“She can redeem you.”
He smiled. “I’m beyond redemption, Gruah. You know that.” He cocked his head. “When did you stop hating me?”
A ripple passed through the ghostly shape. “When you began to grieve for us, Cededa. The king you are now should have been the king to rule us then.”
“A fine wisdom I realize now, four thousand years too late.”
“Four thousand years ago, you wouldn’t have listened to such wisdom.”
The mist began to thin, sinking to a shapeless, swirling tide. It floated toward the door, pausing at Cededa’s “Wait.”
He waded into the vapor until it floated around his knees. “Will you ever forgive me for Mir, wife?”
A pale ribbon separated itself from the vaporous mass. A chilly caress drifted over Cededa’s cheekbone.
“No, Sire. Such a thing isn’t possible—not now. ”
He sighed. “Indeed.”
The ribbon retreated, swallowed into the greater mist. It floated out the door, disappearing into the cloisters’ shadows. Cededa followed its path until he reached the palace doors. Once outside, he surveyed the city cloaked in darkness. Imogen was nowhere in sight. Above him, the moon hid her mocking face behind a veil of clouds.
A distant sound teased his sensitive hearing. Imogen. Somewhere in Tineroth, Death’s handmaiden wept for the massacred.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After crying her eyes out on the palace steps, Imogen fled into the city’s heart. Two months in Tineroth and the eerie hush no longer bothered her. Now, it was a boon. There were none to wonder or remark on her flight as she made her way to the library and sat down on the toppled column Cededa had used as a seat when he first brought her here.
Imogen gave a humorless chuckle at the sight of the omnipresent mist drifting toward her. Tineroth’s spectral custodian, and Imogen’s watchful guard. It blanketed the steps, pausing at her feet. A sudden pressure rested against her ankle. Imogen looked down to see a full water skin next to her. She lifted it, took a healthy swallow of water and rinsed her mouth several times.
“My thanks.”
She didn’t expect an answer and jumped when the mist suddenly rose higher, separating itself into distinct forms that shifted and swayed with the steady breeze.
Imogen scrambled to her feet. Before her stood a virtual crowd of wraiths, their pellucid features obscured by the play of shadow and moonlight. Still, she made out what looked to be an army. Men armored for battle, helmeted and carrying both shield and sword. They hovered behind a small group of women with children at their side. A stately figure, pride evident in the set of her insubstantial shoulders, drifted closer to Imogen.
She raised a spectral hand and pointed to the side. Imogen followed her direction. The air rippled and shadows realigned themselves, lightening to become floating images of things that once existed in Tineroth.