The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2 by Sam Bowring Read Free Book Online Page B

did not in any way want to be there. She went to her quarters in the vague hope that Salarkis would be sitting in an armchair by the window, idly swishing his tail. She thought longingly about Mergan, whose friendship she greatly missed, but he too seemed lost to her.
    As night setin, she decided she did not want to be alone in her quarters. They weren’t really hers anyway, just rooms that she had been temporarily allocated. None of the furnishings were to her taste, and the bedspread and curtains were especially hideous. It was someone else’s place, or maybe nobody’s.
    She left it.
    Making her way downstairs, she could not help but pass the castle dining hall. To her satisfaction, almost relief, there issued forth no raucous laughter, nor even the clink of toasting glasses, but simply the buzz of low conversation. Was Jandryn in there? The thought almost tempted her to poke her head in, but she quickly decided against it.
    She nodded to guards as she moved out the castle entrance into the square, in which a few servants still worked clearing up after the crowd. As a tattered piece of paper wafted along the ground, she paused for a moment to admire the particularly pretty breeze that carried it. Its ethereal threads flowed by her like reflected lines of light atop the surface of a river. She cupped a hand and caught them up, sent them twirling peacefully in a new direction. The Priestess of Storms – that was who she had been. Handling the elements was a talent she’d been born with, nothing to do with what she had taken from the Spell, and using it caused no corruption. She should remember that more often, she decided.
    She crossedthe square and entered the barracks dining hall. Kitchenhands moved along tables clearing up plates, and it seemed like dinner was mostly over. That said, there were still plenty of soldiers about, for two ale barrels stood against the wall and mugs were held in every hand. Most of the soldiers clustered about the fireplace at the far end of the room, listening to Tarzi telling some tale. As their bodies shifted, for a moment Yalenna saw Rostigan seated amidst them, looking constrained at best. The image Yalenna had brought with her, of her and him and maybe Tarzi sitting together sharing a companionable meal and pleasant conversation, faded.
    ‘Priestess.’
    It was Jandryn, coming towards her from the ale barrels. As he spoke, several others noticed her too, and she wished he had been quieter with his greeting. Still, it wasn’t enough to distract Tarzi, and Yalenna found she was pleased to see the captain. He glanced at the brimming mug in his hand, seeming unsure what to do about it.
    ‘Honestly, Jandryn,’ she said, ‘you look like a puppy caught chewing the rug. Do you think I’d object to you taking a drink?’
    ‘Er … no,my lady. I just don’t want to be … disrespectful … on this troubled day.’
    She quirked an eyebrow. ‘I tell you what I’d find disrespectful – having to stand here much longer without being offered a drink myself.’
    He managed somehow to simultaneously start and look relieved.
    ‘Right away, my lady!’
    As he strode off on his new mission, Yalenna took in a few snatches of Tarzi’s story. The minstrel was recounting the battle of Ilduin Fields, which featured Rostigan as the skull-crushing hero. No wonder he appeared so uncomfortable! When he glanced over and spotted Yalenna, evidently she was all the excuse he needed. He rose, trying to be as undisruptive as possible as he worked his way through the listeners. Despite his efforts, everyone, Tarzi included, noted his departure … but she just smiled, and her hand gestures grew more expansive until she held everyone’s attention once more.
    ‘Let us move away a little,’ he said when he reached her side. ‘I grow tired of hearing my own name spoken.’
    He led her to a seat a couple of tables away. She glanced around for Jandryn, who was returning from the barrels with two mugs. When he