The Pearl of the Soul of the World - By Meredith Ann Pierce Page 0,64
Oriencor's words came back to her: Little fool… no more than her clockwork golam…unimportant! Slowly, realization dawned. To Ravenna within her, she said at last,
"You meant to sacrifice me—our entire army— to that end if need be."
A weary silence.
She was my daughter, Aeriel. I had to try.
No sound in the tent then but night wind's gentle gusting and Irrylath's soft, even breaths. The voice of the pearl said no more for a time.
"I've been your catspaw all along," Aeriel said quiedy, amazed. "We have all been your gaming beads." Then, suddenly, sharply, "Did you know the pearl would destroy her when I put it into her hand?"
The pearlstuff widün her roused sluggishly, as if reluctandy, seemed to sigh. I greatly feared it, if she would not accept the gift.
"And now you would make me the world's heir in place of Oriencor."
She worried the fine, weightless chain about her wrist, but it would neither break nor slip free."
"Ravenna's daughter,"she said bitterly. "Some called me that even before this war. And 'green-eyed enchantress.""She felt the pearlstuff moving in her blood and shivered. "Perhaps those titles have a grain of truth to them now, after all."
Behold.
Aeriel felt a change within her. Her vision sharpened, becoming infinitely more keen. Everything around her resolved into litde burning filaments that twined and juggled, mated and danced. Her own hand, Irrylath, the Edge Adamantine— everything was made of them: strung together from beads of fire.
The stuff of all the world, the voice within her said. These are my gaming beads. Return to NuRavenna, wearing the crown as my heir, and I will teach you the juggling of them, the spinning and weaving of their strands. You will become a mighty sorceress, Aeriel.
The pale girl sat gazing at the sleeping prince beside her. She shook her head. "I don't want your sorcery," she whispered. "I want to remain with Irrylath."
The pearlstuff in her blood began to simmer
Rime's End ow and seethe. Once again the images of the encroaching entropy flooded her mind.
You must leave him, the Ancient's voice persisted. The task awaiting you brooks no distraction.
You will be far too busy in NuRavenna for such mundane cares.
Aeriel leaned back and longed to weep. Her eyes stung, but no tears would fall. Despair overwhelmed her. Undeniable as the chain, everything the Ravenna within told her was true.
Child, you are not mortal anymore. Irrylath deserves a bride who will age with him.
The Ancient's words were full of compassion and sorrow, but some stubborn part of Aeriel refused to give in.
"I am his bride," she whispered.
You drank your wedding toast to a half-darkangel in Avaric, Ravenna within her answered gently. One who meant to kill you in the next hour. But you overcame him with the help of Talb the Mage. The one you wed no longer exists! Irrylath is a man again; the darkangel is no more.
"He lives!" cried Aeriel. "My own heart beats within his breast."
Because his heart was plucked from him unawares, while he lay helpless beneath the Mage's spell. Don't you see, child? Irrylath is bound to you whether he would or no. Did you not once yourself hear him say he would turn to Sabr if only he were free?
"No," Aeriel whispered, resisting still. "He would not—it's me he loves now…" But the words trailed away. Doubt gnawed at her. Gazing at Irrylath, she began to fear all his late passion, all his love were but the outcome of a stolen heart and Talb the Mage's spell. Aeriel groaned. "But he is my husband. He's mine"
Are you like the Witch, then, devoid of true love? Do you want only to possess him?
"No!" The misery that gripped her was almost unbearable.
Then set him free.
Silence.
Come, Ravenna's voice reasoned. You have freed the wraiths that were the darkangel's brides, and my Ions that had been made into gargoyles. You have freed the whole world from my daughter's power. Will you not give Irrylath his freedom now?
Aeriel sat shaking, frozen. Ravenna's exhortation filled her with terror. If she gave Irrylath back his heart, would he be lost to her? She could not bear the thought—and yet, now that the seed of suspicion was planted, it seemed she could do nothing to check its growth. Cold certainty crystallized in her: once freed, he would choose Sabr. The fine chain chafed against her wrist. The pearl-stuff in her blood waited, whispering. Her gaze fell upon the white gown into which she had awakened in NuRavenna.