Children of the Blood

by Michelle Sagara

  “I imagine it would be more difficult in the winter.”

  “Winter?” She laughed. “Winter’s a lifetime away! How can you think about storm and wind when it’s so warm and bright?”

  She turned in time to catch an arched brow.

  “I have told you before, Sara, that I think about many things.”

  She sat up suddenly and reached out for him. “And now you are going to stop thinking for a minute and enjoy yourself!”

  Darin watched with shock as he realized what Sara had started to do. She was tickling the lord. To little effect; the lord stiffened slightly, but looked down with a grimace, both surprised and amused.

  “Darin!” Sara shouted, as the lord caught one of her hands. “Help me!”

  Darin shifted uncertainly.

  “Well don’t just sit there! Do you want to be in his morose company for the rest of the afternoon? Help me!”

  “But—”

  “Darin!”

  The lord turned to face Darin. In a soft, even voice, he said, “Darin, the water’s edge is a mere four yards away. Before you listen to the lady’s plea, consider that fact carefully.”

  Darin looked at Sara and his lord. He thought they had both gone insane. Lord Darclan was a Servant of the Dark Heart, Sara the last of the Line Elliath; they were in the middle of the Empire of Veriloth, with misery and death hedging them in. They were mad.

  But he looked down at the unaccustomed finery of his clothing, then across at the rippling sheen of water. If they were mad, he knew the madness. He remembered it keenly.

  “Darin,” Sara continued, her voice dropping, “he won’t be able to throw you in the lake if we work together.”

  “Won’t I?” The lord’s arms closed round Sara as he lifted her, in one motion, from the ground. “Sara, all the love in the world would not stop me from meting out just punishment. I am a man of my word.”

  She gave a little squeal as he began to walk toward the water.

  “Darin!”She doubled her efforts to break free; her feet and hands rained soft blows about the lord’s torso.

  Dazed, Darin stood and followed them to the lake’s edge. When he was five seasons, he might have done this. He might have walked, as the Servant did, to the edge of the water. Might have walked in, as the lord did, until that water lapped gently against the soles of his boots.

  “The water here is quite interesting, Sara. I am standing on a small shelf. One step further, and we will both be wet.”

  Sara stopped struggling and twined her arms around his neck.

  “If I go in,” she said sweetly, “you come with me.”

  Her arms tightened. “But if I go in, lady, I shall be concerned with swimming, and not so much with the thinking you disparage in so bold a fashion.”

  Yes, Darin thought as he listened, they were both insane. Adults didn’t behave like this. He thought about it, trying to remember more clearly those who were newly adult. He grimaced suddenly.

  Peggy and Robert had been like this before they were married. And after, if he thought about it. They always wanted to be alone, and they always behaved almost as if they were.

  For a long while he watched them.

  Then he closed his eyes and began to move forward. Remembering, still remembering.

  Stefanos saw the widening of Sara’s eyes as she suddenly threw her arms out. His head came around in time to see a small burst of motion heading toward them.

  Darin’s smile was one his year-mates would have recognized—and run from. His hands hit their target with the full force of his weight. The lord let out a wordless exclamation and stumbled forward.

  “Look out!” Sara wrapped her arms around his head. It was the last sound that either of them made before they hit the water. Sara choked between little gasps of laughter; the water was not deep enough to cover her completely. She wiped her eyes to clear them, and shoved her hair back. Dark, damp curls clung to her face and neck.

  Stefanos was not nearly so inarticulate. He was on his knees almost before the water touched him. The damp robe he wore wrapped itself inconveniently around his body, slowing him.

  “You dare?”

  Darin stood on the grass, doubled over with laughter.

  Stefanos rose and began to walk toward him. He heard the giggle and splash at his back as Sara caught his ankle and gave it a sweeping tug. There was another splash, another laugh, and another splutter as Stefanos resurfaced, rivulets of water running down his face and body.

  “Sara,” he said through gritted teeth as she drifted away, “I am not, in general, a man who plays games.”

  “Pity,” she replied, as an arching spray leaped toward him.

  “I guess that means this won’t bother you.”

  “And when I do,” he said, advancing a few steps as the water ran down his face, “I do not lose.”

  She darted away as his hands closed on a current.

  “Hey!”

  They both turned to look at Darin, although they kept an eye on each other.

  “If you two are just going to play in the lake, I’m going back to the castle to do serious work.”

  The lord looked at Sara and Darin. Both faces wore similar expressions—playful, slightly malicious grins devoid of the fear or hatred that he found in all others. He could almost feel an answering laughter strain to leave his lips; he hovered on the brink of it, awash in a peculiar warmth. The laugh would not come, but he stood there, savoring its nearness.

  Sara toppled him over.

  He lunged for her, but the water slowed him again; it was an unfamiliar medium for him. She glided away easily, her smile a reflection that the water wiped clean.

  On the shore, Darin watched them and sighed wistfully. They were mad, yes, and he wanted to stay awhile and share that madness. But he remembered Peggy and Robert. He packed up the basket, but left the blanket lying on the grass. If they didn’t get out of the water sometime soon, they’d need it.

  Although he walked alone to the castle, he felt the warmth of their company as it lingered with him. And as he walked, other memories returned to him, and he let them come for the first time in years. At his side, he could hear the remarkably agile step of the Grandmother; in the distance, the sound of his year-mates’ heated discussions. Just ahead, the hall of Culverne loomed high, imposed upon the turrets and towers of the castle.

  Days like today, Darin—are you listening?

  Yes, Grandmother.

  Days like today, you treasure. Sun’s up and out, the borders are secure. You’ve the time just to enjoy life.

  Yes. Yes, Grandmother.

  I’ll tell you something, boy—and don’t grimace like that—even your father’s still a boy to me. At my age, everyone is.

  He sighed.

  You take this day and make a memory out of it. Then, someday, in a battle or God knows what, dig it out of yourself as if it were a diamond; cut it to catch today’s light, and look at it. Remember moments like these have happened, and still happen. It might keep you sane.

  She disappeared, and he walked on alone, remembering who he had been, who he was, and who he hoped, someday, to be.

  I’ll try, Grandmother, not to be afraid of your memory anymore.

  Sara swept her hair back and wrung it dry for the fourth time. A few drops fell from the ends and onto the stone floor of the main hall. On impulse, Stefanos bent over and brushed his lips against her forehead. She leaned into them, her smile soft and hidden.

  Two slaves, on their way to the dining hall, stopped for a moment. Sara looked up, met the eyes of the older man, and blushed. The lord looked up, and they suddenly found their legs. He was almost sorry for their fear, then; he did not mind if the world shared his sight of Sara, or his love of her.

  “Do you know something?” Sara said.

  He smiled.

  “These halls are so dim. And gray. They’re gray and colorless.” She wandered away from him, trailing her hand against the smooth stone. “There were tapestries where w
e stayed before, weren’t there?”

  He nodded.

  She sighed. “And slaves.”

  He nodded again, watching her face. Her lips were turned down in a thoughtful frown. “They’re afraid of us, aren’t they?” She reached out to touch the emblem on his chest.

  “Not 'us,’ lady,” he answered gently, knowing it hurt her, this fear—hurt her, as it warmed him. She relaxed, and then frowned again.

  “Maybe it’s because you always play ‘lord of the manor’ with them, all grim and forbidding.”

  “I am lord of the manor.” He smiled, because he knew well why he was feared, and knew that somewhere, in his keeping, she remembered as well. But not here. Not now.

  The frown grew, and she looked up hesitantly. “But maybe you could help them to stop being afraid.”

  “Sara . . .”

  “If you stopped hiding in your study the way you always do, they’d see more of you, you’d see more of them, and maybe you’d understand each other better.”

  He touched her cheek gently, and smiled. It kept the pain at bay. Sara, Sarillom. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead again. I would be more for you, if I could. But that is not my nature. Would that you knew what you asked.

  She trembled.

  “Lady,” he said softly, “I think it best that you change for dinner. I shall do the same, if you will excuse me for a few moments.”

  She nodded, turned, and then turned again.

  “Stefan,” she said, her voice very quiet, “is their fear important to you?”

  “It is—my custom, Sara.” He waited a moment. “I am sorry.”

  She smiled. It surprised him, for it was very gentle. “Fear isn’t the best way.”

  He knew what she would say, knew it so well he was surprised at how deeply it could still cut.

  “Love is.”

  “I won.” She whispered it softly as the vegetables were laid out on her plate. She turned a gentle smile and murmured a word of thanks to the slave who stood at her right. He started slightly, and then nodded in return, wondering.

  Darin ducked his head to hide his smile.

  “He can’t swim at all. I almost had to pull him out of the lake.”

  “Probably because the robe weighed him down,” Darin said charitably. “The lake wouldn’t hurt him regardless.”

  She chuckled and lowered her voice further. “He doesn’t know anything about water. Serves him right for threatening to throw me in.”

  “Sara,” Darin whispered, remembering the slaves that surrounded the table, “maybe we should talk about this later.”

  “I think it best that both of you never speak about it again.”

  They looked up to meet their lord’s gracious smile.

  “Oh, hells,” Sara said softly, picking up her fork. In a more normal voice, she added, “I forgot your hearing was that good. It’s cheating.”

  “Cheating? Lady, you wound me. But come, let us speak of something different. Is the dinner to your liking?”

  “Oh yes.” She smiled. “But not nearly so much as lunch.”

  “I see.” He turned politely and nodded his head at Darin.

  “And to yours?”

  Darin did nod, but Sara’s smile was infectious. “But I should agree with the lady to be polite.” He laughed and nudged her. “Besides, neither of you won. I did. I was the only one who came back dry.”

  Ah, now it comes.

  The veil was thinner tonight. For three days he had worked to unravel its edges. It was frustrating to know that this passage, cleared once before by the Lady of Elliath, was no easy road. And she had five years of time, a luxury he could not afford.

  Time.

  Images shot by him quickly. Even his sight could not translate them immediately. But they were sharper now, clearer for his effort. He moved heavily, the veil of now still bound tightly around him. He concentrated on finding one image, one face.

  There.

  And indeed she was. Her clothing was torn and dirt-stained, her face wreathed by tangled hair. Her eyes glowed almost green as she reached out to touch—

  The image broke free of him, flowing past. Cursing, he pursued it.

  But with no time to harden it, the path he tried to follow was shifting and formless. As if aware of his pursuit, Sara moved past and was gone. Easily.

  He started to concentrate again, and then broke off. House Darclan loomed before him. It was dark, but firelight flickered through some of the windows. He approached it closely enough to see that the gates were open. Someone drifted through them.

  Recognition flared to life as he counted. Four.

  When? He thought, furious. When is this?

  Something red and ugly caught his sight, pulling it away.

  He gazed at it a long time in silence.

  Then, with a bitter sense of fatality, he turned back to the castle, determined to find a time frame for it and its unwelcome visitors. Time . . .

  No. The future was lost to him; the study resumed its steady presence of darkness. For some moments he sat in a shroud of tense silence. Then he rose. Quickly, his feet making no sound on stone, he left his refuge, seeking.

  The halls opened before him, cavernous and empty. He walked through them. He paused at the foot of the grand stairs to look up.

  Although stone walls and wooden doors barred his vision, he knew with certainty that Sara was sleeping. His foot hit the first stair and then stopped.

  Not yet.

  Turning, he walked out of the front doors. A slave bowed to the ground as he passed. He nodded—pure habit—and continued.

  The gardens and grounds passed him by; the lake glimmered palely in moonlight, surrendering no reflection. He moved too quickly for it to be captured. The hills opened out before him, and he followed their gentle slope, up and then down.

  No.

  But it was already there, a great wall of power, three times Sara’s height, maybe four. It glimmered with no natural light, too red and too dark. Threads of black, like mortar, ran throughout it. He followed it to the horizon on either side. Red-fire might burn less painfully than this when laid against her skin.

  Who dares? he thought, his arms outstretched as he approached the barrier. His hands touched it and passed through it to swim in a miasma of red.

  No mortal hand had created this, nor any servant’s power. Not alone.

  My Lord. It was bitter, this. He looked long at it, and hard, and knew that the time had already come.

  Sara could never pass it. Its touch would be her death.

  In silence, he followed the circumference of the wall. But he knew already that he would find it seamless and whole; Sara was not meant to leave these grounds that he had built for her new life. Not with him.

  Lady. He turned then. There is so little time.

  After all that he had done, time was still his enemy. He returned to the castle. She was sleeping. He would not wake her, but he wanted her presence now.

  chapter fifteen

  Sara sat in her bed. She had thrown the curtains open to catch the moon in her window frame, and its touch lingered on her back and the whiteness of her neck like a warning. She felt her hands as they shook and twisted them into the covers. Cold touched her skin, the chill of fear no summer night could prevent.

  It was dark.

  She shivered as she cast her gaze around the room. Too dark.

  And she knew, now, why the darkness had always frightened her; it was her enemy, this crippled twin of light.

  Bedclothing, like a shroud in its white simplicity, lay tangled around her body as if she were already dead, as if she awaited attendants and their ceremonies.

  What am I doing here?

  With a gesture, she called a little light into being and sent it traveling outward. It touched the walls lightly and then passed through the closed window.

  She waited, taking a deep breath.

  But it returned, melting into the palm of her hands, with no answers.

  She unfur
led her fingers and looked at the shadowed palm. As if it were yesterday, she could hear the Lady’s words and see the Lady’s face, bent over hers, as it mirrored her guilt and her concern.

  This place was not Elliath, not even a nightmare image of the holdings that had been her home. Games and words came to her, but didn’t reach her lips or her heart; she knew where she was. Somehow, she had come to be a citizen of the Dark Heart’s Empire.

  There was a gentle knock; someone had chosen to forsake polished brass and strike quietly at wood instead.

  “Come in.”

  The door slid open, and a shadow crossed the threshold. That shadow held her memories, held her life somehow.

  It stopped to meet her eyes.

  “You are awake.”

  “Yes.” Although he stood in the cover of darkness, she could sense tension in him akin to her own. Fear.

  She stood and walked over to him as the words fell away, covering his lips with her fingers. He stiffened and then pressed the line of his mouth into them, bowing his head.

  “Lady,” he whispered, “I am so sorry.”

  Pain.

  Without thinking, she sent herself outward and felt him stiffen in shock. He pulled back.

  Pain. A pain that she had not touched.

  “No, Sarillorn.” He caught her hands. “This touch is not for me.”

  Sarillorn. The word sent a jolt through her. Yes.

  He caught her chin and held it tightly as he looked into her eyes. His own, he closed. It was to be a night of losses. “You remember,” he said softly.

  She nodded. “Some. I know who I was. But I don’t know where—”

  “Not now.”

  He let go of himself abruptly, circling her with his arms. He wished again that the gentleness that was her nature might somehow become his, for his arms about her were tight and hard, and his lips on her mouth fierce.

  Sara stirred slightly as Stefanos eased himself out of the bed. He moved silently, if somewhat more clumsily than usual, as he lifted her head from the pillow of his chest and lowered her down.