Part 37 (1/2)

”Another of your street friends?”

”No.” Gracielis looked down. ”I can't explain all this.”

”So I've noticed.”

”Madame Herleve . . .” He drew in a long breath and looked up. ”I'm at your mercy.”

”It won't wash, Gracieux.” She met his eyes. He would have preferred to face down Kenan.

He said, ”I beg you . . .”

”Madame doesn't need the trouble you cause.”

”I know. But . . .”

In the corridor a door opened. Then Amalie's voice, misty with sleep, called, ”Herleve?”

”Coming, madame.” Herleve shot Gracielis another poisoned glance and bustled out.

Thiercelin moved a little and groaned. Gracielis turned and went to the bed. He lifted one of the pale hands carefully. He said in Tarnaroqui, ”Oh, my dear one.” And then, ”Forgive me.”

There was no response. Gracielis rested his brow on the back of Thiercelin's hand. He could no longer afford to rely on others. He was alone, he must act. He dropped a kiss on the hand, and raised his head. He could hear Amalie's voice, and Herleve's. Rising, he went out into the corridor and knocked.

He did not wait for an answer. Both women turned to look at him, Amalie in surprise, Herleve in disapproval. He bowed and said, ”Madame, I need your help.”

”You,” said Herleve, ”need to recall your famous manners.”

”Forgive me, madame.” Gracielis did not look at her.

”Ladyheart, I've brought you an injured man and two strangers in addition to myself. We need shelter. I throw myself on your protection because I have no one else to trust and nowhere else to go.” He hesitated. ”Madame Herleve says you're leaving Merafi tomorrow. I don't want to delay you. But I crave your leave to remain here in your absence.”

”Well!” Herleve said.

Amalie shushed her, sitting down on the end of her bed and frowning. ”You're in trouble.” It was not a question. Gracielis said nothing.

She picked at the bedcover. ”Joyain sent me a warning today. The unrest is spreading . . . Is it that?”

There was only so much he could tell her. He hesitated, then said, ”Yes . . . We were set on. Lord Thiercelin is hurt.”

”Herleve told me.” Amalie rose and came to stand in front of him. She wore only her nightgown, and her hair was loose. He could see the gray in it. She said, ”You know you're always welcome here, love. I'll do whatever I can to help you.” Her hand sketched the contours of his face. ”I owe you, after all.”

He caught the hand and kissed it, back and palm. Then he said, ”It is I that owe you. But you must leave as planned tomorrow.”

”Come with me?”

”I can't.”

She studied him. ”You mean that, don't you?”

”Yes. Forgive me?”

”Anything, love.”

”Thank you,” Gracielis said, and meant it.

Thiercelin was woken by the sound of a clock chiming. His head felt heavy. There was a nagging pain in his side. He could not quite move; the attempt hurt. From somewhere beside him a soft voice said, ”Monseigneur?”

Thiercelin opened his eyes. Gracielis was leaning over him, looking concerned. Thiercelin smiled at him and remembered.

Mist and violence and a form that could not be Valdarrien . . . He said faintly, ”Graelis?”

”Here, monseigneur. How are you?”

”Terrible,” Thiercelin said, and gasped, because speaking was painful. He struggled to sit up and the world went awry. Somewhere in the midst of it, hands came to help him. He clung to them and hung there. He felt rea.s.suring warmth behind him and smelled jasmine. He said, ”Debt paid, Graelis.” And then, ”What time is it?”

”A little after midnight. We're staying with Madame Viron. Quite safe.”

”Good,” Thiercelin said. Gracielis' presence was comforting, but he wanted Yvelliane. He must have spoken her name, for Gracielis said, ”Soon, monseigneur,” and his voice was worried.

”She won't come,” Thiercelin said.

”She will. But we must wait for dawn. You should rest. The Armenwy advises it.”

”The Armenwy?” Thiercelin was finding it hard to think. They must have drugged him with something.

”Urien Swanhame, of whom Iareth spoke. He's here.” Gracielis s.h.i.+fted slightly. ”Are you thirsty?”

”A little.” The liquid raised to his lips tasted bitter. He swallowed some of it and dropped his head.

Gracielis said, ”It'll ease the pain. But you should sleep.”

”Not yet . . . Are you all right, Graelis?”

”Of course.” Thiercelin could picture the smile that accompanied that remark, beautiful and faintly mocking. Gracielis added, ”Why shouldn't I be?”

”I remember what happened. I was attacked . . . You didn't get to do what you intended . . .” There was no answer. Thiercelin finished, ”And I saw Valdin, again. I think he saved me.”

”Yes,” Gracielis said. And then, ”I saw him also. He's here.” Another pause. ”Do you want to see him?”

Not possible . . . But Thiercelin was losing his sense of the rational. He said, ”Yes,” and waited while Gracielis settled him against a pillow, and went to open the door. Voices, and then . . .

Dark brows that lifted over gray eyes. A half-smile edging thin, bearded lips, Thiercelin said unsurely, ”Valdarrien.” And then, ”Oh, Valdin.”

Valdarrien drew up a chair and sat down astride it, resting his arms along the back. ”In person,” he said. ”Good evening, Thierry.”

”Good evening?” Thiercelin forgot his pain in outrage. ”You come back from the dead, and all you can do is say, 'Good evening'?”