Part 23 (1/2)

”Do you care very much for her?” Magenta asked at length. He saw her eyes fall to where the jewel lay hidden near his heart. Drawing it out he nodded solemnly.

”Very much.”

Her hopes suddenly shrank and sank down. So lost in thought it seemed he was unaware of his surroundings, Deacon fondled the jewel between his fingers, and she saw a kind of pained tenderness cross his features. She smiled a faint painful smile, as if he had unwittingly hurt her. She felt cast aside. It was difficult to draw breath.

”It was to be my mother's.” A frown creased his brow and the strong muscle in his jaw tightened. ”But she died before I gave it to her.”

The tumult of emotion struck Magenta mute, then scarcely above a whisper, she uttered, ”It is beautiful.”

”I'm certain the elves would find it less that faultless,” he said, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up and tucking it back into its place with a look that alerted her that he had most likely crafted the jewel himself.

”You made this?” she asked in marvelment, gently laying her fingertips upon his chest, as though she were touching the precious jewel itself. The gesture made his entire frame shudder.

”The evenings are growing cold,” he said, as if desiring to turn the conversation to a more general one.

”Tell me about her,” Magenta pursued gently. ”Your mother. What was she like?”

Deacon recalled her memory with a faint, tender smile. ”True-hearted. Kind. The sort of woman any honorable man would lay his life down for.”

It was a while before Magenta ventured to ask more. ”And your father?” she asked cautiously, not wis.h.i.+ng to push him further than he was willing.

Deacon compressed his lips tightly, resting his chin on his chest, which was habitual of him when distressed. ”What can be said of a man who pledges himself to a woman, then through no fault of her own, abandons her and his child?” he said bitterly.

Staying very quiet, Magenta waited in vain for him to say more. His mind was full of bitter memories, his face pale and impa.s.sive. He sneered inwardly at the disgrace of his father's course and could not escape the sense of his own insufficiencies.

”Any good there is in me I got from her.” His words came out nothing more than a quiet murmur.

”There is a great deal of good in you,” said Magenta. He was so intensely aware of her nearness that there was no surprise in her gentle touch upon his arm.

”How can you be so certain?” he asked, glancing at her darkly. She looked into his eyes, and it seemed she could see into a soul deeper than that of any human.

”Most make the mistake of believing the eyes to be merely an organ of sight, part of our form,” she said. ”But they are so much more. They allow insight into one's soul, and yours is one of true benevolence.”

Though he felt unworthy of such regard, her words somehow comforted and sustained him. He turned fully to face her, his gaze falling to her slender form that was visible beneath her light s.h.i.+ft. The touch of his hand brus.h.i.+ng down the length of her bare arm gave her unutterable pleasure, made all the greater by contrast with his former indifference. Far from blus.h.i.+ng or even averting her eyes, she leaned nearer to him. She had a deep longing for him to embrace her.

Arrested with love and pure adoration, he moved nearer her. ”You cannot know what good you have done me tonight,” he said in a voice pitched to a lower tone and with a softer note. Every sharp angle of his handsome face had softened to the sincerest tenderness, and he had drawn so near she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek. For the moment it seemed as if he might kiss her, but he stood frozen within himself, as if standing at some closed door unable to enter. He turned his face aside, but did not withdraw.

For some time he was torn pitilessly in this conflict, when he felt the warmth of her hand at the nape of his neck, drawing him down, and her lips tenderly pressed to his. Submissively he closed his eyes, adrift in her kiss, and felt a complete breakdown of his resolve. He had avoided her touch for so long, now that he had allowed it he could not, it seemed, get enough. Having utterly lost his self-command, he let his arm steal round her, and with the ardour of pa.s.sion drew her into him, kissing her with all the fervor of one long denied.

Holding her thoroughly embraced, he seemed to lift her nearer to himself, closer and closer, his heart crushed in a pa.s.sionate grip. As though obeying some sudden impulse he lifted her upon the smooth rock behind her. His lips and caresses increased in their demand until it appeared he might consume her. Though he could not doubt her willingness, he, with a great effort of will, smothered and subdued his pa.s.sion.

Clinging still, he could not yet force himself to let go. The fever-hot face that rested upon her own was restless, and with an effort painful to see, he released her. ”There is nothing to be said in my defence,” he breathed apologetically, drawing back from her entirely. He knew if he stood there longer he must yield.

Presently she came to stand before him. His face was taut, the pulse in his throat the only indication of what he might be feeling, his breath coming in great heaves. Gently she took his arm and drew it round her waist, pressing against him, and he felt what little command he had on his senses slipping away.

”Magenta ...” His tone was desperate, pleading. He looked so distressed that she took pity on him and drew back a little. Turning half from her, his body grew very still. His eyes were downcast. It was evident a severe conflict was going on in his mind. She stroked his hair and he accepted her touch, but pa.s.sively, without responsive warmth.

”You seem so alone in the world,” she said caressively. Deacon appeared to cringe inwardly. For him, her kindness was full of cruelty, her gentle touch causing suffering even as it promised to ease it. Magenta tried to urge him to soften to her, only to meet a refusal, stubborn and sorrowful.

Finally he said, in his usual dispa.s.sionate tones, ”The way you looked at me, I thought you had seen into my soul, but I perceive now that you have not, or you would not wish to be so near me. You might as well love a shadow as me.” He glanced at her darkly.

There in his eyes she saw a reason for his refusal that was not unfavourable to her. There was a darkness in him. She could not be deceived, even by her love. It distressed her keenly that he should harbour a purpose that disturbed his conscience and kept him from her, yet he would not abandon it. She clasped the hand that hung by his side, but he left it hanging lifeless, without returning pressure.

”What keeps you from me?” she asked, with her eyes fastened on his face, as was her instinctive custom when she sought to discover more than his words would reveal. But he closed his eyes on the answer she sought.

He soon relapsed into dismal silence. She held his hand as though it were the very object to keep him bound to her forever, but he would not soften, struggling with the utter impossibility of unburdening himself to her. He could feel her gaze heavily on him. He would glance at her, but she could not hold his eyes. They fell beneath hers each time. For an instant it appeared as if he might confide the insupportable grief he was utterly weary of holding onto, but he said nothing and averted his face further.

”I wish you would speak the words that lie on your lips,” she said, brus.h.i.+ng a strand of black hair from his eyes. She seemed to press so heavily upon him, he felt she was suffocating him. ”Have you nothing to say?” she asked despairingly. Both his heart and his eyes were closed to her. He shook his head, clearly unable to say what was in his heart. Her lashes dropped to her delicate cheek. Deacon felt her disappointment and groaned inwardly with annoyance and exasperation.

”Why must you press me to uncover every detail of my character?” he said. ”I feel as though, by the foolishness of some impulse, I have found myself in a cage with you.”

Magenta instantly grew pale, whether with hurt or anger he could not tell. She felt as though a shard of poisoned ice had pierced her breast. The words immediately burned his tongue, and he regretted having said them. He quickly tried to recover but she would hear none of it.

As she turned to leave, he took a step so as to bar her way. She spoke in hurt but even tones. ”I leave at your bidding; why do you prevent me?” She looked almost ill, but he saw the indomitable spirit looking out from her clear-seeing eyes. Gradually a heavy frown contracted his brow.

”Keep your heart until you find someone worthy to receive it.”

”A woman's heart does not belong to her but to the one who wrenches it from her, and as it happens, he is often the one who does not wish to keep it.” As she brushed past him, his eyes involuntarily closed, and he felt a hollowing pain, as though she had taken part of his soul with her. He subdued the urge to clutch her and force her to stay. Feeling shattered and destroyed, he sat down by the water. His usually concentrated eyes had become as vacant and blind as the eyes of a man who is dead.

Chapter37.

Sandrine -he afternoon sun diminished behind green hills. Resting in a lush valley spread before them was the charming city of Sandrine. Along the road they came upon a wayside inn. It was a pleasant, homely place with comfortable old tables and chairs and a large barrel of spiced wine in the corner. A pleasant, demure woman, came up from the cellar to greet them. ”May I offer you an evening meal or a bed? I have only two rooms available, but they are both lovely and very comfortable. I'm certain they will be to your satisfaction.”

Cedrik said, ”We'll have the two rooms and something hot to eat.”

The three young men took one room. Magenta had the other to herself. Before settling in for the evening, they sat in the commonroom in the warm glow of the fire, awaiting their hostess. The woman returned with a jug filled with spiced wine and a tray with hot bread. Setting them down, she then darted off to retrieve the rest of their supper. She smiled and apologized, as she slipped past another customer.

”This seems one of the few places where everything and everyone is friendly,” said Cedrik, waiting while Magenta was cutting a slice of bread for him.

”Yes, it's nice,” said Derek between sips of wine; ”it's away from everything, though. Only farms and streams and trees.”

Cedrik rubbed his nose and looked down. He did not want to tempt her away from her decision, or interfere with what was not his business. Next to him Deacon was silent with submission, like fate.

A pleasant quiet was in the room as they dined. The gentle conversation rarely lifted beyond a murmur. Derek took his last mouthful and stretched comfortably in his chair. Looking at Magenta he leaned forward on the table. ”It's not too late to change your mind,” he said, ”if you want to return to the Imperial with us. I have a sister you would adore.”

”It is a good thing to think about,” said Cedrik.

At the suggestion of her leaving with them, Deacon blinked but did not raise his face. He waited for her answer.

”I am grateful you have been so kind, but I will find my own way. Here shall be the place to start.” Her tone was indisputable, and rising to avoid further discussion, she bade them a farewell. Cedrik rose quickly to his feet, and reaching over the table, offered her his hand.

”We will bid you a proper farewell when we rise in the morning,” he said. She placed her hand in his, and he brought it to his lips, with the gentleness and reverence in which he knew he would always hold her. Taking his brother's lead, Derek rose and did likewise. Half overcome, Magenta was unable to speak, and inclined her head graciously. Drawing away, she removed herself and swept up the wooden stairs.

Without looking after her Deacon raised the wine to his lips but placed it down again untasted.