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"GONE?" IRRYLATH'S VOICE WAS LOW, dangerous. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean what I said, brother." Hadin replied nervously. "Aeriel left three daymonths ago, across the Sea-of-Dust. She did not say where she was going, only that she had a task that took her elsewhere."
"And I asked after her but two daymonths ago, and then you told me she was at kirk!" The prince snarled. "Which is the truth?"
The younger prince lowered his head in shame. "She told me to wait to tell you where she had gone. But she said for me to give this to you as well." He produced a great mass of shimmering golden cloth, and placed it in Irrylath's hands. "I trust you know what it is, brother?"
"Aeriel's wedding sari!" Irrylath murmured in amazement, handling the fabric with care. "But why would she give this to me? Not unless-"
Suspicion flared in him as he gazed on the cloth. Unless she wanted to be rid of you, a nagging voice in his head whispered. Perhaps she tired of looking after a pesky once-cursed prince, and had 'a task' that was more important than you.
He frowned, glaring at the fabric. "The Witch will be looking for her...she might find her."
"The Witch that put you under enchantment, brother?" Hadin volunteered, but Irrylath was not listening.
Those green eyes can see far more than any mortal's, the voice hissed. She could probably handle the Witch if she came along, and stop on her way home to collect you and make you her slave.
"Leave me alone," Irrylath whispered hoarsely. "I need to be alone."
"If you are sure, brother." Hadin said softly, concern written on his face as he left. But it was not Hadin that Irrylath had been speaking to.
Irrylath smashed a nearby glass, throwing objects at the wall in a rage. "These are Witchsent thoughts!" he roared. "My mind is my own! Get out of my head!"
::
IRRYLATH SAT BEFORE HIS MOTHER, his eyes focused on the floor in front of him. He didn't dare look at her, knowing that the disappointment in her eyes would make him ashamed.
But he didn't want to be ashamed. It was his business if it took all the yelling and destruction it was capable of to shut out the Witch's voice. In the end, it was worth it.
As much as the thought terrified him, he was beginning to care what happened to Aeriel. To say that he cared for her was perhaps going a little too far, but he would be more than a little upset if she died in Westernesse, away from him.
"My son..." The Lady Syllva's voice was hesitant. "I heard you were causing considerable damage to your quarters." She paused. "Are they in any way unsatisfactory to you?"
"No, mother." Irrylath was unsure of what to say. Clearly, he had upset her. On the other hand, how was he to explain the real reason behind his behavior without telling the truth of his condition?
"Aeriel went across the Sea-of-Dust three days ago." The words came unbidden from his mouth. "Hadin knew, but she told him not to tell me for a while, until she was clean off."
"I am sure she had good reason for such an abrupt departure," Syllva said gently. "Perhaps she knew that you would be opposed to her leaving, and wanted to go without any fuss."
"But why would she leave at all?" Irrylath said angrily.
"Not your bride, I see that now. What am I then, your tormentor?" Guilt washed over him as he recalled her words in the garden. Perhaps she did have reason to leave.
"I never... meant her harm," the prince whispered to himself.
His mother simply looked at him with sorrow in her eyes.
Irrylath had told his wife that she did not know him. Then again, he did not know her. How was he to have any idea what her purpose in Westernesse was? Where would she go?
He stood abruptly. "Mother, if you would please excuse me, there are some things I need to attend to." Not waiting for a response, he strode away towards the quarters that he had previously shared with Aeriel.
-
IRRYLATH SAT ON A COUCH IN THE OUTER CHAMBER OF HIS QUARTERS, Aeriel's wedding sari on his lap. It was made of a truly beautiful fabric.
And Aeriel looks beautiful when she wears it, a little voice in his head said. Somehow, he doubted that it was a Witchsent thought.
He ran his fingers over the golden cloth. "Why would she leave this with me?" he said aloud. "Did she think she was not going to return? Did she... want me to think of her?"
The prince closed his eyes and thought of the Terrainean girl. He had not known her very long, but somehow he felt as though he had not lived until he met her. So many times Irrylath had tried to put in words how he felt, but then he had seen her green eyes.
When he was the darkangel, he had thought them pretty. But when he was the darkangel, he had not considered how similar they were to the Witch's eyes.
Irrylath shuddered, but not from the cold. The Witch...
There had been a time when he thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. There had been a time when he would have done anything for her.
And yet, even before then, there had been a time when he was as afraid of her as he was now. More so, because he had no sword then.
It was because of the Witch that he dreaded sleep. A slow horror built up in his chest from Solstar-set until the moment that he lay down on his bed. The prince had wondered sometimes if he could try to live without sleep until he had killed the Witch, but never enforced the idea.
Oh, how he hated that woman, if she even was a woman anymore! She had the physical body of a woman (Irrylath shuddered again), but surely she was too wicked, too soul-less to be human anymore.
He still remembered the Witch's chains of winterock, the little box where she kept her heart of dust, and that room...
That room where she had showed him a pair of pure black wings. "Those will be yours soon, my love," she had crooned to him.
Irrylath shook his head violently, trying to change the pattern of his thoughts. Bad enough that she plagued his dreams. He did not need her to invade his waking thoughts as well.
His fingers tightened around the fine fabric in his hands, and he noticed it again. Aeriel's sari...
The prince's shoulder's slumped. Oh, there was no help for it. If he stayed in Isternes, he would go mad before long. Even if his wife were a sorceress, surely her magic could not protect her from everything.
Folding the cloth almost religiously, Irrylath wondered again what had possessed her to leave so quickly. A task, Hadin had said. But what task?
What has she left unfinished? Irrylath's eyes widened. "No," he whispered hoarsely.
He stood abruptly, near clutching the sari to him. If she hunted the Witch, he must find her. Sorceress or no, surely she was no match for the lorelei. This she must leave undone, at least, until the Avarclon was restored. Until he had mustered his courage.
It was only three daymonths. Surely he could find her if he tried.