She said harshly, “Maybe she found what she’s looking for, and she’s leaving Numenlaur.”
He thought about that. “Even if she did, I doubt she can travel as quickly as those three scared Elves can. The others will still make it out first, as long as her pack doesn’t go hunting for them.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. Her talons had disappeared when he talked her down, and he rubbed the tip of one of her fingers with the ball of his thumb. “And if she leaves Numenlaur, we’ll go after her. We’re going to get her, Aryal. I swear it.”
The tension in her body eased as she soaked in his conviction. She believed him, and it helped to calm the pain that raged inside. She laced her fingers through his.
“Thank you.”
He leaned his head back against the wall and gave her a slow smile that was guaranteed to set some kind of internal burner on simmer. “Don’t mention it. You can pay me back with sex.”
Just like that, from one moment to the next, he brought her from rage to laughter. She admitted, “Sex with you
His smile deepened. He squeezed her hand. “Yes, but our bargain is a done deal. You’ll have to owe me something else. You should know, I charge interest by the hour on debts that are owed to me.”
She smiled back at him. Yes, he was always going to be a bastard. It was comforting to know that some things don’t change.
They watched out the window and waited. The witch didn’t bring food.
A lack of action was also a choice, and it was one that Galya Andreyev kept making. Quentin felt nothing but contempt for her. It would have been better to kill them outright rather than lock them up and let them starve to death. She was the worst kind of murderer.
At one point he walked through the silent cell block, taking time that he hadn’t before to note the bodies in some of the cells. What a lonely way to die. If Camthalion had gone as crazy as the story said, these prisoners might have been good, decent people. At any rate, they hadn’t deserved this kind of end. Nobody did.
A couple of hours passed. They each ate their fill again and took turns napping. After a while they were going to have to make a decision to leave if nothing happened. At least they would leave better fed, rested and healed. They had gotten the Elves away, and they had weapons, healing potion and magic-resistant armor. This morning’s activity might be frustrating, but so far it was tallying in some essential positives.
Then, just after midday, as he paced from the window to the cell block door and back again, he glanced out—and a sailing boat had appeared again on the sea, headed for the island.
Surprise pulsed. He strode to “their” cell where Aryal lay on her stomach, her dark head cradled in folded arms. She had discovered the second bottle of apple brandy, which sat near one elbow.
Something about how she looked in the elegant Elven armor moved him, tall, sleek and deadly strong. Real Elven armor wasn’t how the movies portrayed it, at least not the normal kind that regular troops wore. Shiny was eye-catching and stupid, as it made a perfect target. Instead Elven armor was a flat neutral color. All of its beauty lay in the elegance of its creation and shape. The people who loved it most were the warriors who entrusted their lives to wearing it.
Aryal also looked utterly dejected. His chest wanted to start burning again, but he wouldn’t let it. He walked over and kicked her foot. “Rise and shine, toots. She’s headed back to the island.”
She lifted and spun around in one quick movement, and rose lightly to her feet. “Now we know something.”
He smiled. “And by now, the others have put in a good couple of hours’ run. By tonight they’ll be halfway out.”
She cast a glance of loathing around her, a sentiment with which he heartily agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”
He gathered his longbow, quiver of arrows and sword, while she did the same. Then he went to pick the lock one last time. By now he had an intimate familiarity with the internal tumblers, and he had the door open within a few seconds. They went up the stairs cautiously, but none of the shadow wolves were in sight. For the first time since the witch had taken him, he took a deep breath and felt a real sense of freedom.
He turned to Aryal and said, “If we can, we need to use the element of surprise and sneak up on her.”
She angled her head, her expression tense, and rotated a hand at him. “Keep going. I’m still not feeling very rational or thinky at the moment.”
“Is your cloaking ability strong enough to cover a small sailboat?” he asked as he studied her.
She considered. “I think so. What about your cloaking? You were able to hide the fact that you’re Wyr, which is a pretty Powerful ability.”
“The problem is that I don’t know how far outside of my own body I can cast it,” he said. “We’re going to have to suppose a lot. She’s not a normal human so she might not sleep much, if at all, but the chances are that she will rest at some point at night, and it will be less likely that she would sense any nearby magic.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you willing to make an unknown water crossing in the dark?”
He shrugged. “I can swim. Can you?”
“Yes,” she muttered. “I’ll bet she uses the wolves as sentries.”
“Leave the wolves to me. Again, we don’t know enough about her, so this is supposition, but I’m guessing from here to the island is too far for most humans to swim. If she comes from the Russian Steppe, she’s probably not one of those rare humans who could make the distance.”
“I agree. So we’ll sneak up at night and disable her boat.” She paused, narrowing one eye at him in a squint. “Along with our own? How are you about swimming that distance back?”
“It’ll be uncomfortable but doable. You?”
“Same.” Purpose came back into her angular face. “So we leave at sunset.”
“I’m down with that.” He stretched his stiff back. “In the meantime we’ve got hours to sunset, and I’ve a mind to nap in an Elven lord’s bed. Come on.”
They traveled into the main part of the palace by way of the kitchens, and for a time they wandered in silence, looking at the precious gold and lapis lazuli inlaid in the high, wide walls and marble floors, and gazing out the windows at glimpses of the silent, abandoned city spread out along the shoreline below. Then they came to the throne room and stopped to stare.
A burned body slumped in an ornate chair on a scorched dais. More bodies lay in a semicircle, their throats cut. Scavenger birds had been at them. Other than that, the bodies remained perfect, giving a glimpse of ruined beauty.
After a long look, Aryal turned away. She said simply, “They’re dead and it’s awful, and I’m done. I’m full up. I can’t feel anything for them.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and led her away.
They climbed another wide, curving staircase and explored hallways. Quentin opened the large double doors down one hallway and walked into a room that was the size of his apartment at the Tower. A massive bed dominated the room with coverlets and pillows embroidered with gold and scarlet thread.
Wide windows the height of the room looked over the city. The far one faced the white, pillared Temple of the Gods, which stood outlined against the backdrop of the blue-green sea.
There was no doubt in Quentin’s mind whose bedroom this was. He walked around the room, looking in doors. One opened to a huge bathroom, with tiled steps that led down to a walk-in tub patterned with an intricate mosaic. The tub was large enough that a troll could bathe in it. Another door opened to a wardrobe filled with sumptuous clothes that were suitable for an Elven male.
Drawn by the dramatic view, he walked back to the far window. The temple was simple and open to the elements. The side facing the palace had steps leading up to the marble-floored interior. The gigantic statues of the gods on either side, interspersed with columns, provided the main support of the plain prop-and-lintel roof. On the farthest side of the temple, a single god faced outward to the sea. Even though all Quentin could see of that statue was its back, he was certain that it was the god Taliesin, god of all the other gods, the prime mover of the universe.
The bedroom was at the same height as the enormous profiles of the two closest statues, one male and one female, their stern, strong faces looking into infinity. The male statue faced the city, and he held a book tucked under one arm. That would be Hyperion, the god of Law. The female was less easy to identify, but he thought she
