Wynett nodded, staring at the blue-tinted parchment, her fingers touching the violet wax nervously.
“I would be alone,” she murmured, “to think. With your permission?”
Darr smiled his agreement and she rose, inclining her head politely to Bethany and Bedyr.
In the corridor outside she halted, breathing deeply as confusion skirled through her mind random as the wind that buffeted the ramparts. The letter seemed to vibrate in her grasp and she clutched it to her bosom, disciplining herself to think calmly. She needed to be alone and she suspected that Kedryn would find her should she return to her quarters in the hospital. Just now he was the last person she wanted to see, for his presence would serve only to confuse her further and the decision she knew she must reach was too momentous to allow for such distraction. Therefore she walked away from the stairs that would carry her down to the lower regions of the fort and paced instead toward the narrow well that thrust upward to the outer walls.
The air grew chill as she climbed, oblivious of the curious stares of the soldiery she passed, emerging onto the crenellated rampart that faced across the Idre to the east. Low Fort was a misty bulk in the overcast of late afternoon, the sky above ominously gray, livid to the north with the threat of snow. The wind streamed her blond hair and she brushed it unthinking from her eyes, feeling her gown flatten against her body, caressed by the gusting. She found a buttress that afforded shelter from the blustering draft and leaned against the cold stone while her fingers found the seal and broke it, carefully unfolding the parchment as she mouthed a prayer to the Lady for guidance and slowly tilted her head to read what was written there.
It was brief enough, a few lines only, the commencement offering greetings from her faraway Sisters and the mundane hope that she was well. She did not recognize the hand that had penned the words nor the signature at the foot, but the brief sentences that offered guidance seemed to blaze from the page.
You must remember that Kedryn Caitin is the Chosen One and that you are a Sister, and therefore the Lady stands with you both. She will guide you. Look into your own heart and seek Her aid in your decision.
Wynett reread the words, finding no further advice on the second examination, and folded the parchment. If my father hoped this would sway me, she thought, he will be disappointed. Then she dismissed the conceit as unworthy: Darr’s concern was for the welfare of the Kingdoms, transcending pettiness and personal consideration. He had stated his case fairly and left the final decision to her, As had they all, which in a way rendered it that much the harder. Were it taken from her it would be so easy, and she might find the excuse of duty lifting the burden of choice from her shoulders. But that was clearly not to be: the decision was hers alone.
She turned, moving to the embrasure that afforded a view of the river, looking to the tumbling waters as if seeking answers in the waves that foamed the surface of the Idre. She had known it must come to this but had succeeded in driving that knowledge to the back of her mind, refusing to contemplate the inevitable until it arrived, knocking on the doors of her consciousness, indeed, upon her conscience. As much as Bedyr—as much as anyone—she had witnessed Kedryn’s shifting moods. She had been aware of the fortitude with which he endured his affliction and knew that to be a barrier against the dark vampire of despair prowling the edges of his mind. She knew how much he relied on her, less now in hope of cure than of mere presence. He had not spoken his love, but it was there in his voice and his touch, and when she dared permit herself such risk as to consider it she knew that were she not a Sister she would gladly accept his affection. That was what frightened her: that the long journey to Estrevan would throw them so close together she would find herself unable to resist, forget her vows and succumb to the temptation of his embrace. And that would mean the ending of her Sisterhood, a relinquishment of everything she had sought, all she had wanted since first she felt her healing talent and secured her father’s permission to depart the White Palace to take up the blue robe of the Sorority. It would, surely, render her life meaningless.
Yet she could not deny that she did love him and the thought frightened her: she had felt herself secure within her vows, content to dispense her love generally, manifesting in healing. She had not believed one man might so affect her, prompting her even to contemplate forsaking her place within the ranks of the Sisterhood.
She felt a tear course down her chek, for she felt confronted by an insoluble problem. They were right, Darr and Bedyr—if she did not accompany Kedryn he would most likely succumb to despondency. It had not occurred to her that that chimera might render him victim to the Messenger, and Bethany’s comments on that possibility served to confuse her further. Should she agree from a sense of duty? Or would that merely, as she suspected, render Kedryn prone to false hope and the consequently greater disappointment of unsatisfied anticipation? She had hoped, perhaps wrongly, perhaps unfairly, that he would depart without forcing the agony of decision upon her, but now she must face the dilemma.
“Lady,” she whispered to the wind howling along the river canyon, “show me what I must do.”
The wind offered no more answer than the river, its shrilling only the threat of encroaching winter, the promise of snow cold as the knife of choice that turned inside her and she turned from the sheltering alcove to walk weary along the ramparts.
Below, moving solemnly along the Beltrevan road, she could see the forest folk carrying their dead back to the woodlands. There were so many lost to Ashar’s design, wasted lives spent in futile hatred, driven by the blandishments of the Messenger. She had not wept for them because she had been too occupied with the task of healing, of giving life, but now her tears came, cold upon the cheeks as she observed the pitiful remnants borne on carts and litters dragged by the hulking forest hounds. She did not hear the warrior who approached her, grounding his spear as he tugged his cloak from his shoulders and held it to her.
“Sister, take this. The walls are chill.”
She turned and he saw her tears, settling the warm cloth about her with a nervous smile.
“Why do you weep, Sister?”
“For the dead,” she replied, grateful for his kindness.
“They sought it,” he said with a warrior’s blunt acceptance of the bloody facts of war. “There would have been far more had Prince Kedryn not slain the hef-Ulan. Perhaps they would have overcome us, and we should be dead. They would not mourn us, Sister.”
“Mayhap,” she allowed, “but still they died.”
“They followed Ashar’s minion.” The guard held his spear to his chest as though the stout ash pole warmed him. “They sought to bring us down with magics. We sought no war.”
“No,” Wynett nodded, “we did not, But they were misled by the Messenger. He set promises before them like baubles before children, and they reached out to take what he offered.”
“He will meet his due,” the soldier grunted, shaping Kyrie’s sign as though to ward off the evil even mention of the Messenger’s name might provoke. “Is Kedryn not the Chosen One? When Estrevan restores his sight he will face the Messenger and destroy him.”
“Is that what they say?” Wynett asked, wiping drying tears from her eyes.
“Aye.” The soldier appeared surprised that she should ask.
“Niloc Yarrum brought Ashar’s power against him, but still the prince defeated the barbarian. I do not properly understand these things, but I know that Prince Kedryn is a hero blessed by the Lady. And I know the Messenger was not amongst the dead, so he lives still. But Kedryn will defeat him. You are of Estrevan, Sister—you must know that.”
Wynett smiled, smoothing hair that tangled and blew about her face. “I am a Sister Hospitaler, my friend. My talent is for healing, not foretelling.”
“It is common talk,” the warrior shrugged, confused that one of the Sorority should evince such lack of knowledge. “Some call him the Defender and say the blood of Corwyn flows in his veins. I do not know if that is true—and
good Tamurin blood is enough for me—but I know we likely owe him our lives.”
“We do,” Wynett agreed.
The soldier glanced along the windswept ramparts to where his teleman stood beside a group of masons. “I must return to my post, Sister. Will you leave the cloak in the guard room below?”
Wynett mouthed the promise and watched the man stride away. His faith in Kedryn was simple and direct, and she knew that were she to ask his opinion he would undoubtedly tell her to go with Kedryn to Estrevan, likely tell her it was her duty.
But was it, she wondered. Was her duty not first to the Lady? And did Kedryn, albeit unwittingly, not represent a threat to that duty?
Or was this a test of her faith? Surely if that were strong enough she would find the will to resist the loving temptation within herself. To go as Bethany had suggested, strong in her faith, her resolution explained to Kedryn.
Or would that, as she believed, serve only to prolong his suffering?
There was no resolution to be found in wind or river or soldierly words, only inside her, and there she doubted her own strength. She drew the cloak tight about her, nestling her face into the high collar as though to hide, and paced along the wall to the stairwell, still undecided. All she could do, it seemed, was trust in the Lady to show her the way, and with that in mind she decided to seek out the chapel.
She was passing beneath the arched roof of a walkway when Hattim Sethiyan stepped from a shadowed chamber, blocking her path. The Lord of Ust-Galich was swathed in a luxurious cloak of sable, the silver-tipped fur reflecting the light of the flambeaux that illuminated the colonnaded passage, the single earring he favored glittering. He bowed ceremoniously, an insincere smile stretching his mouth.
“Sister Wynett, you appear troubled.”
“My Lord,” she responded, hoping the formal reply would be enough for him. She felt no liking for the Galichian, though she did her best to hide her antipathy.
“You doubtless ponder the merits of a visit to Estrevan.” He made no move to allow her past, seemingly intent on questioning her. “In company with our young hero.”
“Have you become a reader of minds, my Lord?” she demanded, irritation setting an edge to her voice.
Hattim ignored it, still smiling as he pushed a hand beneath the collar of his cloak to rub at his neck. “No, Lady, not yet. I merely inquire from general interest.”
Wynett stared at him, thinking that his eyes had assumed the reddish hue of a drinker, although nothing in his manner suggested that he imbibed. Perhaps it was simply the radiance of the torches. “I am undecided,” she said honestly.
“I see.”
There was an oddly musing quality to his voice, as though he had hoped for more definite an answer, and as he brought his hand from his neck Wynett noticed a smear of blood on his fingers.
“You are hurt?” she asked.
“No!” Hattim spoke a little too swiftly, glancing at his fingers and then wiping the blood carelessly on the fur of his cape. “Flea bites. No more than that. Our forest friends left us a gift, I think. ”
“Would you have me tend them?”
Again his response was a trifle too urgent. “No! Thank you, but they are of no great moment and will doubtless heal in time.”
“I have preparations that will ease the sting,” she offered dutifully, not liking the way he looked at her.
Hattim made a dismissive gesture, his smile oily.
“I assure you, Sister, that I am quite well. They heal of their own accord. I would not take up your time.”
“As you wish,” she allowed. “But should you change your mind any of my Sisters will know where they are to be found.”
The Galichian essayed a deep bow that was strangely mocking. As his head ducked, the cloak fell away a little and Wynett saw a plethora of marks clustering his throat, They seemed more than a trifle to her, and Hattim Sethiyan had never struck her as one to suffer discomfort with such a casual air. He had refused her offer, however, and she chose not to comment, though it occurred to her that no one else had complained of parasites.
“Where are you bound?” he asked, adjusting the collar to conceal his neck again.
“To the chapel,” she answered, unthinking.
“To pray to your Lady, no doubt.”
Wynett nodded, wondering at the curious mode he gave the title. Was the Lady not of all the Kingdoms, so why did he choose to use the personal possessive? She said only, “That is correct, my Lord.”
“And do you think she will give the answer you seek?”
“I believe she will answer,” Wynett replied, wishing he would let her past.
“But will it be what you want to hear?” he insisted.
“That is for the Lady to decide, not I.” She found his tone offensive.
“Quite.” Hattim nodded and at last stood back to let her go by. Wynett ducked her head briefly in recognition of his rank and moved past him, aware of his eyes following her. She quickened her step, anxious to be gone from his scrutiny for no reason she could clearly define save that she found it unpleasant, as if he stripped her with his gaze.
She made her way to the chapel, dismissing Hattim from her thoughts as she paused in the doorway, allowing the sense of tranquillity that always seemed to pervade the simple room to wash over her.
It was a chamber unadorned with icons or ornaments, dark now so that torches had been set in the niches between the windows, their flames pinking the pale blue wash of the plastered walls. The floor was tiled in abstract mosaics of white and blue, reminiscent of a summer sky, that impression enhanced by the cerulean vault of the roof. Plain wooden benches were set in rows, the polished wood glowing in the torchlight. There was no one else present and Wynett sat down, staring at the far window, seeing only darkness beyond. She made the sign of the Lady and folded her hands on the lap of her robe, closing her eyes as she cleared her mind, rendering herself receptive to insight should such be granted her.
There was a quiet to the place that was found nowhere else in High Fort, a hush that was more than just absence of noise, as if the Lady touched the chamber with her presence and set it apart from the bustle of the garrison. The air, even, was different, still without hint of mustiness, clean in her nostrils as a spring zephyr, cool without being cold. Wynett voiced a silent prayer into the stillness and waited.
Peace entered her, but when she opened her eyes and saw the darkness beyond the window was now the black of evening she had no answer. The turmoil that had gripped her on the ramparts was faded, but no clear course of action was revealed her and she remained faced with the quandary of decision. She rose, smoothing her gown, and sighed, turning from the chapel back to the world outside.
She went to the hospital and attended those tasks that awaited her there, and then retired to her small room, busying herself with the organization of her remedies, less from need than from a desire to be occupied.
She was measuring herbs into a sachet that would bring healing sleep to a soldier whose ax-gashed leg had festered, when a knocking on her door interrupted her. The door opened and Tepshen Lahl led Kedryn into the room. The kyo inclined his pigtailed head respectfully and murmured a greeting, settling Kedryn into the chair she indicated, then departing, closing the door behind him.
“I must speak with you,” Kedryn said swiftly, as though he needed to say the words before she stopped him or his will dissolved, “about Estrevan. We shall be leaving soon and there are things that must be said, however difficult.”
Curiously, Wynett felt none of the apprehension she had anticipated with the arrival of this moment. It was as though the calm she had felt in the chapel still held her, and even though she guessed what he was going to say, she did not experience the dread she had expected. She said softly, “Aye, you are right.”
Kedryn swallowed, nervously touching the bandage about his eyes, and continued in a rush, “Within days I must go, and I cannot bear the weight of not knowing any longer. Will you accompany
me? You have lightened my darkness and I am not sure I can bear it without knowing you are near. I know that you have done all you can to heal me and I do not pretend to believe you can do more, so 1 do not ask you to come as a healer, but simply because I quail at the prospect of the journey without you.
“I would lay no claims upon you and promise to treat you with the respect due any Sister. We should not be alone, in any event; and if we were I . . .” he paused, licking his lips nervously, his hand again fiddling with the bandage, loosening it, “. . . I would not . . . say what you do not wish to hear. I ask only that you accompany me to Estrevan and after that return here if you wish. But, Wynett, I am frightened!”
His voice broke on that and his fingers worked the bandage loose, the blue cloth drifting unnoticed to the floor. Wynett rose, moving to retrieve the cloth and Kedryn reached blindly out to find the hand she did not have the heart to remove from his grip.
“I will accept whatever you decide,” he promised, his sightless face turning toward her. “I shall not hold it against you if you opt to remain. And I hope you will forgive me for speaking so directly. ”
“Of course I forgive you. There is nothing to forgive.”
She could not resist reaching out to stroke his hair, the thick brown locks soft beneath her fingers. Kedryn groaned, turning his head and loosing her trapped hand to set his arms about her waist, his face pressing against the swell of her bosom. Wynett closed her eyes on the tears that threatened to spill and held him to her.
“I am a Sister,” she said, controlling her voice only with difficulty, “and I am sworn to celibacy. Could you accept that?”
Kedryn began to murmur an affirmative, but then choked off the words and said, “I must. I will.”
“I can offer you nothing,” she said gently, “save friendship. Could you bear that?”
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