The Heir of Night by Helen Lowe

Author:Helen Lowe [Lowe, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-06-201392-7
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

18

Parts of the Truth

The day wore on, as long and slow as the three that had preceded it, except that the eerie calm of the storm’s eye still prevailed. There had been many times, especially when Malian was very young, when she had wondered whether a storm could last forever, particularly with the full malice of the Darkswarm behind it. Those had always been the worst fears of the Derai vigil: The storm that never passed, the dawn that never came.

But this storm, too, will pass, Malian told herself, as the day darkened and Nhairin’s stewards came in, soft footed, to turn up the lamps and build the fire so that both light and warmth spilled out, banishing gloom. The stewards did not meet her eyes and nor would they speak; they simply completed their tasks and left as quietly as they had come. They, too, it seemed, had their orders—or were afraid to speak with the Heir in case the old powers proved catching. Even lamp and firelight could not dispel such gloomy reflection, and Malian was curled up in the armchair again, brooding, when her father arrived.

He came alone, but although she heard the thump of the guards’ spears as they sprang to attention, and the soft creak of the opening door, she did not look around or stand up when he walked over to the fire. That was a breach of etiquette from Heir to Earl, but they were alone and he, too, seemed abstracted, gazing down at the fiery coals. The winged horse of Night glittered on the breast of his long, blue-black tunic, and firelight played across the hilt of his sword and the dagger thrust into his belt. His expression was grim, his face a mask of hollows and angles despite the mellow light.

“You are sending me away, are you not?” Malian asked, before he could speak, and was pleased with the steadiness of her voice, despite the ache in her throat.

The Earl sighed and his stern eyes met hers squarely. “Yes,” he replied, “I am.”

He went on, as she had known he would, to lay out all the reasons for his decision. Malian had gone over them so many times in her own mind that she hardly had to listen at all, so she fixed her eyes on the red and white tapestry behind his head and let the words roll over her. When he had finished, she did not protest and was careful to keep her expression neutral. “So where am I to go?” she asked. “And when?”

“I am sending you to the Sea Keep,” the Earl replied, “for the Blood of that House are your mother’s kin, as well as our allies; they will receive you kindly there. As for when, as soon as possible now that you have recovered from your experience in the Old Keep. Prolonging your departure will only make the situation unnecessarily hard for both of us.” He paused, searching her face; and however unlikely it might seem, she thought he was ill at ease.

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