tg.stone of tears-第58部分

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d　all　of　mine。　One　has　an　oath　to　give。　And　the　other　。。。’
　
　She　leaned　halfway　over　the　desk；　hunger　in　her　flecked　eyes。　‘Which　one？　Which　one　are　you　going　to　。。。　Oh；　I　so　wish　I　could　watch。　Or　help。　Promise　me　you　will　tell　me　everything？’
　
　She　smiled　at　the　other’s　eagerness。　‘Everything。　I　promise。　From　beginning　to　end。　Every　last　scream。　Now　go　see　to　my　lessons　for　me。’
　
　The　woman　danced　through　the　doorway　like　a　giddy　schoolgirl。　She　was　too　eager。　That　kind　of　eagerness　was　dangerous。　That　kind　of　lust　made　one　forget　to　be　careful；　made　one　take　chances。　She　pulled　a　knife　from　a　drawer；　and　made　a　mental　note　to　use　her　less　in　the　future；　and　keep　an　eye　on　her。
　
　She　tested　the　edge　gingerly　with　a　thumb　and；　satisfied　it　was　razor　sharp；　tucked　the　knife　up　her　sleeve；　the　sleeve　without　the　dacra。　She　plucked　a　small；　dusty　statue　from　the　shelf；　and　slipped　it　into　a　pocket。　Before　she　was　around　the　desk　and　through　the　door；　she　remembered　one　more　item；　and　turned　back　to　pick　up　the　stout　rod　leaning　against　the　side　of　her　desk。
　
　It　was　late；　and　the　halls　were　quiet　and　mostly　empty。　Despite　the　heat；　she　pulled　her　short；　thin；　blue　cotton　cloak　tighter　across　her　shoulders。　Thoughts　of　this　new　one　with　the　gift　gave　her　a　chill。　Grown。　A　man。
　
　She　shook　her　head　as　she　walked　silently　over　the　long　carpets；　past　lamps　set　in　wall　brackets　centered　in　the　raised　cherry　paneling；　past　tables　set　with　dried　flowers；　and　past　heavily　draped　windows　looking　out　over　the　bailey　and　courtyard　below。　Lights　of　the　city　in　the　distance　twinkled　like　a　carpet　of　stars。　Slightly　rank　air　drifted　in　the　windows。　Must　be　near　low　tide；　she　thought。
　
　The　cleaning　staff；　polishing　a　chair…rail　molding　here；　or　a　banister　there；　dropped　into　deep　curtsies　as　she　swept　past。　She　hardly　noticed　them；　and　certainly　didn’t　acknowledge　them。　They　were　beneath　her　attention。
　
　Grown。　Into　a　man。
　
　Her　face　heated　with　anger　at　the　thought。　How　could　this　be？　Someone　had　made　a　serious　mistake。　A　mistake。　An　oversight。　It　had　to　be　that。
　
　A　maidservant　on　her　hands　and　knees；　concentrating　on　wiping　at　a　spot　on　a　carpet；　looked　up　just　in　time　to　leap　back　out　of　the　way　with　a　‘Forgive　me；　Sister。’　On　her　hands　and　knees；　she　touched　her　head　to　the　floor　with　another　apology。
　
　Grown。　It　would　have　been　difficult　enough　to　turn　this　one　if　he　were　still　a　boy。　But　a　man？　She　shook　her　head　again。　Grown。　She　smacked　the　rod　against　her　thigh　in　frustration。　Two　maidservants　nearby　jumped　at　the　sound　and　fell　to　their　knees；　burying　their　tightly　closed　eyes　behind　prayerful　hands。
　
　Well；　grown　or　not；　he　would　have　a　Rada’Han　around　his　neck；　and　a　whole　palace　full　of　Sisters　to　watch　over　him。　But　even　wearing　a　Rada’Han；　he　was　still　grown　into　a　man。　And　the　Seeker。　He　might　be　difficult　to　control。　Dangerously　difficult。
　
　If　necessary；　she　guessed；　he　could　always　have　a　‘training　accident。’　If　not　that；　there　were　certainly　enough　other　dangers　to　one　with　the　gift；　dangers　that　could　leave　a　man　worse　than　dead。　But　if　she　could　turn　him；　or　use　him；　that　would　make　all　the　trouble　worthwhile。
　
　She　turned　into　a　hall　she　at　first　thought　empty；　then　noticed　a　young　woman　standing　in　the　shadows　between　lamps；　gazing　out　a　window。　She　thought　she　recognized　her。　One　of　the　novices。　She　stopped　behind　the　young　woman　and　folded　her　arms。　The　novice　tapped　her　toe　on　the　carpet　as　she　leaned　on　her　elbows　through　the　opened　window；　looking　at　the　gates　below。
　
　She　cleared　her　throat。　The　young　woman　spun；　gasped；　and　dropped　into　a　curtsy。
　
　‘Forgive　me；　Sister；　I　didn’t　hear　you　ing。　A　good　evening　to　you。’
　
　When　the　big　brown　eyes　came　up；　she　put　the　end　of　the　rod　under　the　young　woman’s　chin　and　lifted　it　a　little　more。　‘Pasha；　isn’t　it？’
　
　‘Yes；　Sister。　Pasha　Maes。　Novice；　third　rank。　Next　in　line　to　be　named。’
　
　‘Next　in　line；’　she　sniffed。　‘Presumption；　my　dear；　does　not　befit　a　Sister；　and　less　so　a　novice。　Even　one　of　the　third　rank。’
　
　Pasha　cast　her　eyes　down　and　gave　a　curtsy；　as　best　she　could　with　the　rod　still　under　her　chin。　‘Yes；　Sister。　Forgive　me。’
　
　‘What　are　you　doing　here？’
　
　‘Just　watching；　Sister。　Watching　the　night。’
　
　‘Watching　the　night。　I　would　say　you　were　watching　the　gates。　Am　I　wrong；　novice？’
　
　Pasha　tried　to　look　down；　but　the　rod　lifted　her　chin；　keeping　her　eyes　to　her　superior。　‘No；　Sister；’　she　admitted；　‘you　are　not　wrong。　I　was　watching　the　gates。’　She　licked　her　full　lips　several　times。
　
　At　last　she　spilled　out　the　words。　‘I　heard　the　talk；　the　talk　among　the　girls。　They　say；　well；　they　say　three　of　the　Sisters　have　been　gone　a　long　time　now；　and　that　could　only　mean　they　are　bringing　back　one　with　the　gift。　A　new　one。　In　all　the　years　I　have　been　here；　I；have　never　seen　a　new　one　brought　in。’　She　licked　her　lips　again。　‘Well；　I　am　。。。　I　mean　。。。　I　hope　to　be　next　in　line。　And　if　I　am　to　be　named；　I　will　have　to　be　assigned　a　new　one。’　She　knitted　her　fingers　together。　‘I　so　want　to　be　named　a　Sister。　I　have　studied　hard；　worked　hard。　Waited　and　waited。　And　no　new　one　has　e　yet。　Forgive　me　Sister；　but　I　just　can’t　help　being　excited；　and　hopeful；　that　I　will　be　worthy。　So　。。。　yes；　I　was　watching　the　gate；　hoping　I　would　see　him　brought　in。’
　
　‘And　you　think　you　are　strong　enough　to　handle　the　job？　To　handle　a　new　one？’
　
　‘Yes；　Sister。　I　study　and　practice　my　forms　every　day。’
　
　She　looked　down　her　nose　at　the　novice。　‘Is　that　so？　Show　me。’
　
　As　they　stared　at　each　other；　she　felt　her　feet　rise　off　the　ground　a　few　inches。　Solid　grip　of　air；　strong。　Not　bad。　She　wondered　if　the　novice　could　handle　interference。　With　that　thought；　fire　ignited　at　both　ends　of　the　hall；　sweeping　with　a　howl　toward　the　two　women。　Pasha　didn’t　flinch。　The　fire　hit　a　wall　of　air　before　reaching　them。　Air　was　not　the　best　for　fire。　A　small　error　Pasha　quickly　corrected。　Before　the　fire　burned　through；　the　air　became　moist；　dripping。　The　fire　hissed　out。
　
　Although　she　didn’t　try　to　move；　she　knew　she　couldn’t。　She　could　feel　that　the　grip　held　her　firmly。　She　turned　it　cold；　brittle；　with　ice；　and　broke　it。　When　she　was　free；　she　lifted　Pasha　from　the　floor。　Defensive　webs　from　the　girl　wove　through　her　snaking　onslaught；　but　failed　to　break　the　grip。　Her　feet　rose　again。　Impressive　…　the　girl　could　counter　even　while　being　held。
　
　Spells　tangled　together；　conflicting；　fighting；　snarling　into　knots。　Each　matched　and　defended；　striking　back　at　any　opportunity。　The　silent；　motionless　battle　raged　on　for　a　time；　the　two　of　them　hanging　inches　off　the　ground。
　
　At　last；　she　tired　of　the　sport　and　severed　herself　from　the　webs；　tying　them　to　the　girl；　locking　them　on。　She　settled　gently　to　the　ground；　and　left　Pasha　with　the　whole　weight　of　the　load　to　juggle。　A　simple；　if　devious；　escape：　giving　the　opponent　not　only　the　attacking　spells　to　deal　with；　but　dumping　her　own　back　on　her。　Pasha　hadn’t　been　expecting　this；　and　wasn’t　able　to　defend　against　it；　it　was　not　the　way　she　had