Page 25 of Black Hellebore
Ildiko shook her head, the motion causing the stone to drop from his claw. “All the more reason to wear it as often as I can. This necklace led you to me. Its chain is more than thin gold. Whatever memories are bound to it, they’re of no importance compared to the reason you gave it to me in the first place. That’s what matters most.”
A sharp wind hurtled through the garden, sending up snow flurries and making the white flowers shiver and dance on their stems. Tiny drifts of snow scattered off their petals as they bowed to the frigid breeze. Bowed but didn’t break, anchored to earth by strong black roots that resisted the bitter cold and bloomed in defiance.
Ildiko shivered with them and stood. Her cheeks were ruddy, and she sniffled. “I’ve had enough of snow and sunshine,” she declared. “Shall we find our bed?”
Happy to get out of the bright light and huddle with his wife under the covers, Brishen didn’t need to be told twice. He grasped her hand and followed her through the garden, and she laughed at his eagerness. Ildiko reached forward to push the gate open, glancing back at him with a smile. Her eyes shone the preternatural blue of a Wraith King.
His heart stuttered to a stop for a moment, as it did each time she awakened from the dream-vision with Megiddo’s command on her lips.
His expression must have alarmed her. She paused, and her smile fell away. “Brishen?”
He’d fought Death on a hillside at Orshulgyn to save her, surrendered what remained of his magic to heal her broken body and unwittingly passed on to her a connection to the imprisoned monk.
“Witch, open the gate for me.”
Who was the witch? What was the gate? And what would happen when someone obeyed that imperative?
He forced a smile, raising her cold hand to his lips to kiss her palm. “All is well. The sun pains my eyes.”
Her doubtful look warned he wasn’t as convincing as he’d hoped. She eyed him a moment longer before accepting his answer, the ethereal blue of her gaze fading as quickly as it appeared. “Then let’s go inside.” She reached once more for the gate, its lattice of black iron glazed in a thin coating of ice.
Brishen pivoted to block her, and her eyebrows rose. “Allow me. Cold metal on bare hands is never pleasant.”
The latch clanged sharply when he shoved the gate open with his foot. He hesitated, listening, searching for some alteration to the world around them. He breathed a relieved sigh whennothing changed, and he ushered his shivering wife out of the garden. The wind sang, the snow danced, and a Wraith King watched from a waiting dream.
