Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(97)

"Are they?"

"What do you think?" he counters, glancing back toward the closed doors.

"They're probably no more evil than anyone else. They come from somewhere else, and they have nowhere else to go." Zeldyan smiles momentarily before continuing. "Like those who have nowhere else to go, they will fight to the last to keep what they have. That will make them very dangerous."

"It already has," he points out, looking toward the window and across the light blanket of snow that has already begun to melt, even though the clouds' have blocked the winter sun.

"You have already committed to undertake the expedition to Rulyarth." Zeldyan points out. "Though we must say nothing publicly."

"And so I will. If I am successful, though, the wizards, the believers, and everyone else will be pushing me . .."

"And your mother," Zeldyan adds gently.

"I know." He sighs. "Rulers are always ruled by everyone else's expectations."

Zeldyan steps close to him and takes his face in her gentle hands. "Even I have expectations, love." Her lips brush his.

"Yours I can handle," he whispers and returns the kiss.





LII



DESPITE THE HEAVY woolen blanket that covered the thin thermal blanket and the crude but heavy woolen nightshirt he wore, Nylan was cold. A thin layer of crystals from his own breath scattered off the blanket as he sat up. The room was dark, with only the hint of gray seeping through the thoroughly frosted single armaglass window, although Nylan knew, alerted by the sounds drifting up the steps from the great room, that it was late enough. Another storm had descended upon the Roof of the World, with yet more snow.

As if to punctuate his conclusion, the wind provided a low howl, and the window casements rattled. A few fine flakes sifted around the iced-over shutters as Nylan sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the peg holding clothes he knew would feel like ice against his skin.

"Don't take the covers," said Ryba. "It is cold up here."

"Another furnace day."

."It's been a furnace day every day for the last eight-day, and we're running through wood all too fast. Fierral's coughing out her lungs because she spent too much time in the cold. Istril's not that much better, and I worry because she's pregnant."

"Ayrlyn helped them both."

"There's a limit to what she can do, though."

"Just like there are limits on the way you seem to be able to see pieces of the future," Nylan pointed out.

Ryba sat up on the couch and swirled the covers around her. "I hate feeling this awkward."

"You don't look awkward," Nylan pointed out as he struggled into his clothes. He'd wash later. That bothered him, too, that even for him cleanliness was falling behind the need to keep warm.

"Dyliess is already affecting my balance. My bladder already went." The marshal of Westwind slipped to her feet. "I hate wearing this thing like a tent. At least I can still get into my leathers. Darkness knows how long that will last."

"I'm headed down," Nylan said. "It might do your image good to arrive before me."

"Thank you, gracious Marshal."

"Oh, Nylan ... it's just that you're always too busy to be punctual. Go get your tea." Ryba pulled off the woolen gown. Her midsection was only slightly rounded, and the engineer wanted to shake his head. Ryba would feel huge while she was slimmer than most women who weren't even carrying a child.

Nylan pulled on his boots and went. He had not even set foot on the stones of the main level when Kyseen greeted him.

"Ser, the cistern's not filling. It's half-full."

"It'll wait." Nylan walked to the table, looming out of the gloom like a rock out of the fog of a harbor.

"Amazing," whispered Gerlich, just loud enough for most to hear. "The engineer arrived before the marshal."

"Amazing? I suppose so." Nylan wished he could think quickly enough for a clever comment.

"What magic will you create, Mage, to return the waters to the tower?" asked Narliat.

"It's not magic, Narliat. It's a stone conduit that's probably frozen solid because I didn't get it buried far enough below the frost line." Nylan snapped off a piece of bread and dipped it in a brown sauce that was left over from dinner the night before. "I haven't lived here before, and I had to guess. No one around here could even build a tower."

"But you are a mage."

"You said that. I didn't." Nylan took a bite. Both bread and sauce were cool. Even the tea was lukewarm.

Across the table from Nylan, Ayrlyn offered a faint smile of condolence, but said nothing as she sipped her own tea.

The insides of the shuttered windows were masses of ice, created from drifted snow and the condensation from the guards' breath. The four true windows were so heavily frosted that they were solid white. With a shiver, Nylan took a second sip of the warm tea that didn't help all that much, then another mouthful of bread and sauce, followed by the last dried apple slices in the wooden bowl. The single fat candle on the table shed as much greasy smoke as light.

"I'll be getting a few more apples for the marshal, ser," said Kyseen, "and you can have a few, too."