White (46 page)

Long enough.

Or maybe not long enough, depending on Mikil.

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. They'd been together for an hour, maybe two, all of it worse than he imagined even lying in the dungeon, fearing the worst. The very sight of her when they'd removed his blindfold and shoved him into the library had made his knees weak.

Chelise. His love. The one woman he would gladly give his life for. This stunning being who was white with disease only because she didn't yet know the truth. But he couldn't see her disease. To him her painted face and gray eyes were the sun and the stars.

He'd done his best for an hour. The words from his mouth felt like acid. But he knew that Woref would take her life if he failed. If she died now, her death would be eternal, and that was something he couldn't bear. His only hope had been to give her the gift of life, so that perhaps one day someone else could lead her to the drowning where she would find her Maker.

Now there was another hope. A thin sliver of light. Mikil. He had to give her time.

But there was also something else now. He was going to die. When they took the last of his blood to save the world from the virus, he would die, there and here. Although an hour there in his dreams could be a month here, it could also be just a few minutes.

He could not die without expressing his true love one last time.

He lay still and let her cry softly, afraid to open his eyes again. It had all begun with a bump on the head. He'd lived a month in one reality, unknowingly releasing a plague and then perhaps undoing that same disease. And he'd lived sixteen years in this reality, where another kind of disease had been loosed and then undone.

Both would end in his death.

None of that mattered now. Only Chelise mattered. From the very beginning it had all been about her. This one woman who must be given the opportunity to dive into a pool of red to trade her white skin for the white gown of a bride. Justin's bride.

He had to give Mikil more time.

The main library had been cleared of the scribes by Christoph in a simple agreement that would one day give him more authority. The chief librarian was no fool. He knew that in time Woref might have even more power than he had now. Ciphus was another story. The chief priest had agreed to bring Thomas, but he refused to implicate himself in any way. He could play both sides, a snake if ever there was one.

Woref 's most trusted lieutenant, Soren, sat by the wall that butted up against the storage room that held the Books of Histories. He occasionally peered through a small slit they'd cut in the wall to give him a clear view of the entire back room from above the fourth shelf of Books.

Woref stood by the opposite window, looking out at the circular orchard in the middle of the royal garden. He had no interest in watching the albino—some things were better left unseen. He was interested only in the conclusion of this matter.

The fury that had raged through his mind after seeing Chelise's response to Thomas in the dungeons had surprised even him. He'd dreamed of Teeleh screaming into his face, fangs wide, throat deep and black. The beast had slashed him with his taloned claw.

Woref woke from the nightmare weeping. Cheek bleeding.

Recalling the event now, his neck went hot and his fingers trembled. He closed his eyes and calmed himself. Black flooded his mind.
You will
kill her, Woref. You know that. In the end, even if she loves you, you will strike
her too hard or choke her too long, and she will die in your arms. Why not
today and be done with it?

Because we want her love.

“He's waking, my lord.”

Woref opened his eyes. He had to give the albino credit. According to Soren, he'd done well, then knocked himself out to spare himself the pain. It had seemed rash to Soren, but Woref understood. He knew Thomas's heart, and he despised him for it.

The woman was another matter. Her love for Thomas ran deeper than he'd imagined. She was a stubborn whore. But he knew that she was crying for herself, not for Thomas.

It was now only a matter of time. Teeleh would have his wench's love.

He couldn't bear lying awake while she cried anymore. Thomas took a deep breath and rolled away from Chelise. She jumped to her feet and stepped back. “Thomas?”

Woref or one of his faithful was still watching, listening. They'd let this go on only because of Thomas's convincing performance thus far.

He looked around, as if dazed. “How much time has passed?” he whispered.

“What?”

He looked at her. Face streaked. Eyes wide. Her question lingered on a parted mouth. Thomas suddenly couldn't trust himself to speak. He would break down, here and now, and cling to her ankles and beg her forgiveness for the way he'd cut her to ribbons with his tongue.

He swallowed and diverted his eyes. “How long was I out?”

She didn't respond right away, which meant she didn't know either. He couldn't do this! He couldn't bear it any longer!

“I don't know, maybe half an hour. Or ten minutes.”

“Only ten minutes?” Mikil would need much more time! Then again, if she'd fallen asleep and dreamed only five minutes before he had, she could have spent a whole day here already. In any case, no one had come for them yet. Which could only mean that Mikil had not succeeded. For all he knew, she was dead.

“It could have been an hour,” she said. Her tone was sharper now. He glanced at her and saw that she was frowning. Still staring at him, but with more resolution now. There was only so much of this she could take before she began to believe his lies.

“Please,” she whispered.

Thomas clasped his hands behind his back and strolled down the line of Books. Please! She'd said please, and she might as well have kissed his lips!

He tried to think of the missing blank Books and the very serious con-sequences that could follow the Books appearing in the other reality. But he had no room in his heart now for what-ifs. He couldn't tear his mind away from the woman who watched him walk as if he was disinterested in her.

I am interested in you, my love. Look at my face, my hands, the way I walk,
the way I breathe. Can't you see past this charade and know that I will always
love you?

That would defeat the purpose of his game, wouldn't it?

What if he actually succeeded? What if she turned against him in rage and never loved him again?

His heart began to crash in his chest. He came to the corner and stopped. Tears were filling his eyes again, and he tried to blink them away. He closed his eyes and begged her to forgive him. It was worse than death.

Mikil, where are you?
He had to make Woref believe that he was playing his diabolical game. He had to stay strong for her sake. Silence smothered the library. A deep void of death. A sealed tomb filled with . . .

Thomas opened his eyes. There was a sound behind him. A very soft wail. Not like her other sobs. There was an unmistakable sound of finality to her groan.

Terrified, he looked back.

Chelise was lying on the floor, facedown, with her hands extended above her head, weeping.

Thomas was stumbling toward her before he could tell his feet to move. He would not bear this! What had he done?

He fell to his knees, threw his arms over her head, and buried his face in her hair. He tried to speak, but his throat wasn't cooperating.

He tried to be gentle—to pull back and tell her what he desperately wanted to tell her, to stroke her face and wipe her tears, but all he could do was cling to her and cry into her hair. Woref would come. At any moment they would crash through the doors and pull him off of her. He had to tell her!

But he could only shake over her like a leaf.

Stop it, Thomas! You're terrifying her!

Then he lifted his head, sat back on his legs, and wept at the ceiling. “I . . . love . . . you.” It came out as hardly more than a whisper.

He sucked in a lungful of air and gazed at the back of her head through his tears. He stroked her hair with his fingertips. “I love you, Chelise, my bride, more than I could possibly love anything else.” Her crying had stilled. “I'm so sorry . . . It was a lie, all of it was a lie, so that you would forget about me.”

His words rushed out with relief. “I had to drive you away so they wouldn't kill you, but I can't do it. I can't do it; I don't have the strength to see you suffer. Forgive me, forgive me, my love.”

Chelise's back rose and fell with her deep breathing. Did she believe him? The thought that she might not dashed through his mind. He dropped on her again, clung to her shoulders, and wept into her back.

“I beg you, forgive me! I didn't mean a word, I swear it.”

He was smothering her again!

Thomas pulled back.

Chelise pushed herself to her knees, facing away. Thomas trembled, horrified by the thought that she might not believe him.

She turned slowly and he saw that her mouth was locked in a silent cry. She stared at him through pools of tears. She was regretting? She was . . .

Chelise threw her arms around his shoulders, buried her face in his neck. “I knew you loved me!” she sobbed. She kissed him below his ear and ran her fingers up the nape of his neck and squeezed him as if she were clinging to life. “I love you, my darling! I will always love you.”

Thomas was beyond himself. He wrapped his arms around her, giving her only enough space to breathe. “Marry me!” he cried. It was absurd, but he didn't care. He wanted her to hear it. “Marry me!”

She hesitated only a single beat. “I will.” She wept over his shoulder. “I will marry you.”

The door crashed open and slammed behind Thomas. Boots pounded over the floor. A fist grabbed his hair and yanked him back with such force that he thought his neck might have been broken.

He fell back and Chelise came with him.

Woref snatched a handful of her hair and jerked her off of him. Chelise screamed.

“Leave her!” Thomas tried to rise. “Leave her—” Woref 's boot connected with his temple and he fell flat.

He had to get up. He had to stall Woref. He had to kill the man. They were both dead anyway. Thomas pushed himself up. The room was spinning. He blinked and gathered himself. It occurred to him that no one else had come into the room. Whatever Woref planned, he would blame Thomas.

“Qurong . . .” Thomas gasped. “Qurong won't let you . . .”

Woref shoved Chelise against the wall and held her by her neck, hand drawn to hit her. “Now I will kill you,” he said. His voice rose. “Do you hear me, you filthy whore? I will pound you until you die,” he screamed in rage. “No one defies me! Not the daughter of Qurong, not Qurong himself!”

He swung his hand.

“Stop!”

The door flew inward.

Woref was committed—his open hand slapped Chelise's cheek with the sound of a cracking whip. Her head snapped sideways. But Woref had pulled back his full strength at the last moment. She stared at the doorway with wide eyes.

Thomas followed her stare. There stood Qurong. And Ciphus. And behind them, Mikil, hands bound.