The Riven Shield: The Sun Sword #5 by Michelle West Read Free Book Online Page A

his life, having found a lord he admired and respected, to serve her, strengthen her, provide her with the support she required that she might meet the goals she held aloft for his quiet inspection.
    She was silent as he returned to the present. But he did not think the silence would last; it had a curious unfinished quality to it that spoke of the hovering presence of unshed words.
    “Amarais.”
    “Morretz.”
    “I . . . cannot speak of your death.”
    He thought that would silence her, for she herself had never once spoken of it. It had become impossible not to know that she expected it, but he had waited, in a strained silence he had thought—until this moment—was devoid of hope.
    He knew, now, that he had accomplished only the unenviable task of lying to himself. He had had hope, and she meant, this eve to deprive him of even that.
    “If you accepted it, Morretz, you would speak of it. You would speak of it because you would know—as
I
know, and I have accepted—that my death may mean the end of all that
we
have built together. The heir that I chose is gone; the South has taken her. The war—a war that is larger in every way than my House, but only slightly—has devoured her energy, her time, her attention.
    “You would speak of it because you would desire a plan, some course of action, that would protect what we value more than we value life.”
    “Seers have been wrong in the past.”
    “Perhaps; I will not argue with you. It is not of the past that we speak, it is of the future, and of the future, there is little doubt. What she saw, she saw; in its fashion, it will come to pass.”
    As if she wielded the sword of Terafin, her words were sharp and terrible. He lifted a hand. They passed through it.
    “You are astute, Terafin. I cannot accept what you accept.”
    “If acceptance is beyond you, can you find it in yourself to forgo anger? I have no intention of walking easily to death; it will come from a quarter that I cannot now foresee. I abjure no responsibility; anything that I
can
prevent will be prevented.” Her smile was the wolf’s smile, lean and powerful. “Let them work for my death. Let them out-maneuver me, outthink me, outplay me.” But the smile was a ghost; it passed. “Accept that there are things I cannot do.”
    And here was the crux of the matter. Here, at last. This woman, this slender, beautiful woman—yes, beautiful, more now than as an unformed, grave youth—was
The Terafin.
She had never failed at anything she had set her mind to—not even when that thing was the governing of the most powerful House in the Empire. Against odds far greater than this, she had won her seat, had survived the House War that had decimated the ranks of the House Guards, divided all.
    Fight this! Fight it, you can only be killed if you choose to surrender!
    As if she could hear the words he could not say, she glanced away.
    “Tell me that you are not tired, Amarais. Tell me.”
    She was silent a moment. At last, she said, “Bring the den.”
    He wanted to shout at her then; wanted to grab her by the arms and shake her, as if by doing so he could force her to feel what he now felt, measure for measure.
You are Amarais, you are the woman I chose to give my life to. You have failed at nothing in your life, will you surrender now
?
    But he was domicis; and if what he had undertaken with such profound hope so many years ago had become an almost unbearable burden, he bore it still.
    He bowed stiffly and offered her his silent obedience.
    Finch woke.
    There was no light in her room, but she wasn’t Jay; she found the darkness of the sleeping House peaceful. Whatever fears clung to her from the past that had shaped them both found its hold diminished, not strengthened, when the lights dimmed and faded. Had nights in the twenty-fifth holding been bad? Yes. But the days had been worse, for Finch. At night there were shadows, places made of moonlight and starlight in which someone slender and quiet