He sat again, facing her. “So ‘bound’ means not having sex with anyone else. But you could fall in love with someone other than your mate?”
“Such has happened,” she said, not looking at him.
“That’s why you were so upset about Nisara? Because you thought I might be in love with her?”
She sent an anxious glance at him.
“I wanted you the moment I saw you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” he murmured. “I wanted to fight for you. I wanted to marry you.” He cupped her cheek. “There’s no one but you, Alari.”
She searched his gaze and her dark eyes shone. “Truly, I could love no other more, Kyndan.”
He leaned forward. “If I get caught kissing you, will it get us kicked out?”
“I would not care if it did,” she murmured already tilting her face up for his kiss.
The servants and attendants had already retreated to a discreet distance but there was a shuffled consternation at the entrance of the box.
Kyndan turned, his hand automatically going to where his blaster should be. Then, cursing inwardly, he reached for the sword lying in its back scabbard beside him.
“Elder,” he said, stopping short.
Sechon had a woman with her, a clan leader, by her dress, and a young man in warrior clothes. All, especially the young man, had expressions of embarrassment at having interrupted such a private moment.
“Your Hi—Consort,” Sechon stammered, already stepping back. “We thought only to—We will withdraw.”
“No,” Kyndan said, trying to hide his chagrin and annoyance. “Please, come in.” “Are you enjoying the opera, Elder?” Alari asked.
“Very much,” Sechon said. “Consort, allow me to present Helia of the Az’shu and her son, Aylar.”
Helia and Aylar bowed and Kyndan nodded to them. “Good to meet you.”
“Helia, clan leader of the Az’shu, sits on the Council for Trade with Kinara of the Az’anti,” Sechon said with an unmistakable note of pride in her voice.
Kyndan remembered then that the leader of the Council for Food had accused Sechon of favoring Trade because her daughter, Helia, was on that Council.
“I’ve heard good things about you,” Kyndan said to Helia. The clan leader’s brow furrowed and Kyndan, borrowing a phrase he’d heard Alari use, said, “I mean, you are well thought of.”
Helia smiled. “It pleases me greatly to hear it so.” She glanced at Aylar at her side. “My son placed well in the contests this year.”
Kyndan looked at him. Probably all of eighteen, the kid was likely about a hundred times better than he was with a sword. “Congratulations.”
There was a pause and he could swear Alari hid a smile.
“What will you do now, Aylar?” Alari asked.
“I have been called to the Empire’s service, Regent,” he replied, his face impassive but his cheeks flushed.
“In what capacity?” she asked. “Will you serve in my forces?”
“It has not been determined, Regent,” Aylar said, his face still red.
There was another pause and then Sechon said, “Well, to be sure, the performance will begin again shortly.”
Kyndan offered a nod to them. Helia looked a bit disappointed but the kid looked absolutely crestfallen as they left.
“Did I miss something?” he asked.
Alari smiled a bit. “I think Aylar was hoping that you might have invited him to serve you.”
Kyndan blinked. “As what?”
She shrugged. “It is a great honor to be of the warlord’s inner circle. It is expected you will select warriors to become your trusted companions.”
Trusted companions? Hell, he knew exactly who he’d start with—Tedah and Aidar, maybe even Dael to mend fences a bit. He bet that as the Prince Consort’s friends they, too, would become very powerful men—
Kyndan looked the way Aylar had gone and his stomach sank. “This is just the start, isn’t it? People will be jostling to gain my friendship, to offer me flattery and gifts. Looking to me for favors and patronage and promotions. Begging me to have a word with the regent on their behalf.”
She didn’t answer. The music was starting again, the servants drawing back the curtains, but Kyndan’s glance took in the court, their dark gazes watching them, how they watched him.
He thought getting the empress to accept him would be hard, learning the sword work of an Az-kye warrior daunting and taking his place as warlord the most difficult task. Now he understood what Alari meant when she’d said that they’d constantly test him.
He’d won Alari and nearly gotten killed doing it, been welcomed into the Imperial family by an empress who hated him, but as far as being consort the challenges were just beginning.
Not even during basic had Kyndan been pushed so hard physically. To call it grueling would be kind. There was two hours of training with weighted balls, jumps, pull-ups—it seemed to go on and on. Then sprint work, then a minimum of ninety minutes of fight training.
Kyndan was trembling with fatigue at the end but it would have been a hell of a lot easier on his pride if Utar hadn’t been able to do it while scarcely breaking a sweat.
“You did this every,” Kyndan wheezed, “. . .day?”
Utar shook his head. “I do not wish to push you too hard. We will increase the difficulty when you are stronger.”
Kyndan gave a short, gasping laugh—all he could manage right then.
Utar began teaching him the most basic of self-defense moves of sword work. As Kyndan would need months of intensive training before he could risk another Circle challenge with any hope of surviving, Utar coached him instead on how to avoid giving offense and how to honorably deflect any offenses given to avoid a fight entirely.
He dispensed with the usual, traditional methods of training, much of which would require Kyndan to uncover the purpose of the lesson himself. Utar was a marvel at building on the skills and strengths Kyndan already had from Tellaran sports like darshball which required fast reflexes and eye-hand coordination.
“You are far more disciplined than I gave you credit for,” Utar said approvingly after Kyndan had completed an hour-long session with the target without protest.
“I was in the Fleet,” Kyndan reminded, pushing his hair back again. Warriors wore their hair long so he was growing his out. Now just shaggy enough to annoy him by getting in his eyes, it would be years before he could tie his hair back the way they did. “That gives you focus and man, you learn quick not to complain. As long as I have some idea what the purpose of what I’m doing is, I’m fine.”
“I think then you would not have lasted long with Nuhar as swordmaster,” he said with a rare smile.
Kyndan gave a laugh. “From the way you describe the traditional teaching forms, I think you might be the only one who can teach me.”
“I think this way better, quicker. I think it so for any student,” Utar said, his voice betraying his excitement. “I think if my s—” he broke off, his face clouding. He busied himself returning the equipment to its proper place. “I have lost myself in this work. I forgot what I have become.”
“You have a son?”
Utar’s grip tightened on the bar he was holding. “I did,” he said softly. “A daughter as well.”
“How old are they?”
“The girl is fourteen summers, the boy only sixteen now.”
“Do you ever see them?”
“I have looked on them at every opportunity,” he said quietly. “Though they have not looked on me in nearly a year. They must not look on me.” A smile, loving and pained, touched his face. “He has grown so tall and she looks so like her mother.”
“Your mate, is she . . .?”
His dark eyes held a faraway look. “Paria died when Ulan was but ten summers, his sister eight. They had only me and I—”
“What happened?” Kyndan asked. “I mean, why were you sent away?”
Utar shut his eyes.
“Utar? What did
you do?”
Utar turned away. “It is enough to say the thing cannot be undone. I will bear my shame forever but I am grateful my children have the clan to care for them.”
Kyndan shook his head. “I’ll never understand it. I’ll never be able to accept this whole clanless thing. The way they treated me was a nightmare and I knew all I had to do was get home and I’d be free again.” Kyndan faced him. “The Dauntless is still in orbit. I can send you to Rusco, to my father there. You’d be free.”
Utar’s dark eyes were sad. “You are kindly, Consort. A good man.”
“Let me send you to Tellaran space,” Kyndan urged. “You deserve better than this.”
“Nothing pleased my son more than to see the contests,” Utar murmured. “Ulan would talk of them for months before. He knew when I won, I won too his mother’s heart. He was already looking to see whom he might come to fight against among those his age. He is determined to win. And Hyari is so very like her mother, her wit, her smile . . .” He shook his head. “There is nothing for me in Tellaran space.” He forced a smile. “And I cannot deny you your teacher, Consort.”
“I understand,” Kyndan said quietly, lifting his sword for the next round. “You have to be where your heart is.”
Kyndan bolted down a welcome cup of caf between the sword training and the coming meeting with the war Leader. He and Alari discussed her attending this meeting too and ultimately he decided against it. If he was going to assert himself as warlord he was going to have to do it under his own power.
The mornings he spent training, Alari spent pouring over documents and petitions and reports. Of the two she certainly had the more exhausting task; at least he got to burn off some of his nervous energy. By custom the empress and Regent, if there was one, rarely left the palace grounds except to visit the temples but he was considering arranging a few days at Kinara’s house or maybe even somewhere on the other side of Az-kye. There were shadows under Alari’s eyes now and, although she would let herself sleep when held safely in his arms, she never seemed rested.
No one should have to shoulder the kind of demands Alari did and the constant attempts to curry favor by advisors and courtiers alike set his teeth on edge. It made him doubly determined that she shouldn’t have to do it alone.
He had no trouble getting through the palace now; the courtiers, servants and messengers parted to make way, bowing as he passed.
Fracking hell, when did I get used to that?
“Consort,” the majordomo said, hurrying to catch up with him. Like him, Jelara was in her late twenties. She was prettily plump in that sensual way Az-kye women could be. Although Jelara always seemed rushed and a little out of breath, she possessed both boundless enthusiasm and seemingly inexhaustible energy. “Consort, a moment, please!”
He liked Jelara but he didn’t want to be late either. “I’m on my way to a meeting with the War Council,” Kyndan said, slowing his pace so she could walk beside him. “What can I do for you?”
“As you know the midsummer festival is just weeks away, Consort,” Jelara said worriedly. “Ordinarily, of course, it simply would not be a question of whether or not the festivities should take place but perhaps on what scale—”
“Honored Majordomo,” he broke in, not unkindly. “Your question?”
“Well, if we are to hold the midsummer festival, Consort,” she said, her pretty round face troubled.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Not that he knew anything about this festival. He wasn’t even sure what god or goddess it honored.
Yeah, I’m going to need to study up on that too. The High Priestess Celara seems to like me okay, maybe she could tutor me a bit on their religious practices.
Jelara’s voice dropped. “With Her Imperial Majesty so ill . . .”
Kyndan glanced at the majordomo. That Jelara broached this—that she was looking to him for guidance—was growing evidence that he was gaining acceptance, gaining respect, as warlord.
He knew there would be times that he wouldn’t want to speak for the empress or Alari but in this case, he knew exactly what they’d want without asking. “Empress Azara would insist on the festival going forward, as will the regent. You should absolutely make the arrangements.”
Jelara nodded, looking relieved. “I will begin the preparations. On that note, do you think you will be challenging the contests’ winner this year?”
He almost missed a step. “Challenging—?”
“I just thought—” Her face flushed. “Well, it does sometimes happen that the warlord—”
“You know,” he said quickly. “The contest winner, uh . . .?”
“Behen of the Li’ru,” she supplied.
“Behen worked hard enough for that win,” Kyndan said, trying to keep his expression serious. “I don’t want to steal his thunder.”
She nodded. “I think that gracious, Your Highness. Especially since he was to be presented as mate for Princess Saria but now . . . ”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll meet some nice girl,” Kyndan said and couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow at her. “You’re still available, aren’t you, Jelara? I mean, the royal majordomo is a pretty good catch.”
She blushed and fluttered her hand in a weak, dismissive gesture. “He is years younger—”
“My mother was twelve years older than my father. She knocked him flat with one smile.”
It was cute how she blinked with interest and hope. That guy, Behen, would be lucky to get her and Kyndan turned his head so she wouldn’t misinterpret his amusement.
He stopped short when his gaze fell on the two women to his left bowing to him. They were dressed in court gowns, their hair and jewels done to the best advantage.
It had been nearly a year and a half since he’d seen them but he’d never forget either one.
“Your Highness,” the older woman murmured, her daughter beside her.
The hall was populated as usual with clan leaders, scribes, priests and priestesses, and dozens of servants who attended to the running of the Empire, all pausing at the approach of a member of the Imperial family. It didn’t take long for those present to glance up to observe that a clan leader and her heiress bowed before the Prince Consort but he did not acknowledge them.
“Narla, Ti’antah of the Az’quen,” the majordomo murmured. “Her daughter, Unata of the Az’quen.”
“I know who they are,” Kyndan growled. “I know very well who they are.”
It was not quite an acknowledgment but looking uneasy, Narla and Unata straightened.
“Consort,” Unata said with a smile up at her former slave. “I trust you are well?”
Kyndan’s eyes narrowed.
Her face hadn’t been so warm, so welcoming when he’d been her property. He’d dropped a goblet once—it hadn’t even broken—and she’d had him dragged out to the courtyard of the clanhouse and beaten. When he was shaking, retching, and hurting everywhere, she’d directed he be left there in the dirt to live or die as he would.
Narla’s gaze flickered to those observing the exchange and Unata shifted uneasily.
“The warmer weather is most welcome, I find,” Narla said, her face flushing. “I hope you are enjoying it, Your Highness?”
Unata looked more unnerved with every passing moment under the Consort’s glare and those around them observed the exchange closely.
“There is talk that the rains will come early this year, I understand,” Unata ventured.
“I want both of you out of here, now,” he spat. “And, barring direct order of the empress, the regent, or myself, the Az’quen are never to set foot on the palace grounds again.”
The women’s faces went white and both cringed, seeing how many, high born and low, were present to witness their banishment.
“Jelara, make sure the Az’quen don’t get lost on the way out.” Kyndan gestured to two of his honor guards. “Jurar, Liat—you can help her.”
Kyndan didn’t look back. The majordomo and his guards would do their jobs a
nd, while he was tempted to witness their further humiliation, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to stop there.
Just how much power did he have as warlord? Could he have that clanhouse, where he’d suffered so much, burned to the ground? Send them into slavery and let them learn firsthand the horror of it?
I could destroy their whole fracking clan!
He remembered, months ago, walking this very hall with Tedah and railing against one person possessing so much power as he did now, but part of him relished it.
He stalked through the palace hallway, walking so fast the Az-kye were hurrying to clear the hall and offer their bows.
He had to force himself to focus on the work at hand when he got to the meeting. Mezera, leader of the War Council, and two of her council members were there. Ten warriors, each in charge of different warships, were also in attendance. They offered bows and his greeting to them was terse.
Clearly Mezera was unhappy with having to share military information with him at all. And her glance toward the men showed she was wondering why the warriors were present at all.
“As you can see,” Mezera said somewhat stiffly, “our forces are more than adequate to repel any attack.”
Kyndan looked over the display showing the deployment and pointed to one section. “You have so many ships concentrated in this one area they’re practically bumping into each other. This leaves the other side of our territory barely patrolled, let alone defended.”
“We face no threat from the other side of our territory.”
“We’d better fracking not because there are no ships there,” he said shortly. “We need to redistribute our forces to cover all areas of our space.”
Her eyes narrowed. “To do such would leave us vulnerable.”
“You mean to the Tellarans,” he said.
Mezera’s nostrils flared. “Yes, to the Tellarans.”
He’d spent a lot of time thinking about this. He was privy to a great deal of Tellaran military information and it would be a betrayal of trust to reveal it. Only if it came to open conflict would he use that information.
He also knew if Central Command made the decision to invade Az-kye space he would have to.
The Consort (Tellaran Series) Page 21