satisfy turned to a Hythrun for comfort?”
Cratyn paced the tent angrily. “She can’t be allowed to get away with this!”
“Nor shall she, but there are other things to consider.”
“What other things? She has publicly humiliated me!”
“And she will humiliate you even more, should the truth get out. You do
The Prince glared at Lord Roache. Mikel seemed all but forgotten.
“You’re surely not suggesting that I take her back?”
“Of course not! I am suggesting that you do everything in your power to rescue your wife from the clutches of the barbarian warlord who has kidnapped and raped her. It will be unfortunate, but she will be killed in the attempt.”
“We’ll have no chance at an heir if she’s killed.”
“She has been sullied by another man. No heir could come from your union in any case.”
Cratyn nodded, savagely pleased with the duke’s suggestion.
“I will lead the rescue party, myself.”
“That would be most heroic of you, your Highness. Your grief, on the discovery of your wife’s fate, will be inconsolable, of course. But I’m sure you will recover. In time.”
Cratyn smiled coldly. “I’m sure I will. And what of the boy?”
Lord Roache glanced at Mikel for a moment before turning back to the prince.
“Perhaps he should accompany you, your Highness. He can, after all, give testament to your wife’s... indiscretions.”
The prince nodded. “It would be most unfortunate if something were to happen to him.”
“Most unfortunate,” Lord Roache agreed.
Mikel studied the prince and the duke, not at all certain he understood.
Chapter 57
The darkness into which R’shiel retreated was comforting at first. The memories of the Gathering and everything that had happened since that awful night could gain no toehold here. There was no pain, no unbearable guilt, and no despair. Just blessed emptiness. A nothing place where nobody could hurt her.
She had been here before. She first discovered it on the road to the Grimfield, when Loclon had chosen her as his instrument of revenge on Tarja. It welcomed her the night she had confronted Loclon and almost succeeded in killing him. For a time, on waking to find herself in Sanctuary amid the Harshini, she had fled there again, until Korandellan’s magic had suppressed her emotions and made it bearable to face reality. It was a tantalising, alluring place, and each time she retreated there, it became a little harder to leave.
A part of R’shiel still existed in the real world. A part of her responded when someone spoke to her, ate the meals she was served, and rode in the carriage each day staring blindly at the winter-browned plains as they wound their way north. But it was a small part only. Just enough to pretend she was alive.
Within herself, R’shiel knew that she could not stay here indefinitely. Comforting it might be, but it was her Harshini side that fled from the violence and the pain. Her human side hankered to return, to wreak havoc on those who had caused her suffering.
It was her human side to whom Xaphista spoke.
R’shiel did not recognise his voice at first. The sensuous, soothing tones seemed like a distant echo that she hardly noticed. It took a long time to recognise it for what it was. It took even longer before she bothered to respond.
Calling her the demon child finally evoked a response. She had never liked that name.
The voice did not reply and R’shiel did not particularly care.
Later, she had no way of judging time in this place, the voice returned. It was stronger, as if by acknowledging it the first time, she had given it strength.
She laughed sourly.
The voice did as she bid, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
The living part of R’shiel vaguely noted the changing scenery as the days grew shorter; saw the silver ribbon of the Glass River draw nearer. For some reason, the sight of the broad waterway sparked a brief reaction in her, as if the thought of crossing it would take her beyond redemption.
Xaphista had no answer to that and it was a long time before he spoke to her again.
They crossed the river in a blustery, cold wind that chopped the mirror-like surface of the water into millions of glittering shards. The sun was high in a pale, cloudless sky, offering no warmth. R’shiel stood by the rail on the barge, oblivious to the cold spray that misted over her as the sailors hauled on the thick rope, pulling the barge across the river with grim determination. The current fought them at every turn. Although they professed to be atheists, the ferrymen muttered among themselves about the wrath of Maera, the River Goddess. They had never known a crossing like it. It was as though the Glass River was alive and determined to prevent them landing on the other side.
They made it eventually. R’shiel let Terbolt lead her onto dry ground and waited patiently for the rest of their party to disembark. The barge would be busy for two days or more, ferrying the remainder of the troops across. Aware of this, Terbolt commandeered the Heart and Hearth and settled in to wait. R’shiel paid no more attention to her surroundings at the inn than she had when they camped by the road each night on the journey here.
Garanus came to her at dinnertime and stood over her while she ate. When her meal was finished he sent the tray away and sat beside her. He did the same thing every night. He would talk to her as if she was listening,
