to the door and, finding the corridor silent, went to her room.
Her door opened on my knock, and she came into my arms. For a while we said only words of love, and when we spoke of other things we were naked on a rumpled bed. I licked, sweet salty sweat from the gentle mound of her belly as she sighed and tangled fingers in my hair. A single lantern burned across the room, its wick trimmed low so that light fell golden on her skin. Her blind eyes were huge; I thought she had never looked so lovely.
She said, “Daviot, we must talk.”
I raised my lips, not willingly, from her flesh and nodded.
She eased higher, resting back against the pillows. Her hair fell like golden flame over her smooth shoulders. I heard such gravity in her voice, I made no move to kiss her or hold her but only took her hands in mine. For now that seemed enough.
She studied my face a moment, as if gauging my reaction. Then she said, “Tezdal is a Sky Lord.”
I’d have been off the bed and running to alert the keep had Rwyan not flung her arms around my neck to hold me back. Even so, I dragged her halfway upright, my feet upon the floor, my hands moving to disentangle her arms.
“Daviot, no!” she cried. Then softer, “Listen! I beg you, listen. He’s no danger-he’s no memory.”
“What?” I said again.
That seemed to me so dreadful a loss, I sat back. I was bemused. Why did Rwyan protect a Sky Lord? She took my hands again, kneeling before me. Lust stirred, even through my amazement. She shook her head, spilling her glorious hair back, and “looked” me in the eye.
“He’s no memory,” she repeated. “Save that his name is Tezdal, he remembers nothing of his past.”
I said, “But he’s a Sky Lord? You know this?”
“We do,” she said, and told me of his finding on the rock and his sojourn on the island, the design the sorcerers had drawn.
When she was done, I was silent awhile. It seemed to me so enormous a thing, I must take precious time to digest it. I said, “Did Pyrrin know this, he’d slay the Kho’rabi.”
“Hence my deception,” she said. “Save I can deliver him safe to Durbrecht, he’d as well have died when we destroyed his airboat.”
I nodded. I thought perhaps that had been the better course; then that had events not run to this pattern, I’d not have met Rwyan again. I supposed that in a way I should be grateful to my enemy. I said, “He’s no memory at all? You’re confident he does not deceive you?”
“We dug and dug,” she said. “We used our magic on him. Save we were convinced, think you we’d take such risk?”
“I suppose not.” I shook my head slowly. Then: “Robyrt wonders at his looks. He said”-I paused, conjuring the jennym’s words-” ‘Did he not accompany a sorcerer, I’d think him likely a Kho’rabi. He’s a look about him.’ By the God, Rwyan, does Robyrt wonder, what of Varius?”
She licked her lips. They gleamed moist in the lantern’s light, and I wanted badly to taste them. She said, “I think perhaps Varius suspects but chooses to remain silent. Likely he feels that if the Sentinels elect to employ such subterfuge, there must be a reason and he best advised to hold his own counsel.”
“Pyrrin would not,” I said, remembering details heard along my road. “He lost sons to the Sky Lords.”
“That’s why I must deceive them,” she said, “all of them. The God willing, we’ll not be questioned on the boat.”
I said automatically, “The ship. You plan to take one of those craft in the harbor?”
She ducked her head, hair falling in a burnished curtain over shoulders and breasts. She shook it back, and when I saw her face again, it was solemn; mournful, even.
She said, “The
I said, “Rwyan, you face terrible danger. Should the master learn, I doubt he’d scruple to cast the Sky Lord overboard. Or to bring you to the nearest aeldor, charged with treason.”
She said, “Still, it’s the safest course. We agreed on that.”
I said, “Still, he’s a Sky Lord; our enemy. Can you be safe with him?”
She said, “Aye. He considers me a savior-that he owes me his life. He’s sworn to defend me.”
I did not much like that. I frowned and said, “I’d see you better guarded.”
She smiled and squeezed my hands. “I’m a sorcerer, Daviot,” she said. “I’m not without defenses.”
My frown grew deeper. She let go my hands, placing hers upon my cheeks, her eyes surveying my face as if she’d embed my image in her memory. She said, “Can your College and mine only unlock his memory, think you what advantages we might gain. I
Her face became grave again, and in her voice I heard regret. I said, “You’re fond of him.”
No doubt my voice expressed my resentment. Certainly, Rwyan leaned toward me, kissing me softly, before she said, “Fond of him, aye. But I love you, Daviot. There can be no other for me. For Tezdal I feel … pity, I suppose. I think that when I’ve done my duty, he shall be a prisoner again. Likely they’ll seek to drain his mind, and when that’s done …”
She shrugged; I nodded. I think I loved her more in that moment than I ever had before. Suddenly it seemed to me a wonderful thing that she could feel such compassion for an enemy; and awful that she was bound by her duty to do a thing that must cause her pain. But this was my Rwyan, and there was steel beneath her soft flesh. I put my arms around her, drawing her close against my chest.
“Duty’s a harsh master,” I said, “but the Sky Lord could have no sweeter warder.”
I felt her lips move against my skin, her voice muffled. “Aye, harsh,” she murmured. “That it brings me back to you, only to lose you again.”
“You’ll not,” I said into her hair.
She tilted back her head to find my eyes. In hers I saw tears. I brushed them away as she said, “How can I not? I must sail tomorrow; you must go your own way.”
I said, “Not without you.”
She said, “Oh, Daviot, don’t torment me. This second parting shall hurt enough.”
There was such anguish in her voice, such pain writ on her face, that I could only pull her to me, my lips on her neck, her cheeks, as I said defiantly, “I’ll not let duty come between us again.”
“How can it not?” she moaned. “Please, Daviot, say no more of this-it hurts too much. Only hold me; love me.”
I did, but even as we lay together through that sleepless night, I knew my decision was made. I cared nothing for the consequences. Let fate treat me as it would, I’d not lose her again.
Came the first light of dawn, and I rose. It was no easy thing to quit Rwyan’s bed; easier, albeit not without some feeling of guilt, to deceive her. That was needful, I told myself: a small lie now, that there be none in our future. I gathered up my scattered clothes and tugged them on. Rwyan lay languid amidst the disarrayed sheets, and I bent to kiss her.
“A little while longer,” she pleaded, her arms about my neck. “Only a little while.”
The scent of her body was musky in my nostrils, and it was very hard to say her nay, but I did.
“The keep begins to stir,” I said. “I’d not leave you ever, but if none must suspect, better I go now.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Shall you break your fast in the hall?” she asked.
I sighed and shook my head and told her honestly, “To see you there and continue this pretense should be too hard. I’ll busy myself elsewhere and not see you go. But Rwyan … know that I love you. That I always have and always shall.”
She said, “I do,” and there were tears in her eyes.
We kissed, and I must disentangle myself. As I went to the door, she said, “This is a hard duty, Daviot. I wish to the God it were otherwise.”
Almost then I told her, but I bit back the words, knowing she’d forbid me, even to alerting Varius or Pyrrin of my intention. Her sense of duty was ever stronger than mine. Instead, I said, “Perhaps we’ll meet again ere long,”
