"His heart..." Gabrielle stared into s.p.a.ce, her face still and closed. The remains of her dinner lay forgotten on the tiny side table. Long moments ticked by so that Yolenka wondered if her presence had become an intrusion. She had just reached across to gather up the tray, when Gabrielle spoke again.

"Yolenka, could you stay just a bit longer? I think I am close to understanding something here."

Yolenka sat down. She didn't know what Gabrielle thought she could do-children either recovered from the Veil or they didn't, and there was little the most skilled healer could do about it-but if Yolenka's sketchy knowledge could be of help, she would share it.

"You say when the Veil is removed, the patient's whole body collapses? His heart stops, his limbs..."

"Yes, is like the sickness that was in his throat goes all through him."

"Like a poison," suggested Gabrielle.

Yolenka had a vivid uncomfortable memory of Turga convulsing at her feet. What would this gentle woman think of what she had done? But her idea was right.

"Yes," she said, "I have seen poisoning. Is like that."

It was remarkable the change that had come over Gabrielle. All signs of fatigue were gone. Her face was excited, eager even.

"I need to get to work now, Yolenka," she said. "Thank you-for the food and even more for your knowledge. If my idea is right, and I pray it is, you may have just saved Madeleine."

Strange woman, thought Yolenka, as she eased the door shut. Gabrielle was slumped over the girl's bed again, to all appearances fast asleep. A ghost-chill ran up Yolenka's back. Not asleep. Yolenka wasn't sure what Gabrielle was doing, but it was something very different from sleep.

LIKE A POISON. Gabrielle had always felt there was some ominous power to this disease that she was not touching. What if it was a poison? What if that membrane, the Veil, was not only infecting Madeleine's throat like any other illness but making a poison that spread throughout her body? It would explain why Gabrielle made so little progress as she worked. It would explain why removing the membrane was deadly-maybe that released the poison in a great flood, and the open wound on the throat absorbed it all at once. The poison would rush through the bloodstream and enter all the vital organs...

So, she could not pull aside the Veil. But she could look behind it. She would go there and discover the secret that lay behind its protective skin.

She calmed her own urgency, let her breath come slow and steady and weightless as thistledown. She let the little room fade away, let herself float on the swell and fall of the ship. She let the healing light fill her until it seemed the glow of it could brighten the darkest deepest crevice in the ocean floor. Then she let that light pour into her niece, taking her inner vision with it.

SHE HAD IT NOW. This illness, this Gray Veil, made a double attack. Madeleine's throat infection was real and aggressive, and Gabrielle's fight to push back its spreading inflammation had not been useless. But it had not been half enough. For the hateful membrane on Madeleine's throat was also making a powerful toxin. Even knowing what to look for, it was barely discernable in the infected tissues-like looking for a glimmer of candlelight in a room full of lamps. But as the membrane grew, so did the quant.i.ty of poison that oozed from behind its leathery surface. And like a dead pigeon in a well that taints the drinking water and sickens a whole village, the poison seeped into Madeleine's blood, causing harm everywhere it traveled: heart, liver, kidneys-no wonder she had sickened so quickly!

But she was young and strong, her own body fighting hard against the invasion. There was no lasting damage yet. And Gabrielle knew what she was fighting now. For the first time in two days, she was confident that Madeleine would live.

The membrane was held at bay, and her circle of light would hold for a time. Madeleine's breath was slightly obstructed and uneasy, but not to the point of true suffocation. All of Gabrielle's power now could be trained on the evil alchemy taking place on the underside of the membrane.

The night ahead would be long-her second without rest. No sense wasting energy holding herself upright. She climbed into the narrow bed beside Madeleine, wrapped her arm around her niece's waist and sank into a deep trance. Gabrielle looked up with a start as someone entered the room, confused by the sudden pull back to the world. Normal comings and going didn't usually disturb her, so what...?

Feolan stood in the flickering lamplight. Why does he have a scarf wrapped around his neck, she wondered vaguely, noting the bulky silhouette he made above the shoulders. It's a warm night...

"Sorry to disturb, love." Feolan's voice was a husky rasp.

"Feolan!" Gabrielle sat up in alarm, tearing free of the cobwebs that lingered from her trance. He wore no scarf, she realized. That was his neck, swollen to monstrous size right up to the ears.

"Whatever this Gray Veil is, it seems Elves are all too susceptible," said Feolan. He lay on the other bed, and Gabrielle saw how his legs buckled as they lowered to the mattress. "I woke up like this. I've come here to protect the others, but-" He held up a hand as Gabrielle scrambled to his side. "You stay with Madeleine. I felt her weaken with every mile of that journey. She needs you now." He closed his eyes and fell silent, as though that short speech had used up his strength.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

PANIC WHISPERED INSIDE HER, and Gabrielle thrust it back. She could not stay the tears, though. Even by lamplight she could see that Feolan was failing before her eyes, barely hanging on to lucidity. Her eyes winced away from his swollen neck, the skin stretched and purpled, and rested on his flushed cheeks. Her hand reached out, and she felt the heat before her fingers settled on his forehead. The brilliant Elvish eyes, those eyes she loved so dearly, were dull now with pain and fever.

How could he have succ.u.mbed so quickly? In her years among the Elves, Gabrielle had seen few illnesses and rarely anything life-threatening. Most Elves had at least a touch of healing ability themselves, enough to keep at bay the coughs and fevers so common among Humans. But what if this was a completely new illness, something unlike anything they had ever been exposed to?

Gabrielle lay a hand on Feolan's chest and closed her eyes. It was hard to calm the turmoil in her mind enough to let the inner vision come to her. Precious moments ticked by as she worked on calming the ragged breath that wanted to sob rather than flow.

At last she was with him, and what she found confirmed her worst fears. The gray plaque spread deep into his throat, burrowing greedily into blood vessels and tissue. And the poison that had taken days to seep into Madeleine's system was already coursing through Feolan's body.

He was dying.

"Gabrielle." Was it his voice or his mind that called to her? He had called her once from the very brink of death, pulled her back from the last threshold beyond which there is no returning. Now it was he who wandered toward that same threshold, and still he called her.

"Gabrielle, leave me."

Never. Could I leave my own heart and soul? But even as she denied it, raged against it, she understood the choice before her. She had two patients. Neither was likely to survive without her help.

She would work on both at once. She had done it before with the twins. She would...

No. That was the healer's voice, the one that was not swayed by grief or love and thought only of the patient's chances. The twins were alike as two peas. Healthy, except for their wounds. And even so, it was difficult. These two could not be more different.

And had it been possible, she hadn't the strength left to do it. That was the stark brutal truth. She was exhausted.

She was weeping now, fatigue and fear and helplessness leeching the courage from her. How could this be asked of her, to leave the man she loved to die alone?

"Nay, love. No despair. It is what we all agreed."

"What do you mean?" She choked the words out between sobbing breaths. Feolan's hand stirred. He found and covered hers, the grasp weak but steady. He spoke aloud now too, though the raspy whisper must pain him.

"We came to save the children. We would all have died in a fight to rescue them. This is no different."

She felt his resolve. Even if she tried to heal him, he would use the last of his strength to shut her out. And he was right. To turn her back on Madeleine now was unthinkable.

Gabrielle laid her head on Feolan's chest and wept, her hand twined in his.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Brave Wings," he said. "Now you must fly alone. Save her, Gabrielle."

Brave Wings. The memory was a bright piercing sorrow. The words were from a wedding song Feolan had written for her, strange and beautiful and understood, as so many Elvish songs were, more in the heart than from the sense of the words: She is brighter than the stars above, And needs no wind to paint her brave wings.

But the memory gave her strength too, as Feolan had intended. She and Feolan had found such joy together. Maddy would have that chance too. Slowly Gabrielle sat up. She held Feolan's hand in her two. It was so hard to leave him all alone.

"I'll stay with him."

A strong blunt hand covered hers and gently freed Feolan from her grasp.

Startled, Gabrielle looked around. Derkh's face was tracked with his own tears, but his hand on her shoulder was firm.

"I won't leave him. I promise."

She had to do it now, or she never would. She gave a tiny wretched nod and turned away.

THE NIGHT CREPT ON, and Gabrielle fought for Madeleine's life. The barrier she had built around the plaque to hold back its spread along the surface of Maddy's throat did nothing to prevent the poison from penetrating through the fragile inflamed tissue behind the Veil. For that, she needed a blanket of light, a dense pool to surround the entire growth. From within this healing glow, she painstakingly sealed off the damaged flesh, pinching each tiny torn vessel closed and pushing back the dark fingers of infection. Slowly, the secret seeping pathways of the poison were blocked until Gabrielle was satisfied it was contained in a pocket behind the Veil.

That was only the first step, but she allowed herself to stop to check on Feolan. He lived still, that she knew. His life's presence was her constant companion; she would feel his death through the deepest trance. She sat on the edge of his narrow bed and tried to send him strength-Hold on, love. Hold on till I can come to you. But she did not dare let her mind stay with him for long. His pull was so strong; if she lingered, she might never tear herself away.

Madeleine, deep in the sleep that so often blessed Gabrielle's patients when she worked on them, drew breath in a long rattling snore. She had been gasping through that hateful growth for too long. Gabrielle smoothed Feolan's brow, kissed it, and filled his throat with light. Just a little longer. Two steps took her back across the tiny cabin to Madeleine. Gabrielle eased Madeleine onto her side and placed a folded towel under her cheek. She didn't want Madeleine swallowing either the plaque or its poison when the Veil came away.

Gabrielle intended to seal off the poisonous Veil and help the undamaged flesh beneath grow a protective layer of skin, just as a wound does under its scab. Then she would simply peel the membrane away. If she did the job right, the membrane would slough off with the seal intact, the poison contained and harmless.

Pray to all G.o.ds I'm right, she thought.

She laid her hands on either side of Madeleine's neck and sank once more into the light.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

DOMINIC AWOKE IN THE FIRST CHILL half-light of dawn. Dew had settled heavily over the deck and his blanket. He was damp, stiff and cold. He eased himself up with a grimace. Matthieu lay curled in the spot beside him, burrowed under his cover. Dominic shook off his blanket and tucked it over top of his son. Not that he'd sleep much longer-once the sun rode free of the horizon and lit up the yellow sails, they would all be awake.

All didn't look to be very many, though. Only Yolenka was still on the deck. Feolan's and Derkh's rumpled blankets lay empty. Maybe they had awakened early as well. He hoped by all that was holy they had not taken ill. What if the captain had been right and the Gray Veil spread throughout the ship?

He needed to check on Madeleine. The captain frowned on anyone entering the cabin, but Dominic was her father. He would at least stick his head in the door and find out how she fared.

EVEN IN HER SLEEP Madeleine knew that the tide had turned. The trembling and twitching of her limbs first eased and then stopped altogether. The racy skip of her heart steadied. The pounding in her head, the aches that racked her body, above all the terrible weakness that made every breath an effort and sapped her will-they weren't gone, but they were fading. It was as though she had been trapped on a sled, rushing down a long snowy slope toward a pool so deep and icy she would sink into it like a stone and never rise again. And then someone pulled the hand brake on the sled, and it slowed, groaning and complaining from the strain but slowing nonetheless, and came to rest at the edge of the pool.

And now she was making the long climb back up the hill. With every step her body felt a little stronger and more at ease. All except her throat. That pain was constant. For nearly two days she had been unable to swallow, the muscles in her tongue weak and useless. Drool had spilled down her front during that endless pounding horse journey, and she had been too sick to care. Later her spit had dried in her mouth and her lips had grown cracked and parched. And none of it-not the pain, not the paralysis-was as bad as the revulsion. She could not escape having to feel and taste the alien thing that lay in her mouth. Her tongue knew its leathery tough skin, the sickening press of its swelling growth.

Now, for the first time, the pain of the accidental press of her tongue against the membrane was blunted. "Fingernails or knives?" she and Matthieu used to ask each other, rating the ferocity of some childish hurt. In the pain department, she was heading back toward fingernails.

Yet the irritation of it was worse. The Veil hung in her throat, rattling and flapping with each breath like a heavy wet curtain. It brushed the back of her tongue, and she gagged on it, blocking her own air. Then she couldn't stop gagging, her body trying uselessly to eject it like a rotten chunk of meat. She struggled up from sleep in a panic.

Patience, dear one. Soon you will be free of it. The words floated into her mind, soothing as a mother's touch. Her throat relaxed and opened and her breath came a little easier. Her eyelids fluttered and closed, and she slept again.

ALMOST DONE. The temptation to rush p.r.i.c.ked at her, but Gabrielle resisted. If the seal did not hold, if the poison found some minute overlooked channel to escape through, that tiny outlet could burst open under the pressure when the Veil was removed and throw everything into jeopardy. Gabrielle's mind hovered over that word, everything, and she pulled it away. Don't think about what's at stake, she told herself. Think about the work.

Madeleine was restless under her hand, her sleep becoming lighter as her strength returned. The membrane was no longer embedded firmly against her throat but hung by mere threads, obstructing her airway even more than before.

Suddenly the girl choked and gagged. Gabrielle felt the fear course through her, the panic to draw air, the reflex in her throat working against her. She touched Madeleine's mind, spoke soothingly to her. Sent her light to the back of the tongue, let it fall away from the flap that brushed at it and lie flat against the jaw. Air flowed back into Madeleine's lungs, and she sighed and settled back.

"Gabrielle!"

Derkh's voice was sharp, the hand that shook her rough. "Gabrielle, wake up!"

"What is it?" Gabrielle struggled to focus her eyes, to bring her mind back to the world. Being jerked out of her healing trance was always difficult and disorienting. And tonight-this morning, rather, to judge by the thin light seeping in the cabin's tiny windows-she was slow with fatigue. It waited for her like a silent vulture, ready to float down and take her. She shook her head, fighting it off. There was only one reason Derkh would interrupt her.

"Feolan?"

Derkh nodded, his eyes black and staring. "He can't breathe. Gabrielle, I think he's dying."

She flew to Feolan's bedside, not even aware of having risen. Behind her, Madeleine coughed and gagged, choking again. Gabrielle glanced back, agonized. Not both at once, she prayed. I can't.

Madeleine was up on one elbow, her shoulders heaving. A retching tearing cough shook her, and she spat a dark ma.s.s onto the towel. A sound of pure revulsion escaped her. And then she looked to Gabrielle, still frozen at Feolan's bedside.

"I'm okay. Look after him."

FeOLAN FOUGHT TO draw air with everything he had. The thrashing of his legs and hands was worse than useless, draining what stores he had, yet he was powerless to stop it. Already his lips and fingers tingled, starving for breath. For hours now he had survived on small whistling pa.s.sageways through the swollen ma.s.s of his throat, using what skill he had to ease open the tissues around them and sip miserly streams of air. Now he was in the desert, the tiniest streams vanished in a solid wall of sand. He was dying, and he knew it.

Gabrielle's presence swept into him like the sun sailing out from behind black clouds. She was too late, he was certain-but, oh, how lovely to feel her near him once more. He was so sorry for the grief she would suffer and so grateful to be with her at his life's end.

The warm light blasted into his throat, shoving at the swollen edges of tissue so that he could feel the sudden give, the rush of air into his grateful lungs. Then the flap closed again.

One more, Feolan. Her voice in his head, scared but firm. Commanding him. I'm going to push it back again. Breathe deep, love, deep as you can. Again the light rushed against the swelling, and Feolan thought, ridiculously, of a mountain ram, crashing headlong against his opponent to claim his ewe. My stubborn Human, he thought, and then cast thought aside and sucked at the glorious air like a greedy baby, as deep into his lungs as he could.

And then she was gone from him, and he was back in the desert, stumbling into the eternal night.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

GABRIELLE RUMMAGED FRANTICALLY in her kit. Feolan's life was measured now in heartbeats. The Veil extended right back to his windpipe and the surrounding tissues, saturated with poison, had swelled together into a solid wall. It had taken every bit of her power to open the brief cracks that allowed Feolan to win a couple of breaths. Even fresh, she could not have held back that ma.s.s of flesh and accomplished the healing that would open his airways again. And she was far from fresh.

She chose hurriedly from among her bonemender's blades and pulled out the gla.s.s pipette used to measure out drops of medicine. It was far too narrow, but it was all she had at hand.

"Derkh, do you see this gla.s.s tube?" she asked. She did not look at him but prepared Feolan as she spoke, rolling up a blanket and placing it under his neck so that his head tipped back and the b.u.mp known as the baby's fist protruded. "I need something like this, only bigger around. Gla.s.s or metal, even wood at need." At home, the delicate neck of a wine bottle, broken off at the base, would serve. But Tarzine wine was stored in jugs with short, broad mouths. She could think of nothing to suggest to Derkh.

It was Dominic, who had stuck his head in the door just moments earlier, who replied.

"I can get it."

"Okay." There was no time for thanks or further instructions. "Then, Derkh, you can help me here. I need the dropper end of this pipette broken off."

She turned to Feolan. His lips were blue, hands twitching weakly. His eyes stared unseeing. She must act now or give him up for dead.