The Evil Queen is gone, punished forever, and the twins took the Sacred Core, yes, but when I search the world for the visions or the voices of our kind I can’t find the twins. I hear nothing of them, though I want to know where they are.”
“They have retreated,” said Marius. “They know they must hide. They know that someone may try to take the Sacred Core from them. They know that someone, bitter and finished with this world, may seek to destroy us all.”
“Ah, yes,” said Thorne. He felt a chill come over his limbs. He wished suddenly that he had more blood in his veins. That he could go out and hunt—but then he didn’t want to leave this warm place and these flowing words, not just now. It was too soon.
He felt guilty that he had not told the whole truth of his suffering and his purpose to Marius. He didn’t know if he could, and it seemed a terrible thing now to be under this roof, yet he remained there.
“I know your truth,” said Marius gently. “You’ve come forth with one vow and that is to find Maharet and do harm to her.”
Thorne winced as though he’d been struck hard in the chest. He made no answer.
“Such a thing,” said Marius, “is impossible. You knew it when you left her centuries ago for your sleep in the ice. She is powerful beyond our imagining. And I can tell you, without doubt, that her sister never leaves her.”
Thorne could find no words. At last he spoke in a tense whisper.
“Why do I hate her for the form of life she gave me, when I never hated my mortal mother and father?”
Marius nodded and gave a bitter smile.
“It’s a wise question,” Marius said. “Abandon your hope of harming her. Stop dreaming of those chains in which she once bound Lestat unless you truly wish for her to bind you in them.”
It was Thorne’s turn to nod.
“But what were those chains?” he asked, his voice tense and bitter as before, “and why do I want to be her hateful prisoner? So that she can know my wrath every night as she keeps me close to her?”
“Chains made of her red hair?” Marius suggested, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “bound with steel and with her blood?” he mused. “Bound with steel and with her blood and gold, perhaps. I never saw them. I only knew of them, and that they kept Lestat helpless in all his anger.”
“I want to know what they were,” said Thorne. “I want to find her.”
“Forswear that purpose, Thorne,” said Marius. “I can’t take you to her. And what if she beckoned for you as she did so long ago, and then she destroyed you when she discovered your hatred?”
“She knew of it when I left her,” said Thorne.
“And why did you go?” Marius asked. “Was it the simple jealousy of others which your thoughts reveal to me?”
“She took them in favor one at a time. I couldn’t endure it. You speak of a Druid priest who became a blood drinker. I know of such a one. Mael was his name, the very name you’ve spoken. She brought him into her small circle, a welcome lover. He was old in the Blood and had tales to tell, and she longed for this more than anything. I turned away from her then. I scarce think she saw me retreat. I scarce think she felt my hatred.”
Marius was listening intently. Then he spoke.
“Mael,” he said, his words gentle and patient. “Tall and gaunt always, with a high bridged nose and deep-set blue eyes and long blond hair from his servitude in the Sacred Grove. That’s the Mael who lured your sweet Maharet from you?”
“Yes,” said Thorne. He felt the pain in his chest slacken. “And she was sweet, that I can’t deny, and she never spurned me. It was I who wandered away, towards the North land. It was I who hated him for his flattery of her and his clever stories.”
“Don’t seek a quarrel with her,” Marius said. “Stay here with me, and by and by, she may come to know that you’re here, and she may send you her welcome. Be wise then, I beg you.”
Thorne nodded again. It was
“They have retreated,” said Marius. “They know they must hide. They know that someone may try to take the Sacred Core from them. They know that someone, bitter and finished with this world, may seek to destroy us all.”
“Ah, yes,” said Thorne. He felt a chill come over his limbs. He wished suddenly that he had more blood in his veins. That he could go out and hunt—but then he didn’t want to leave this warm place and these flowing words, not just now. It was too soon.
He felt guilty that he had not told the whole truth of his suffering and his purpose to Marius. He didn’t know if he could, and it seemed a terrible thing now to be under this roof, yet he remained there.
“I know your truth,” said Marius gently. “You’ve come forth with one vow and that is to find Maharet and do harm to her.”
Thorne winced as though he’d been struck hard in the chest. He made no answer.
“Such a thing,” said Marius, “is impossible. You knew it when you left her centuries ago for your sleep in the ice. She is powerful beyond our imagining. And I can tell you, without doubt, that her sister never leaves her.”
Thorne could find no words. At last he spoke in a tense whisper.
“Why do I hate her for the form of life she gave me, when I never hated my mortal mother and father?”
Marius nodded and gave a bitter smile.
“It’s a wise question,” Marius said. “Abandon your hope of harming her. Stop dreaming of those chains in which she once bound Lestat unless you truly wish for her to bind you in them.”
It was Thorne’s turn to nod.
“But what were those chains?” he asked, his voice tense and bitter as before, “and why do I want to be her hateful prisoner? So that she can know my wrath every night as she keeps me close to her?”
“Chains made of her red hair?” Marius suggested, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “bound with steel and with her blood?” he mused. “Bound with steel and with her blood and gold, perhaps. I never saw them. I only knew of them, and that they kept Lestat helpless in all his anger.”
“I want to know what they were,” said Thorne. “I want to find her.”
“Forswear that purpose, Thorne,” said Marius. “I can’t take you to her. And what if she beckoned for you as she did so long ago, and then she destroyed you when she discovered your hatred?”
“She knew of it when I left her,” said Thorne.
“And why did you go?” Marius asked. “Was it the simple jealousy of others which your thoughts reveal to me?”
“She took them in favor one at a time. I couldn’t endure it. You speak of a Druid priest who became a blood drinker. I know of such a one. Mael was his name, the very name you’ve spoken. She brought him into her small circle, a welcome lover. He was old in the Blood and had tales to tell, and she longed for this more than anything. I turned away from her then. I scarce think she saw me retreat. I scarce think she felt my hatred.”
Marius was listening intently. Then he spoke.
“Mael,” he said, his words gentle and patient. “Tall and gaunt always, with a high bridged nose and deep-set blue eyes and long blond hair from his servitude in the Sacred Grove. That’s the Mael who lured your sweet Maharet from you?”
“Yes,” said Thorne. He felt the pain in his chest slacken. “And she was sweet, that I can’t deny, and she never spurned me. It was I who wandered away, towards the North land. It was I who hated him for his flattery of her and his clever stories.”
“Don’t seek a quarrel with her,” Marius said. “Stay here with me, and by and by, she may come to know that you’re here, and she may send you her welcome. Be wise then, I beg you.”
Thorne nodded again. It was
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