The Pearl of the Soul of the World - By Meredith Ann Pierce Page 0,17

Avaric?"

Aeriel felt her husband shudder. He nodded slowly.

"How came you by those scars upon your cheek?" said Avarclon. "You were fair to look at once."

She felt him draw a ragged breath. Without thinking, she started to take his hand—but then she did think, and did not dare. She heard a rumble from the lyon of the desert behind her. The prince's glance flicked that way for an instant, passing over her without a thought. He turned back to the equustel.

"Pendarlon," he whispered.

The Ion of Avaric turned his head and eyed the young man sidelong, sidling. "I died a hard death in exile because of you," he said. "I loved you once."

Irrylath sank down, and Aeriel feared at first he must be faint or falling—but then she realized he was kneeling before the equustel.

"Avarclon," he said. "So much has befallen since I was young and rode your back and pulled your hair, that I hardly know whether I can love you or anyone ever again. But I remember loving you—before the White Witch had me and made me what I was. Of all the wrong I did while in that shape, I swear it was killing you that was the worst. I did not know you then, or know myself. But I face you now and know you.

"I no longer serve the Witch. The wedding toast I drank from your hoof has freed me of her enchantment. I have sworn to overthrow her now, to cast down and unmake her and all her darkangels.

But I need a steed. Each of your fellow Ions has accepted one of my brothers as a rider. But now no mount remains for me. Will you aid me? I beg you. Let me ride you again as once we rode. Be my ally for a daymonth, a year—and at the end of this war, I shall be yours, to do with as you will."

Aeriel paled, staring at the prince. A kind of roaring filled her ears. At the end of this war, she had had such hopes—that Irrylath might consent to be hers at last: her own true husband, her love. A bitter taste came into her mouth. Her balance swayed. Irrylath, Irrylath, she wanted to cry. But Irrylath had forgotten her. Shaken, she said nothing, eyeing the kneeling prince of Avaric. He had bowed his head.

The starhorse was coming forward to touch his nose to the young man's brow.

"A truce then," said the Ion, very sofdy. "As you wish. Until the Witch be overthrown. Then, make no mistake, I will have my due—but no matter! We will not think of diat now. Come take the air widi me, king's son of Avaric. Let me see if you still remember how to ride."

Irrylath looked up. Aeriel heard his indrawn breath, saw a joy almost too strong to bear break over his face. He leapt up, catching the starhorse's mane. The silver steed danced back, his great wings stroking as if to tease the prince. Then he turned, and in a bound, Irrylath was astride him. With a mighty leap, the starhorse launched himself and sped away upon the air, circling and climbing above the square while the crowd cried out, craning to see.

Few had heard what had passed between the starhorse and the prince, Aeriel knew—perhaps she alone had heard—and only she could not rejoice. She watched her husband soaring overhead, horse and rider swooping and diving together in dizzying arcs. She could see the prince's face, even at this distance, suffused with rapture still. Was it the wind, the sensation of flight, she wondered, or having won an old friend's forgiveness, if only for a while, or that he and his brothers might now ride against the Witch with some hope of success?

Aeriel only knew that once more he had turned away from her. She felt one hot tear spill before dashing the others angrily aside. She refused to weep openly, here under public gaze. A hand slipped quietly into hers. Startled, she turned. Her friend Erin stood beside her: a tall, spare girl with skin black as night. Her eyes, like jet, found Aeriel's. The dark girl pressed her hand. Of all this great, sprawling throng, Aeriel realized, only Erin was not watching the prince and his steed wheeling and tumbling overhead.

Only Erin had eyes for Aeriel.

"and after the conclave?" the ancientlady asked.

Her voice was quiet, patient, but pressing. Aeriel sensed that she must waste no time. She still could not see her questioner.