Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 455
an intimate, hence cruel, reminder of all that they had once
meant to one another. Now his chest hurt, and he could feel
the muscles in his face pulling back. I must look like these
men, he thought, just another soldier with pain indelibly
stamped on his face.
Yet below the banner stood an open door. She had
reminded him of their past; and she had opened a way for him.
Maybe things would work out. Somehow, though,
nothing had prepared Lavin for what he was feeling now. In
all his planning, he had been able to avoid his own feelings,
lest they stand in the way of his saving her from herself. By
this one gesture Galas had let him know that whatever
happened during the next few hours, for him it would be like
walking through fire.
Inside, the citadel showed no signs of the siege. The
sumptuous furnishings were still in place, and liveried servants
waited to guide Lavin and his guide up the marble flights to
Galas’ audience chamber. Last time he was here, there had
been nobility everywhere, posing lords and ladies smiling and
exchanging the barbed words of their intrigues. The
candelabra overhead, now dark, had blazed brightly, bringing
life to the fantastical figures painted on the ceiling. He
remembered Galas, on his arm, pointing up at the images, and
telling him stories about them. She was girlish for once, and
his heart had melted so that he barely heard the words
themselves, so entranced was he by their tone.
He steeled himself to his purpose, and looked down to
floor level. The thief Enneas had schooled him in the layout of
the basements of the palace. Enneas had never been above
ground level here; Lavin never below it. Together, they had
assembled a rough map of Enneas’s secret path into the