weathered image which some worshipper had gilded in an attempt to disguise its
age. This bitter line for poverty endured, that, for the death of a child …
Could all the sorrows of a world have marked a goddess more?
He laid his hand on her arm, seeing the size of her body, but feeling the
strength in it, and the flow of energy between them which had bound him to her,
even more than her beauty, so many years ago. She sat still, accepting his
touch, although he thought she would have been well-justified in turning away.
Do I know you?
Gilla’s eyes were closed, her head tipped back to rest against the wall in a
rare moment of peace. The deepening light upon her face seemed now to come from
within. Lalo’s eyes blurred. / have been blind, he thought, blind, and a fool…
‘Yes …’ he fought to steady his voice, knowing how he would paint her, where
he would look for others to be his models now. His breath caught, and he reached
out to her. She looked at him then, smiling questioningly, and received him into
her embrace.
A hundred candles blazed in Molin Torchholder’s Hall, set in silver candelabra
wrought in the shape of torches upraised in clenched fists. Light shimmered in
the gauzy silks of the ladies of Sanctuary, gleamed from the heavy brocades
worn by their lords, flashed from each golden link of chain or faceted jewel
as they moved across the floor, nearly eclipsing the splendour of the room.
Lalo observed the scene from a vantage point of relative quiet beside a pillar,
tolerated for his role in creating the murals whose completion the party was