An idea came to her mind.
Moving on trembling limbs, she climbed back down the stairs, digging into her bodice for the key with one hand. She remembered hearing rumors about the secret passage of Gaheris Castle, a secret to which Lady Mintha would certainly be privy.
In an unlit corner beyond the fireplace, a musty old tapestry hung. Leta pulled this back and gasped in relief to find a door there in the stone wall. An old, brass-fastened door that led nowhere as far as she knew.
It was difficult to see anything in the dimness, but she felt out the lock of the door and, with a little fumbling, inserted the key. It fit perfectly.
Her fingers trembling, Leta tried to turn it. The lock, unused in many generations, resisted. Grinding her teeth, she applied the force of both hands, straining.
“Greetings, captain” came the voice of Ghoukas from beyond the library door.
Leta looked over her shoulder, her face draining of all color. She hesitated. But no, they would see the open door and pursue and catch her if she tried to escape now.
Yanking the key from the lock and letting the tapestry fall, she had only just dropped the key back into hiding when the door opened, admitting Corgar. His gaze went first to her accustomed place at the Chronicler’s desk, then swiftly found her standing in the shadows.
“Are you hiding from me?” Corgar asked.
Leta, her heart racing but her face a mask, stepped out of the alcove beneath the stairs and paced quietly to the table where more volumes were stacked high. She selected one and carried it to the desk, taking her seat right under Corgar’s nose. Yet she did not open it.
“Why are you not reading?” he asked.
Afraid of what her face might reveal, Leta lowered her forehead into her hand, hiding her eyes. “I need a rest,” she said. “I’ll go blind otherwise in this gloom.”
“Is that true?”
She shrugged. “Quite possibly.”
Corgar made no further protest. He stepped away from the desk to one of the windows and looked to the courtyard below, crawling with his slaves. Leta watched him from behind her hand. He was so awful and so powerful. But in his face was something else, something close to desperation.
She surprised herself by suddenly asking out loud, “Why?”
“Why what?” said Corgar.
“Why are you doing this?” Leta lowered her hand, staring at the monster, her brow wrinkled. “You seem to have no interest in or liking for our world. Your minions creep about like frightened rats though they’re twice the size of any man here and our weapons cannot touch them. They hate it, and you hate it. So why are you here?”
Her own daring amazed Leta, and she waited for her practical side to step in and shut her mouth. It said nothing, however, and neither did the goblin, so she found her tongue running on unchecked. “Why don’t you go away and leave us alone?”
“Because I need the House of Lights,” Corgar replied.
“Yes, I know; that’s what you keep saying.” Leta grimaced at the snap in her own voice. She was terribly tired, and her pale hair, which she had tried to tie back in braids, had all come undone. Ugly circles underscored her eyes. She scarcely felt human anymore. “Why do you need it so badly?”
To her surprise and horror, Corgar laughed a rumbling chuckle, like a dog’s growl but more dreadful for its mirth. Then he spoke, turning toward her as he did so. “It’s not for me. It’s for my queen, Vartera. The woman—or monster, as you might say—whom I am bound to marry.”
Leta blinked owl eyed up at him, suddenly wishing she’d kept her questions to herself. He stood a pace or two from her now. The shadows were surprisingly gentle on his face, disguising the more hideous crags, smoothing out the rock-hardened skin. His eyes were bright with laughter as he looked down on her.
“I could kill you,” he said.
“I . . . I am well aware of that,” Leta said.
“But you’re not afraid of me.”
She couldn’t find breath to answer.
“You faced me in the courtyard,” he continued. “I remember. A little prick behind my knee, and there you were, fallen flat, a broken lance head in your hand. A comic sight, worthy of the songs of Rudiobus! And you weren’t afraid of me then either. You are brave, little warrior.”
One ugly hand reached out, and she thought he meant to slay her then and there. Instead, she felt the coldness of his talon slide down the curve of her cheek.
“Are you beautiful?” Corgar asked.
Leta’s heart nearly burst in her throat as that one claw traced under her chin and rested there, tilting her face up to the monster’s.
“I don’t know what beauty is, and I have never cared. That was always Vartera’s obsession. I wish her much joy with it!”
His voice was gentle. Yet with a flick of his wrist, he could cut her throat.