Read Online Delia of Vallia by Alan Burt Akers - Free Book Online

she reached into the space beyond the picture and took out a bronze key. The handle was cast into the form of a stemmed rose.
    Next to Velia her twin brother’s face stared in powerful authority from the painted panel. This was Zeg, who had been called Seg in honor of Seg Segutorio. Now Zeg was King of Zandikar, and the face of his wife, Queen Miam, smiled from her own portrait. One day she and Zeg would have to visit Vallia, or Delia and her husband would have to make the long journey to the inner sea of Kregen, the Eye of the World.
    As for the next portrait — and here Delia sighed in a way far removed from her patient long-suffering anguish over Velia — this was her daughter Dayra, ferocious, mischievous, led into evil ways. This was Dayra, known as Ros the Claw. She it was, surmised Delia, who was the cause of this summons to Lancival.
    Dayra’s twin, Jaidur, known as Vax Neemusbane, looked out from the next picture, and with him his wife, Lildra. They were now King and Queen of Hyrklana. Jaidur had served the SoR very well on secret errands, many of them not even known to his mother. Now he was settling down nicely with Lildra in the island kingdom of Hyrklana. A touch of real responsibility had worked wonders for his wildness, a wild streak he shared with his twin sister and which she showed no signs of outgrowing.
    The penultimate portrait, of Velia, a daughter born later, loved and named for the older Velia, again would soon require replacement, for Velia was growing up. Delia hoped the mistress would allow a visit with Velia here in Lancival, for Velia was being educated and trained by the SoR. It might not be possible. Discipline sometimes imposed a harshness well-nigh insupportable to a mother.
    She held the bronze rose-key in her hand.
    She knew — she had been told — that her dip in the Sacred Pool of Baptism in far Aphrasöe had conferred upon her a thousand years of life. She did not age. She had seen to it that her children and her friends and loved ones had also bathed. Like her husband, she had for the moment pushed aside the unanswerable questions this longevity aroused. If the time ever came for drastic measures, she, at least, would be ready.
    Crossing to the chest with the rose-arbor legs, she opened the front doors.
    She took out a silver-mounted balass wood box, the wood hard and black and shining. She opened the box. From it she took a thick, black, snakelike whip. This she put on the bed, quickly.
    From its velvet bed she lifted her Claw.
    Shining, razor-sharp steel, clawed with talons, the thing fitted up her left arm with steel splines. She turned it over. It shone with oil. With it she had been trained to rip a person’s face off.
    She put it back, quickly, replaced the whip, shut the lid, and pushed the box back into the chest.
    Despite what the mistress might say, Delia did not intend — just yet and so soon — to wear the Claw and carry the Whip.
    “Not,” she said, half to herself, “not yet, by Vox!”
    She shook her brown hair free about her naked shoulders. Then she picked up two fluffy yellow towels and walked along the corridor to the bathrooms. She left the door of Velda’s room open.
    Steam engulfed her in the suite of bathrooms. Naked women walked about, took the steam, talked, swam in the pool. Delia was quick. At this time she wished merely to wash off everything she could of her stay in Mellinsmot.
    She was not sure; but it seemed more than likely that Tandu had also written a note, sent by the icemen. He had expressed no surprise at her sudden determination on departure.
    “Yes, my lady. We can do all that is necessary here until the sisters arrive.”
    “May Djan go with you, my lady,” Dalki had said, looking up as the flier lifted.
    They had called the remberees, cheerfully. Yes, Delia reflected, toweling herself briskly and bringing up the circulation, yes, it was almost certain. Her two Djangs must have said that the empress needed to be hoicked out of the