“Go and rest, Lew. Look, Rafe’s asleep on the rug. Thyra, call someone to carry him to bed. Off with you now, all of you!”
“Yes,” said Beltran, “tomorrow we have work to do, we’ve delayed long enough. Now that we have a catalyst telepath—”
I said somberly, “It may take a long time now to persuade him to trust you, Beltran. And you cannot use force on him. You know that, don’t you?”
Beltran looked angry. “I won’t hurt a hair of his precious little head, kinsman. But you’d better be damned good at persuading. Without his help, I don’t know what we’ll do.”
I didn’t either. We needed Danilo so terribly. We separated quietly, all of us sobered. I had a terrible feeling of weight on my heart. Thyra walked beside the burly servant who was carrying Rafe to bed. Kadarin and Beltran, I knew, were going to watch beside Kermiac. I should have shared that vigil. I loved the old man and I was responsible for the moment’s lack of control which had struck him down.
I was about to leave Marjorie at the foot of her tower stairway, but she clung hard to my hand.
“Please, Lew. Stay with me. As you did the other day.”
I started to agree, then realized something else.
I didn’t trust myself.
Whether it was the brief disturbing physical contact with Thyra, whether it was the upsetting force of the quarrel, or the old songs and ballads … I didn’t trust myself!
Even now, it took all my painfully acquired discipline, all of it, to keep from taking her into my arms, kissing her senseless, carrying her up those stairs and into her room, to the bed we had shared so chastely . . .
I stopped myself right there. But we were deeply in contact; she had seen, felt, shared that awareness with me. She was blushing, but she did not turn her eyes from mine. She said at last, quietly, “You told me that when we were working like this, nothing could happen that would harm or … or endanger me.”
I shook my head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand it either, Marjorie. Normally, at this stage,” and here I laughed, a short unmirthful sound, “you and I could lie down naked together and sleep like brothers or unweaned babies. I don’t know what’s happened, Marjorie, but I don’t dare. Gods above!” I almost shouted at her. “Don’t you think I want to?”
Now she did avert her eyes for a moment. She said in a whisper, “Kadarin says it’s only a superstition. I’ll… I’ll risk it if you want to, Lew. If you need to.”
Now I really felt ashamed. I was better disciplined than this. I made myself take a long breath, unclench my hands from the railings of the stair. “No, beloved. Perhaps I can find out what’s gone wrong. But I have to be alone.”
I heard her plea, not aloud but straight to my mind, straight to my heart: Don’t leave me! Don’t go, Lew, don’t … I broke the contact harshly, cutting her off, shutting her out. It hurt horribly, but I knew that if this went on I would never be able to leave her, and I knew where it would end. And her discipline held. She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. I saw that curious look of distance, withdrawnness, isolation, slip down over her features. The look Callina had had, that Festival Night. The look I had seen so often on Janna’s face, my last season at Arilinn, She had known I loved her, wanted her. It hurt, but I felt relieved, too. Marjorie said quietly, “I understand, Lew. Go and sleep, my darling.” She turned and went away from me, up the long stairs, and I went away, blind with pain.
I passed the closed door of the suite where Regis and Danilo had been lodged. I knew I should speak to Regis. He was ill, exhausted. But my own misery made me shrink from the task. He had made it clear he did not want my solicitude. He was reunited with his friend, why should I disturb them now? He would be asleep, I hoped, resting after that terrible journey alone through the Hellers.