Weis, Margaret - Amber and Ashes by Weis Margaret

Author:Weis, Margaret
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

"These are our private cells," he said. "For the more dangerous prisoners."

He thrust a key into the iron padlock on a cell door, turned the lock, and as the door opened, he added, "And the lunatics."

A ray of sunshine slanted through the small window, leaving most of the cell in shadow. At first Rhys saw nothing in the cell except a bed, a slop bucket, and a stool. He was about to tell Gerard that the cell was empty, then he heard a rustling sound. Huddled in a corner of the cell, crouched in the darkest part of the cell, was a dark and shapeless bundle of clothes that he assumed held a person. He could not tell for certain, for he could not see a face.

"I am Rhys," he said, stepping inside the cell. He did not feel fear, only pity for the person's obvious misery. "The sheriff says that you asked to see me."

"Tell him to leave us," said the person in a muffled voice, the face still hidden.

"And close the door."

"Nothing doing," said Gerard firmly. "Like I said-crazy."

He rolled his eyes and wiggled his fingers around his temples.

"I am capable of taking care of myself, Sheriff," said Rhys with a faint smile.

"Please . . ."

"Well, all right," Gerard said reluctantly. "But five minutes. That's it. I'll be down the corridor. If you need me, yell."

Gerard shut the cell door behind him. The room grew darker. The air was stuffy and smelled of rain. Rhys propped his staff against the wall, then ventured closer to the prisoner. He knelt down beside the shapeless bundle.

"What can I do to help?" he asked gently.

A beautiful and shapely hand slid out of the bundle of black robes. The hand grasped hold of Rhys's arm. Sharp nails dug into his flesh. Sea green eyes glittered, and a voice hissed from the shadows of the cowl.

"Slay Ausric Krell," said Zeboim, hissing the name in venomous hatred, "and save my son."

4

Zeboim's eyes shone with a wild and lurid light. Her face was deathly pale, her cheeks marred by bloody scratches, as though she had clawed herself. Her lips were cracked and rimed with a white powder, like sea salt or perhaps the salt of her tears.

"Majesty?" Rhys said, bewildered. "What are you doing in this place? In prison?

Are you ... are you ill?"

He knew that was a stupid question, but the situation was so bizarre and unreal that he was having trouble ordering his thoughts and he said the first thing that came into his head.

"Gods, why do I bother with you mortals!" cried Zeboim. She gave him a shove that flung him off-balance, sent him toppling sideways. Then, casting her cowl over her head, she hid her face in her hands and began to sob.

Rhys gazed grimly at the goddess. He did not know which he was more inclined to do-comfort her or shake her until her immortal teeth rattled.

"What are you doing here, Majesty, in a prison cell?" he asked.

No answer. The goddess sobbed stormily.

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