Tremaine mixed with the Parscian group, slipping past into the hall and avoiding Lady Aviler and her son. She had never been good at giving condolences, and there had been so many to give lately.
Tremaine eased toward the salon, hoping for a place to sit down, or to spot Gerard and Florian, when someone behind her said, “Tremaine.”
Oh, the delights of the evening begin. Tremaine turned, “Hello, Ander. Where have you been?” She captured a drink off a passing tray to fortify herself.
He was dressed in a well-tailored evening suit. “I just got back into the city today. I’ve been in the south.” He hesitated, watching her, deliberately not making any comment on how she was dressed. “A great many people are going to be disappointed when they release the reports, if they do.”
Tremaine nodded. She tasted the drink and winced. It was lemon-flavored water, with nothing alcoholic about it. She felt her chances of surviving the evening unscathed had just dropped dramatically. Ander’s chances of survival had probably risen. “They think there are camps, where the Gardier are holding Rienish sorcerers. They’re wrong.”
He nodded in surprised approval of her sagacity. “Yes. Anyone with any sorcerous ability is dead. If there are any prisoners alive, they’re going to be in labor camps.” He shook his head, looking away. “Things are never going to be the same here.”
Tremaine tasted the drink again, winced again. “No one follows the rules anymore.”
“Rules?” Ander lifted his brows.
“To make life less painful.”
Ander shrugged a little. “Your father never struck me as a man who followed rules.”
Tremaine let her breath out, tired of the game, whatever it was. “His biggest rule was that you didn’t involve anyone who wasn’t already playing the game. Or, as he phrased it, if you have to kill innocent bystanders, then your planning is at fault and someone should best eliminate you.”
Ander smiled indulgently. “He didn’t really say that, did he.”
Tremaine thought about framing a reply, then decided it really wasn’t worth her time. She set her drink down on a marble-topped side table, walking off through the crowd as a nonplussed Ander stared after her.
The next person who called her name was Florian, which was a relief. Tremaine found her standing with Gerard, Nicholas and Reynard Morane. The three men were all dressed in dark suits, Florian in a conservative blue dress. “Were you talking to Ander?” Florian demanded. She craned her neck to look past Tremaine. “Is he still being …you know.”
“Yes. Surprise, surprise,” Tremaine said dryly. She eyed Gerard, but he didn’t look overtired. “You didn’t walk here, did you?”
“Your father drove,” Gerard explained, giving Nicholas a wry look.
Tremaine lifted a brow. “We have a motorcar?”
“We do now. There are a number of them left unclaimed in the street.” Nicholas was imperturbable.
Captain Morane snorted in amusement and confided to Tremaine, “It has nothing to do with the war. Your father hasn’t actually purchased an automobile since the first horseless carriage rolled out of the factory.”
Nicholas ignored him, taking a drink off a passing tray. He tasted it and winced.
“There’s no alcohol in the drinks,” Tremaine explained. She turned to Reynard. “They aren’t serving wine?”
“Are you—” Gerard began. Nicholas cleared his throat and shot him a meaningful look. Gerard subsided.
“I believe we drank it all already,” Morane said kindly, answering her question about the refreshments.
People were moving into the ballroom. Through the archway she saw Count Delphane standing on the dais talking to Lady Aviler. Morane gestured them to some seats near the front, but close to the archway. Probably Nicholas’s preference, in case someone threw a bomb. Or in case he decided to throw one. Before they could enter the room, one of the uniformed men from downstairs appeared beside Morane, saying, “Sir, someone is asking for you down in the foyer.”
Morane excused himself and Tremaine sat on the end of a row next to Florian and Gerard, Nicholas taking the seat behind her.
People shuffled into place, Delphane began to speak and Tremaine propped her chin on her hand. I should really just go. She had said good-bye to Colonel Averi already and she wasn’t sure he would approve of all this. He had been terribly antisocial with people he didn’t know.
“Tremaine,” someone whispered.
“What?” She looked at the archway and saw Ilias standing in the hall.
Tremaine thought later that she had actually fainted for an instant, though she didn’t lose consciousness or fall out of her chair. She was aware of some agitation occurring around her, but really of nothing else until Captain Morane took her arm firmly, pulled her out of the chair and walked her across the hall with Ilias.
Morane said, “You can speak privately in here,” and handed Tremaine into a little parlor down the hall from the ballroom, shutting the door behind Ilias.
Tremaine dropped into an armchair, still unable to frame a coherent sentence.
“You’re alive,” Ilias said, kneeling beside her. He needed a shave, badly, and his hair was a tangled mess. He looked dirty too, but that could have been caused just by walking around Vienne. “I knew you didn’t mean to kill yourself, I knew you had a plan.”
“Yes. What?” Tremaine tried to get her thoughts together. “No, I did mean to kill myself, but I flinched at the last minute, and Florian and Arisilde saved me.” She gripped her head, trying to get back to the important point. “How the hell did you get here?”
He gestured helplessly, looking as if he was just as shocked to be here as she was to see him. He wasn’t wearing his sword—he must have had to leave it with the guards at the front door, who must have summoned Captain Morane to deal with the situation. He was wearing a shirt she hadn’t seen before, a dark brown one, and her ring on the thong around his neck. “Giliead talked to the god and found out it knew the gate curse from Arisilde, and it thought it could make it work, so we fixed the curse circle left in Cineth and we tried it and it worked.” He paused to take a breath. “That was actually the easy part.”
Tremaine was aware that her mouth was open, but she couldn’t seem to close it.
“It took us to that forest in the middle of the city, and then we didn’t know where to look for you. But after we walked around a while, I found the way back to your house, but it was knocked down. We talked to your neighbor—”
Tremaine managed to speak. “I didn’t know Coldcourt had neighbors. That knew us, I mean. That were willing to admit they knew us.”
“It was the old man, in the next big house, two fields over. It got knocked down too, but not as bad as yours, and the people are staying there while they rebuild it. His name was Lord Evian-something. He said he thought you would be at a place called Hotel Galvaz because that’s where something called the newspaper said the other Viller people were, and he described how to get there. So we went there, and the people there sent us here.”
“You can get back?”
Ilias nodded. “Oh, sure. We went back and forth a couple of times to test it. The god can hear Gil when he stands where the gate opens in the forest.” He added in a rush, “I had to see if you were alive. And you are, so, I wanted to ask you to come back with us. I know it’s different, and not as fine as this, but we thought if you could try it for a while, and if you decide you want to go back, Gil can get the god to make the gate work again.”
Tremaine gestured vaguely, having trouble getting the words out. “I have to get—” A coat? A bag? Maybe nothing. “Before we go.”
“Before we go?” Ilias repeated, obviously wanting to make sure. “We?”
Tremaine nodded. “Yes.” She came to the conclusion that she hadn’t brought anything with her that she had to collect from the coatroom. “Definitely we.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and as they both stood up, she pulled him into her arms. He hugged her
back so hard her ribs creaked and he laughed with relief into her hair.
Giliead was out in the hallway, with Gerard, Nicholas, Florian and Morane, explaining what had happened in a hurried hush. Giliead needed a shave too. Gerard looked quietly elated, Morane was smiling and Florian was actually bouncing with excitement. Nicholas just looked like Nicholas. “And then we came here,” Giliead finished.
Gerard nodded, saying, “Yes, I think you’re correct about the gods and Orelis. The—” He stopped as Tremaine stepped out of the doorway with Ilias.
“So, I’m leaving,” Tremaine announced. “With them,” she added in case there was any doubt. She found herself looking at Nicholas.
He just lifted a brow and said, “I’ll walk you to the park.”
About the Author
Martha Wells is the author of six previous novels: The Wizard Hunters and The Ships of Air, the first two books of the Fall of Ile-Rien trilogy; The Element of Fire; City of Bones; Wheel of the Infinite; and The Death of the Necromancer, which was nominated for the Nebula Award. She lives in College Station, Texas, with her husband.
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Also by Martha Wells
The Wizard Hunters
The Ships of Air
The Death of the Necromancer
Wheel of the Infinite
City of Bones
The Element of Fire
Credits
Jacket design by Ervin Serrano
Jacket illustration by Donato Giancola
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE GATE OF GODS. COPYRIGHT © 2005 by Martha Wells All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
PerfectBound™ and the PerfectBound™ logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Mobipocket Reader November 2005 ISBN 0-06-111748-X
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN-13: 978-0-380-97790-1
ISBN-10: 0-380-97790-7
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Martha Wells, The Gate of Gods (Fall of the Ile-Rien)
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