Crusader. Sara Douglass

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СКАЧАТЬ … better if she returned to legend.

      Aye, far better.

      Isfrael turned his back and walked into darkness.

      Faraday smoothed the white linen of her gown nervously, tweaking out a fold that had become caught under the Mother’s rainbow sash still wound about her waist.

      For a moment she rested her hand on the faint outline of the twisted arrow and sapling that rested in the folds of the sash.

      Then she raised her eyes and looked at the closed door before her. Here Azhure said Drago was waiting.

      Here, the chamber he had taken as his own. Right next door to Axis and Azhure’s chamber, which Faraday could not help wonder was a deliberate action on his part.

       Choose between us, Faraday. My father, or me.

       Which door, Faraday?

      There was nothing in Faraday’s mind of Demons, or how to restore Tencendor to its glory, or even of Katie. All Faraday could think of was what she should say to this man.

      How she could gracefully tell him that, after all her hesitation, all her fright and denial, all her determination not to lay open her body and soul to the betrayal it had suffered with Axis and Gorgrael, she was prepared to do it all over again if it meant loving, and being loved.

      The Mother had been right. Her life would be nothing if she refused to dare to love.

      Faraday glanced at Axis’ door several paces away.

      There was no question of the choice, and maybe Drago knew that, but it would have amused him to have presented her with the mirage of alternatives.

      No, Faraday’s major problem now was how to back down with her pride intact from the position she’d dug herself into.

      Having denied the man, and her love for him, for months, how could she now turn around and say she’d been wrong?

      What superior smile would wrap his face? What triumph?

      “None, Faraday,” said a soft voice behind her, and she whipped about.

      Drago … no! DragonStar (and now she could see why Azhure had used that name) was leaning against the wall several paces behind her.

      Faraday’s entire existence stilled, save for the painful thudding of her heart.

      And save for the painful sensation of her desire crawling out of the very pit of her soul, through her stomach and up her throat to offer itself to this man.

      Tears filled her eyes. He was glorious. Somehow, somewhere, in the week or more since she’d last seen him, he’d been re-transformed. Transformed into his true self, the self that Azhure and Axis had tried to hide, the self that the power of the Enemy had been successful in returning.

      DragonStar was not handsome, nor even physically imposing. The tired lined face and the violet eyes were the same — and yet radically different. Both face and eyes were transfused with such depth of understanding (Faraday did not think she could call it “power”), and such heights of compassion that she thought she might choke on her emotion.

      DragonStar half-smiled, acknowledging her reaction, straightened, hesitated, then brushed past her and opened the door to his chamber. “You wanted to speak to me?”

      Faraday’s temper flashed.

      “Is that all you have to say?” She turned and followed him into the room. “What happened to you? And Caelum? And Qeteb? And Tencendor? None of us have heard —”

      DragonStar laid a hand on her mouth. “Hush, Faraday. First, there are other things that must be said between us.”

      She didn’t want to. She wanted to hide in the safety of hearing what had happened above. She wanted to tell him about her encounter with Isfrael. She wanted him to know that the Earth Tree had gone, but that was all right, because in her belt she had —

      He slid an arm about her waist and pulled her gently against him. “I missed you.”

      “Who are you?” she whispered, somehow terrified of this being what Drago had transformed into.

      “The same man,” he said, his eyes travelling slowly over her face, “but deeper.”

      “Harder?”

      He shook his head. “Softer.” His arm tightened fractionally. “Qeteb —”

      “Qeteb can wait. Faraday, talk to me.”

      She took a huge breath and closed her eyes momentarily. What had the Mother said? Until you learn to dare, you will never live. Take that risk, Faraday … take that risk.

      “I will not betray you, Faraday,” DragonStar whispered, and she realised he was now very, very close. So close that his warmth burnt through the layers of linen between them. “Trust me, trust me…” His voice drifted off and she opened her eyes.

      I will never betray you, she heard him whisper in her mind, not for another woman, not for riches or glory, and not for this land.

      “I do not require your blood,” he said aloud now, although still in a whisper, “Tencendor does not require your blood.”

      And still she had not spoken.

       Faraday…

      How hateful, she thought, that I have found it so difficult to accept his love. Faraday.

      How hateful that I have found it so hard to accept the Sanctuary of his heart. Faraday.

      How hard that I have found it so seductive to allow myself to remain the perpetual victim rather than allowing myself to live.

       Faraday.

      She shifted slightly in his arms, exploring the feel of his body against hers.

      DragonStar, she whispered back into his mind. And then she smiled, and laughed a little, and relaxed against him, and then laughed a little more at the smile on his face.

      “I have loved you forever,” she said, and those were the easiest words she had ever said in her many existences.

       Chapter 8 The Ploughed Field

      DragonStar’s witches sat in a circle on their straight-backed wooden chairs, their hands folded in their laps, eyes downcast. Faraday was dressed again in her white linen gown, the Mother’s rainbow sash about her narrow waist holding the entwined arrow and sapling against the womb of her warmth. Her small feet, clad in elegant red leather slippers, were crossed beneath her chair. Her newly-combed chestnut hair tumbled in a restrained but joyous manner down her back, save for the single thick strand which had somehow wound itself over one shoulder and curved against one breast.

      She СКАЧАТЬ