The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 23

THE PRICE OF IMMORTALITY

*

Abellia sat in her window with the view of the west valley.

The tower was still and quiet without the busy sounds of Mudruffle's industrious hands mending, cooking, and cleaning. The larder was fully stocked with jarred pears and lentil soups, and the pantry was full of milled flour and spices, but there was little use in it. He'd been gone a day, but she hadn't eaten since he left. Now on the second morning of his absence, she finally heated a pot of broth he'd left on the hearth for her first day alone, and drank it as she stared out the window.

Below, the morning sun angled through the tops of the fire-cones and dappled the far end of the little valley where Caris had pastured her horses and the old knight had trained her in arms.

An ache of regret touched her heart.

Watching Caris had reminded her of what it meant to desire something so much she would sacrifice all for it. What it meant to seek a dream in spite of censure and opposition—to lose family, friends, status, everything for the dream. She too had followed a dream in her youth, giving up everything to take her vows to the Bright Mother.

But her dream had betrayed her. Used and forgotten her. She closed her eyes against the memory of the Light Bringer in the tower. Its cutting, unseeing eyes. Her own invisibility before eternity—and suppressed a moan that threatened to push past her lips.

Trembling hands lifted the broth to her lips, and she sipped it, heart thumping in a ribcage that felt to her as frail as last year's reeds.

All will be restored, she reminded herself. Soon. Drink your broth, old husk. You must be well and strong to make this journey.

Her eyes fell on the nexus where it lay on the table beside her, bright as a promise. Mudruffle's nexus. She had no idea why, or how, but Mudruffle had not reclaimed it when he left. Had any magus of her advanced age ever been allowed to keep a nexus un-watched? It was indeed an act of supreme trust and respect that Mudruffle granted her. Was it meant as a sign that he would truly return? Was it meant to comfort her and give her hope that she would not die alone there? Perhaps there was something in that.

He had also expressed concern about her safety, should the murderous knights reemerge. He did not want her helpless when that happened, so he'd taken this unprecedented risk, and left the ancient stone in her protection.

A reasonable gesture, given her life-long loyalties. And indeed the Abellia he'd come to know so well would have been humbled by such trust. That Abellia would weep tears of perfect harmony with her vows, and honor that trust with obedience.

She smiled at her own audacity. The tears she'd shed on parting had been real, but they had not been tears of humility, or obedience. Indeed, quite the opposite.

She would wait another hour before she acted.

Her luggage was prepared, and the bathing trough filled to precision with cool milk Mudruffle had stored in the larder. The pads that would steady her nose and mouth above the surface of the milk were in place. The butter she would slick against her skin was warm and ready in bowls.

She drained the last of the broth, though her belly was full to the point of discomfort, and tottered over to the trough to review her calculations. In the surface of the milk she saw her shrunken and dry reflection peering back at her, and a thrill of anticipation filled her. When she was done, it would be the girl she once was, looking back.

She made a sound like a crow, scolding herself for her vanity, and turned to fuss with her luggage again. She might experience a brief unconsciousness in the trough, but even so she would have sufficient head start on Mudruffle to escape him if he chose to return to find her. And once she reached the river she would be lost to him forever. And she would live out an ordinary life somewhere in Arkendia, where her order dare not seek her. Perhaps she could find Caris, or Harric.