but the flighty faerie had employed a clever series of tactics.
 
Through misdirection, twisting corridors, secret passages, and pure deviousness, the nymph had dwindled her guard to one.
 
The remaining guard could not leave to gather reinforcements, so she watched the nymph closely, waiting for the creature to bolt.
 
In the meantime, she hoped her compatriots would find them soon.

Isiilde narrowed her eyes at the Isle Guard who stood some ten feet down the King’s Walk.
 
The stern-faced woman looked none too pleased, and slightly humiliated—as she should be, considering how easily the nymph had thwarted her cohorts.

Why did they bother?
Isiilde wondered with a sigh, ducking back behind the statue to rest her head against the cool wood of the faerie queen’s thighs.
 
She poked sullenly at the sheathed dagger on her hip, wondering if it was disrespectful to use Lith as a backrest.
 
Since they were both faerie, she reasoned that she was allowed some liberties.

As far as Isiilde was concerned, faerie had to stick together, because humans were traitorous, such as Marsais and Oenghus had proved three days prior.

Some months ago, she had confided in Marsais her plans to run away, and now, when her impending sale loomed, he had assigned four guards to her day and night.
 
This complicated her plans considerably (not that she had worked out a plan as of yet).

It was difficult to think with dull guards standing about.
 
She had spent most of the morning trying to shake them off her trail.
 
Unfortunately, the remaining guard was stubborn and now her feet were sore.

The afternoon dragged on, dinner was approaching, and Isiilde had avoided another lesson with Marsais.
 
She had not seen him since he left her weeping on the floor, but then she had also refused to leave her room when he visited.

The men’s eyes had gleamed so brightly that it made her skin crawl.
 
The memory of their gazes made her feel less than a dog.
 
Isiilde didn’t want to see anyone, she wanted to hide, and never again be an object of desire as she had been on that cursed pedestal.
 
She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin atop her knees, pondering her misery.

As if her own predicament were not bad enough, Oenghus was in grave trouble due to his fight with the Imp (which was her fault) and the destruction of Zahra’s temple (which was made worse by her).
 
And early this morning, the Blessed Order had come to take him away for questioning on charges of sacrilege.
 
What if he was arrested and never returned?
 
Men had been executed for sacrilege, and now Oenghus would pay for her worthlessness.
 
She felt like crying, but all her tears had been spent over the last few days.
 
Tears were useless anyway.

“I’ve always wondered if you were related to her.”
 
Isiilde started at the familiar, musing tone of her master, but kept her eyes firmly on the back wall of the alcove where she hid.
 
“I couldn’t help but notice you missed three of your lessons.
 
Oenghus might not have told you, but I came by to see how you were fairing yesterday—and the day before.”
 
There was a long silence, filled only by the clinking of mail and the soft chiming of his coins.

“Well,” her master sighed heavily, “if you change your mind you know where to find me.”

“What’s the point,” she seethed.

“The point of what, Isiilde?”

“Lessons!
 
Lore books, reading, wielding the Gift?”
 
Isiilde rose to her feet and stepped from behind the statue to face the tall seer.
 
Torches flared along with her anger and Marsais took a quick step back, eyes wide and glittering.

The guard tensed, hand straying to the hilt of her sword, torn between protecting the Archlord, or the nymph, if it came down to it.

“The point?
 
Why to learn of course.”

“Why should I learn?
 
I am to be
sold
.”
 
Isiilde bristled, and her hot tears spat and hissed on her skin, mirroring the heat of her words.
 
“Do you think they will let me stay here?”
 
Two threatening steps forward put the nymph within striking distance and Marsais fought down an urge to retreat with her advance.
 
“Do you think Oenghus will be able to come?
 
Will they let either of you visit?
 
I will never be able to see you again, because I am nothing more than a man’s plaything!
 
What use is a nymph who can read and write?
 
What good will that do in my slave master’s bed?”
 
The torches along the tunnel stirred, surging three feet in the air to singe the stone.

“Calm down, my dear,” Marsais urged.
 
“It may not be as bad as you believe.
 
They are rich kingdoms.
 
You will be assured every luxury.
 
You will have an army of servants at your disposal.”

“So am I to be the king’s prize steed?”
 
The embodiment of fury flared to life in front of Marsais and he stiffened, fingers twitching nervously.
 
“To be groomed as my owner sees fit.”
 
The words burned down her throat.
 
“To be fed what he wishes and exercised when he deems it proper.
 
To be mounted whenever my owner has an urge—do not speak to me of luxury!”

With the final lash of her tongue, fire filled the tunnel, seeking for something upon which to sate its hunger.
 
Marsais gathered the flame into a rolling ball with a quick flash of his fingers and hurled it into the stone wall, sending a spray of cinder scattering in all directions before darkness consumed them.

“Stop it!” the nymph screamed in terror and anger and aching loss.

“Stop what?”
 
Marsais snapped back, his deft fingers already weaving, producing a rune of light that hovered overhead with a bluish glow.
 
The guard drew her sword, poised to fight, but Marsais held a commanding hand out to her in warning.

“I hate it when you do that,” Isiilde fumed.

“Do what?”

“Stop answering my questions with more questions,” she growled.

“I did not realize you asked one,” he said, hastily.
 
“Truly, I didn’t know you felt so strongly on the matter.”

“I hate it when you take
my
fire!”
 
There was power in her voice, and wrath in her eyes, but it sputtered shortly after it reared its fearsome head.
 
Her voice cracked, raw with intensity, and she collapsed, quivering with weakness and slapping her fist uselessly on the stone floor.
 
“It’s all I have.”
 
Her final words were faded like a tendril of smoke trailing from a cold wick.

The silence was absolute.
 
The guard stood stricken, afraid to move lest she reawaken fury incarnate.
 
A grain of sand slipped through the crux of the hourglass, the Archlord blinked, his heart beat and the weight of the ages settled upon his shoulders with a ragged breath.
 
Marsais leaned heavily against the wall and finally slid down, slumping beside the nymph on the floor.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said with aching tenderness.
 
At the sound of his voice, Isiilde raised her head.
 
Grey eyes glistened like mist.
 
And for the first time since she had known him, he looked old and spent in the dim.
 
“I am so sorry for all of this.”

“Why did you let them look at me?”

“Forgive me if I annoy you, but I must answer your question with a question.”
 
Marsais’ voice was thin and faded.
 
“What would have happened if I
did not
allow them to view you, my dear?
 
How would your mind have settled things?”
 
Curiosity laced with firmness, an unlikely balance of the two.

“Oen would have ripped off their heads,” she stated without hesitation.
 
“And then we would all go somewhere warm to live our lives as we saw fit.”

 
“What I wouldn’t give to walk down that path,” he chuckled, bitterly.
 
“I wish such lovely visions would grace my eyes.
 
Shall I tell your virgin ears what I see in my waking dreams?”
 
His voice was not at all gentle and he did not wait for her to answer, but forged mercilessly forward, speaking to her of what he had never spoken before: his visions.

“Beyond a doubt, Oenghus would have killed the emissaries.
 
Now he becomes a treasonous traitor, hunted by not one, but
four
kingdoms.
 
He would have taken you and fled, but where, my dear?”
 
Marsais paused, glancing over at her in question.

“The Bastardlands,” she replied quickly.

“Hmm, let us follow but one thread then, and assume that you two could make it through the Western Gates undetected, despite the Blessed Order pursuing you.
 
I ask you, Isiilde, what becomes of a lone nymph in the Void infested wilds after the Widow’s Own hunt down Oenghus and slit his throat in the night?
 
What will you do then?”
 
Marsais gestured sharply as if erasing a slate.
 
“Another path!
 
I refuse to let the emissaries see you.
 
Caitlyn Whitehand takes you back to Kambe, only you never arrive on the shores, for pirates can’t resist a prize such as you,” he said, searching her face with haunted eyes.
 
It was then that Isiilde realized that he had lived out each possibility in the visions which plagued him.

“Are you too innocent to see that Fate?
 
A nymph as beautiful as you on a ship full of scoundrels?”
 
She shivered at the pang of anguish in his hoarse voice.
 
“Shall I go on?
 
Do you want to hear what would happen if I kept you locked away in my tower?
 
Oh, to be sure, no man would ever touch you, but shall I tell you the price that comes with such a dream?
 
Would you like to hear about the war that would destroy the Isle and kill every breathing thing on it before rippling through the rest of the realm?”

“Stop it, please,” she whispered, fearfully, not for her, but for his own sake.
 
How could he live like this?
 
How could he bear to watch so much suffering and death?
 
Why had she never realized the burden he carried?

“This realm is a cruel and twisted place, Isiilde.
 
Sometimes you must choose the lesser of two evils.
 
That is why I allowed them to inspect you, and I do not regret it.
 
I
cannot
regret it.”
 
The last echoed with firm conviction in the tunnel.
 
The nymph wanted to curl up and never open her eyes again, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“They were laughing at me, Marsais.”

“I wish they were, but I assure you they were not.”

“But I heard them—I don’t look like other nymphs.
 
My breasts are small, I have no meat, no curves.
 
My ears are big.
 
Why do they desire me?”

“You are beautiful, my dear, though you don’t see it.”

“You didn’t even look at me.”
 
There was pain beneath the accusation, and confusion.
 
“Why not?”

Marsais considered her question, heard her confusion, and saw to the root of the matter.
 
“Not so long ago, I told you that you should trust no man, save Oenghus.
 
Ancient I might be, but I am still a man, and I do not trust myself with you.
 
That is why I have never taken your hand or greeted you with the embrace of a friend.
 
I have always strived to behave as a gentleman and I will not risk your innocence, or betray your trust.”

Isiilde reached for his hand, but he snatched it away with a shuddering breath.

“Please, Isiilde, do not.”
 
His rejection caused her more pain than the leering stares of the emissaries.
 
The nymph stood, arching a delicate eyebrow at the man who sat at her feet.

“Yet you have no qualms with kissing my hand when you are drunk.”
 
From the surprised look on his haggard features, she surmised that he did not even remember, which infuriated her and she lashed out with words that cut him to the bone.
 
“You are no gentleman, Marsais.”

Isiilde turned and stalked down the tunnel.
 
The guard of the First Watch hurried after her charge, leaving the ancient Archlord slumped against the wall in defeat.

Thirty-three