Serpent Mage by Weis, Margaret

Once we were inside, in a new part of the castle that had grown during our absence, my mother explained to me what had happened.

“The moment she woke up, Sabia knew what Devon had done. She knew he had sacrificed his own life for her and that his death would be a terrible one. From then on,” my mother said, wiping her eyes on the hem of her sleeve, “the poor girl lost all interest in living. She refused to eat, refused to leave her bed. She drank water only when her father sat beside her and held the glass to her lips. She wouldn’t talk to anyone, but lay for hours, staring out her window. When she slept at all, her sleep was broken by horrible dreams. They said her cries could be heard throughout the castle.

“And then one day, she seemed to be better. She got up out of bed, dressed herself in the dress she’d been wearing when you three were last together, and went about the castle singing. Her songs were sad and strange and no one liked to hear them, but they hoped this meant she was well again. Alas, it meant quite the opposite.

“That night, she asked her duenna to fetch her something to eat. The woman, thrilled that Sabia was hungry, hurried off, unsuspecting. When she returned, Sabia was gone. Frightened, the duenna woke the king. They searched.”

My mother shook her head, unable to continue for her tears. Finally, she had recourse to the sleeve again, and went on.

“They found her body on the terrace where we met that day, the terrace where you overheard us talking. She’d thrown herself out a window. She was lying on almost the very same place where the elf messenger died.”

I’m going to have to end this for now. I can’t go on without crying.

The One guards your sleep now, Sabia. Your terrible dreams are at an end.

CHAPTER * 18

SURUNAN CHELESTRA

THE LIBRARY OF THE SARTAN HAUNTED ALFRED, PURSUED HIM LIKE the specter in some old wives’ tale. It reached out its cold hand to touch him and wake him in the night, crooking a beckoning finger, tried to draw him to his doom.

“Nonsense!” he would say to himself and, turning over, would attempt to banish the ghost by burying it in slumber.

This worked for the night, but the shade did not disappear with morning’s light. Alfred sat at breakfast, pretending to eat, when in reality all he could think about was Ramu examining that one compartment. What was in it that was so closely guarded?

“Curiosity. Nothing more than curiosity.” Alfred scolded himself. “Samah is right. I’ve lived around the mensch far too long. I’m like that girl in the ghost stories Bane’s nurse used to tell him. ‘You may go into any room in the castle except the locked room at the top of the stairs.’ And is the fool girl satisfied with all the other one hundred and twenty-four rooms in the castle? No, she can’t eat or sleep or have any peace at all until she’s broken into the room at the top of the stairs.

“That’s all I’m doing to myself. The room at the top of the stairs. I’ll stay away from it. I won’t think about it. I’ll be satisfied with the other rooms, rooms that are filled with so much wealth. And I will be happy. I will be happy.”

But he wasn’t. He grew more unhappy with each day that passed.

He attempted to keep his restlessness hidden from his host and hostess and succeeded, or so Alfred fondly imagined. Samah watched him with the attentiveness of a Geg watching a leaky steam valve on the Kicksey-winsey, wondering when it’s going to erupt. Intimidated by Samah’s awe-inspiring and daunting presence, humbled by the fact that he knew he’d been in the wrong, Alfred was cringing and subdued in the Councillor’s presence, barely able to lift his eyes to Samah’s stern and implacable face.

When Samah was gone from home, however—and he was gone a great deal of the time on Council business—Alfred relaxed. Orla was generally on hand to keep him company, and the haunting spirit was not nearly as bothersome when he was with Orla as it was during the infrequent times when he was on his own. It never occurred to Alfred to wonder that he was rarely left alone anymore or to think it odd that Orla herself wasn’t involved in Council business. He knew only that she was sweet to devote so much time to him—a thought that made him feel all the more wretched on the occasions when the ghost of the library reappeared.