Edric said something Alayna could not make out, and then she found herself in Gwynn’s strong arms, her head cradled against his chest. Someone shouted, “Make way!”
“Hold on,” he murmured to her, his voice low and urgent.
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .
She was being carried somewhere. Walls sped by, gray stone set with translucent blue panels. Her body felt numb, and her eyes refused to focus.
Blue light bathed her, an ocean of radiance. Voices echoed, as if through a snowstorm at a far distance.
“Lay her down here.”
She tried to lift her head, but her muscles would not obey her will. What was wrong with her?
“Lie still,” a woman said.
Cold, so cold . . .
An eternity later, she found herself under a lowering gray sky, on a vast gray plain that stretched as far as her eyes could see in all directions. From afar, a figure beckoned, but whether male or female, child or adult, she could not tell. Was this the Overworld, where the dead drifted as shades until time wore itself out? Surely that must be Kyria, calling to her.
Alayna began to run, but even as she did so, the figure withdrew. “Wait for me!”
The figure turned, face lit by the diffuse, unchanging gray light. Alayna was even more certain this must be her sister, and she must make the best use of this chance to narrow the distance between them.
But as hard as Alayna tried, she drew no nearer. She pushed herself to go faster, ever faster, with no result. All other thoughts vanished from her mind except the desire to see Kyria again. She forgot where her body lay, forgot the anguish of yet another miscarriage. Gwynn’s hand clasped hers, his brow furrowed as the leronis’s starstone flared into blue-white fire.
Kyria! Oh, Kyria, stay for me!
The featureless gray terrain softened beneath her feet, so that with each step, she sank deeper into it. It took ever greater effort to lift her feet. She glanced down, half expecting to find herself mired in a bog, to find that her entire lower body had turned as gray as the ground. She saw then that the ground was not sucking her down; she was melting, becoming part of it.
Still, she dared not give up the chase. If she had to crawl on her hands and knees, or wriggle on her belly, she must follow where Kyria led. Just then, her feet stuck to the ground so firmly that she fell forward and caught herself on her palms. Instantly, gray tinged her hands, her wrists, her forearms.
Kyria, help me!
For a moment, it seemed the figure was slowing, turning back, but the next instant, it shrank to a dot on the horizon. Alayna tried to pull free from the grayness underfoot. The harder she tried, the deeper it drew her in. She wailed aloud in despair, knowing that she would never see Kyria again. She’d had this one chance, and now it was gone. She was alone, terrifyingly alone, with no way out except to let the grayness take her.
Come back . . . come back to us. A chorus of overlapping pleas resounded in her mind.
Come back? Where was there a back to come to? All she knew or had ever known was the dull, unchanging monotone that even now seeped through her core. She no longer felt its chill.
Child, you have wandered into the Overworld, where none but the shades of the dead and those specially trained to withstand its perils may venture. Come back before you are trapped there forever.
This time the voice—a single voice—shook Alayna with its power and clarity. Around her mired body, the grayness solidified. A mazework of cracks broke its surface. When she tried to move, however, it turned into sticky mud. She was well and truly caught, even more so than before. Her efforts had only made things worse.
Don’t give up! Follow my voice.
It was too late. She was beyond rescue. Beyond hope. Lower and lower, her head sank. She had neither the strength nor the will to fight the pull of the mud. What did it matter? What did anything matter? All she had to do was let go just a little more, and the weight of her own despair would drag her into the lifeless depths.
The light in front of her brightened, no longer a watery overcast but a shimmering blue. Startled, she lifted her head.
Edric?
Before her stood a man of light, like Edric in form if not in substance. Her mind could make no sense of his presence here, unless he, too, were dead.
“Edric? What are you doing here?”
“I came after you. The Keeper of Hali Tower herself searched for you, but you did not answer her call. We thought that since you know me, you might be able to see me better.” He reached out a hand, limned in blue radiance. “Take my hand, Alayna. We must leave this place with all speed.”
She stretched out her fingers. He felt cool to her touch, and for a panicked moment she wondered if he were a creature spun out of the same stuff as the ground and sky. Then his fingers curled around hers. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms.
“Where are you taking me?” burst from her. “I can’t leave! Kyria—”
“Kyria is not here. And neither should you be.”
Alayna pushed against him, although he held her fast. “Look!” she cried, straining to peer over his shoulder. “There she is! I must go to her—quickly, before she vanishes.”
Edric shook his head. “Whoever that poor soul is, she is not Kyria.”
“But she—she must be! See how she turns to beckon me. Let me go to her!”
“You do not belong here, and it is dangerous to linger. This place is treacherous and will lure you to your death.”
“Is this not the realm of the dead? Where else should Kyria be? I thank you for pulling me from the mud, but you must let me go.” Despite her attempts to free herself, his grip turned to iron.
“Listen to me, Alayna. This is the Overworld, a place where neither time nor space have any meaning. It has many dangers, but none is greater than the one ensnaring you now. Even if that were Kyria and even if she wanted you to come to her, it would be impossible. Do you hear me? You would run and run until you forgot you were ever alive, caught in an endless chase—”
“I cannot give up!”
“—while your body perishes from starvation and thirst. Kyria loves you. She would never wish such a fate for you.”
“Kyria would never do that to me,” Alayna agreed. She sagged in his hold, resistance draining from her.
“No, she would not,” he said, his voice soft. “For her sake, if not for your own, come back to life.”
For Kyria’s sake. And Gwynn’s . . . But how?
“I do not know which way to go,” she admitted. “This place is the same in every direction.”
Edric turned her to face a tall, narrow tower that glimmered with the same blue light as his own form.
“Where did that come from?” she whispered. “And what is it?”
“That is Hali Tower, or Hali Tower as it appears in the Overworld. I told you that this is a realm of mind, of thought. Those of us who have learned how to safely travel here can shape its substance as we will. Generations of leroni from the Tower have envisioned it this way, and have imprinted the stuff of the Overworld with its image. I have merely made use of those memories in summoning it here.”
As they took a step nearer, the Tower shifted, moving to meet them. Alayna’s courage almost failed her. Buildings, even unnaturally slim and straight as this one, did not change positions. If this gray world was a place of magic, where only those adept in the use of laran might travel safely, then how could she trust anything her senses told her? Edric himself might be a figment of her dying mind, or an hallucination born of madness, or a creation of evil sorcery, bent on ensnaring her for its own purposes.
When she halted, Edric turned back to her. “What is it?”
“This place. That thing,” with a jerk of her chin toward the Tower. “I don’t know what to believe. None of this is real.”
“You are ri
ght, it isn’t real, and for that reason it has an even more powerful hold over the unprepared.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you trust me?”
“If you are you!” she shot back, her panic rising. “How do I know? You could be anyone—a spirit of the dead, one of Zandru’s demons sent to trap me!”
He dropped her hand and looked down at her, his eyes calm and steady, knowing that if she felt the least compulsion to gaze into them, she would have bolted. But he wasn’t trying to use his gaze to bespell her. Instead, as they stood there, he grew more solid. Color seeped into his skin, and his hair took on a reddish tint. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face.
“I do know you,” she said at last. “You danced at the castle in Thendara. And before that, at the traveler’s shelter. Before the bandits came. You went after Kyria.”
“So I did.”
A dozen memories rose up all at once: the trail, Scathfell Castle, Gwynn’s face in the firelight on their wedding night, dancing with Kyria around their bedroom. Homesickness shivered through her, for Rockraven and Scathfell and all the people her heart ached for. Gwynn and Dimitra and Shayla, even Ruyven, for all his fussy ways. Father and Rakhal and Hjalmar, and little Gwillim and even Ellimira, but also Kyria. Always Kyria.
I will never see her again, not in this gray land nor any other, except perhaps in my dreams.
She slipped her fingers through his. “Take me home, Edric.”
With that, the Tower came rushing toward them. Just at the moment Alayna thought it would smash into them, the walls enclosed them and she found herself rising up a central stairwell. Her grip on Edric’s hand tightened, but he himself showed no sign of alarm. They whooshed to the top level of the Tower, through walls, through doors, until they arrived in a chamber furnished with a couple of padded benches and a cot. A woman lay there, swaddled in blankets, and a man sat on a bench beside her. Blue light flared from the man’s hands. The woman looked familiar.
Can that be me, so pale and still? I look as if I’m dead.
And so you were, almost, Edric’s voice spoke in her mind.
When Alayna opened her eyes, she was lying on a bed of sorts in an unfamiliar room. Blankets swaddled her against the chill in the air. As her eyes focused, she saw that the walls were curved—a room in a tower—the Tower. Edric sat on a stool beside her bed, and one of her hands felt the lingering warmth of his, although he was tucking something into a small packet of cloth. He looked weary, the skin around his mouth pale. A short distance away, an older woman watched. Blue light streamed from her cupped hands.
“Lady Arielle? Where am I?”
“Hali Tower, my dear.”
Alayna struggled to sit up, but a wave of weariness pressed her into the cot. Nausea clawed at her throat. What happened to me?
“You have been gravely ill, child.” Arielle’s expression was somber. “You collapsed during the Midsummer Festival ball, but the midwives could do nothing for you. We thought it best to bring you here, where you might receive monitoring and laran healing. King Allart and Queen Cassandra, who studied in this very Tower, insisted on it.”
Alayna shook her head, sending fresh waves of sickness through her. The babe—but then she remembered the ball and the days leading up to it.
I’ve lost the babe, haven’t I? she dared not speak the words aloud.
“Hush now,” Arielle said in a kindly tone. “You’ve been dosed with herbs to help you sleep. We can do many things here, but speeding up a healing such as yours is not one of them. You are safe, and you will be well in time.” She touched Alayna’s forehead with one fingertip, and that was the last Alayna knew for some time.
Days passed, marked by increasing periods of wakefulness and a gradual lessening of fatigue. Often Alayna woke to find a white-robed monitor, and sometimes Lady Arielle herself, by her side. When she was able to eat, a novice brought broth and then soft foods. Gwynn did not visit, and this distressed her until she learned that those not trained in laran work were absolutely prohibited from passing beyond the Stranger’s Hall on the lowest level. Arielle did not relate Gwynn’s response, but Alayna imagined him livid with frustration and worry.
Then Arielle delivered the news to her that she had indeed miscarried a second time. For Alayna, hearing the words spoken aloud added weight and finality to her loss. The monitors of Hali Tower had not only managed the blood loss and other physical dangers but also discovered a malformation of the womb that made it impossible for Alayna to ever carry a pregnancy to term.
“You were fortunate to be within reach of Tower-trained monitors instead of at home or on the road,” Arielle said, “or you would not have survived. You very nearly died, which is how your spirit made its way to the Overworld. As it was, it took the combined power of a circle to bring you back. Another pregnancy would certainly kill you. We have modified your body so that you will not run that risk again. In all other respects, you will be a normal, functioning woman, capable of enjoying all of life’s pleasures except motherhood.”
There would be no son for Gwynn. Not now . . . not ever.
Does Gwynn know? He’ll be devastated. “My husband—?”
“Has been informed. He understands there was no choice but to ensure that you never again conceive, for neither you nor the unborn babe would survive. This way, we preserve one life at least.”
“For all the good it does me. I have failed him, failed everyone.”
“You are too distraught to know what you are saying. It is a great deal to take in all at once, which is why we waited until now to tell you. In your previous, weakened condition, such a shock might have cost your sanity, if not your life.”
“Better that it had.” What will he say? That he should never have married me! “He must have an heir, and if I cannot give him one, he will surely set me aside.”
“You do not mean that—”
“I do! What use am I now to him, to my family, to anybody? My life is worthless.”
Arielle’s face hardened. “You speak this way because you have been brought up to believe that a woman’s only value is her ability to bear children. You have been trained, as a horse or a dog is trained, to consider yourself no more than a breeding animal.” Her anger and disgust were palpable. “If I could, I would wipe such pernicious nonsense from the mind of every man, woman, and child in the Domains.”
Stunned at the vehemence of Arielle’s reaction, Alayna lowered her eyes.
“Look at me!” Arielle commanded with such force that Alayna responded instantly. “I have never borne a child, nor wished to. I have no need for a husband. I am a leronis, beholden to no man save the king, who is liege lord to everyone in this Tower. I have healed hundreds of folk during my years as a monitor. I have spoken mind-to-mind with my fellow leroni across all the settled lands. I have made fire-fighting chemicals and mined rare minerals with the power of my mind. I not only earn my living, I can defend myself. Do you think my life is worthless because I will never be a mother?”
“No,” Alayna replied in a small voice, once she was able to speak. “You are a great lady, a sorceress.” Arielle winced at the superstitious term but said nothing, so Alayna went on. “I know you mean well, but I am not Gifted like you,” she managed to say in a calmer voice, “and the lord of a great estate must have an heir. If I cannot give him one, then he will set me aside for a wife who can.”
“Dear, foolish child, he will do no such thing. Whatever inheritance arrangement he makes, that is not among the possibilities.” Arielle touched a fingertip to the bracelet encircling Alayna’s wrist. “Marriage di catenas may be little more than slavery for many women, but it offers this advantage: it cannot be undone, except by death. Your husband has been sending messages every day, inquiring after your health. Do you think that the behavior of a man who cares nothing for you?”
As Alayna remembered his face in the warm light of their bedroom,
she felt sure of his love.
25
When Alayna saw Gwynn waiting outside the gates to Hali Tower, all doubts vanished. His face, which had been white and taut on first sight, relaxed into a grin. He rushed to the threshold and caught her in his arms, despite the presence of the Tower workers who had assisted her to walk. She felt crushed, smothered, and yet so relieved she could have shouted, had she been able to draw breath. Tears sprang into her eyes, and when at last he drew back to gaze into her face, she saw tears in his, too. She tried to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a sob.
Arielle stood by to supervise the leave-taking as they prepared a litter for Alayna’s return to Thendara. There was no need to say anything beyond the exchange of instructions regarding the litter and Alayna’s subsequent care. “She is to rest at least two hours every morning and afternoon.” She gave Gwynn a severe look. “No dancing, no gadding about the streets of Thendara. And no worrying.”
Any reservations Alayna had harbored about the necessity of the litter vanished after the first hour of travel. If this was a good road, and it was said to be one of the best, then she did not want to think what it would be like traversing rough ground. The jerking movement eased as they entered Thendara, and the dirt road gave way to paved streets, but by that time, Alayna was too exhausted to care. Her knuckles had gone white from gripping the edges of the litter.
Ruyven had assembled a small army of servants who then carried Alayna through the entrance hall, up a wide flight of stairs, along corridors and finally to the suite of rooms she and Gwynn shared. Sadhi had made her bed ready and was waiting with a pair of equally motherly maidservants. In short order, the men—including Gwynn, who looked both reluctant to leave and embarrassed at so much feminine commotion—were shooed out, Alayna was eased out of her clothing, into a nightgown, and then into the bed itself. A warming pan had been placed at the foot of the bed, and a wave of relaxation passed from her toes to her face.