The Light That Binds

by Nathan Garrison

  She had another word in mind to describe them—one far less kind—but thought it best to at least try to keep things civil.

  The four Yusanese women halted their advance, their eyes suddenly filled with doubt. Her father, however, did not respond in any way she could tell. Tassariel took a deep breath, trying to chill the caldron of emotion that threatened to boil over inside her.

  “I won’t leave until I have what I came for, so you will have to deal with me eventually,” she said, forcing calm into her voice when she felt anything but. “The sooner we talk, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair. A few words with me seem a small price to pay. I know how little you can stand—” she paused, swallowing “—a nuisance.”

  Reacting at last, her father’s shoulders began shaking, sending ripples through water that had grown deathly still since she’d arrived. The two women in the pool with him leaned in and whispered soothing words as they gently took his arms in their grip.

  He wrenched himself free. The women squeaked.

  “Very well,” he said, his voice deeper than she had imagined, yet thin, almost hoarse, as if he were a man under great strain. She couldn’t help but feel he deserved it. “Leave us.”

  The half dozen women looked six shades of askance, but they did his bidding quickly and without a word of protest. He had them well-trained, apparently. Not that it helped; if all it took to survive the end of everything was to be a colossal ass, she knew plenty of people with enough charisma to save the entire world.

  In moments, in far too short a time, the last dripping footsteps faded from her hearing, and she found herself alone with her father, who remained in the pool with his back turned. It was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

  Exactly what she’d been dreading.

  “Go on, then,” he said. “I’m sure you have many questions.”

  Too many to count.

  And I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear the answers.

  She supposed it would be best to simply ask about the ruvak, and why they seemed hesitant to approach the island, and how her father and his . . . brood . . . had survived so long. The rest, the personal things, could wait. The petty grievances of an abandoned child were pitiful, pointless, and could be put aside until more important matters were settled. They’d either find some way to deal with the enemy and would have all the time in the world to sort things out, or they’d all be dead.

  Tassariel cleared her throat. “Why, Father,” she began, voice cracking. “Why did you leave me!”

  The man flinched, droplets spraying from the tips of his blue hair. “I . . . I couldn’t . . .”

  “Couldn’t what? Raise your only daughter? Fulfill your responsibilities? Wait around when there were so many willing human women ready to make you forget I even existed?”

  “No. I couldn’t stand to see you anymore.”

  Tassariel clenched her hands into trembling fists. “I’m sorry I was such a burden to you,” she spat through her teeth.

  “It wasn’t that.”

  “What, then?”

  He hung his head. “You were starting to look like your mother.”

  The words struck her like a knife to the gut, breaking loose the first tears from her eyes. “I don’t care if I reminded you of her. I was twelve, still a toddler by our people’s standards, and my mother was dead. You were all I had . . . and you abandoned me.”

  “I was not fit to be a father. I knew our people could raise you better than I ever could.”

  The tears were flowing freely now. “So you’re just a coward, then.”

  “Yes. I am at that.”

  “Didn’t stop you from coming here and spawning abyss knows how many other children. Let me guess, you had an arrangement with the local lords? They supplied you with women and you supplied them with an endless supply of obedient casters?”

  He half turned towards her. “How did you find that out?”

  She scoffed, wiping the wetness from her chin. “I had a run-in with the Panisian Consulate.”

  Her father cringed. “I see.”

  “You see? That’s all you can say? They tried to rape and murder me once I found out their little secret. I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that you copied their operation, or that you send your other children off to be slaves.”

  He turned to face her now; in her mind, the bravest thing he’d ever done. “You are right, of course. I am guilty of all you have accused me. And guilty of so much more.”

  “I don’t care what else you’ve done. I doubt it could compare.”

  “You might be surprised, my child.”

  “Don’t call me that. Don’t even think it. You lost the right a lifetime ago, and nothing you do will ever earn it back.”

  “I know. But—”

  “But nothing! I didn’t come here so you could confess your sins to me.”

  “Yet you seem determined to wring them out of me all the same.”

  Tassariel crossed her arms, feeling fury start to overtake her grief. “Fine, then. If you’re so set on unloading your burdens, tell me what other atrocities we can lay at your feet.”

  “I fought in the War of Rising Night,” he said, eyes glazing over as he accessed his ancient memories. “And a case can be made, quite convincingly, that I was the reason we lost.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was young, at the time, only five hundred years old. For most of the war, I was assigned to a position under the man who would one day become your uncle.”

  “Gilshamed?”

  “Indeed. I was there the day he fought with the mierothi emperor. He and Rekaj were evenly matched, neither able to gain an advantage over the other throughout the daylong clash. I was the only valynkar within a dozen leagues.

  “And I simply . . . watched.

  “If I’d possessed even a drop of courage, I would have come to Gilshamed’s aid. Had we defeated Rekaj together, it was said that the mierothi beneath him were more moderate in their stance towards conquest. More reasonable. How much suffering might have been prevented had I not been such a coward? How much death?”

  Despite the steam rising out of the pool, Tassariel found herself shivering, her folded arms wrapping around herself sometime during her father’s speech.

  “Your mother was born just after the war and had no memory of it. She thought she could heal the scars I bore. But even with her ceaseless optimism, she eventually realized she was not up to the task. Not alone, anyway. She thought if we had a child it might mend what even a lifemate’s unflinching love could not.

  “I tried to convince her it was not worth the risk. So many valynkar women die in childbirth, or soon after, despite the finest in natural and magical care. Some say that we are too powerful, that to create another like us siphons the life from our very souls. But I was too weak to dissuade her. And you know well enough what came of it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Shaking uncontrollably now, Tassariel did not have the strength to answer.

  I understand, Father. You wish I had never been born.

  Without another word or even a glance toward the man, she fled.

  The journey back to the camp passed by in a blur, filled only with the startled faces of those she came upon. No one challenged her.

  She found Draevenus and sat down beside him. He didn’t question when she buried her face in his chest and let the sobs overtake her. He just wrapped his arms around her tightly and let her cry.

  Chapter 16

  “Do you happen to know what this is all about?” Gilshamed asked, waving the sheet of paper under Yandumar’s nose.

  The man set his bread on his plate, wiped the crumbs from his beard, and took an unhurried swallow from his amber-colored ale before leaning forward with a squint. “Aye.”

  Gilshamed raised an eyebrow. “That’s . . . all you have to say?”

  Yandumar winked. “Aye.”

  “Care to let us in on . . . whatever it is?” Mevon said.


  “Yes, you’ve piqued our interest, Gilshamed,” Jasside added, holding out a hand. “May we?”

  “You have not seen the notices?” Gilshamed said, handing the paper to her. “They are posted on every wall and tent pole within the encampment. I even saw some on my domicile.”

  Mevon grunted. “Must have been put up recently, then.” He waved a hand towards the drilling fields, where most of the trainees were also taking a break for lunch. “We’ve been at it all morning.”

  Jasside’s eyes went wide as she held the paper held before her face. “This is an open invitation to a wedding. A royal wedding!”

  “Indeed,” Gilshamed said. “Yet, curiously, it is lacking in several key pieces of information.”

  “Such as who is getting married.”

  Gilshamed nodded. “As well as what national matrimony customs will be adhered to, and who is presiding over the ceremony.”

  “Is that important?” Mevon asked.

  Every eye at the table drew to the man.

  Mevon shrugged. “I’ve never been to a wedding.”

  Yandumar slapped his son on the shoulder. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He turned his eyes toward Jasside. “I’d be ashamed of you if you didn’t drag him along. You know . . . for the experience.”

  She smiled. “I intend to. Still, I can’t help but wonder who is—”

  “You’re missing the point, lass. The notice gives a time and place, don’t it? And what does it say there at the bottom?”

  Jasside scanned the paper once more. “It gives an open invitation, as I said.”

  “An invitation for . . . ?”

  “For any who wish to attend as audience—” a small gasp escaped her throat “—and as . . . participants.”

  “Right you are! And with the end of the world just around the corner, who knows how many are gonna want to get themselves hitched? Can’t very well put ’em all on the invite, now can we?”

  Gilshamed narrowed his eyes on Yandumar. “You barely even glanced at the announcement. How can you possibly know so much about it?”

  Yandumar picked up his ale again and downed the last half of it in a series of loud gulps. He slammed the tankard down, bouncing the plates on the table. He belched. “You asked who was presiding over the thing, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, over an affair this big, only the highest authority can do that.”

  “The highest . . . authority?”

  “Ha! How many other emperors do you know? It’s me, you golden-haired idiot!”

  Gilshamed laughed, joined in his mirth by the others. Do not ever change, old friend. “Well, if that is the case, I suppose you and I had better get to work.”

  Yandumar raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  “This ceremony is more than just a wedding,” Gilshamed said. “An occasion as important as this begs need of a grand speech from whomever has the ear of those in attendance. If I had to guess, I would say you have not even begun to write it.”

  Yandumar grabbed his hunk of bread and tore a chunk from it with his teeth. He chewed in sullen silence for several beats. “Lucky guess.”

  “If I’m reading this right,” Mevon said, “the wedding is to take place this afternoon. You two had better get ready.”

  “Yes,” Jasside said, leaning on Mevon’s arm with a contented look on her face. “And so should we.”

  Mevon peered at her quizzically. “What for?”

  Joined by raucous accompaniment from Yandumar, Gilshamed found himself laughing once more.

  “Are you sure about this?” Claris asked.

  Examining herself in the mirror, Arivana nodded. “We’ve been over it many times now.”

  “I know. Just giving you one last chance to change your mind.”

  “About the dress? Or . . . the other thing?”

  Claris laughed. “Either, I suppose. But you’ve got to admit, that dress is rather plain. Especially for a Panisian queen.”

  “Which is precisely why I must wear it.”

  “Yes, but no powders? No paints? No jewelry? Countless eyes will be on you today. I understand wanting to make a statement, but you only get to do this once!”

  Arivana tittered. “Only if I do it right.”

  “Oh, Arivana. How could you not?” Claris leaned in from behind, grasping both arms and resting her chin on Arivana’s shoulder. “Everything you touch becomes the purest thing in the world.”

  Arivana peered at her aunt’s reflection, vision blurring wetly. “Stop that,” she said, sniffing as she wiped her eyelids. “You’ll make me look hideous if you keep it up.”

  “Impossible. You couldn’t pass yourself off as ugly if the whole world depended on it. And you’re one of those rare gems whose insides match the out.”

  “You’re making it worse!”

  “Am I? Well, I see now why you wanted to skip the powders, little miss river eyes.” Claris sighed. “Not that you even need them.”

  “Are you sure? There’s still a few marks until it begins, we can—”

  “Absolutely not. You’re perfect just the way you are, wet cheeks and all.” Claris winked. “That boy is going to become one lucky man.”

  “Abyss take me,” Arivana said, pressing both hands to her stomach as it was overcome by flutters. “I don’t need reminders about what comes after. About . . . tonight.”

  “Nothing to worry about there, so long as you remember what I taught you.”

  Arivana felt warmth flood her cheeks. “I . . . I don’t know if I’ll be—”

  “Trust me, you’ll do fine.” Claris leaned away, then guided Arivana’s shoulders around until she faced the tent’s entrance. “It’s time.”

  She took a deep breath. “Right. Here we go.”

  Half pushed, Arivana walked through the tent’s hanging flap. Glacial wind struck her like a hammer, making her shiver and hiss as she fought the urge to dash back inside the tent and grab a shawl.

  “I regret,” she said through chattering teeth, “that we chose not to do this inside.”

  A cloud of visible breath preceded Claris as she stepped next to her. “Me too. But how in the world would we have found room for all of them?”

  Arivana followed her aunt’s hand as it swept over the masses gathered two-by-two on the field to their left. Some of them old enough to have grandchildren, and some even younger than she, they had come from every conceivable nation and walk of life to share in this special day. There were thousands of participants, and the crowd of observers gathered in a ring around them, filling the hillsides and the shadow of the glacier, were beyond her ability to number.

  “Countless eyes indeed,” Arivana said. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

  She turned her attention ahead again, and began marching towards a raised platform that had been crafted hastily, yet with care and artistry, for just this occasion. The four figures atop it turned towards her as she approached.

  Gilshamed and Yandumar stood on the side opposite from the participants, pausing from their whispered argument over a sheet of parchment to give her a nod of welcome. At the center of the platform, stolid in their dark military uniforms and regarding her with guarded smiles, stood the brothers Harkun. One to stand in the place of honor. The other . . .

  . . . to be my husband.

  It was strange to hear the word in relation to herself, even inside her mind. Tior’s sordid push to get her one so as to plant a royal heir inside her belly had soured the concept. Yet so much had taken place since then it seemed an age ago, and as if it had happened to someone else. Someone weak and naïve and impossibly young.

  Someone she could barely recognize.

  Encouraged by Claris’s too-eager escort, Arivana lifted the long hem of her dress and climbed up the stairs to join the men. Chase intercepted her before she’d gone more than a single step, leaning in close.

  “Are you sure about this?” he said.

  Arivana raised her chi
n to meet his gaze. “You’re the second person to ask me that in the last few marks. Do I really seem so indecisive?”

  He straightened, unable to hide his grin, and shook his head.

  “This was my idea, if you recall. This union is important, and will affect the lives of—” she glanced at the waiting crowd “—many. I won’t feign modesty just to claim otherwise.”

  “I know. But my brother still isn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect, and to think you might not be as well . . . ?” Chase shrugged. “I just wanted to be sure.”

  “Well,” Claris said, planting fists on her hips. “You can be sure that if Sceptre gets cold feet I’ll—”

  “It won’t come to that,” Chase said, raising his hands defensively. “On my honor.”

  “Good,” Arivana said. “And as for Daye? Give me a mark and I’ll set his mind at ease.”

  He retreated a step, half-turning to gesture towards his brother. “He’s all yours.”

  Arivana nodded Chase her thanks as she strode past towards Daye, who eyed her approach with obvious reluctance. He hadn’t stood so far away as to be completely unaware of the conversation’s subject.

  She paused a pace away, looking up to study him. The gaunt features he’d developed during the exodus had begun to reverse, exuding an aura of gentle strength. Despite eyes that burned with memories of war and loss, his face reminded her that he was not that much older than herself.

  Arivana smiled at him. “I hear you might still have some . . . misgivings?”

  Daye grimaced. “Please, take no offense. You’re a fine woman, but my brother—”

  “We’re not talking about your brother.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Nor are we talking about you, or even me.” She pointed behind her. “We’re talking about them.”

  His eyes swept over her head, scanning back and forth across the crowds.

  “The people need this,” she continued. “Binding together two nations who were very recently at each other’s throats helps them to see that our kind can rise above our petty squabbles. That we have the strength to face the ruvak no matter how many they send to kill us. That they have a reason to think that hope is not just for fools.