counting a century or two captive in an amber prison thanks to Valea’s own grandfather-could be attributed to the lengthy life spans of mages, but it did not help the daughter’s self-image.
“I was off to the library.”
The beautiful face broke into a frown. “Again? Really Valea, you need to be out more. Since Ursa left, you’ve become far too closeted. It isn’t healthy.” Gwendolyn Bedlam was herself an active person. Between those times when she and her husband were called upon to deal with some crisis, she found one interest after another to keep her busy.
Ursa was Kyl’s sibling and had left with him when he had become emperor. She had been Valea’s dearest friend. That, however, had not been the true reason why she had secluded herself and both knew it. “I’m fine, Mother. If you’ll excuse me-”
But Lady Bedlam would not. “Valea. What Kyl attempted to do-”
“Kyl did nothing. I was the fool.”
“A drake and a human can be friends, but never more.”
Valea gave her mother an incredulous look. “Have you told Aurim that?”
“Your father and I will deal with Aurim.”
“You’d better deal with him fast . . . or did you really think he went visiting Penacles again?”
Gwen Bedlam’s expression left no doubt that her daughter had struck true with her barb. Valea felt some guilt as she turned from her mother, but in some aspects she also felt some justice. Her parents could not understand how she had felt about Kyl any more than they could her brother’s feelings toward Yssa . . . who as the child of drake and woman was proof of the falsehood of Lady Bedlam’s statements.
Valea heard her mother turn about as the latter no doubt went to investigate Aurim’s latest perfidy. Lady Bedlam would have as much success in changing her son’s mind as she had with redirecting her daughter’s course . . . none.
More determined than ever, Valea headed on to the library and the journal . . . and the safety and security of the Manor’s fleshless memories.
III
The monk had never been listed before and that alone refueled her interest some, but what Valea found more fascinating was a pattern she had finally noticed. The staircase was the site of more than one encounter; in fact, through the years at least six different specters had been seen on or near it. Valea suspected that, as with many of the apparitions, they also materialized when no one was there to see them. Why her father had never noticed this, the young sorceress could not say, but clearly the area was one requiring more intense study.
And that was why she now sat hunched to the side, hidden from the staircase, watching the darkened area while the rest of the Manor slept. With both the grounds and the building surrounded by an invisible barrier that let no one in without the permission of the Bedlams, sentries were not needed. Besides, even if anyone managed to penetrate the shield-as the dread drake Toma once had-there were other spells in place that would alert the inhabitants.
Satisfied that no one would disturb her watch, Valea waited. She had purposely dressed in her favored light green sleeping gown just in case by a rare chance someone would rise from their slumber. This near the kitchens, she would have the perfect excuse. Her brother had made it a regular habit to wander down at night and take back a small snack. Why not her as well?
One hour passed, then two and three. Valea’s confidence eroded and her clever plan now seemed absolutely absurd. In addition, lack of sleep began to take its toll. Despite her determination, her vigilance finally slipped. Yawning, Valea tied her hair back, then decided to lean against the wall just for a moment-
A slight creak from near the top of the staircase woke her. Silently cursing herself for her lapse, she drew back, hoping that whoever descended would be so bleary-eyed that they would save her a confrontation. With her mother now away in search of Aurim, the odds were decidedly in her favor, but still . . .
The creaking drew nearer . . . yet in the dark Valea could not make out anyone. She squinted, not daring to risk a spell that might alert whoever stood upon the stairs. It was quite possible her father had returned unannounced from his mission northwest, but somehow she doubted it.
Now it sounded as if the newcomer should be at the very bottom, but the staircase remained devoid of any user. It suddenly occurred to Valea that there existed one simple reason why.
The monk had not returned, but another ghost had come.
A thrilling chill ran down her spine. The creaking was suddenly replaced by a gentle tap on the floor, giving Valea the mental image of a light-footed person, perhaps a woman.
No one had recorded any such encounter, adding yet another to the staircase’s collection. Valea stepped from her hiding place, trying to focus on the exact spot where the figure would be standing. More and more she had the sensation that it was a woman, a young woman.
A muffled cry nearly made her back away. Only at the last did Valea realize it was another sound from her ghost.
And then . . . a blue haze formed, a hunched figure.
A dying woman. An elf in blue, her face turned to the floor, blood pooling from somewhere around her stomach.
Valea acted instinctively, reaching out to help one who could no longer be helped. Her fingers, instead of touching cloth, sank into the vision.
“ARE YOU ILL, cousin?”
His face was narrow, but handsome, handsome much the way Kyl’s was. He was tall, silver-haired but youthful, unless one stared at the eyes. The oak-brown eyes had seen much, perhaps too much, yet even they managed some gentleness as they looked down the slim, almost pointed nose at her.
That an elf called Valea cousin did not confuse her so much as his presence . . . and that did not confuse her so much as the fact that they both danced and danced, he in his regal, silver-blue jacket and slacks and she in a bright blue gown that spread like a bell at the waist. One hand of hers the elf held high, the other touched lightly the left side of his torso just above the belt. Likewise his own hand touched her torso, but in a proper yet affectionate manner.
Music played, a windswept sound like none Valea had ever heard. She had little experience with elves, although supposedly their blood and hers had ties . . .
As she faltered, he caught her, his expression one of mild concern. Valea felt certain her face had grown crimson, but she could do nothing to stop it.
“Stop,” the figure calmly ordered, but not to her. At his command, the music ceased.
As their dance finished, Valea realized that she stood near the staircase . . . and on the exact spot where the ghost had formed.
“My apologies, Galani. Sometimes when I lead, I forget to think about my partner.” He said the last almost ruefully, as if the words held more meaning.
“No-” she managed. “No-apologies, Arak!”
“But, yes! Here you visit your cousin, and what does he do but throw you around like a leaf in the wind!” Arak frowned at himself. “Perhaps the others were wise to suggest you avoid this journey.”
Valea did not know what to reply, but it seemed her lips did. “What the elders think is their own concern, cousin. They spend too much time worrying about nothing!”
“Such as my mad suggestions about our people staking their own claim in this world at last? Such as the elves no longer being passive in a world ruled in turn by such as the Garoot, the Quel, the Seekers, and now the Dragon Kings?”
“Our people have thrived under one master race after another, Arak. Though they have already ruled for several hundred years, we will survive the drakes, too. Certainly better than those beastly humans that seem to be
