A not-terribly-pleasant idea occurred to him, and he forced it away.
BUT later, after much more food, and a long pleasant companionable evening spent in music and good talk around Master Eliron's hearth, when Kellen was tucked up under the eaves on a guest-pallet, the idea returned.
Why did Idalia insist on living out in the Wildwood all by herself?
Was it that she really was Tainted after all, and that she feared that Master Eliron would discover it?
He knew it was impossible, but the more Kellen tried to push the idea to the bottom of his mind, the more he seemed to be pushing sleep with it as well, until—bone-weary as he was—Kellen lay wide-awake. He stared up into the darkness, unable to do anything but think.
Lycaelon had said that Wildmagery sent its users down the dark and twisted path to congress with Demons, that the High Magick taught in Armethalieh was the only safe magic for mankind to use.
Of course, everything else Lycaelon and the High Council had taught—and the Priests of the Light—hadn't been true, or so Kellen was discovering, during his Outlaw adventures.
But what if this one thing was?
It would be a lot easier if Demons didn't exist. Then Kellen could just dismiss his father's warnings as a last attempt to manipulate him. But Idalia said they did, and while Idalia might refrain from telling him things until she thought he was ready to hear them, she'd never outright tell him anything that wasn't true.
So Demons existed. But did that mean that Idalia had seen them? Possibly even dealt with them?
Or… no!
It wasn't possible, Kellen told himself firmly. Idalia was a good person. He knew that all the way down to his very bones. She healed people. Healing magic couldn't possibly be wrong. How could something good open you to corruption? That made less sense than anything he'd ever learned in the City… and his sister was a much more interesting person than anyone in the City, for that matter. More honest, too. She thought about things, she answered his questions (even if the answer was 'I don't know, why don't we see if we can find out'), and she didn't always assume that an answer was the only answer, or even the best answer.
As far as Kellen could tell from the time he'd spent living with her, Idalia seemed to spend most of her time helping people, with and without magic.
How could that be bad?
How could Idalia be bad?
But…
Could she be bad without knowing she was bad? Was that even possible?
I just don't know, Kellen realized miserably. Nothing makes sense. I just know that Idalia's always telling me to trust my instincts. And my instincts tell me there's some kind of connection between the Wild Magic and the Demons. And I don't know what it is. And that scares me.
And I think Idalia might know what it is. And I think I'm afraid to ask her.
But if she doesn't live out in the forest alone because she knows that she's Tainted and fears to be found out… then why?
THE ROOM WAS smaller than many in the Heart of Darkness, a room for very private pleasures. The curving walls were covered with closely fitted tiles of amethyst of a flawless purple so dark it was nearly black and overhung with slave-woven tapestries depicting the feasts and pleasures of the Endarkened Court. The floor was thickly covered with silk carpets whose pile was so deep that taloned feet sunk into them as if they were fur. In the cool pale spell-light cast by the enchanted globes in which captured forest pixies slowly died for the pleasure of the Endarkened, the patterns on the floor glowed like a captive garden.
Hanging from a heavily jeweled golden chain attached to a large bronze ring in the center of the ceiling was a large silver and enamel cage, crafted to look like serpents twining over graveyard bones. It was a pity, Prince Zyperis reflected, regarding the three fauns cowering inside, that its inhabitants lacked the discernment to properly appreciate the beauty of their confinement. Still, that would not be a problem for them for very much longer, and the next occupant might have higher sensibilities.
Carrying a large shallow bowl carved and polished from one piece of black obsidian, the Prince advanced to the center of the room and placed it carefully on an iron and ivory table draped in heavy red silk. A sharp knife was already there, waiting.
