But so far she defended her rights with authoritative persistence, whether for his sake or in her own simple arrogance.
“Have you been dead?” asked Kasedre.
“Hardly,” she said. “I took a shortcut. I was only here a month ago. Edjnel was ruling then.”
Kasedre’s mad eyes glittered and blinked when she casually named a lord his ancestor, dead a hundred years. He looked angry, as if he suspected some humor at his expense.
“A shortcut,” she said, unruffled, “across the years you folk have lived, from yesterday to now, straightwise. The world went wide, around the bending of the path. I went through. I am here now, all the same. You look a great deal like Edjnel.”
Kasedre’s face underwent a rapid series of expressions, ending in delight as he was compared to his famous ancestor. He , puffed and swelled so far as his narrow chest permitted, then seemed again to return to the perplexities of the things she posed.
“How?” he asked. “How did you do it?”
“By the fires of Aenor above Pyvvn. It is not hard to use the fires to this purpose—but one must be very brave. It is a fearful journey.”
It was too much for Kasedre. He drew a series of deep breaths like a man about to faint, and leaned back, resting his hands upon that great sword, staring about at his gape-mouthed uyin, half of whom looked puzzled and the other part too muddled to do anything.
“You will tell us more of this,” said Kasedre.
“Gladly, at dinner,” she said.
“Ah, sit, stay, have wine with us,” begged Kasedre.
Morgaine gave forth that chill smile again, dazzling and false. “By your leave, lord Kasedre, we are still weary from our travels and we will need a time to rest or I fear we shall not last a late banquet. We will go to our room and rest a time, and then come down at whatever hour you send for us.”
Kasedre pouted. In such as he the moment was dangerous, but Morgaine continued to smile, bright and deadly, and full of promises. Kasedre bowed. Morgaine rose and bowed.
Vanye inclined himself again at Kasedre’s feet, had a moment to see the look that Kasedre cast at Morgaine’s back.
It was, he was glad to see, still awestruck.
Vanye was shaking with exhaustion when they reached the security of their upstairs room. He himself moved the chair before the door again, and sat down on the bed. Morgaine’s cold hand touched his brow, seeking fever.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“Well enough. Lady, you are mad to sample anything of his at table tonight.”
“It is not a pleasant prospect, I grant you that” She took off the dragon sword and set it against the wall.
“You are playing with him,” said Vanye, “and he is mad.”
“He is accustomed to having his way,” said Morgaine. “The novelty of this experience may intrigue him utterly.”
And she set down in the other plain chair and folded her arms. “Rest,” she said. “I think we may both need it.”
He eased back on the bed, leaning his shoulder against the wall, and brooded over matters. “I am glad,” he said out of those thoughts, “that you did not ride on and leave me here senseless with fever as I was. I am grateful, liyo.”
She looked at him, gray eyes catwise and comfortable. “Then thee admits,” she said, “that there are some places worse to be ilin than in my service?”
The thought chilled him. “I do admit it,” he said. “This place being chief among them.”
She propped her feet upon her belongings: he lay down and shut his eyes and tried to rest. The hand throbbed. It was still slightly swollen. He would have gladly gone outside and packed snow about it, reckoning that of more value than Flis’ poultices and compresses or Morgaine’s qujalin treatments.
“The imp’s knife was plague-ridden,” he said. Then, remembering: “Did you see them?”
“Who?”
“The boy—the girl—”
“Here?”
“In the downstairs corridor, after you passed.”
“I am not at all surprised.”
“Why do you endure this?” he asked. “Why did you not resist them bringing us here? You could have dealt with my injury yourself—and probably with them too.”