Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(10)
“What? What did he do?”
The priest sighed. “I must tell you. I do not want to concern you, but what if you need to know? At the most northerly point he stripped away all magic then returned south. We didn’t leave the Stain behind until we passed Llura.”
She stared at him. Llura had been unbearably hot. If it was as far from Llura to the ice cities in the north as it was to chilly Schpeta, the Stain was immense. “What did he do with it?”
“Nothing, as far as I could tell.”
“So he’s preparing for something.”
The man’s shoulders rose and fell. His eyes spoke of many days storing up unspoken worries. She opened her mouth to ask what he feared, then closed it again. If he was prepared to speak of it, he would have done so. Why would an Angel strip half the world of magic? She thought of the armies that had clashed before the castle the day before. Though desperate, they had not broken the Angel’s law against using magic in conflict. But what if they had?
How better to stop people from using magic than to remove it from the world? It would leave priests without magic, too, but people would still respect them for their knowledge of and connection to the Angels.
But what has all that to do with me?
She found she could not eat at all after that. The wine invited her to seek false courage, but she ignored it. Looking around the room, she saw people quickly avert their eyes. They must be wondering why this dark foreigner, who had met an Angel, had been living among them for so long–and why she deserved his special attention. Why indeed? Time moved slowly, yet propelled her to an unknown, impending future that she could not help fearing would be catastrophic in some way, even if ultimately beneficial to the world.
When the priest who had come to the weaving workshop entered the room and hurried to approach the king, fear and hope rushed through her. Suddenly she was sick of waiting, and wanted it over. Whatever “it” was.
“He–the Angel–awaits in the audience chamber, your majesty,” the man blurted out as the room fell silent. “He asked for Rielle Lazuli.”
“Then we must not leave him waiting.” The king turned to smile at Rielle, then rose. He took her hand and guided her out of her chair.
Rielle drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, but it did not ease the churning of her stomach or slow her heartbeat. Perhaps I should have had the wine. Her legs were weak as she walked beside the king, out of the dining room and into the corridor leading to the audience chamber. The soft pad of hundreds of delicate shoes on parquetry whispered behind them as the rest of the diners followed.
He was standing within the circular bench on the king’s dais, waiting. The flare of radiating lines–tiny threads of Stain–sprang from him then faded away, over and over. She averted her eyes, then remembered what Sa-Mica had told her, so many years before. He doesn’t like people to hide their gaze. Well… I’ll look up when we get there. This would not be the moment to trip on my skirts and fall on my face. The king’s warm hand under hers was strangely reassuring as he guided her forward. As he stopped before the dais she looked up.
All she could think at first that the face in her tapestry was more accurate than she could have hoped for after all this time, though not exactly right. His lips were thinner, and his brow not so angular. Then she wondered whether he had read her thoughts, and her face heated. But her embarrassment evaporated as he met her gaze. His strange dark eyes reminded her too fiercely that he was not human. That he could, if he chose, tear her soul apart.
And yet, she loved him. Not in the way she had loved Izare, with heart and body. She loved him with her soul.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly. He lifted an arm, beckoning. She stepped up onto the dais, her legs no longer weak.
“Rielle Lazuli. I gave you a second life,” he said in Schpetan, and a soft sound of many in-taken breaths filled the room. “You have done well with it. The magic you took has been replaced many times over.”
Her heart lifted with relief and a little triumph. I did it! I made more magic creating tapestries than I stole when I killed Sa-Gest! And in only five years. She had expected it to take a lifetime, if she managed it at all.
“You have made a life here, one you may regain once this city recovers from the war. But you could do and be much more. I am returning to my world. I invite you to come with me to join the artisans who live there, creating beauty and magic. Will you join me?”
A collective gasp escaped the audience. Rielle stared at the Angel, his words repeating in her mind.
Go to his world? Where the Angels live? To paint and weave?
Or stay here, in a land not her own, working on tapestries of scenes that others chose. But how could she leave Betzi… but Betzi was sure to leave with Captain Kolz. And the weavers… she would miss them, especially Grasch.
But not enough to turn down the Angel’s offer. I would never see Izare or my family again, but I can’t anyway, and I don’t think they would want to see me. In the Angel’s realm I would be among people who understood me. Fellow creators and servants of the Angels.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice weak, then she cleared her throat. “Yes,” she repeated firmly. A whisper of excitement spilled from the onlookers.
Valhan smiled. “Is there anything you wish to do before you leave?”
She looked around the room until she found Sa-Mica. He was frowning, but as she met his gaze his brows relaxed. He looked relieved, she decided. All his worries had been proven unfounded.