It creeps through me like a living thing, fire that sears and deadens. I can
feel it working about, changing me. It is a bad feeling.
“I’ll wash the wounds again, rebind them.”
No, Wren. What is happening now is beyond that, beyond anything
you can do. The poison is in my system, all through me.
Her breath was hurried, angry. “If you are too weak, we will
carry you.”
I was weak at first, but the weakness is passing now. I am grow:ng
stronger again. But the strength is not my own.
She stared at him, not really understanding, but frightened
all the same. She shook her head. “What are you saying?”
He looked at her with fierce determination, his dark eyes
hard, his face all angles and planes, chiseled in stone. The Wis-
teron was a Shadowen. Like the Draculs. Remember Eowen’
She shuddered, jerked back and tried to rise. He grabbed
her and held her in place, keeping their eyes locked. Look at me.
She tried and couldn’t. She saw him and at the same time
didn’t, aware of the lines that framed him but unable to see the
colors and shadings between, as if doing so would reveal the
truth she feared. “Let me go!”
Then everything broke within her, and she began to cry.
She did so soundlessly, and only the heaving of her shoul-
ders gave her away. She closed her eyes against the rage of
feelings within, the horror of the world about her, the terri-
ble price it seemed to require over and over again. She saw
Garth even there, etched within her mind-the dark confi-
dence and strength radiating from his face, the smile he re-
served exclusively for her, the wisdom, the friendship, and
the love.
“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, no longer bothering to
sign, the words a murmur. “I can’t!”
His hands released her, and her eyes opened. Look at me.
She took a deep breath and did so.
Look into my eyes.
She did. She looked down into the soul of her oldest and
most trusted friend. A wicked red glimmer looked back.
It already begins, he signed.
She shook her head in furious denial.
I can’t let it happen, Wren. But I can’t do it alone. Not and be sure.
You have to help me let go.
One hand slipped down to his belt and pulled free the long
knife, its razor-sharp blade glinting in the half-light. She shud-
dered and drew back, but he grabbed her wrist and forced the
handle of the knife into her palm.
His hands signed, quick, steady. There is no more time left to us.
What we’ve had has been good. I do not regret a moment of it. I am proud
of you, Wren. You are my strength, my wisdom, my skill, my experience,
my life, everything I am, the best of me. And still your own person, distinct
in every way. You are what you were meant to be-a Rover girl become
Queen of the Elves. I can’t give you anything more. It is a good time to say
good-bye.
Wren couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see clearly. “You can’t
ask this of me! You can’t!”
I have to. There is no one else. No one I could depend upon to do it
right.
“No!” She dropped the knife as if it had burned her skin. “I
would rather,” she choked, crying, “be dead myself!”
He reached down for the knife and carefully placed it back
in her hand. She shook her head over and over, saying no, no.
He touched her, drawing her eyes once more to his own. He
was shivering now, just cold perhaps, but maybe something
more. The red glow was more pronounced, stronger.
I am slipping away, Wren. I am being stolen from myself. You have
to hurry. Do it quickly. Don’t let me become . . . He couldn’t finish,
his great, strong hands shaking now as well. You can do it. We
have practiced often enough. I can’t trust myself. I might .
Wren’s muscles were so tight she could barely move. She
glanced over her shoulder, thinking to call Stresa back, or Triss,