Sinner. Sara Douglass

before its warmth. “What did you think about WolfStar?”

      Drago did not answer.

      Now Zenith hugged her arms to herself, her eyes unfocused. “He scares me, Drago. I did not like the way he looked at me. The way he touched me.”

      “I am sure there are some dozen or more people within Sigholt today who could say they do not like the way WolfStar looks at them.” He still had not raised his eyes from the bowl.

      Zenith studied Drago carefully. He was kneading dough as if he wanted to bruise it.

      “Drago …” She hesitated, but thought it needed to be discussed. “How did it make you feel to learn the name of WolfStar’s son?”

      Drago lifted the mass of dough out of the bowl and slammed it down on the table, sending flour drifting in a cloud about him. He lifted his eyes and stared at Zenith.

      “If he did not lie – and from the tales we’ve heard we know how WolfStar can lie – then all I can say is that DragonStar is a cursed name. Both of us condemned to our different deaths.”

      “Drago –”

      “Except that I think WolfStar’s son died far more gently than I!” He started to roll the dough back and forth, back and forth.

      “Drago –”

      “I do not want to talk about it!” He chopped the dough in two with the side of his hand, played at shaping one of the pieces into a pie crust, then suddenly threw it into a corner of the kitchen with all the strength he could.

       “I do not want to talk about it!”

      “Damn you, Drago! You must talk sometime!”

      Drago rounded on her. “Look at you, Zenith! You are beautiful, vital, and you revel in your Enchanter powers. You have an aeon to live. Look at me!”

      His fingers pinched at his body, then his face. “Look at me! I am wrinkling and ageing. I get out of breath climbing the stairs to the roof. All the magic I can perform is getting this … this … this arse-blasted lump of pastry to rise in the oven! And all I ever hear about this cursed Keep is how vile I am, how much air is wasted on my breath, and how I can never be trusted or loved or relied upon!”

      Unable to bear her brother’s pain, Zenith lowered her eyes and toyed with the handle of a pot on the range hotplate. She could not blame Drago for feeling angry or resentful. No-one in their family seemed willing to harbour a single positive thought for the man or to consider that perhaps he had been punished enough. No-one seemed to entertain the idea that Drago might be so consumed by bitterness that his very punishment might drive him to ill-considered action.

      And no-one save she had ever seemed to think through the implications of what Azhure had done to him. Icarii babies were very different from human babies in that they were completely aware from the moment of their birth and, indeed, many months before it. All Icarii memories stretched back to events pre-birth. But when Drago was only a few months old, Azhure had stripped him of his Icarii heritage, and had plunged his mind into the dim murkiness of human infancy. Drago’s memories could not date from anything earlier than his second or third year of life.

      Drago would have no memory of the events that had seen him so cruelly punished. He was largely reviled, mistrusted, unloved and, above all, condemned to a life of only some three or four score of years, when he could have expected hundreds at least, for a crime he could not remember!

      No-one cared about how Drago might be feeling or what kind of man lay buried beneath all the years of built-up bitterness. Zenith alone of the immediate family rather liked Drago; perhaps because she’d not yet been conceived when he had arranged Caelum’s kidnapping. Drago had a sharp wit and was, in odd, unexpected moments, kind and thoughtful.

      He is trapped here in Sigholt, Zenith realised suddenly. Trapped by other people’s memories of what he did as a child.

       As I am trapped by another’s memories.

      Zenith went ice cold. Was that what it was? Why she had such unexplained memories invading her mind? Were they someone else’s? But whose?

      “Perhaps we should both leave Sigholt for a while,” she said softly.

      “What?” Drago had given up his efforts at cooking and was piling bowls into the sink with loud, angry rattles.

      “Drago, how long is it since you left Sigholt?” Zenith moved forward but stopped as Drago’s face tightened. “I don’t think you’ve left in at least eight years. Drago … why?”

      He stared at her, not answering.

      “There is nothing keeping either of us here … why don’t we visit StarDrifter? Escape the tensions in this Keep?”

      “Why should you want to leave?”

      Why indeed? Zenith almost said, “Because of WolfStar”, but stopped, knowing she couldn’t explain to Drago, let alone herself, her deep-seated fright of the Enchanter, her unsettling visions, or her recurring gaps in consciousness.

      “Because there is a world of purpose out there,” she said eventually, “and because neither of us has a purpose in here.”

      “If I have no purpose it is because my life has been made deliberately purposeless! I am not trusted enough to be given the responsibility of a purpose.”

      “Then why not leave, Drago? StarDrifter would enjoy seeing both of us.”

      He looked at her, his violet eyes soft, almost gentle in this light, and she knew he was remembering the image of StarDrifter she had conjured up, and the happy months they had spent on the Island of Mist and Memory as children.

      “I have no purpose anywhere,” he finally said, his voice weary with resignation. “Wherever I go I will always be the vile traitor.”

      “You can remake your life if you leave Sigholt. Please, Drago.”

      He seized her shoulders, and Zenith was astounded to see tears in his eyes. “I can never escape, Zenith! Never! Word would spread that Axis’ untrustworthy and evil son Drago is travelling the land. Doors everywhere would be closed to me. I have no life here in Sigholt, but I would have no life anywhere. Now, will you leave me alone?”

      And he strode from the kitchen.

       11 Niah’s Legacy

      Even more troubled now, Zenith climbed to the rooftop of Sigholt. She stood and watched the lights shut out one by one in the town of Lakesview on the other side of the lake. She let the warm breeze caress her, and briefly contemplated a flight over the lake and hills. But she was tired, her mind full of problems, and she preferred just to lean over the wall of the roof and let the view soothe her.

      Determined not to think of WolfStar, or Zared and Leagh’s troubles, or even of Drago, Zenith fixed her thoughts on RiverStar’s claim to have found a new lover. And one she might wed? Zenith almost laughed aloud. Maybe her lover considered marrying RiverStar, but Zenith doubted seriously that her sister would ever go that far. She enjoyed her freedoms too much to discard them for fidelity.

      Unless … unless her lover were SunSoar. A SunSoar might well tempt RiverStar, but who was available to her here in Sigholt if not first blood?

      Zenith frowned. FreeFall … but FreeFall was impossible. He and his wife EvenSong were virtually inseparable, and EvenSong was here with him. Besides, who could ever think of FreeFall and RiverStar … no, that was laughable. Surely.

      And WolfStar. WolfStar was here – how much longer had he been about before he made his presence known? His penchant for disguises was legendary. If he was RiverStar’s new lover, had he been coming to her in the guise of a stableboy, or himself?

      No,