'The Keymaster of the Heraldic Library?' Vesna wondered aloud. His confusion increased when Tila's expression darkened.
'Keeper of the family trees,' she said in a cold voice. 'Apparently it was not only Sir Arole Pir who Lesarl considered it necessary to confirm his true parentage.'
Vesna opened his mouth to speak but Tila held up a finger to stop him, her face thunderous. 'Trust me; you do not want to continue that conversation any further. It will not end well for you. Just be glad the marriage is still going to happen.'
He nodded dumbly. Suddenly the cut to his head didn't hurt now. It was overshadowed by the cold sensation of dread in his belly.
'Now, tell me about the night you were attacked,' Tila said, perching on the arm of his chair and staring intently at him.
Vesna couldn't meet the force of her stare for long, but he knew not to drag the silence out and began to relate the last few moments of that fight and his conversation with the God of War.
After he had finished, Tila was silent. He chanced a look at her, but could read nothing from her expression as she stared into the fire, digesting the implications of what he'd said.
'This is what you had to tell me before we married. An offer of immortality from the God of War. I can see the dilemma.' Her voice was cool, clinical.
Vesna's dread continued to mount as she left the words hanging in the air. His mouth went suddenly dry.
Abruptly, she stood up and turned to face him. 'My beloved, you are an utter fool.'
The count's mouth dropped open. That wasn't the response he'd been expecting.
'I can see the train of your thoughts now: We are in troubled times, my lord needs a general he can trust; I cannot shake my doubts. What value has there been in all these years of fighting? Have I made a difference? Here I am, a scarred man getting past his prime with nothing but a flawed reputation to show for it. Could this be my chance to do something more worthwhile, to prove to myself that this life and talent weren't wasted? Could this give me the strength I think I've lost, replace the innocence that died on one or other of a hundred battlefields?'
Vesna was frozen to his seat, unable to move as the hare turned on the hound. To hear his thoughts spoken aloud undermined his resolve entirely and he sat helpless as Tila continued, her face still unreadable, her voice giving just as little away.
'And so to the real problem, the words that have been running around your head for days: how can I refuse a God when he offers everything I've hoped for? But how then could I then still marry Tila?' She took a step forwards and Vesna felt himself lean away instinctively, sensing her growing anger.
'Well, my love,' she growled, 'as our great and currently steaming'drunk lord would put it; 'I couldn't give a damn, you don't get the choice.'' She took a deep breath, as though daring Vesna to interrupt before she had finished.
'Do you hear me? No choice whatsoever. Whatever argument you had worked out, don't you dare even voice it because I will clout you round the head. Forget whatever idiotic ideas of nobility and sacrifice you might have for even suggesting such a thing – and dear Gods if you deny that I swear to Kantay I'll claw your eyes out with my nails for being half the man I think you are.'
He heard her voice waver there, but only for a moment as Tila bit back the threatening tears and continued, 'None of you damned soldiers have got the brains of a mayfly, so don't ever try to argue with me; your job is to obey and that's the way it's going to continue. Do you honestly think I'm going to meekly submit? Curtsey and be on my way?
'The look on your face shows that you can't be trusted with thinking, so here's what's going to happen. We are going to be married, as planned, and after that you might, on occasion, be permitted to think for yourself over the next few years, but that will only happen with my permission until you prove to me you're not the iron-brained grunt you've just demonstrated here today.
'And by the way, no you don't get a choice in that either. I love you and I know you love me too, so there's nothing to discuss. I'm going to marry you to save you from your own idiocy. Whether you accept Karkarn's offer is something to be decided later, but Mortal-Aspect, immortal, whatever you become, you'll be a married one.
'And if you thought for a moment that I couldn't make you marry me, then just you wait, and you'll find out what a campaign truly looks like. I'll make your life a bloody misery in a whole host of ways you've never even considered, and the longer you squirm, the more allies I'll draw into the fight, starting with Isak, the Chief Steward, Xeliath, the witch of Llehden, Mihn, and even the entire Palace Guard if necessary. You'll be out-flanked, alone and crying for mercy by the time I'm finished, so be a good boy and just do what you're told.'
Tila took a long breath.
Vesna tried to do likewise, but found himself still paralysed. Without warning, she stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead before heading back towards the door. As she opened it, she called over her shoulder, 'Now, get some sleep and think about what you almost did.'
CHAPTER 20
High Priest Antil waited until the sound of footsteps receded. He was standing in a tiny, dimly lit corridor, looking down the cramped spiral stair, holding his breath as he strained to hear anything below. Out of habit he mouthed a silent prayer to Shotir. Hale had become a frightening place of late, and even if the God of Healing heard his servant's prayer, Antil still feared for his charge's safety. There were limits, it seemed, even to a God's blessing. Next time there might be no priest of Death to stop penitents searching the temple.
Fortunately for Legana, the only way to reach the consecrated hospital, kitchen and dormitories that occupied most of the temple's space was through the shrine room. Thus far, the soldiers had balked at marching through, but Antil didn't expect that to last much longer. Since the Ruby Tower massacre there was a whisper of betrayal on the wind, and the remaining militants were looking for anyone to blame.
Antil scratched his neck before abruptly pulling his hand away again. It was a nervous habit of his and these days he was sporting a patch of permanently raw skin there. The stairway remained dead quiet; the temple's priests were all busy as the hospital room remained full despite their best efforts. Legana's presence was a secret Antil had divulged to only one other, an amiable junior priest known as Fat Lonei, and for safety's sake Antil intended to keep it that way.
Father Lonei was entirely lacking in magic; his obesity was purely a product of gluttony. He had been banished as a danger from the hospital room, but he was a good worker in the kitchen and had been Antil's faithful helper for years. For all Lonei's simple nature, Antil knew he could trust the man to have relieved the priest attending the shrine downstairs and have checked the way was clear.
Antil retreated to his room. It was as dim as the corridor, yet Legana still squinted when she looked in the direction of the window. Her eyesight was terribly poor now – she was trapped in a blur of grey, barely able to make out shapes or colour. She reacted mainly to movement, and now she flinched as he crossed the room towards her, her hands moving within the folds of the robe he'd given her.
'It's only me,' he said softly as he stopped and slowly waved his right arm in front of his face. He wasn't sure how well she could hear him, so he kept the movement going until he saw her nod in acknowledgement. Despite his best efforts, Legana had managed to find at least one of her long daggers and he had no intention of startling a woman who could move as fast as she did, half-blind or not.
The shadowy hand-print on her throat remained and Antil was sure her voice was ruined beyond repair, but the rest of her body had healed supernaturally quickly, considering the broken bones and inevitable internal damage.
Legana gave a raspy whisper and fumbled for the slate he'd found for her. On the slate she scribbled three words. It is time.
'Give Lonei a few more minutes; we're in no rush,' Antil said in reply.
– We go now, she wrote and started to manoeuvre herself off the bed.
Antil reached out automatically to help her, but she pushed him away. She was as tall as him, and while she lacked his build, she was stronger, however unsteady at times. Her grey- and copper-streaked hair was inexpertly
