The Dark Remains by Mark Anthony Read Free Book Online

is you they want to see over all the others. Listen to their voices! Will you not dance for them?
    “My lady?”
    “Who asks for me?” she managed to croak.
    “Did you not see them ride up to the gate? Lord Falken Blackhand and Lady Melindora Nightsilver. They are here, in Ar-tolor.” The young man grinned. “My grandmother used to tell me tales of them when I sat at her knee. But they were just stories, or so I believed. I never thought I would see those two with my own eyes. And it is said you know them, my lady.”
    Now the guardsman blushed, evidently embarrassed by his outburst. Lirith absorbed his words. Melia and Falken were in Ar-tolor? It would be good to see the bard and the lady, of course. She had grown fond of them both, despite their unusual natures. But why were they here? Last she knew, they had been journeying in search of their friend—and Melia’s kindred—Tome.
    “They are going even now to the great hall to beg hospitality of the queen. Are you coming, my lady?”
    “I’ll be there in a moment.” Lirith did not want to meet Lady Melia in an imaginary gown. Something told her the amber-eyed woman would see through any enchantments she might hope to spin.
    Lirith shut the door and turned around. Her mind was clearing, like the mist in the morning light. Tricks and illusions, that was all. However, as she reached into the wardrobe for her gown, she could not help glancing again at the corner of the room. This time she saw only empty air.
    Minutes later, Lirith stepped into Ar-tolor’s airy great hall. A small group of people stood before the dais on which rested the queen’s throne. Ivalaine was nowhere to be seen.
    “There you are!” Aryn said, holding up the hem of her yellow gown as she rushed forward. “We’ve been waiting for you. Where have you been all this time?”
    Lirith managed a wry smile. “Getting dressed.”
    Ignoring Aryn’s puzzled look, she moved to Falken and Melia, who stood with Durge. Both appeared little changed since the last time she had seen them—although that was to be expected. For Falken had been born in the kingdom of Malachor, which fell centuries ago, and he was over seven hundred years old. And Melia was older yet, a goddess of Tarras who had forsaken her celestial realm to walk the world in a more limited, human form.
    Falken was clad in his usual travel-worn garb: fawn tunic, scuffed boots, and a cloak the color of deep water. His silver-shot hair was as shaggy as ever, and his lined mien as wolfish. Melia had traded her blue kirtle for a simple shift the color of moonlight. Otherwise the small, regal woman looked as she always had: her coppery skin flawless, her hair falling in a blue-black wave down her back.
    Falken grinned as Lirith drew near. “I hope you’ll indulge an old bard,” he said, enfolding her in lean arms. “It’s not every century I get to hug a beautiful countess.”
    Lirith laughed and returned the embrace with equal force. The dark stubble of his beard scratched against her cheek, but she didn’t care; he smelled like a forest. He was a strange being, this immortal bard, but he was good as well. Lirith knew that without doubt—no matter what the tales told. She would not believe an entire kingdom had been doomed by his hand alone.
    “You look well, dear,” Melia said, gliding forward.
    Lirith did not pretend for a moment that Melia would embrace her as Falken had. Not that Melia didn’t care for her. But there was a distance to the onetime goddess that made her as cool, as radiant, and as unreachable as her namesake. Only Falken seemed able to bridge that gulf—and perhaps Sir Beltan and Goodman Travis to a lesser extent. Lirith gave the woman a rigid nod.
    At this, Melia halted, then moved back a half step and nodded in return, her amber eyes filled with an expression that seemed almost … sad. A pang of regret filled Lirith’s chest.
    She concealed the awkwardness of the moment with a question. “Where is the