Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (14 page)

           
Wynett mouthed the promise and
watched the man stride away. His faith in Kedryn was simple and direct, and she
knew that were she to ask his opinion he would undoubtedly tell her to go with
Kedryn to Estrevan, likely tell her it was her duty.

           
But was it, she wondered. Was her
duty not first to the Lady? And did Kedryn, albeit unwittingly, not represent a
threat to that duty?

           
Or was this a test of her faith?
Surely if that were strong enough she would find the will to resist the loving
temptation within herself. To go as
Bethany
had suggested, strong in her faith, her resolution
explained to Kedryn.

           
Or would that, as she believed,
serve only to prolong his suffering?

           
There was no resolution to be found
in wind or river or soldierly words, only inside her, and there she doubted her
own strength. She drew the cloak tight about her, nestling her face into the
high collar as though to hide, and paced along the wall to the stairwell, still
undecided. All she could do, it seemed, was trust in the Lady to show her the
way, and with that in mind she decided to seek out the chapel.

           
She was passing beneath the arched
roof of a walkway when Hattim Sethiyan stepped from a shadowed chamber,
blocking her path. The Lord of Ust-Galich was swathed in a luxurious cloak of
sable, the silver-tipped fur reflecting the light of the flambeaux that
illuminated the colonnaded passage, the single earring he favored glittering.
He bowed ceremoniously, an insincere smile stretching his mouth.

           
“Sister Wynett, you appear
troubled.”

           
“My Lord,” she responded, hoping the
formal reply would be enough for him. She felt no liking for the Galichian,
though she did her best to hide her antipathy.

           
“You doubtless ponder the merits of
a visit to Estrevan.” He made no move to allow her past, seemingly intent on
questioning her. “In company with our young hero.”

           
“Have you become a reader of minds,
my Lord?” she demanded, irritation setting an edge to her voice.

           
Hattim ignored it, still smiling as
he pushed a hand beneath the collar of his cloak to rub at his neck. “No, Lady,
not yet. I merely inquire from general interest.”

           
Wynett stared at him, thinking that
his eyes had assumed the reddish hue of a drinker, although nothing in his
manner suggested that he imbibed. Perhaps it was simply the radiance of the
torches. “I am undecided,” she said honestly.

           
“I see.”

           
There was an oddly musing quality to
his voice, as though he had hoped for more definite an answer, and as he
brought his hand from his neck Wynett noticed a smear of blood on his fingers.

           
“You are hurt?” she asked.

           
“No!” Hattim spoke a little too swiftly,
glancing at his fingers and then wiping the blood carelessly on the fur of his
cape. “Flea bites. No more than that. Our forest friends left us a gift, I
think. ”

           
“Would you have me tend them?”

           
Again his response was a trifle too
urgent. “No! Thank you, but they are of no great moment and will doubtless heal
in time.”

           
“I have preparations that will ease
the sting,” she offered dutifully, not liking the way he looked at her.

           
Hattim made a dismissive gesture,
his smile oily.

           
“I assure you, Sister, that I am
quite well. They heal of their own accord. I would not take up your time.”

           
“As you wish,” she allowed. “But
should you change your mind any of my Sisters will know where they are to be
found.”

           
The Galichian essayed a deep bow
that was strangely mocking. As his head ducked, the cloak fell away a little
and Wynett saw a plethora of marks clustering his throat, They seemed more than
a trifle to her, and Hattim Sethiyan had never struck her as one to suffer
discomfort with such a casual air. He had refused her offer, however, and she
chose not to comment, though it occurred to her that no one else had complained
of parasites.

           
“Where are you bound?” he asked,
adjusting the collar to conceal his neck again.

           
“To the chapel,” she answered,
unthinking.

           
“To pray to your Lady, no doubt.”

           
Wynett nodded, wondering at the
curious mode he gave the title. Was the Lady not of all the Kingdoms, so why
did he choose to use the personal possessive? She said only, “That is correct,
my Lord.”

           
“And do you think she will give the
answer you seek?”

           
“I believe she will answer,” Wynett
replied, wishing he would let her past.

           
“But will it be what you want to
hear?” he insisted.

           
“That is for the Lady to decide, not
I.” She found his tone offensive.

           
“Quite.” Hattim nodded and at last
stood back to let her go by. Wynett ducked her head briefly in recognition of
his rank and moved past him, aware of his eyes following her. She quickened her
step, anxious to be gone from his scrutiny for no reason she could clearly define
save that she found it unpleasant, as if he stripped her with his gaze.

           
She made her way to the chapel,
dismissing Hattim from her thoughts as she paused in the doorway, allowing the
sense of tranquillity that always seemed to pervade the simple room to wash
over her.

           
It was a chamber unadorned with
icons or ornaments, dark now so that torches had been set in the niches between
the windows, their flames pinking the pale blue wash of the plastered walls.
The floor was tiled in abstract mosaics of white and blue, reminiscent of a
summer sky, that impression enhanced by the cerulean vault of the roof. Plain
wooden benches were set in rows, the polished wood glowing in the torchlight.
There was no one else present and Wynett sat down, staring at the far window,
seeing only darkness beyond. She made the sign of the Lady and folded her hands
on the lap of her robe, closing her eyes as she cleared her mind, rendering
herself receptive to insight should such be granted her.

           
There was a quiet to the place that
was found nowhere else in High Fort, a hush that was more than just absence of
noise, as if the Lady touched the chamber with her presence and set it apart
from the bustle of the garrison. The air, even, was different, still without
hint of mustiness, clean in her nostrils as a spring zephyr, cool without being
cold. Wynett voiced a silent prayer into the stillness and waited.

           
Peace entered her, but when she
opened her eyes and saw the darkness beyond the window was now the black of
evening she had no answer. The turmoil that had gripped her on the ramparts was
faded, but no clear course of action was revealed her and she remained faced
with the quandary of decision. She rose, smoothing her gown, and sighed,
turning from the chapel back to the world outside.

           
She went to the hospital and
attended those tasks that awaited her there, and then retired to her small
room, busying herself with the organization of her remedies, less from need
than from a desire to be occupied.

           
She was measuring herbs into a
sachet that would bring healing sleep to a soldier whose ax-gashed leg had
festered, when a knocking on her door interrupted her. The door opened and
Tepshen Lahl led Kedryn into the room. The kyo inclined his pigtailed head
respectfully and murmured a greeting, settling Kedryn into the chair she
indicated, then departing, closing the door behind him.

           
“I must speak with you,” Kedryn said
swiftly, as though he needed to say the words before she stopped him or his
will dissolved, “about Estrevan. We shall be leaving soon and there are things
that must be said, however difficult.”

           
Curiously, Wynett felt none of the
apprehension she had anticipated with the arrival of this moment. It was as
though the calm she had felt in the chapel still held her, and even though she
guessed what he was going to say, she did not experience the dread she had
expected. She said softly, “Aye, you are right.”

           
Kedryn swallowed, nervously touching
the bandage about his eyes, and continued in a rush, “Within days I must go,
and I cannot bear the weight of not knowing any longer. Will you accompany me?
You have lightened my darkness and I am not sure I can bear it without knowing
you are near. I know that you have done all you can to heal me and I do not
pretend to believe you can do more, so 1 do not ask you to come as a healer,
but simply because I quail at the prospect of the journey without you.

           
“I would lay no claims upon you and
promise to treat you with the respect due any Sister. We should not be alone,
in any event; and if we were I . . .” he paused, licking his lips nervously,
his hand again fiddling with the bandage, loosening it, “. . . I would not . .
. say what you do not wish to hear. I ask only that you accompany me to
Estrevan and after that return here if you wish. But, Wynett, I am frightened!”

           
His voice broke on that and his
fingers worked the bandage loose, the blue cloth drifting unnoticed to the
floor. Wynett rose, moving to retrieve the cloth and Kedryn reached blindly out
to find the hand she did not have the heart to remove from his grip.

           
“I will accept whatever you decide,”
he promised, his sightless face turning toward her. “I shall not hold it
against you if you opt to remain. And I hope you will forgive me for speaking
so directly. ”

           
“Of course I forgive you. There is
nothing to forgive.”

           
She could not resist reaching out to
stroke his hair, the thick brown locks soft beneath her fingers. Kedryn
groaned, turning his head and loosing her trapped hand to set his arms about
her waist, his face pressing against the swell of her bosom. Wynett closed her
eyes on the tears that threatened to spill and held him to her.

           
“I am a Sister,” she said,
controlling her voice only with difficulty, “and I am sworn to celibacy. Could
you accept that?”

           
Kedryn began to murmur an
affirmative, but then choked off the words and said, “I must. I will.”

           
“I can offer you nothing,” she said
gently, “save friendship. Could you bear that?”

           
“Better than parting from you,” he
answered.

           
“Kedryn, listen to me.” She eased
his arms from her waist, moving a short step back to place her hands upon his
cheeks and tilt his face upward, seeing tears moist in the comers of his
sightless eyes. “I am vowed to the service of the Lady and no matter what I
feel as a woman, I will not depart those vows. I cannot give you what you want
and I am afraid that if I were to agree I would merely give you greater pain.
If I
were
to accompany you to
Estrevan, what then? Would you not wish me to stay with you there? I could not
do that—I have duties here—and surely parting then would be so much the harder.
For you,” she paused, her heart knocking loud within her, the calm gone now,
“and for me.”

           
“I,” he began, then broke off,
gasping, his jaw dropping as if in shock.

           
“What is it?”

           
Fear gripped Wynett for she saw a
change in his face that she could not decipher. His eyelids closed over the
hazel orbs and he reached up to cover the hands she still held to his cheeks
and temples with his own, the lids snapping open again, wider.

           
“I can see,” he said, awe in his voice.

           
“What?” Wynett stared at him, the
thudding of her heart seeming so loud it drummed about the room, ringing in her
ears so that she doubted she heard aright.

           
“I can see!” He looked up at her,
holding her hands against his face as though afraid to break the contact. “You
have been crying. And your hair is windswept. You look as though you do not
believe me.”

           
She shook her head and he said, “You
shake your head. Wynett! I can see!”

           
“Kedryn,” she took her hands from
his grip and held the right toward him, folding thumb and smallest finger
against her palm, “how many fingers?”