dark.
When she could see his body as a dark shadow against the light, he stopped and found a convenient hiding place behind one of the abandoned cell walls. She stood beside him, and together they listened to Baron Peto discuss his plans with the rebel captives.
Baron Peto was explaining what safeguards he planned to make certain that Mihael Obour would not become the monster his father had been. He explained about the advisors that he would leave behind, the troops that would be loyal only to Sun-dell. He spoke persuasively, and given their circumstances, they seemed inclined to listen.
Til admit things have changed already,' one said. uBut the Obour family has been tainted by that tyrant.'
'Tainted?' Peto asked. 'Was Janosk's father not a wise ruler, Imre? I've spoken to Mihael Obour. He told me that he was sickened by his father's excesses and pleased to see the fighting ended. I believe him.'
'Our lives are to hang on the word of boy?'
'Your lives hang on my word,' Peto answered sharply. 'I suggest you consider that along with the rest.'
With that he left them, the servant traveling close behind, holding the torch high to light the way. Left once more in darkness, the men returned to their debate.
Ilsabet bristled when she heard one of the thugs call her family 'tyrants' but found herself more disturbed by how much she approved of Peto's reply.
As soon as Peto and his servant retreated, Jorani and Ilsabet did the same. At the end, he showed her the peephole and tiny doorway into her own room, then took her back to the tower.
'What do you think of Peto's plans?' she asked him as soon as they were safe in his room.
'I think he defended your family most admirably,' Jorani replied.
'If Kislova is a holding of Sundell, with their troops in our castle, his admirable defense of Mihael is irrelevant,' she said with open fury.
'Don't ever act out of hatred, Ilsabet. Hatred makes one rash and inclined to mistakes. Your father's fate should be example enough.'
She opened her mouth but held back the hasty and insolent reply. 'Don't speak of him so lightly, Jorani,' she said after a moment, her voice husky with apparent grief.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I know how much you loved him, but I think he would be the first to agree with me.'
'Perhaps,' she whispered and sniffed as if fighting back tears. Hatred made one see things clearly, she thought. For all his talk that she might one day rule, Jorani now served Mihael. Avenging her father's death, and restoring the family's honor was her duty alone.
She'd show them all what 'a slip of a girl' could do. And she knew exactly where to begin.
Dark had been well compensated for his service to Sundell and likewise invited to remain in Nimbus Castle. He'd sent the money to his family but chose to remain in the castle not out of any love for the place but because he had no desire to ever become the object of pity to his family. He kept to his little room during the day. At night, he would feel his way down the open walkway and along the flight of stairs that led the kitchen. There he would sit among the servants listening to their conversation. He was hardly happy, but he was more content than he'd thought he'd ever be.
The sun had left the room hours ago, its warmth replaced by the chill of night. He'd just been getting ready for his evening walk when he heard the grating of metal on metal, felt a rush of cool air. Had he means to speak, he would have asked who was there. Instead he waited.
A woman whispered his name. He smelled a beautiful scent like the blue meadow flowers in the hills above his home, yet it brought only fear and the terrible memory of a perfumed wind that had rolled across the battlefield. It had driven horses wild, driven men mad.
'Dark.' The voice was louder now, little-girl sweet, sweet like the flowers. He knew the voice all too well.
Ilsabet, he thought, and with the thought came a return of everything he'd suffered at the hands of that family. The memory of the pain became somehow the pain itself. He tore at the bandages covering his eyes. Bending his scarred fingers made him cry out, a long terrible sound, barely human.
'Dark,' she said and laughed. 'Darkdarkdarkdark-dark…'
He lunged for her, but she stepped out of his way. 'Darkdarkdarkdarkdark…' she called, laughing.
The rage was wrong, was deadly, but he had no choice except to give in to it and follow her. Blind, unable to call for help, he ran after her voice, heedless of the wind blowing his hair, the damp, slippery stones beneath his feet.
'Darkdarkdarkdark…'
He thought of nothing until she stopped calling his name and he realized he was outside and lost. He groped about. His scarred hand touched a rail for just a moment. Then someone pushed him from behind, and he went over, falling, falling, screaming finally just before he hit the ground.
Ilsabet would have loved to remain, to watch the servants discover him, to claim victory for his death, but it would be impossible. Instead, she retreated through a nearby chamber and into the passage that led to her own room. Once there, she changed quickly into one of her more colorful gowns. If any servant suspected her part in Dark's 'accident' she would be here writing a letter to a distant cousin in Tygelt.
She wondered if the deed had caused some change in her. She studied her face in her mirror. There was nothing save the triumphant smile she would have to hide when questioned and the added color to her cheeks- caused no doubt by her quick return to her chambers. She brushed back her hair, then held her hands close to the fire. When they came to question her, there would be no sign that she had ever left the warmth of her room.
She heard a knock and was ready. 'Come in,' she called and looked up from her writing desk, frowning when she saw Peto, looking even more confused when Mihael followed him. 'Is something wrong?' she asked.
'There's been a death,' Baron Peto said. He looked at her carefully as Mihael added the details.
Ilsabet tried to register just the right amount of surprise, but she could not hide the pleasure she felt at hearing the account of her deed spoken aloud. She looked up at Peto and shook her head. 'I am well aware of why he resided in my home, Baron. I can hardly be expected to mourn him.'
'So you might be expected to harm him?' Peto asked.
'If I had the opportunity, which I did not. I've been here all afternoon. My servant's been in an out a number of times.'
'So Greta says,' Mihael commented.
Aware for the first time of how her brother's loyalties had shifted, Ilsabet glared at him. He seemed about to add something, then apparently thought better of it.
'I've been here all afternoon,' Ilsabet went on. 'Put a truth spell on me and I will still say the same thing. But I will not pretend to mourn the man's death.'
'I understand,' Peto said. 'But remain in these rooms until we've spoken to the servants about this.'
'Remain here? It's ail I do anyway, Baron. I have no desire to walk these halls and see your servants and your guards pretending to serve me.'
After Peto left, Mihael asked, 'How long will you hate him, Ilsabet?'
'Someone has not forgotten the promise she made,' she replied, then turned her back on him, laughing aloud as soon as the door closed behind him. Alone now, she began to finish her letter. On the edge of her vision she saw a shadow move through her room, but when she turned to find the source, nothing was there.
She opened her mouth to call for Greta, then cut off the sound. Children were afraid of the dark and the things that took their strength from darkness.
No! I will not be a silly child any longer, she wrote in her journal that night. I will make my heart and mind hard and fearless, cold as stone, cold as an avenger's heart and mind should be.
Nonetheless, she slept the night with a candle burning at her bedside.
