Free Jayne Castle [Jayne Ann Krentz] by Crystal Flame Page A

would be difficult to find a true Healer who
    did not believe in them. The Light Key is said to be the source of the power of the Sands of Eurythmia
    and therefore an asset to all Healing. My aunt is a very wise woman and if she chooses to believe in the
    Keys, then I'm inclined to think there may be some substance to the tales."
    "Very cautiously spoken," Quintel said with a small smile. "I myself am careful when asked such
    questions. But I keep an open mind."
    "It would seem that any intelligent person would keep an open mind on such a subject. Zantalia is very
    large, and the portion of it that we occupy here on the Northern Continent is sosmall in comparison to the
    unknown regions on the other side of the world. Who knows what mysteries will be uncovered when all
    the world is explored?"
    "A very wise frame of mind," Quintel said approvingly.
    He meant considering the fact that she was a woman, Kalena thought, aware that Ridge was listening
    closely. "Thank you, my lord," she said politely. "If even a portion of the legends about the Stones of
    Contrast are discovered to be true, we shall have a very interesting problem to unravel, won't we? There
    is the whole matter of who or what the Dawn Lords really were and whether they truly commanded the
    incredible power of the Stones, let alone the power of the Keys."
    "It is only in large towns such as Crosspurposes and relatively progressive areas such as the Interlock
    valley that anyone even questions the legends, Kalena," Quintel pointed out. "When you travel with Ridge
    to the Heights of Variance you will learn that in other places the tales of the Dawn Lords and their Stones
    of Contrast are assumed to be fact."
    "And," Ridge put in deliberately, "you will not bring up philosophical questions on the matter to the
    people we meet on our journey, understand? In some villages such comments could get us mobbed or
    hounded out of the community"
    "I shall be guided by your actions," Kalena murmured with suitable meekness.
    Ridge looked pleased with her wifely response. "I'll take care of you, Kalena, and see that you don't
    come to harm."

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    Two hours after the close of the lengthy meal, Kalena put the last embroidered stitch in Ridge's shirt.
    Putting down the needle and thread, she held the garment up to the soft light of a firegel lamp and
    examined her handiwork with a critical eye. She was never going to be able to make her living as a
    professional seamstress, but the job was passable, she decided. If Ridge complained he could rip out the
    embroidery himself.
    Kalena uncurled from her stool, stood up and stretched. She still wasn't certain whether she had been
    motivated by guilt or an unreasonable notion of duty, but it hardly mattered. The deed was done. She
    folded the two shirts and went to the bell to summon a servant. Hand on the bell rope, she paused.
    Ridge's apartments were only a few doors down from her own. She could deliver the shirts herself. His
    reaction would be interesting to see, Kalena decided. She picked up the folded shirts and headed down
    the corridor.
    But by the time she reached Ridge's moonwood door, she was experiencing a severe attack of second
    thoughts. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. She should have sent the shirts along with a
    servant. Kalena chewed her lip thoughtfully, her hand raised to knock.
    Before she could make up her mind, the door swung open and she found herself staring at Ridge. He
    returned her gaze with a somewhat suspicious expression.
    "What is it, Kalena?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"
    Impulsively, she shoved the shirts into his hands. "These are the items you asked me to purchase today.
    Knowing the way shopkeepers work, the bill for them will probably be arriving bright and early in the
    morning. I didn't want you wondering where the shirts were."
    He glanced down at the soft lanti wool garments he was holding, his