And hoped, that it would be strong enough to save his sanity against those who might use it against him.
Fenton had struck up a conversation with the Guardsmen at the doors. Theroun gave him a nod and Fenton gave a casual nod back, as if it was all part of the conversation flowing from his lips. Theroun turned away, feeling a prickle of lightning ease over his skin. And then moved off, toward a side-stair that would take him down to the Kingstone deep within the bowels of Roushenn.
Where Khorel Jornath and Metrene den’Yesh awaited him.
CHAPTER 52 – ELYASIN
Elyasin stood, staring at the closed door. Emotions swirled through her in the wake of Theroun’s revelation. She could feel and yet she couldn’t – understanding, so crystalline suddenly, what a man would do for honor.
The thought woke Elyasin to alertness, and she inhaled. Glancing around, she took in the palatial room of bluestone granite as the sunlight flashed out over the Kingsmount. It wasn’t her original reading-room – much had been destroyed by Fenton and Lhaurent’s colossal battle inside Roushenn, particularly the upper Tiers. But this room had been royally re-designed and outfitted from furniture discovered behind the palace walls. In shadowed halls that Elyasin had banished with Roushenn’s re-design – just one of many secrets that had nearly ruined her nation.
But now, a secret faced her, one that meant everything to the survival of her people, her Coalition, and a loyal man’s life. High clouds caught Elyasin’s gaze, gleaming beyond the bank of windows. Heavy cobalt curtains with golden thread and tassels were pulled back by the vaulted windows, letting in the bright winter light. The world shone white and crisp beyond, turrets of blue-grey granite standing in stark contrast to the deep cerulean of the winter sky. Darkwinter – the shortest day of all the year. The day the light returned, but only because the darkness had gone before.
Fenton returned, closing the door softly behind himself. Moving forward, he did not take Elyasin’s hand, but his persona radiated the calm readiness he was known for. Though he was something else now. Something she could see swirl briefly in his gold-brown eyes.
“Are you alright?” Fenton murmured. Thaddeus had moved into their circle also. He removed his spectacles, lipping them with a worried gaze.
“No.” Elyasin heaved a deep breath, making a fist to stop herself from rubbing her knuckles.
“What can I do?” Fenton asked, his gaze full of concern.
Elyasin paused, then spoke what had to be said. “Tell no one. Either of you. Theroun’s revelation, his appointment – it cannot be known.”
“And Therel?” Fenton’s gaze was careful.
Elyasin pursed her lips and blew out through them softly. “I will tell Therel, when the time is right. For now, this silence is absolute. If Therel knows right now, he’ll send men to track Theroun. Merra, or Ihbram, or someone else to rout out the Kreth-Hakir. I know my husband. He’ll act. And this – we can’t have action on this. Not yet.”
“Unfortunately, I agree.” Fenton’s gold-brown eyes were steady.
Elyasin ran her hands over her new garments. A supple dove-grey leather, her high-collared jerkin was a gift from Therel to celebrate the Coalition. Her Elsthemi knee-boots held longknives, her weapons harness tooled with the Kingsmount and Stars, the Lion of den’Ildrian, and a wolf for House Alramir. Ancient sigildry flowed down the arms and spine, and every buckle. Reaching up, Elyasin touched her gilded keshar pendant beneath the white wolf pelt, stroking it. Her other hand settled to a sickled longknife of a dusky white metal inset with a ruby and runes. A matching longsword rode her back – items found when Lhaurent’s corpse had burned away.
Turning, she gazed into a mirror near one bookcase. A coronet of the same white metal rested upon Elyasin’s brow, discovered up in a fortress atop the Kingsmount when the Alranstones had opened. Though it held not a single jewel, it glowed like a morning on fire. Elyasin felt a shiver move through her, a wyrric breath upon her skin – an echo of the power she’d had while joined to Brother King Hahled Ferrian.
“I have to keep this secret, for now,” she spoke at last. “And the two of you must as well.”
Something sad moved in Fenton’s eyes. But he bowed, saying, “As you wish,” a sentiment echoed by Thaddeus.
Squaring her shoulders, Elyasin fought a great heaviness. The day seemed somehow dark as she faced Thad and saw the knowledge of her sacrifice in his eyes. “Where are we with the event scheduled for the Rose Courtyard, Castellan den’Lhor?”
“All is prepared, my Queen.” Thad’s green eyes held love and support as he spoke in a gentle voice. “The sarcophagi are in place. Morvein wrought wonders with them, these past two months. It’s breathtaking.”
“People should be making their way down,” Fenton took up the conversation. “Aldris left orders for the Guardsmen to chaperone people a half-hour after the Coalition conference ended.”
“And Therel?” Elyasin caught Fenton’s gaze.
“He said he’d meet you there,” Fenton spoke softly. “He’s still in the Coalition-hall, extending a few notes to the Isle shipwrights on the rebuilding of Fhekran Palace.”
Elyasin nodded, conflict surging through her. She slid her fingers over her sickled hilt, then straightened. “So it is.”
Moving forward, she strode toward the doors of the chamber and pushed them open. Thaddeus and Fenton were on her heels as she moved down the hall to the grand staircase. Ambassadors flooded the hall, descending the stairs in small groups led by Palace Guardsmen. Elyasin nodded here and there, but her mind whirled as she moved down the graceful staircase, then through another ornate hall toward the Rose Courtyard.
Issuing through a set of palatial doors, Elyasin stepped out into a winter wonderland. The Rose Courtyard of Roushenn was gracious with silence, though every path was choked with people. The sun had set behind the Kingsmount, painting the winter sky in rose and gold, ochre and violet. A whispering wind rippled the pelt upon Elyasin’s shoulders, her breath puffing cold in the gloaming. Torches and braziers had been lit around the grand gardens, bright in every arch and niche.
One of the few places that had been spared from the Battle of Roushenn, the Rose Courtyard was as Elyasin remembered it, lovely with drifts of snow that glittered beneath the torchlight. Charmed by the wyrria that now flowed in torrents beneath the palace and upwelled all over the city of Lintesh, the burbling fountains here had not frozen. Twining vines of roses bloomed out of season, in a riot of loveliness, though ice limned every petal. More than two thousand crystal sarcophagi were arranged along the snowy paths tonight, a glittering sea of loveliness punctuated by the somber movement of people walking the crushed gravel paths and remembering the fallen. The scent of roses filled Elyasin’s nostrils as she moved to a low dais set below a bluestone arch wound with roses, then stepped up.
Before her, three honored warriors waited, entombed in smooth crystal vaults inscribed with ornate sigils that scattered the torchlight. Olea den’Alrahel was as beautiful as Elyasin remembered. Given a place of honor alongside the reclaimed bodies of Temlin den’Ildrian and Khouren Alodwine, Olea was luminous in the lowering night. Elyasin set her fingertips to Olea’s bier, tracing the sigils that flared a gentle blue-white to her touch. Giannyk symbols, they were Morvein Vishke’s – these two thousand sarcophagi her soberest gift of the past two months. Elyasin couldn’t read the sigils, but Thad had said they spoke of peace, and the bliss of being released to the Void.
A hard lump filled Elyasin’s throat as her gaze perused the face of her mentor – a woman who had been a friend, a protector, and a sister. Olea’s corpse had looked wretched when Fenton had first led Elyasin down through the Roushenn’s crumbled depths to the King’s Tomb two months ago – yet another secret that Elyasin had never known about. But now, because of Morvein’s gift, Olea’s beauty had returned. Her blue-black curls shone glossy in the torchlight, her eyelashes dark and full, her cheeks rosy as if she might rise at any moment. Dressed in Kingsmen Greys, her han
ds rested upon the pommel of a sword inscribed with Alrashemni runes. A pin with the Lion of den’Ildrian pierced her collar, done in blue sapphires and gold filigree – Elyasin’s last gift.
Straightening, Elyasin gazed out over the sea of milling people. Pennants of many nations fluttered in the breeze, crystal tombs throwing the hushed twilight and the flicker of torches across the roses limned in snow. Elyasin’s gaze tracked the most notable faction as they knelt before biers with a salute to their Inkings. The surviving Kingsmen were few, but they had come dressed in their Greys tonight to honor their fallen.
Found, and brought home to rest at last.
Raising her arms, a hush settled around the courtyard, every eye turned her way. The ceremony was brief, and Elyasin spoke the words, hardly aware of them as they fell from her lips. Dignified platitudes of bravery and righteousness, they seemed hollow in the settling dusk – as if any words she could devise would never be enough to undo the injustice that had befallen the Kingsmen. Her eyes met others as she spoke, seeing the pain in their faces, seeing tears fall. Seeing a people, broken yet still standing tall, receive amendment for their slain. Elyasin’s chest compressed, a choking sensation rattling her words. The night blurred and she blinked tears from her eyes as she finished the benediction, her last words easing away.
As one, the Alrashemni Kingsmen settled through the courtyard, down to one knee. Like a rippling wave, they bowed to her, palms to hearts between the ambassadors and royalty who looked on in reverent sadness. And then they rose, breaking the spell that drowned the courtyard in silence.
Though nothing could break Elyasin’s dire understanding this night – of right and wrong, good and evil.
People began to move the paths again, as others siphoned from the courtyard and back inside the palace, to make ready for the revelry that would soon begin. Elyasin needed to go change for the celebrations, but found she was riveted where she stood, her gaze moving from Olea to the lion-maned man entombed beside her – Temlin den’Ildrian. Elyasin had never known her uncle. But gazing upon him now, entombed with a sword and shield blazing with the gold and cobalt lion’s crest of den’Ildrian, she could feel his stalwart strength. She could feel his roar as she looked upon him, and remembered the stories she’d been told these past months of his bravery in holding her city and opposing Lhaurent.
Yet another death of a good heart known too late.
The paths were nearly cleared now, the sky shimmering into a deep cobalt dotted with diamond-bright stars. Someone stepped to Elyasin’s side and she turned. She’d expected Fenton, but was surprised to see her Guard-Captain, Aldris den’Farahan. His green eyes were somber as he gazed out over the sea of crystal and roses, his golden mane catching the torchlight.
“You’ve done the Kingsmen proud, Elyasin,” he rasped, a sad smile twisting his lips. “An honor the world will never forget.”
“And neither should they,” Elyasin spoke, facing him. “The Kingsmen died because of the secrets that crippled us all. This vigil is transparent for a reason – because all should see and know how darkness divides us.”
Aldris’ gaze moved to Olea’s sarcophagus. Reaching out, he set a tender hand to the crystal, stroking it. “She would have loved to see this tonight.”
“I would have loved to have her here.” Reaching out, Elyasin set a hand over Aldris’. He startled at her touch, swinging red-rimmed eyes up to meet Elyasin’s. “I can’t thank you enough, Aldris. For bringing the Kingsmen back through Khehem’s Alranstone. Words can never express how grateful I am, that you found them and brought them home.”
“My Queen.” Her glib-tongued Guard-Captain was of few words tonight. Aldris had been tempered by the ordeals he had undergone these past months. And though they’d only had a few moments to speak of his journey to Oasis Ghellen and the friendship he had formed with the Ghellani, she made a mental note to save time for him later.
Fenton moved up to the raised dais, breaking her thoughts. He and Aldris embraced in a subdued manner, clapping each other’s shoulders. Fenton set a hand to Olea’s sarcophagus, staring down at her with a complicated emotion in his gold-flame eyes as he stroked the crystal. “She was a light in the darkness. For all of us.”
“Olea followed her heart,” Elyasin spoke with strength. “A kind heart of honor and truth. I was wrong to doubt her. I hoped that someday I would have a chance to apologize for turning her away from my confidence. A regret I must now live with.”
“She didn’t hold it against you.” Aldris glanced up, his green eyes tired. “Olea never spoke a bad word about you, in all the time we were in Ghellen. All she ever wanted was to protect you – to keep you and those she loved safe.”
Elyasin’s throat clenched; tears pricked her eyes. Reaching out, she set a hand to the crystal also, stroking its glossy surface. Her tears spilled, slipping down her cheeks like diamond raindrops in the frigid night. The sky was deep violet now, stars pricking the velvet darkness. Fenton stepped away from Olea’s bier and knelt before the one that encased the Ghost of Roushenn – Fenton’s grandson, Khouren Alodwine. A man Elyasin had never known, but who had saved every one of them with his honorable sacrifice.
Elyasin watched Fenton’s gold eyes twist with power and pain as he gazed through the glassy crystal at his grandson. She felt the bonds of family and love as a slow simmer of golden fire broke out around Fenton’s person. As Elyasin watched, a tear trickled down Fenton’s cheeks. Setting his forehead to the smooth crystal, he gave a soft sigh. And then stood, his hand slipping from the bier.
“Please excuse me,” he rasped, stepping away without meeting her gaze.
Standing next to Aldris, Elyasin watched him go. She didn’t understand the ancient being that was Fentleith Alodwine. Once the Guardsman she had trusted for years, he was a different person now. Elyasin’s brows furrowed, watching him stride out into the night.
“May I have a moment? I’d like to say goodbye.”
Elyasin blinked from her reverie, noting a beautiful woman standing at the base of the dais. With an ornate sable braid and deep violet eyes, the woman sported a newly-Inked Blackmark upon her chest, clad in Elsthemi-style Alrashemni Greys. Eleshen had heard tales of the fearless Eleshen den’Fenrir, but they’d not met yet. Though now was not the time for introductions. With a genteel nod, Elyasin summoned Aldris and they stepped down to a sprawling bush of white roses that climbed a bluestone arch nearby.
Turning, Elyasin watched the fierce fighter from afar. Leaning over Khouren Alodwine’s sarcophagus, Eleshen set a hand to the crystal, gazing upon the Ghost of Roushenn with her stunning violet eyes. Her eyes did not gather tears and she did not weep. At last, Eleshen den’Fenrir gave a haunting smile. A smile that moved through Elyasin with a blissful sound like a trickling stream beneath a midnight moon. With a kiss to her fingertips upon Khouren’s bier, Eleshen stepped away, off into the night.
“If you’ll excuse me, my Queen,” Aldris murmured, “I have a few more people I’d like to say goodbye to before the revelry begins.”
“Go.” Elyasin turned to him with a soft smile. “Find your kin. Lay them to rest.”
“Thank you.” His green eyes were grim in the darkening light, but held fervency. “History will remember you, Elyasin, no matter what else you do with your reign.”
Her lips quirked. Reaching out, she clasped her Captain’s hand. “I don’t care about memory and history, Aldris. I care about the living. Go. Find your kin. No need to be Guard-Captain tonight.”
“I will never stop being your Guard-Captain,” Aldris’ lips quirked in his famed, cheeky humor at last. “And neither did Olea. I’ll be back soon.”
He stepped away, leaving Elyasin alone by the bluestone arch and winter-white roses. Their scent drowned her as night darkened. Leaning toward the arch, Elyasin surrendered to it, freeing her mind to the stars and the torch-flickers in the brisk wind. The moon was rising, a wan sickle out over the Eleskis. Elyasin watched it a long moment, as stars flickered to life in
the longest night of the year. Her white wolf-pelt ruffled around her ears as the breeze toyed with it.
Turning, she stared at the roses climbing the arch. They would bloom all year, so Fenton had said, now that wyrria was back in the world. Many things had changed, and many things would, now that such power flowed through all the continents again. There would be years of adapting to wyrric dangers and oddities such as this. But the fey delight of having roses in wintertime charmed Elyasin. Leaning forward, she extended her chin to scent one ghostly bloom. When suddenly, a presence stepped in behind her. Wrapping her around the waist with one arm, the man reached in to pluck the rose from its thorns, moving its heady fragrance close to Elyasin’s lips.
“It’s not telmen,” the man’s darkly smoldering voice spoke beside her ear, “but it’ll do.”
“Therel!” Elyasin breathed, radiant at his surprise.
Moving close, Therel pressed his body against her back. He palmed her waist as he gave a smooth growl by her hair, pressing his lips in to kiss her neck. Elyasin forgot roses as she lifted her arms, threading them around his neck as he leaned in, reaching up a hand to span her throat. Elyasin sighed in bliss, arching for him. “You’ve been gone too long, Therel.”
“It’s only been five days since my last visit,” Therel chuckled, roguish.
“Far too long.” Elyasin’s mouth blossomed in a full smile, as she turned in her King and husband’s arms. Lifting her chin, she pressed her lips to his, and they kissed a long while in the drowning scent of the night. She could feel his heat as he pressed close, cupping her ass now so she could feel the hardness of how much he had missed her. It left Elyasin with high, fast breaths as he pulled back with a renegade chuckle, his wolf-blue eyes vivid in the torchlight.
Goldenmark Page 77