She Walks in Darkness by Evangeline Walton Page A

“They say the old man said to her, ‘I will be kind. Since you wished to lie with my son, you shall do so until your bones crumble.’ And so it was done—that kindness of the Carenni!”
    “Are you sure? I thought—my husband said nobody really knew what had happened—” I felt sick.
    “When Prince Mino himself came of age, his father took him down into the vaults to see them. It is indeed a ritual with the heir of the Carenni. ‘The most noble and proud Carenni.’”
    “How horrible!”
    “But such horror as the pride and power of those old families made possible. That a young girl should be kept prisoner in this lonely place to serve an old man’s lust—a few words mumbled by a priest made that right, respectable. But that youth should turn to youth—that was sin. Shame and treachery. A crime that deserved the worst of punishments.”
    “And got it. The death that girl died! Slowly, in the dark—” My voice broke.
    “She got off easily. She had betrayed one Carenni, and corrupted another. Women who betrayed that sacred breed more recently have died more slowly. Uglier deaths.” The bitterness in his voice cut like a knife. “Prince Mino was no better than his ancestors, signora. Never think that. Never forget the kindness of the Carennis.”
    “For a moment I wondered just what he was talking about, then sheer horror caught me again. “You said ‘uglier deaths.’ What could be worse? That poor girl—down there in the dark—”
    I suppose it was because I was so very tired, had been under a strain for so long, but I suddenly began to cry. I kept on crying, out of plain panic, just because I was ashamed of myself for doing it. Floriano moved towards me and I wondered if he was going to slap me, as hysterical heroines in books and plays get slapped. I stepped back, quickly, sank into a chair.
    “It’s all right. I’m all right.”
    He halted. Did a shade of disappointment, of something uglier, cross that beautiful face? Make it momentarily less beautiful? It passed; he shrugged.
    “But it could be much better, signora. Me, I am told that I have a good shoulder for beautiful ladies to cry on.”
    No doubt, I thought. I said, “Better not let married women use it too much. Remember Amedeo.” And laughed again. For another panicky second I thought that that laughter too was going to go on and on. Thank goodness, it didn’t.
    “At least Amedeo and that girl knew joy before they died, signora.” His eyes met mine; their warmth was like a physical touch.
    “I hope it was worth it.”
    It hadn’t been; I knew that. Not worth the hunger and the thirst, the smell of dead flesh rotting beside her in the blackness. Flesh that had been strong and beautiful and loving, perhaps as beautiful as Floriano’s.... Had she finally turned and torn it before she died? Had that been the old devil’s plan?
    “Had she lived, she would have suffered far more. With the old man sleeping beside her every night.” Floriano’s voice was very gentle; he might have been reading my thoughts. “He outlived her by ten years. She did well to enjoy her youth as best she could.”
    He was closer than I had thought, close beside me. I snatched at any way to change the subject. “Hadn’t we better finish the diary? There can’t be much of it left.”
    He rose to that bait, much more quickly than I had expected. “Yes.”
    There wasn’t much left, but what there was soon became electrifying. There is nothing to show how or when Roger Carstairs made his great discovery, but make it he did.
    “Schliemann never found such treasure at Troy, nor Evans at Knossos.... Masses...brought here from many palaces and temples, one by one...cities fell before the Romans. He’s labeled some...from...fabled shrine or two-sexed Veltha, whose site nobody knows, though for ages the Rasenna from all Twelve Cities gathered there yearly.... Never has been...discovery like this. Never...can’t keep his secret, such treasure belongs to all