killed Lord Haeron. Caina had seen the corpse lying in the shadow of Maglarion's terrible bloodcrystal.
"Alastair," said Caina, hesitating. "Something's wrong."
"Yes," said Alastair. "We're still here. Come with me, and we'll go somewhere quiet."
Caina wanted to do that. To slip away with Alastair, to lose herself in his arms. All those strange memories that flittered through her mind were only bad dreams. Surely all those images of blood and death could not have happened to her.
She pushed aside her doubts and followed Alastair.
They slipped up a narrow flight of stairs and into another wing of Haeron Icaraeus's mansion. A rich green carpet rolled down the center of the corridor, and doors lined both walls. Doors to guest rooms, Caina supposed, and her heart quickened as she thought of what she and Alastair would do in one of those rooms.
"Here we are," said Alastair.
Caina froze.
A door of peculiar silvery metal stood at the end of the corridor, and the sight of it gave her a splitting headache. A yellow-orange glow leaked through the gap between the door and the frame. Was there a furnace raging on the other side of that door?
"Here, my love," said Alastair. "Through here."
"That door?" said Caina, shivering. "Why that door? There are dozens of other rooms, Alastair. Let's use one of those."
Alastair shook his head. "It has to be this door." He smiled. "We won't have to worry about anyone spying on us in there."
"But there are so many rooms," said Caina, "and all the guests are in the ballroom. Surely we won't be disturbed."
Alastair gestured at the odd silver door. "We won't be disturbed in there."
"Alastair," said Caina, arms wrapped around herself. "I don't want to go through that door."
For an instant, annoyed exasperation flashed over Alastair's face, and then he calmed himself.
"Caina," he said, cupping her chin in his right hand. "You've been so lonely. You can't hide that from me, not here. Come with me, and you will have no more pain. Through that door. Come with me," he kissed her, "and let me show you how much I love you."
Caina trembled in his arms. She wanted to go with him, wanted it more than anything. Yet something about that door repulsed her. The mere sight of it brought of memories of power-mad sorcerers and cruel lords and desperate fights to save the lives of uncounted thousands.
And the memory of a murderous noblewoman holding a silver dagger...
"You open it," said Caina, a solution occurring to her. "Is not a true noble supposed to open doors for his lady?"
Alastair laughed. "You're about to fall into bed with me, and you trifle at doors?"
"Open it," said Caina. Something scratched at the back of her mind.
"It is only a small matter," said Alastair. "Just reach out and open the door, and I am all yours."
"Do it," said Caina, voice harder. "Open that door."
"I...I can't," said Alastair. "The door will open only at your touch, and..."
"Wait," said Caina. Something clicked in her thoughts. "You called me by my name."
A look of irritated chagrin flashed over Alastair's face.
"Of course I called you by your name," said Alastair. "Countess Marianna Nereide, that is your name."
"No, it's not," said Caina, voice quiet. "My name is Caina Amalas. But I told you that my name was Marianna, a Countess of House Nereide. That's how you knew me. And you never learned my real name, because Maglarion killed you before you could learn otherwise."
Alastair's lips peeled back in fury.
"You miserable peasant wretch!" he spat. "I offer you bliss beyond anything you could hope to find in your pathetic life of shadows and steel, and you throw it back in my face?"
"I don't know who you are," said Caina, "but you're not Alastair Corus."
Alastair reached for her, and Caina moved. She sidestepped, seized Alastair's wrist, and spun past him. Her heel slammed into his right knee, and his leg folded beneath him. Alastair fell with a grunt of pain, and Caina yanked the
"Alastair," said Caina, hesitating. "Something's wrong."
"Yes," said Alastair. "We're still here. Come with me, and we'll go somewhere quiet."
Caina wanted to do that. To slip away with Alastair, to lose herself in his arms. All those strange memories that flittered through her mind were only bad dreams. Surely all those images of blood and death could not have happened to her.
She pushed aside her doubts and followed Alastair.
They slipped up a narrow flight of stairs and into another wing of Haeron Icaraeus's mansion. A rich green carpet rolled down the center of the corridor, and doors lined both walls. Doors to guest rooms, Caina supposed, and her heart quickened as she thought of what she and Alastair would do in one of those rooms.
"Here we are," said Alastair.
Caina froze.
A door of peculiar silvery metal stood at the end of the corridor, and the sight of it gave her a splitting headache. A yellow-orange glow leaked through the gap between the door and the frame. Was there a furnace raging on the other side of that door?
"Here, my love," said Alastair. "Through here."
"That door?" said Caina, shivering. "Why that door? There are dozens of other rooms, Alastair. Let's use one of those."
Alastair shook his head. "It has to be this door." He smiled. "We won't have to worry about anyone spying on us in there."
"But there are so many rooms," said Caina, "and all the guests are in the ballroom. Surely we won't be disturbed."
Alastair gestured at the odd silver door. "We won't be disturbed in there."
"Alastair," said Caina, arms wrapped around herself. "I don't want to go through that door."
For an instant, annoyed exasperation flashed over Alastair's face, and then he calmed himself.
"Caina," he said, cupping her chin in his right hand. "You've been so lonely. You can't hide that from me, not here. Come with me, and you will have no more pain. Through that door. Come with me," he kissed her, "and let me show you how much I love you."
Caina trembled in his arms. She wanted to go with him, wanted it more than anything. Yet something about that door repulsed her. The mere sight of it brought of memories of power-mad sorcerers and cruel lords and desperate fights to save the lives of uncounted thousands.
And the memory of a murderous noblewoman holding a silver dagger...
"You open it," said Caina, a solution occurring to her. "Is not a true noble supposed to open doors for his lady?"
Alastair laughed. "You're about to fall into bed with me, and you trifle at doors?"
"Open it," said Caina. Something scratched at the back of her mind.
"It is only a small matter," said Alastair. "Just reach out and open the door, and I am all yours."
"Do it," said Caina, voice harder. "Open that door."
"I...I can't," said Alastair. "The door will open only at your touch, and..."
"Wait," said Caina. Something clicked in her thoughts. "You called me by my name."
A look of irritated chagrin flashed over Alastair's face.
"Of course I called you by your name," said Alastair. "Countess Marianna Nereide, that is your name."
"No, it's not," said Caina, voice quiet. "My name is Caina Amalas. But I told you that my name was Marianna, a Countess of House Nereide. That's how you knew me. And you never learned my real name, because Maglarion killed you before you could learn otherwise."
Alastair's lips peeled back in fury.
"You miserable peasant wretch!" he spat. "I offer you bliss beyond anything you could hope to find in your pathetic life of shadows and steel, and you throw it back in my face?"
"I don't know who you are," said Caina, "but you're not Alastair Corus."
Alastair reached for her, and Caina moved. She sidestepped, seized Alastair's wrist, and spun past him. Her heel slammed into his right knee, and his leg folded beneath him. Alastair fell with a grunt of pain, and Caina yanked the
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