Heart's Blood полностью

I started. The mirror; the odd little mirror I had brought down from the north tower. I had heard its voice as if it had spoken aloud, though Fianchu had not stirred. I moved to the wall, peering into the tarnished surface, but all I saw was my shadowy reflection: a woman with red eyes and pasty skin, her dark hair rumpled, her brows creased in a frown.

Take me.You’ll need me.

I unhooked the mirror, lifted it down, opened the bag again.There was just enough room to slip it in.As I did so, I saw that there was another item I had forgotten: the little book I had made, with the translations of Irial’s sad marginal notes scribed in neat half-uncial. It lay on the shelf beside the lamp. I couldn’t take it away. It belonged at Whistling Tor; it was part of the sorry record of Anluan’s family and the curse that lay over them. I set the little notebook beside the lamp, its covers closed.

How long should I wait? I must be well away before Magnus or Olcan or Anluan himself realized I was gone and came after me wanting to impose arrangements on me. If I had to go, I would do it by myself. But I must not go too soon or I might come to grief in the dark before I reached the invisible boundary that marked the end of the Tor. I must wait until the pre-dawn light made it possible to go without a lantern. Any artificial light would be spotted quickly by Rioghan or by one of the sentries on the wall. Suddenly, waiting seemed the hardest thing in the world to do.

In my mind I wrote Anluan a letter along the lines of the sample I had made for him on my first day at Whistling Tor. I love you. I’m proud of what you’re doing. But you’ve hurt me. I don’t understand. That would be honest. Or I could write, In less than a turning of the moon it will be time to gather heart’s blood. But I will not be here. Goodbye, Anluan. We both lost the wager.

I had not expected to get away without some challenges. First was the ghost child, who never slept. She had lain quite still watching my preparations, but when I finally judged the light was good enough and made for the door, my bag over my shoulder, my writing box under my arm, she was suddenly there by my side, clinging to my skirt, shadowy eyes turned on me.

“I come with you.”

Fianchu woke at the tiny sound, lifting his head.

“Hush,” I whispered. “You must stay here; you can’t come with me.”

“I come!” Louder this time. The dog, still slow from sleep, began to get up.

I put down the box, took off the bag, dipped my hand down inside. I pulled out Róise. “I have to go away for a while,” I murmured, crouching beside the little girl.“I need you to stay here and look after her. Can you do that for me?”The deception was cruel, but I could see no other way.

The ghost child took the doll in her arms, cradling her. She said nothing more, but the question was written on her face: When are you coming back?

“I might be gone a long time,” I said. “I know you’ll do a good job with Róise. She needs someone to love her, just like all of us. Goodbye, little one.”

Fianchu was on his feet now, ears pricked, stance alert.Very possibly, he understood enough to go bounding off and wake his master the moment I went out the door.

“Fianchu,” I said, making sure I had his full attention. “Guard her.” I pointed to the ghost girl. “Stay here and guard her!”

Fianchu sat. His little eyes, fixed on me, were entirely knowing. But he was a dog and it was his job to obey.

“Good boy. Stay here until the sun’s up.You too,” I told the girl. “He will look after you.”

I crept out the door, along the gallery, down the steps. Shades of gray inhabited the garden; eyes watched me from under the dark trees. Across the courtyard, a lamp still burned in Anluan’s quarters. The mad woman inside me stirred—go to him, run to him, now, now—but I quashed her pleas. I walked down the path, out the gap in the fortress wall, into the forest.

Nobody came after me. I pictured the ghost child in the bedchamber, the doll pressed to her skinny chest. I imagined I could see in her eyes the pain of yet another betrayal, another abandonment.

My thoughts showed me Anluan, alone in his quarters, staring empty-eyed at the wall, or seated on his bed with his head in his hands, long fingers threaded through his fiery locks. Foolish imaginings. More likely he was working out how to form an army from wayward specters, untrained villagers and reluctant neighbors. Perhaps, now that he had dealt with me, he had put me right out of his mind.