“Son—”
“No,” he said roughly. “It’s too easy to do that. To hide behind orders, to shift the blame to someone else.”
A warrior and his honor. Oh, frack, I am turning into one of them.
Kyndan passed his hand over his face. “But no, that’s not what this is about. And as for marrying Alari, I had to.”
Ryndar froze. “Wait . . . did they threaten you somehow? If they—”
“No. In fact, everyone—” He gave a short laugh. “And I mean everyone, tried to get me out of it.”
“Then why?”
Kyndan shifted his weight.
“Son?”
“I just . . . knew. Like you knew with Mom.” Ryndar stared at him and Kyndan offered an embarrassed shrug. “I think I liked it better when you were yelling at me.”
“You’d known her what—a day?”
“You asked Mom to marry you an hour after you met her.”
“I was crazy,” Ryndar said shortly.
Kyndan gave a quick grin. “Well, now we know where I get it from.” He searched his father’s face, his smile fading. “It’s not just me they’re blaming here, is it? They came down on you too.”
Ryndar looked away. “Get yourself to the medcenter,” his father said shortly. “Get that taken care of, then we can talk.”
“Get—? Oh,” Kyndan said, touching the scar that Jazan had left on his cheek. “I’m, uh, actually keeping it.”
His father’s brow creased. “Keeping it? Gods, why?”
“It honors Alari and—” This is going to go over really festering well. “Because I’m an Az-kye warrior now and warriors are proud of their scars.”
Kyndan could count on one hand how many times in his life he’d seen his father speechless but the look on the elder Maere’s face said volumes.
“Alari is Regent of the Az-kye Empire,” Kyndan reminded. “She has to be married to a warrior. So that means—”
Ryndar held up a hand. “Stop. Just stop.”
“I can’t,” Kyndan said. “And as of now I’m officially resigning my commission.”
“You’re what?”
“Resigning,” Kyndan repeated.
“No,” his father said flatly.
“Father, you don’t get a vote. I have to resign.”
His father took up position at his desk, his arms on the surface, his fingers interlaced. He was the very image of a reasonable officer and had Kyndan been anyone else he would have believed this man a superior willing to listen, one he could win to his way of thinking.
But Kyndan had seen that same posture many times growing up. He knew that, while his father wanted to give the appearance of fairness, he had already made up his mind and a thousand pulse cannons couldn’t dislodge him from his position.
“Explain this decision to me,” his father said. “Help me understand where you’re coming from on this, Son.”
“Okay, how about this? Being consort to the Az-kye regent is going to make it a bit tricky to hit my objectives for the next promotion in rank.”
His father’s mouth tightened. “I wish you would treat this with the seriousness it deserves, Kyndan.”
“I am taking this seriously. There are no options here. I have to resign.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not just Imperial Consort now, I’m Imperial Warlord. I’ll be commanding the Empire’s armed forces.”
“What?” Ryndar breathed.
“Imperial Warlord. Commander of the Az-kye military.”
Ryndar was on his feet instantly. “This makes you a traitor!”
“I’m not a traitor,” Kyndan said tightly. “We’re not at war.”
“What if we were?” Ryndar demanded. “What would you do, Son?”
Kyndan closed his eyes briefly. “Let’s just make sure this peace treaty happens. You work on your end and I’ll work on mine.”
His father held his gaze for a long moment then sat and picked up a datapad.
“Commander Maere,” Ryndar began with cold formality. “Your resignation is refused.”
Kyndan passed his hand over his eyes. “You can’t do that.”
“The hell I can’t.”
“Fine, you’ve refused.” Kyndan threw his arms wide. “Now what, Sir? Order me to Central Command to answer for the crime of getting married? Keep me from returning to Az-kye by force and hold the Imperial Consort hostage? Take away my holo privileges and send me to my room? What’s the plan here, Papa?”
Ryndar’s nostrils flared. “There’s still the brig, Commander.”
“There are all of two Tellaran ships in Az-kye space,” Kyndan said sharply. “And believe me, if you force a confrontation they’ll blow me to pieces along with this ship. A warrior who dies in battle dies honorably. They’ll think they’re doing me a favor.”
“Damn it!” Ryndar burst out. “I didn’t raise you—or your sister either—to be festering Az-kye!”
“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Kyndan blew his breath out. “She’s looking forward to meeting you, by the way.”
“Your wife.”
“Her Imperial Majesty, Regent and Heiress to the Az-kye Empire, Princess Alari.” Kyndan folded his arms. “Yeah, my wife.”
Ryndar leaned back in his chair. “When?”
“Accept my resignation and assume the duties as Tellaran representative and—maybe—we’ll ask you to the house for dinner tomorrow.”
Ryndar lifted the datapad again, already tapping the screen. “I’m placing you on inactive status—”
“No,” Kyndan groaned. “Father—!”
“For six months,” his father continued. “If, at the end of that time, you have not presented yourself for service, your status will automatically be listed as ‘separated.’”
“I’m not coming back. I can’t. And six months to think about it isn’t going to make any difference. You should just accept my resignation now.”
“Well, this way your retirement benefits will be worth an extra fifty creds a month,” Ryndar muttered, tossing the datapad onto the desk. “What time is dinner?”
Alari’s head came up as soon as she heard his footstep in their quarters. She put down the war leader’s report and hurriedly waved the servants out. Kyndan came into the sitting room then and her heart sank to see that he still wore his Tellaran uniform.
He gave her a smile as she stood up from the sitting room couch to greet him. “Well, I’m all yours.”
She blinked. “You resigned? You are no longer Tellaran?”
“Well, I resigned. I’m afraid you’re stuck with the blue eyes.”
“So”—she clasped her hands—“you—will be Az-kye?”
“Az-kye as I can manage. My father is looking forward to meeting you tomorrow.”
She nodded to the low table where a pot of steaming tea and an assortment of the Az-kye foods he favored waited. “Are you hungry, my mate?”
He shook his head. He looked tired, as if the experience had been a great deal more trying than he wished her to know.
“He was angry?” she asked quietly. “Your father?”
Kyndan’s smile was rueful. “I’d like to say I’ve seen him angrier, but I haven’t.” He sighed. “And angry I could handle but he was . . .”
Alari searched his face, the resignation in his gaze, the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth.
Disappointed. His sire was disappointed and this hurts him deeply.
She swallowed hard. The Az-kye were a proud race and she had been raised to revere the traditions of her people. To be counted among the Children of Heaven was to be blessed and protected by the gods.
But to his sire—and to Kyndan—to be considered Az-kye was to be shamed.
Then Kyndan shook off his melancholy and gave her a quick grin. “Never mind. Anyway, it’s a prestigious assignment so there’s some squabbling back at the capital about who will be posted to the role of Tellaran ambassador but my father will be standing in at least for a few weeks. He pulled s
ome serious strings to get here.”
“Does he distrust us so that he must see to this task himself?” she asked, hurt.
“Yeah, I think the grandbaby he’s expecting might have more to do with his visit. You know,” he said at her frown, “Kinna’s baby? His grandchild?”
Alari drew breath to point out that Kinara was of the Az’anti clan and therefore would bear no grandchild to him but then she closed her mouth.
The Lady of the Az’anti would think it his grandchild. Kyndan, the Imperial Consort, still reckoned Kinara his sister although she was of another clan.
Kinara, Tedah, and now Kyndan as well, each had a Tellaran core with only the thinnest veneer of Az-kye over it . . .
“Did he ask you to return to home with him?” she asked tightly. “To return to Tellaran space?”
“If you knew him you wouldn’t wonder about that.” Kyndan gave a short laugh. “Believe me, my father doesn’t ask, Alari. But no, the idea of me returning with him was never really broached.” He gave a firm nod. “It’s done, though. I know I’ve got a lot to learn so I think it’s best if the war leader stays where she is for a while.”
Unexpectedly, he cupped her cheek. “I know you’re worried. I can see it in your eyes. I know what people are saying about me, about us. But I’m going to make this work, I promise you.”
“They will not make it easy,” she warned. “They will test you constantly, as they do me.”
His jaw hardened. “Let them. I’ll remind whoever needs reminding that I’m consort, that I’m Imperial warlord.”
She glanced away.
His brow furrowed. “What is it?”
“You say such but you still wear the uniform of a Tellaran officer.”
He looked down at himself. “Huh,” he said, then gave her a slow grin that made her center heat and her fears fade to nothing. “Maybe you could help me out with that?”
There was ugly, there was hulking. And then there was the ultimate melding of the two—also known as Nuhar, Kyndan’s new swordmaster.
Reputed to be the finest swordmaster in the Empire, Nuhar was a warrior in his middle years, heavily muscled and just as heavily scarred. As a young man Nuhar had won the contests an unprecedented three years in a row and had gone on to train dozens of young men of the best families. He was very particular about whom he took on as a student but he agreed, grudgingly, to teach Kyndan.
So the following morning before dawn, Kyndan rose and, careful not to wake her, pressed a kiss to Alari’s hair. In the earliest light of day he folded away his Commander’s uniform and donned the funereal black and utterly revolting animal skins of an Az-kye warrior to begin cramming to acquire skills warriors began learning at the age of eight.
“Did no one ever teach you how to wield your sword?” Nuhar demanded as Kyndan demonstrated of his current skill with the blade.
“Not in public,” Kyndan muttered wryly.
The swordmaster’s mouth flattened into a thin line.
Ugly, hulking, and entirely lacking in humor, Kyndan corrected.
The warrior took the sword, placed it on the floor and directed Kyndan to kneel before it as a show of his respect and humility to the blade. Kyndan shot a disbelieving look at Utar, who stood nearby, but the former warrior’s expression didn’t betray any disapproval or surprise at the swordmaster’s order so Kyndan, sighing, obeyed.
Then leaving Kyndan, bare except for the loincloth, on his knees to show reverence to an obsolescent piece of metal, Nuhar talked feelingly about how the Az-kye sword was more than a weapon, more than a training tool, how in the hands of a true warrior it became a link through which one could touch the spirit of Ren’thar.
It sounded like utter nonsense and what any of this had to do with learning how to fight was beyond him. Kyndan spent most of Nuhar’s rhapsodizing alternatively stifling yawns and wondering if he could get away with sending Utar to the palace kitchens to get him some caf.
“No offense to Ren’thar or to the, uh, sanctity of the blade,” Kyndan broke in at a rare instant when the swordmaster paused long enough to draw breath. “But I don’t have the usual ten years that warriors get to train. Maybe we could skip ahead to the part where I actually get to pick up the sword?”
Nuhar’s expression remained one of warrior impassivity but his eyes narrowed, just a touch. “Stand you, and demonstrate the grip you will use to wield it.”
Kyndan got to his feet and wrapped his hand around the hilt.
“Too loose,” Nuhar said disdainfully. “A babe could strike it from you, do you hold it thus.”
Kyndan’s nostrils flared. “’Kay,” he grumbled and adjusted his grip.
“Too tight, you will be rigid, clumsy, easily beaten do you hold it so.”
“Why don’t you—” Kyndan began angrily then caught himself. “Honored swordmaster, maybe you could show me how to hold the sword?”
“You must learn this for yourself.”
Kyndan shot him a glare. “If I’m learning it by myself, what are you doing here?”
“I am the guide who will lead you to be the warrior that lives in your heart.”
“Well, maybe you could check your guide map and find us a more direct route?”
In retaliation Nuhar took his metal blade away and handed him a child’s practice sword like the kind Kinara and Aidar’s adopted son Bebti used.
“Are you kidding?” Kyndan demanded, holding up the short, wooden blade.
“If you will have the seriousness of child I will treat you so,” Nuhar returned.
“I don’t have time for this! I have a hell of a lot to learn and I need to learn it by roughly yesterday. Give me back the real sword and let’s get started.”
Nuhar’s dark eyes narrowed. “You will get a warrior’s sword when you can act as a warrior.”
“Fracking hell, give me back the other godsdamned sword!”
“I am the swordmaster.” Nuhar folded his massive arms. “You are the student.”
Kyndan flung the child’s sword to the other side of the practice room, the wooden blade bouncing and skidding across the floor.
“No,” he snarled. “I am the Imperial Warlord.”
“An unworthy one,” Nuhar spat and turned on his heel.
“Festering son of a—! Get back here!” Kyndan shouted.
Nuhar didn’t even glance around, pushing his way out of the practice room reserved for use by men of the Imperial family.
Kyndan was furious enough that it took him a few moments to recognize the two warriors who entered the room shortly after.
“How’s it, uh, going?” Tedah asked.
“Couldn’t be better,” Kyndan bit out. “I turned down a dream command in the Fleet to take up playing with obsolete weapons, my people think I’m a traitor, her people think I’m worthless, and even the palace gardener feels perfectly comfortable asking me when I’ll be getting Alari pregnant. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Tedah said, frowning.
“I am well, Consort,” Aidar said, inclining his head.
“That was my famous swordmaster, Nuhar of the Oron, quitting by the way,” Kyndan said with a wave at the door the warrior had exited through. “In case you want to run after and get his autograph or something.”
“I was fortunate to speak to him in the hall,” Aidar said. “It was an honor.”
Kyndan jerked his chin at his brother-in-law. “Any chance you could get him to come back? I didn’t even make it through the first lesson.”
Aidar folded his arms. “The swordmaster said he found you irreverent, disrespectful, and undisciplined.”
Kyndan’s brow furrowed. “What did you say?”
Aidar’s dark gaze didn’t waver.
“Oh, for frack’s—!” Kyndan threw his arm out. “Perfect,” he bit out. “Hey, thanks for the visit, drop by the palace any time. What are you two doing here, anyway?”
“The ceremony to welcome the new Tellaran ambassador is at midday,” Tedah said. “We thoug
ht we’d come early and catch you alone”—he glanced at Utar—“well, in private, first and see how things are.”
“Okay.” Kyndan studied him for a moment. “Why did you want to catch me alone, exactly?”
Tedah gave a half-shrug, his expression chagrined. “Lianna and Alari were talking and the subject of well . . . old times came up.”
“Lianna told Alari about me and Nisara.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Well, that explains how she knew.”
“Lianna feels terrible.” Tedah shifted his weight. “Did it cause a problem?”
“Yes, but I think I reassured Alari that what happened in the past is in the past.” Kyndan looked between them. “I’m not the only one this caused a problem for, am I?”
“Dael was . . . taken unawares,” Aidar said.
Kyndan sighed. He suspected Dael and Alari both worried that, lacking the tradition of being bound, casual sex between Tellarans might not be so casual after all. Or maybe they just had the same jealousies as Tellarans did but kept them buried deep under Az-kye mores. “Should I talk to him?”
Aidar looked surprised. “To what purpose?”
“Uh, to reassure him too.”
Tedah and Aidar exchanged a glance. “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Tedah said. “You probably want to let him cool off.”
“Or practice you more with the sword first,” Aidar suggested dryly.
Kyndan gave a short, startled laugh. “Ah, frack, I’ve been on Az-kye too long,” he said, passing his hand over his face. “I’m starting to get your jokes, warrior.”
The door to the practice arena opened and one of the Imperial servants came in. She wore the sash of a personal attendant but he didn’t know this one, which meant she wasn’t one of Alari’s maids.
The woman offered a bow with cool self-possession as if he weren’t standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a loincloth. “Consort, the empress commands your presence.”
He bit back an acerbic reply. He’d already mouthed off to enough people for one morning.
“Tell her Imperial Majesty I’ll be there shortly.”
The woman bowed again and turned to go but not before Kyndan caught the flash of contempt in her eyes, and his nostrils flared.
The Consort (Tellaran Series) Page 17