Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 329
He shrugged. "I’ve heard things. They were obvious
distortions. I came to you because I wanted to hear the story
from the source."
"Why?"
He considered, staring out at the amber sky. "I have been
reading the books in your library. They all point to
something... a mystery. I mean a mystery in the religious
sense, almost. A meaning. When I came here I thought I was
after facts, but now I see I’m after more than that. I want
answers."
"You? The man whose very mind is an impregnable
fortress of history?" She laughed. "You astonish me."
Serious, he said, "In the bits and pieces of your story that
I’ve heard, I catch echoes of that mystery. I believe you know
more than you realize. You have wisdom you have hidden
from yourself."
"And can you show me this wisdom?" Her hands
trembled, as they had in the garden when his messenger
fluttered down to land on her knee.
"I don’t know."
"You toy with me!" She had leaned forward in anger,
and felt the folds of her dress fall apart at her back. Galas sat
back again quickly.
"No."
"And what will you give me in return for my story? I
think I no longer wish to hear your own tale."
He looked at her for a long moment. Something like a
smile danced around his lips. Galas found her heart racing at
his examination, and her eyes traced the muscles in his arms,
the set of his shoulders.
Then he did smile, rather impishly. "I should be very
much surprised if you do not have the answer to that question