Zuangua held up the severed hand. Blood drizzled, although the cut was amazingly neat, sliced by a very sharp edge. The fingers were pale, curled, and there was—she noted—only one simple gold ring on those handsome fingers. Hugh had not been a man greedy for riches. Strange to think he had been spared such a vice.
“I am content,” said Zuangua.
But she was not. “Do not offend me and mine, Zuangua. I will keep the peace, if you will.”
He shrugged. “Our truce is over.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“That’s all. Let those of my people who mean to return with me come now.”
Sharp Edge stepped out of the crowd. “I’ll weave him through, but I’m staying with you, Bright One. If you’ll have me.” She said the words with a teasing smile—the kind that men will walk leagues to taste, given the chance. At least one young mask groaned audibly, and a few others muttered and shifted their spears in restless hands.
Liath met her gaze and nodded. “You have a home with me.”
“What of the child, my little beast?” asked Zuangua. “I’ve gotten fond of her.”
The girl had seen it all, crouched on the steps. But instead of answering, she lifted her head. Liath, too, heard footsteps. Anna ran into the nave and, with the aid of the staff, shoved her way through the bundle of soldiers, out of breath and crying.
“My lady! Princess Blessing! They’re all waking up! And they look so angry!”
The girl looked first at her mother, then at her uncle, and finally at Anna. It was Anna she crawled to, sobbing and coughing between heaves and wheezes.
Zuangua gestured. He and his warriors ran out the door, leaving a stillness behind them, the quiet after a storm. In such stunning calm, one might hear the gentle breath of God.
Liath swayed, rushed by a prickling thrill that ran all along her skin but also made her battle against tears. She could not stop the tremor that afflicted her hands.
“Let us go quickly, Anna. Bring her.”
“Where do we go now, my lady?” asked Anna as she gathered Blessing into her arms in an embrace that made Liath want to sob, seeing how the girl clung to Anna so trustingly and yet had not given her own mother a second glance. “Is—he—dead?”
Hugh sprawled on the floor, the stump mercifully hidden under a fold of sleeve. His blood smeared the stone floor. Flecks of soot from the shattered and burned window streaked and spotted his robes and hair. He was still breathing.
“No, but he has been crippled twice over. He’ll never weave the crowns again. He’ll never read another book. Let us go, immediately. I want no trouble with the poor souls who live here and serve God so faithfully.”
Dread already possessed her. Because, after all that, Hugh’s last spell had woven into her flesh and her heart to eat at her as one might burn a man from the inside out until he shrieked and howled while his flesh melted away. He was not done yet. She had hurt him, but he had gotten in the last blow.
“Quickly,” she repeated. “We must take those horses we saw and ride to Kassel. Ai, God. Sanglant. I fear—I fear—”
She could not say it. The fear choked her, just as Hugh had hoped it would.
XIII
THE ABYSS
1
SHE could no longer ride through deep forest without looking over her shoulder. She could not forget the daimone that had stalked her, or the galla, whose darkness eats souls. She could not forget the elfshot that had killed her mount years ago, although she knew the shades of elves no longer stalked the shadows.
No, indeed, they walked abroad in sunlight, and they were still angry.
She had commandeered nine horses—all that Hersford possessed—but her two Ashioi companions were terrible riders. Again and again she ranged far ahead, only to wait champing, as she did now, for them to catch up together with Anna and Blessing. Usually she heard them coming because of Blessing—the girl had a penetrating voice and seemed determined to comment on everything—but it was getting close to dark and perhaps after all she would have to turn around and ride back.
God, she wanted to leave them behind and move ahead. She could lead her horse all night; her salamander eyes would guide her. But she had to stay with the others. She could not leave Blessing behind again, nor could she expect the two masks to ride into Kassel without her escort. Anyway, there might be bandits on the road, or Zuangua might have changed his mind and followed them. Or worse things might stalk their trail, starving wolves and ravenous guivres, although she could imagine nothing worse than this fear riding as if on her shoulders, claws digging into her neck. Her jaw ached from clenching down tears. She had no reason—no reason—to believe him dead.