Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 668
"We have other concerns," said the crystalline voice of
the pillar.
"Please." He found it hard to speak past the savage pain
in his chest. "Let me go to her."
"No. We have a schedule to meet. Your queen is not
important."
He froze. Suddenly he felt all eyes on him. Should he
shout the fury he felt now, with his army watching? What
would they do if they realized that he, and they, were prisoners
of the Winds, pawns in some game of theirs that had nothing to
do with Iapysia, or humanity at all?
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the priest, his face
grim, a message of caution in his eyes.
Deliberately, jaw clenched, Lavin bowed to the flame. "I
understand," he said. "You are correct, of course."
Walking away was somehow easy. He moved as if
weightless, bobbing along. People were speaking to him, but
their words made no sense. Light and shape registered, but
none of it had any meaning. She was dead, and it was his fault,
as surely as if he had shot her himself. This moment had
haunted his dreams for months, and he had steeled himself
every morning to deny it, using the force of his will to
command himself, his men, the world and Winds to preserve
her. Just yesterday he had awoken sure that she was alive and
free, and his heart had lofted like a swallow, serene and happy.
But that was gone now, and he would never feel again.
Gradually the hands fell away, the voices receded. He
found himself standing near one of the giant hatchways. Cold
air moved across his face, but it didn't revive him. It had the
feel of death to it. Far below he could see patches of snow,
bare trees. No one should ever die in winter, he had always felt.
And now she was that cold, limbs frozen. He should be with