Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(97)

“Ah,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound too disappointed. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” He chuckled and stood up, then tugged her to her feet. “Before we do…” He made a little grimace. “The leaders say the Raen will not see you as a threat once we are married. So we must marry before the end of the Gathering. On the last day.”

She nodded. “I understand.” Then she laughed. “Ankari will want to make… make…”

“Clothes. Plans.” He smiled. “Yes. And you must learn the words of the ritual.”

Rielle winced. “Are there many?”

He chuckled again. “You will find out tonight.” He pointed to the plateau.

“Sadeer!” Rielle exclaimed, turning to look. “When?”

“Now.”

“Then we must go back quickly!” She let go of his hands, turned and took a step towards the wagons.

And stumbled to a halt as she realised someone was standing behind her. For the smallest moment she thought it was one of the Travellers come to make sure they did not get up to mischief before their wedding night.

But the face was not that of a Traveller, and the features sent a shiver of recognition through her.

A hand gripped her arm. She heard Baluka shout.

Then all turned to white.





CHAPTER 15





Two, three, four landscapes appeared and disappeared in rapid succession, but Rielle did not see them. She did not even try to take a breath, sure that she would not have managed it in the slip of time air was available. Instead, she stared and stared at the face before her as shock turned to uncertainty and dread.

Is it him, or the other?

His hair did not reflect blue. His skin was pale, but not white. His eyes were cold and calculating, and she was glad they were not fixed on her.

His head was tilted, gaze distant, as if listening to something.

As she thought this, her awareness spread beyond him and she sensed a shadow. Not one of the shapes within the whiteness from the next world, like objects seen through several layers of sheer curtains, but a presence, closer, though still veiled by distance.

Coming closer.

The grip on her arm tightened. She saw the Angel–or Raen–narrow his eyes and their progress slowed a little. A shape began to form in the whiteness and she heard a familiar voice in her mind.

“Rielle!”

Baluka? Was he following?

The Angel/Raen’s eyebrows rose and his mouth twisted in contempt. He looked away and she sensed them moving again. A world flashed in and out of sight. The presence was there again, in the space between the next worlds, but barely discernible. Another world flashed in and out of sight, and in the whiteness she searched in vain for it, wanting to know if it was Baluka, wanting him to keep up, wanting him to steal her back. And then she realised what might happen if he did catch up, and she searched with fear in her heart, relieved when she found nothing.

I could not bear it if Baluka should die because of me.

Which turned her thoughts back to the man responsible. Why? She regarded him warily. He was not so difficult to look at as he had been when she was certain he was an Angel. Perhaps she knew instinctively that he was not. Who are you? she thought.

His gaze snapped to hers. She could not read his expression. It had none of the warmth of the Angel but neither was it as cold as those in the Raen’s portrait.

Green surrounded them, and stayed. The branches of strange trees formed a tangle around them. Her chest heaved, sucking in air. He let go of her arm and watched as she fought to catch her breath. Why isn’t he gasping for air, too?

“Magic,” he said, using the Travellers’ word for it.

His voice was that of the Angel. It sent a shiver up her spine. And it stirred an unexpected anger.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Who do you believe I am?”

“I don’t know. Are you the Angel?”

“Yes.” A faint smile widened his lips.

No elation filled her. None of the exhilaration and amazement she had felt before. Not even relief to know she was safe–because she was certain she wasn’t. What was it about him that made her disbelieve? She looked at his hair and skin. “You look different.”

“I do.”

“Are you the Raen?”

“Yes.”

Her heart shrivelled, then began to beat faster.

“Then you are not the Angel,” she told him.

“No?” A strand of his hair moved though not even a faint breeze stirred the forest that surrounded them. The black strands changed subtly, gaining an impossible shine. His face had leached of colour. Within a few breaths she beheld the Angel, and a familiar mix of fear and adoration stirred within her.

She stepped back, horrified and confused.

“But you just said you are the Raen!” The words burst from her.

His features slowly regained their former colouring. “I am the one you believed was an Angel. But I am not what you believe Angels are. In all the cycles I was in your world, I saw no Angels. Nor have I seen them in any of a thousand thousand worlds.”

That does not mean there are no Angels, she thought.

His expression softened. “No, it does not. There is much in the worlds that remains…” he said a word she did not understand; then, to her surprise, changed to the language of her homeland “… unexplained and undiscovered. Perhaps the priests of your world know something the rest of us don’t.”