Lord of Legends. Susan Krinard
she whispered.
Ash released the other man and pulled his arm back, holding it against his chest. “Men,” he said. “Men like Donnington.”
“Can you fail to doubt his sanity now?” Ware asked, straightening his clothing with sharp, angry motions.
“Considering your own behavior …” Mariah frowned into Ash’s face, then glanced at his arm. Already the marks were fading. “Ash knows the meaning of truth. Would anyone not of sound mind understand such a concept?”
“Who knows what a lunatic might or might not understand?”
Mariah glared at him. “Do you know how to open this lock?”
“You aren’t seriously thinking of letting him out?”
“Can you break it?”
“I won’t. He’s dangerous, Mariah. He’s also strong, however badly he’s been treated. I can defend myself, but you can’t.”
“He would never hurt me.”
“How long have you known him? Two days?” Sinjin snorted. “No. I won’t do it.”
She turned back to Ash. “I’m sorry, Ash. You must wait a little while longer. A day, at most.”
“I told you not to promise him anything,” Ware said, his face darker than it had been before. “I’ve got to find that keeper first.”
They looked at each in a way Ash could hardly bear. “Very well,” Mariah said. “Ash, we shall both be leaving now. But it will only be for a little while.”
He wanted to wail and beat his fists against the walls of his cage, to rage and roar and attack the bars again and again. But he merely withdrew into the shadows where their light boxes’ feeble illumination couldn’t reach. He watched as Mariah and Ware spoke quietly, and then, after touching Mariah’s hand, the other man left the room.
A dozen heartbeats later Mariah was at the bars again. “Ash,” she whispered, “I have an idea, but I must make sure the coast is clear first.”
He remained where he was while she followed Ware, listening to her feet in their small tight shoes tap against the stone. When she returned, her face was flushed, and her movements were as quick and darting as those of a bird.
“I am going to get you out,” she said. “Tonight, whatever Sinjin may say.”
Ash knew then that he had won the battle. “How?” he asked.
“I shall find a way to break this lock.”
“Why?”
She had never looked at him so directly or so clearly. “Because I see how it will be. I thought I needed Sinjin’s help. I still do. But he won’t soon agree to let you go, after what you … after how you behaved.”
It was a reprimand. He did not like it. “What is he?”
“Sinjin? I meant to tell you—”
“Donnington’s brother,” he said. “What does it mean?”
She searched his eyes, her face almost white. “You heard us, didn’t you?”
“What does it mean?”
“Brothers are family. They have the same mother and father.”
“Mother is the female who bore you?”
“My mother, yes. As their mother bore them.”
“What is family?”
The delicate skin over her throat trembled. “A mother and father and children—brothers and sisters—make a family.”
The food in Ash’s stomach would not remain still. “I am Ware’s family? And Donnington’s?”
“We … we don’t know, Ash.”
“I look like Donnington.”
“You don’t … you are different. It isn’t as if—”
Ash laughed. “I am my enemy.”
“No. No, Ash. There is so much we have yet to learn. You must give us time.”
Time meant waiting. Time meant this room, this cage. He tried to think of something else.
“What is Ware to you?” he asked.
“He is a friend.”
She had called herself Ash’s “friend.” But it wasn’t the same. He knew it was not.
“He does not believe that Donnington did this to me.”
“Whatever Donnington may have done, Sinjin knew nothing about it. You must remember that.”
Ash looked from the tops of the bars to the point where they sank into the ground. “What is husband?”
“Ash—”
“Tell me.”
“A … a husband is like a father. A husband … lives with his wife.”
“Donnington is your husband and you are Donnington’s wife.”
As Ash had been before, so she was now: mute, voiceless.
Why had she not spoken the truth earlier, when she’d had the chance? She could not be afraid of Ash, or she would never have returned. But she was afraid.
“He kept you like this?” Ash said, his hatred doubling.
“Like.” Her hand swept to the base of her neck, where the heavy cloth covered her flesh. “No, Ash.”
“You escaped,” Ash said. “You found me.”
“I.” Her face was beaded with tiny drops of moisture. “Ash, I am not living with him now, but he did not keep me in a cage.”
“Then why were you his wife?”
“Because … because I didn’t know what he’d done to you.”
There was something hidden in her eyes and voice, but he could not make sense of it. Fury boiled under his skin. “Where is he?”
“Away. I don’t know where. But he will return. That is why, when we leave this place, you must remain hidden.”
“I will not hide.”
“Only for a while. But you cannot stay in this cage for one more hour.”
A promise, like the others she had made—and kept. Yet when she left, Ash could not forget that she had not told him about Donnington. Her husband. His enemy.
He paced along the front of the cage, striking the bars each time he reached the end and turned for another pass. The pain became a part of him, keeping his anger strong. His heartbeat slowed to match the steady rhythm.
And then they came.
Memories. Not like the others, fragmented and seen through the prism of a dream, but solid and bright and real.
He lay in the shadow of great gray stones cupped in a circle of trees, his mind a voiceless sphere spinning inside his head. Two others stood near him: one was Donnington—like Ash, save for the darkness of his hair.
The other was Fane. While the human was not unimpressive, the Fane would draw all eyes to him wherever he appeared. His body was lithe and slender, his features finely drawn, his hair a richer nut-brown than anything that could be conceived on earth. His eyes were silver shaded with green, his clothes woven of light and thread so fine it could hardly be seen. He gazed at Donnington with contempt, everything about him speaking of power and arrogance.
“I kept my part of the bargain,” Donnington was saying. He gestured to the girl lying at his feet. “I brought her,