‘You did not see what I saw!’ he told her.
‘But I have seen it,’ she said softly. ‘The overturned wagons, the looting and the deaths. And I can see your father with his arm around you, holding his cloak before your eyes. It was an evil day, Angel, but you must let it go. The memory is poisoning you.’
‘Stay out of my head!’ he roared suddenly, pulling back from her and striding towards the tavern.
‘He carries demons in his soul,’ said Belash.
‘We all carry them,’ added Senta.
Miriel sighed. ‘He was only nine years old when he saw the attack, and the screams have been with him ever since.
170
But he no longer sees the truth – perhaps he never did. His father’s cloak blocked the most savage of the sights, and he does not remember that there were others in the attack who were not Nadir. They wore dark cloaks, and their weapons were of blackened steel.’
‘Knights of Blood,’ said Belash.
Miriel nodded. ‘I believe so.’
Belash rose. ‘I shall stroll and look at this fortress. I wish to see these walls my people inspired.’
He wandered away and Senta moved alongside Miriel. ‘It is nice to be alone,’ he said.
‘You are picturing me on a bed covered with sheets of satin. It does not please me.’
He grinned. ‘It is not courteous to read a man’s thoughts.’
‘It does not concern you that I know what you are thinking?’
‘Not at all. There is nothing to shame me. You are a beautiful woman. No man could sit with you for long without thinking of satin sheets, or soft grass, or summer hay.’
‘There is more to life than rutting!’ she told him, aware that she was blushing.
‘How would you know, beauty? You have no experience of such things.’
‘I’ll never marry you.’
‘You cut me to the quick, beauty. How can you make that judgement? You don’t know me yet.’
‘I know enough.’
‘Nonsense. Take my hand for a moment.’ Reaching out he gently clasped her wrist, his fingers sliding down over hers. ‘Never mind my thoughts. Feel my touch. Is it not gentle? Is it not pleasing?’
She snatched back her hand. ‘No, it is not!’
‘Ah ha! Now you lie, beauty. I may not have your Talents, but I know what you felt. And it was far from unpleasant.’
‘Your arrogance is as colossal as these walls,’ she raged.
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed. ‘And with good reason. I am a very talented fellow.’
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‘You are conceited and see no further than your own desires. So tell me, Senta, what is it that you offer me? And please, no boasts about the bed-chamber.’
‘You say my name so beautifully.’
‘Answer my question, damn you. And do remember that I shall know if you are lying.’
He smiled at her. ‘You are for me,’ he said softly, ‘as I am for you. What would I offer you? Everything I have, beauty,’ he whispered, his eyes holding to hers. ‘And everything I will ever have.’
For a moment she was silent. ‘I know that you believe the words as you say them,’ she said. ‘But I do not believe you have the strength to live by them.’
‘That may be true,’ he admitted.
‘And you were prepared to kill Angel and my father. You think I can forgive that?’
‘I hope so,’ he told her. And in that moment she saw within his thoughts a flickering image, a remembrance that he was struggling to keep hidden. It shocked her.
‘You weren’t planning to kill Angel! You were ready to die.’
His smile faded and he shrugged. ‘You asked me to spare him, beauty. I thought perhaps you loved him.’
‘You didn’t even know me – you don’t know me now. How could you be prepared to lay down your life in that way?’
‘Do not be too impressed. I like the old man. And I would have tried to disarm him, wound him maybe.’
‘He would have killed you.’
‘Would you have been sorry?’
‘No-not then.’
‘But you would be now?’
‘I don’t know . . . yes. But not because I love you. You have had many women – and you have told them all that you loved them. Would you have died for them?’