more. Nerius is killing now.'
'No,' she repeated.
'Yes. Look. Vinga is dead. He's striking living things, Aradia. He killed Lenardo's horse, and he almost killed me.'
She looked up at him. 'What?'
Wulfston nodded grimly. 'Nerius hurled one of the spears in the lower hall. If Lenardo hadn't been Reading…'
'What am I to do?' Aradia asked sadly.
'You know what you must do,' Wulfston replied with gentle firmness.
Reluctantly, Aradia nodded. 'He must never regain consciousness.' Tears flowed down her pale cheeks.
Wulfston drew her against him, stroking her hair. 'He's not really conscious. You know Nerius would never hurt Vinga or me. He doesn't know what he's doing, Aradia.'
'I know,' she said, pushing away from him and turning deliberately to look at her father. Then she went to kneel beside the body of the old woman, closing her eyes. 'Poor Vinga. No, Father would never turn on you. He knew how you loved him.'
'I'll carry her down,' said Wulfston, 'and send someone up to watch Nerius. Go and rest.'
Aradia rose and saw Lenardo by the door. 'You,' she said flatly. 'Now what am I going to do with you?'
It was the wrong time to ask to be let go, so Lenardo stood silently, feeling the false strength of excitement deserting him, wondering if his knees would give way before the pressure of her emotionless gaze.
'He needs to sleep,' said Wulfston. 'So do I.'
'You saved Wulfston's life?'
'I knocked him out of the way of the spear.'
A tired smile barely curved her lips. 'Wulfston is very precious to me. He is my brother. Lenardo, need I send for the carpenter to bar your door, or will you give me your word not to leave your room until someone comes for you?'
He realized it was a major concession, made in a moment of emotional exhaustion. If he hesitated, she would think again and bar the door or set a guard. He was too tired to try to move tonight anyway.
'You have my word.'
Perhaps it was that concession, along with the fact that Lenardo Read no second-thought guard outside his room in the morning, that made him less resentful toward Aradia the next day. Or perhaps it was the way sleeplessness had imprinted purplish bruises in the fair skin under her eyes. It was almost noon when she came to Lenardo's room; the kitchen maid had brought his breakfast some hours before.
'Did you sleep well?' Aradia asked politely. 'Indeed,' he replied truthfully, 'but you did not get much rest, I see. How is your father?'
She glanced upward. 'If you really cared, you could-' 'No, Aradia, I could not. That is, I would not Read your father merely to satisfy my curiosity. Readers respect the privacy of non-Readers.'
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't know. My father is still alive, in the same state I put him into last night. I must leave him so, to die.' A tear escaped her control, sliding down her cheek. She made no move to wipe it away but set her chin determinedly to avoid further emotional display. 'We must talk about… you.'
'Aradia,' he said, 'would you like me to Read your father?'
'Read him?'
'I can at least tell you if he is in pain; and sometimes knowing the cause of an illness allows one to find a cure. Please-don't get your hopes up. I fear that all I shall find is a mind worn out with great age-' 'Age! Father is not yet sixty!' 'I'm sorry,' he fumbled. 'He looks so very old-' 'His illness. Lenardo, do you think you can discover why my healing powers have no effect?'
'I can try. But from what I've seen of your powers, I doubt I'll find any way to help that you haven't tried.' 'Are you recovered enough?'
'For such Reading, yes. It won't require great effort, or extreme precision.'
'Then come upstairs with me,' she said eagerly. Aradia dismissed the woman seated at Nerius' bedside, telling her, 'Go and rest, Yula, and come back in-half an hour.'
When they were alone, Lenardo stood beside the bed, closed his eyes, and began to Read. Nerius' heartbeat and breathing were steadier than the night before. His mind was unReadable, but Lenardo feared it was that no thought or dream crossed it, rather than the fact that the man was an Adept.
Somehow, despite being bedridden for months-years? -Nerius' body was functioning. Everything was precariously balanced, no single part allowed to atrophy so that the patient might die of failure of the kidneys, heart, lungs. He retained a grip on life so fragile that it seemed the least shock would cause all to collapse together. How had he survived yesterday's convulsions?
Finally, Lenardo examined Nerius' nervous system. In his present state, he could not reach the finest details, but he could get an overall picture- Then he found it.
Gross and ugly, hideously obvious the moment he began a superficial Reading of Nerius' brain: a tumor. It was a massive growth, compressing the normal brain tissue within the confines of the skull, putting pressure on nerves-no wonder the man had convulsions!
Gratefully, he withdrew, only to find Aradia's violet eyes fastened on his with intense hope. 'What did you find?' she asked.
'There is nothing to be done,' he replied. 'I can tell you why your father is dying, but I know of no way to cure it.'
'Tell me!'
'There is a growth in his brain. Fve never seen one so large, Aradia, but every one I've seen was a sentence of death.'
Her fair skin had gone transparent, and for a moment he feared she would faint. Her eyes were immense. 'I made it grow! My efforts to strengthen his body were also strengthening that thing, feeding on him-!'
'No!' Lenardo said sharply. 'Such tumors grow, no matter what we do. Only your efforts have kept your father alive this long, and if he has not suffered great pain, it can be due only to you. Aradia, nothing more could possibly be done for him.'
'His brain,' she murmured. 'Oh, why there? Anyplace else…'
Anyplace else, and it could be cut away. Readers did such surgery in the empire, although Lenardo himself had only minimal training in surgical techniques.
Aradia stood silently for a time, until Yula returned. Then she turned and left, Lenardo following her down the stairs, uncertain of what to do or say to her.
In the hall below, they met Wulfston, just coming out of his room. 'I overslept,' he said, although his face had the puffy look of someone wakened long before his need for sleep was satisfied.
'You didn't get to bed till dawn,' said Aradia. 'Have you appropriate clothing to lend Lenardo for Vinga's funeral? Or,' she turned to the Reader, 'would you rather not attend? You didn't know her.'
'I should learn your customs, including those of sorrow.'
So Wulfston took Lenardo back to his room and rummaged through a chest, bringing out a long tunic in dark green and a shorter one in brown. 'That should do. No display of vanity-we recognize ourselves to be a part of nature as we return Vinga to the elements.'
Lenardo noticed that for the first time Wulfston did not display the wolf's-head pendant, although when he looked for it he could see the shape of it under his clothing. 'Would you like a bath?' asked Wulfston. 'I certainly would, but I don't want to put anyone to the trouble.'
'If you don't mind cold water, we won't trouble anyone. I need it to wake me up. Come on.'
They went down only one flight, to a room just above the kitchen. 'The cistern is full after the rain,' said Wulfston. 'We have drain pipes to collect all the rain from the roof, for bathing and washing. Most of the time we dont have to carry large amounts of water from the well.'
Lenardo was used to bathing daily in hot, warm, and finally cold water. I'll just pretend the first two steps are done.
They doused themselves thoroughly, getting clean, but not wasting the water. There was a pile of linen towels- another small luxury like the mild and pleasant soap. The few luxuries he had seen here all had to do with personal comfort except for the beautifully embroidered tabard Aradia had given him. Except for the wolf's-head pendants,
