Return of the Guardian-King

by Karen Hancock

  But there was so much to be done in preparation, she rarely had time to stop and think it all through, and could only trust Eidon to make it right. Indeed, after all he had done, it irked her that she could even entertain a moment’s worth of doubt.

  The day of the king’s scheduled arrival, the queen was up before dawn— making sure the preparations for the feast were started and that all they would need was at hand, seeing to the guest list once more, consulting with the steward as to the final decision on the arrangement of the tables and benches, seeing that the musicians were ready and that a new lirret was found for one who had damaged his en route, ensuring that the newly constructed rooms in the fortress’s upper stories were swept and ready for their visitors to stay in, and a hundred other little things people couldn’t seem to decide without her counsel.

  And besides all that, she had herself and the children to get ready.

  With space at a premium, they were sharing the small room she had claimed for herself. Naturally, Ian had been cranky and obstinate all morning, and even Simon was being difficult, back to his whining about not wanting to be there when Abramm arrived. “I don’t care about seeing Papa!” he said. “I want to go fishing with Ian and Uncle Trap.”

  As Maddie laid Abby on the bed and attempted to pull her plain morning gown over her head, she pointed out that Uncle Trap was not going fishing today. “Because, unlike you, he does want to see your papa.”

  “I don’t want to see Papa! I want to go fishing!” He started to wail.

  She turned from Abby and said sharply, “Enough of that, Simon!” And when he stopped, she demanded, “What is wrong with you? Yesterday you were dancing all around to think you would see your papa today.”

  “I don’t want to see Papa.”

  “Well, you are going to. And you will not use that tone with me. Do you need a switching to remind you of your manners?”

  “No, Mama.”

  “Now, we must get ready. He’ll be here very soon.” She glanced over her shoulder as Elayne stepped in with the newly pressed suit that Simon was to wear. But as the older woman came forward and took Simon by the hand, he started to cry in earnest. “I don’t want to see Papa.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Simon!” Elayne scolded. “What are you so afraid of? Your papa loves you. He will be greatly excited to see you. Why do you not want to see him?”

  “They said he is just like Grandpapa.”

  “Like Grandpapa?!” Maddie said, turning from Abby again to look sharply at him.

  “Grandpapa was mean. He was bad.”

  “Grandpapa was ill, Simon. He didn’t know what he was doing. The bad thing the Esurhites put inside him made him like that.”

  “And Papa has a bad thing in him, too. Just like Grandpapa. I heard Uncle Trap telling Auntie Crissa it was so.”

  Maddie exchanged a glance with Elayne, then came to Simon and squatted before him. “Yes, Simon, that was so, but your papa knows Father Eidon well enough to let him take it all away. Grandpapa did not know how to do that.”

  “Father Eidon took it away?”

  “Yes, Simon. Papa could not have come back to chase away the dragon if he had the bad thing growing in him as Grandpapa did.”

  Simon stared at her with his big blue eyes, considering what she had said. Then the crossness came into his face. “I still don’t want to see him. I want to go fishing.”

  “Well, perhaps he will want to go fishing, too, and might even take you with him tomorrow if you ask him nicely.”

  “I want to go today,” he said sulkily.

  Maddie exhaled in resignation, shook her head, and returned her attention to little Abby.

  Finally they were all ready, and she went with Carissa, Trap, and Channon to the upper towers to watch him come up over the cliff and head down the river road toward the ferry—boat, ropes, and both landings all brand-new and decorated with garlands of evergreen. The first sight of him, still a distant dot atop the white shape of his horse, gave her such a burst of excitement she could hardly bear it, torn between wanting to snatch up the spyglass for a better look, and waiting until he was close enough she’d not torment herself. She watched him until he was halfway across the river, then hurried with the others down to the fortress’s front door, where a walled landing and side stair overlooked the entrance yard and the opening of the tunnel gate. Like the ferry, the yard was decorated in evergreen boughs, brightly colored ribbons, and broad white banners bearing his new device—red dragon on a gold shield surmounted by a crown.

  She tracked his position by the roaring of the crowd, her heart pounding madly in her chest the closer he got. Soon the leading riders of his party came through the gate, and the crowd in the yard erupted. They filed out to either side, and she counted them, knowing finally that the next man to appear would be her husband.

  When he emerged from the shadows into the bright sun of the inner courtyard, her heart leaped and tears quickly blurred the image. She was vaguely aware of Simon squealing and that he had let go her hand. Moments later she spied him racing across the yard toward Abramm, who bent down from the back of Warbanner and swooped him up into the saddle before him. Her little boy, who had been so adamant about not wanting to see his papa, flung both arms about the monarch’s neck—her own father would have been aghast at such an undisciplined display of affection—as if he weren’t a king at all but just a little boy’s papa.

  She watched her husband grinning at their son as the latter bobbed excitedly on the saddle’s pommel, jabbering away, pointing now at Maddie, who still stood on the landing. Abramm looked up at her then, and as their eyes met, a shudder shook her body so violently she had to lean against the warm stone to keep from falling. For a moment all the breath left her as light flared at the edges of her vision and he became the only person in the world. A warm tingle started at her toes and swept up her body to the top of her head, and then a wild, hot energy charged through her, so that she pushed off the wall and flew down the sidestair, around the walled corner and out into the yard, where she stopped as soon as she had stepped into the sun.

  He was still across the yard from her, still sitting on Warbanner, his eyes fixed upon her. Letting go the reins, he swung one leg forward over the horse’s neck and dropped lightly to the ground, Simon still in his arms. Then, his gaze never leaving hers, he stooped to set his son on his own two feet and started toward her. She stood there, breathless, reveling in the sight of him— the broadness of his shoulders, his powerful build, the easy grace with which he walked, and every small exquisite detail of his beloved face. . . . The strong brow, those blue eyes that always made her heart catch. They had crow’s-feet at their corners now, and the hair at his temples carried a frosting of white. She could see in the other lines and the look on his face that he was not the man she’d known two and a half years ago. He was a better one, refined by fire.

  He’d crossed half the distance between them when she flew to meet him, throwing her arms about his neck as he crushed her to him and kissed her, and she thought that not even Eidon’s realm of eternal bliss could hold more joy for her than this one spectacular moment.

  Not until they broke apart did she remember they were not alone. The crowd was whistling, screaming, and cheering all about them. Abramm released her, and she stepped back, under his arm, as he acknowledged the onlookers. Simon had caught up with them and was holding to his cloak.

  And then Elayne appeared in the archway where the stairs ended— Abrielle in one arm, Ian clutching the other hand and trying to hide behind the woman’s skirts.

  “Ian doesn’t warm up to anyone quickly,” Maddie warned Abramm. “And he still speaks to no one but Simon.”

  “Yes. Trap told me. Given what he’s gone through, I can’t blame him.”

  He strode forward to greet them, marveling at his daughter first, and getting a grin out of her with his extravagant words. Ian, of course, would have nothing to do with him, and it broke Maddie’s heart to see it. Her husband fi
nally stood again, his expression placid and relaxed, as if he really did understand, as if it wasn’t breaking his heart at all.

  “He’ll come to me when he’s ready to forgive me,” he said.

  “Forgive you?”

  “For leaving him when I did . . . for not coming back as soon as I’d hoped.

  For all the terrible things that have happened to him.”

  “Those weren’t your fault.”

  “In his eyes they are. I was supposed to protect him, and I didn’t. But perhaps he will grow to understand. And I have learned nothing if not how to wait during these last two years.”

  He smiled down at her and she lost her breath again for love of him.

  Then Abby laughed and held her hands out to him, and he took her into his arms with an answering grin. Ian peeped round Elayne’s skirts, his thumb still in his mouth as he watched his father swinging his little sister over his head while she squealed with delight.

  Another spectacle old Hadrich would have found abhorrent.

  Maddie, on the other hand, loved every moment of it. And so, she judged, did the crowd. Carissa and Trap had come down the stairs after Elayne with both their boys, and he greeted them all with great affection. Then he turned to the big blond man who’d ridden in just before him and gestured for him to dismount and approach. Thus Maddie was introduced to Rolland Kemp, the man who’d stood at her husband’s side from the day he’d left Kiriath, who had saved his life more than once, and who had become not only one of his most trusted subordinates but a dear friend.

  After that, they entered the great room where the tables had been set up and roast bullock filled the air with its savory aroma.

  It was a day filled with celebration. Maddie sat beside Abramm and marveled at the stream of people who came to congratulate him, to thank him, to tell him the specifics of what he had done for them. Among them was Krele Janner, for Maddie herself had summoned him to the celebration when she’d sent a man to Ru’geruk with his payment. He was sober and rough around the edges but clearly awestruck at the notion that Alaric not only had survived but really had turned out to be a king.

  Abramm received him and all the others with a relaxed graciousness that she had never seen in him before. Though he had always interacted with his subjects kindly and respectfully, this was different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was one more subtle change in him for the better.

  The party went on into the night, but the king and queen left early and retired to the bedchamber that had been prepared for them. As soon as the door was shut he took her into his arms and kissed her in a long, tender embrace that felt to her like drinking from a well of sweet water too long denied her.

  After a while they pulled apart and she stood looking up at him, delighting in the blue of his eyes, the level brows she loved so much. Truly he was the most handsome man in the world, and time and hard use had only made him more so. She trailed her fingers down the slender scars, and then he kissed her again, hungrily this time. It wasn’t long before they’d left their clothing strewn across the floor as they retired to their big, silk-veiled bed, and lost themselves in the glory of their love for each other.

  Abramm was officially crowned king of Chesedh two months later in Fannath Rill. They did not use the crown of the Chesedhan regalia but that of Avramm I, which Abramm had received from the fisherman in Elpis and worn when he had delivered the realm from Belthre’gar and the Shadow of Moroq. The Kiriathan robe, scepter, and orb were also used in the ceremony— and again the orb exploded in plumes of tiny Stars of Life to float out over the crowd who had gathered to watch. And for the Robe of Sovereignty, a new garment was sewn of purple and gold, and trimmed with white ermine, a combination of the two realms.

  It was an odd ceremony all around, in Abramm’s view; the Chesedhans’ acceptance of the Kiriathan regalia—and of himself as their king—contrasted ironically with the fact that Kiriath itself had driven him out.

  But then Philip Meridon arrived as emissary from Kiriath, his own wife and baby girl at his side, come to see their uncle, aunt, and cousins, and bearing a letter for Abramm. The words were written in a shaky hand by Simon Kalladorne himself, asking formally for Abramm to return and take his rightful place on the throne of that land, as well. He named himself regent serving in Abramm’s stead, waiting only for him to return and take up what was his.

  They need you, Abramm. My health is not good anymore, and I do not think I am long for this world. If you do not come, they will bring Gillard out of his prison and put him back on the throne. He is quite mad now. A wreck of what he was. If they do that, he will ruin us. All that’s been gained here because of what you did in Chesedh will be lost. We want you back, Abramm. Some of us never wanted you to leave. . . .

  Abramm’s heart was moved as he read the letter, for he felt his uncle’s anguish and understood his position. It shocked him to think that Simon might be ailing, for he had always been robust of health. Philip told them that the Gadrielites had caught him in the act of helping free convicted heretics, and that he’d been tried and convicted of treason himself. When he’d refused to swear allegiance to their Flames, he’d disappeared into the Holy Keep, where he’d been beaten and deliberately starved for over a year. The abuse was more than his aged body could take, and he had not recovered.

  “He’s been bedridden for months now, sir.”

  And so Abramm considered the request, asking Eidon’s counsel even before he went to the men on his cabinet. They spent the day in sometimesheated discussion, but by evening all were agreed that a union of the two realms would be acceptable.

  The next day he went walking with his eldest son and daughter—Ian still refused to have anything to do with him—along the beach at the end of Fannath Rill’s island, where a small park had been built.

  “You are going to leave again, aren’t you?” Simon asked reproachfully as they looked for slingstones from among the polished rocks on the beach.

  Abramm regarded him with surprise. “I haven’t decided yet, Simon. Though I think perhaps I might have to.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “And I don’t want to leave you either, my little man. Nor your brother and sister.” Nor your mother, most of all. . . . “But I think it is what I am supposed to do.”

  Simon said nothing, head down, eyes on the ground. Behind him, little Abby toddled along a stretch of sand as a barge slid by on the current beyond the swell of the island behind her.

  “Do you remember Kiriath at all?” he asked Simon. “It is where I was born. Where you and Ian were born. . . .”

  “I remember my pony,” Simon said.

  “Ah yes, little Warbanner.”

  His son stopped and looked up at him, the river breeze lifting the straight blond hair that fell over his forehead. “Do you think he’s still there?”

  “I don’t know. But I can look for him.” He bent down and picked up a white rock from among the gleaming tumble of stones, brushed away a few grains of sand, then held it out for Simon to examine. “This one would be good, don’t you think?”

  His son rubbed a stubby, sand-encrusted finger along it, then looked up at him and nodded. “A perfect one, Papa.”

  “I think Ian might like it, don’t you?”

  Simon looked uncertain for a moment, and Abramm saw that he might like it himself, despite the fact Abramm had already given him an entire bag of perfect stones. But in the end his face cleared and he nodded with confidence. “Yes, I think he would.”

  But when they returned to the nursery and Abramm presented the stone to his younger son, Ian would have none of it. Standing up against the play table with his thumb in his mouth, he only looked at the floor. So Abramm left it on the table, read a story to Abby and Simon, then took his leave. Just as he passed through the door, though, he saw Ian snatch the stone from off the table and run to the other side of the room to examine it.

  Abramm closed the door and headed back to his own apartments feeling
bittersweet. His heart leapt at the knowledge that Ian had taken the gift. But now here he was thinking about leaving again, and that would surely kill any seedlings of trust and warmth for him that might be sprouting finally in the boy’s heart.

  When at last all the decisions and preparations had been made and the morning came for him to depart, his family gathered at the dock to see him off. He faced Simon, told him to be strong, to take care of his mother and his siblings, and shook the boy’s hand. Simon bore it stoically, reminding him weirdly of himself at that age. Then he squatted down before Ian, who for a wonder was no longer trying to hide from him behind someone else. He stood there and looked into his father’s eyes expressionlessly, his thumb in his mouth, as always.

  Abramm set a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder, and the boy didn’t even flinch. “I never chose to leave, Ian. And I fought with all that’s in me to come back to you as soon as I could. During all that time, I never stopped thinking of you and Simon and your mother.”

  Ian’s blue eyes strayed meaningfully to Abby, standing beside him, and Abramm smiled. “Well, I didn’t know about Abby while I was out there, or I surely would have thought of her, too.” He grinned at his daughter. “She is so sweet, I could never have stopped thinking of her had I known.”

  His little girl jumped up on her toes and grinned back at him, then threw her arms about his neck, laughing in delight, too young to have any idea what he was talking about.

  “You left!”

  A thrill shot through him as he realized Ian had spoken. To him. Bitterly and reproachfully, but he had spoken. Abramm turned back to his son, handing Abby off to Maddie, who had stepped forward to receive her, alert as always to what was going on.