by Megan Derr
"Yes, it is," Jader replied. "If that wreck had happened a few years later, someone might have considered taking me to the Mainland, but back then, Islanders avoided them far more vehemently than we do now."
Tialla reached over and squeezed his hand, said something else.
"She says what matters most is that you are alive and well. She is proud that you have come so far after losing so much." Krista frowned slightly, but only picked up her tea and sipped it.
After a brief, awkward silence, Tialla asked another question and Krista answered, explaining when she was done, "She wanted to know how you became High Commander. Since I already know that one, I went ahead and told the tale." She winked and Jader smiled.
Tialla said something else, patting his hand, and Krista said, "She says you have your father's temper, and the tale of how they met and married is not so very different from how you became High Commander."
"I see," Jader said with a smile. "Thank you."
Conversation grew less stilted after that, and continued until they were all doing more yawning than talking. It still took some time after that before Krista was able to extract them and lead him down the hall to his bedroom. "Thank you, my lord. I am certain you are exhausted, but it was kind of you to indulge Mother so long."
"It's an honor," Jader replied. "I may not remember anything, but I am not so callous I would begrudge a woman wanting to see her long lost son." Even if he had been begrudging and resentful since meeting Krista. But meeting Tialla punched him in the gut far harder than meeting Krista had. Mother Ocean, he could not wait to be home again. He yawned. "Apologies. Thank you for everything, Lady Krista. I will see you in the morning."
"Sleep well," she murmured, and hugged him briefly before slipping off down the hall and vanishing around the corner.
Jader stepped into his room and closed the door. His belongings had already been delivered, and someone had even gone to the trouble of unpacking his clothes. A nightshirt and dressing robe were laid out on the bed, a small cup of brandy on the table beside it, glowing a rich red-brown in the flickering light of a lamp.
He changed quickly and picked up the brandy, sipping it slowly as he let himself unwind and relax. Shivering slightly, he wandered over to the window to make certain it was shut—and paused as he saw figures in the snow, all of them with swords at their hips, the metal bits of their armor gleaming in the moonlight. Jader set his cup down—and then stopped, relaxing as he recognized Cherrell amongst them. They were probably on patrol or changing shifts, or maybe something outside had drawn their attention. They looked intent upon something, but not urgent or alarmed, so it was probably nothing.
Shrugging it off, Jader pulled the curtains shut and ventured closer to the fire, adding some additional logs so it would burn through most of the night.
Tomorrow, his real work would begin, and he had no idea now if the task would even be manageable. He'd been given the impression of an old, feeble, foolishly stubborn woman, not the sharp, alert duchess he'd met tonight. It did not seem to him that it was necessary she hand over the title to Krista, no matter how much retaining it impeded whatever plans Krista and the others had. It was Tialla's title, rightly and fairly.
It was also tomorrow's problem, and he was too overwhelmed and out of sorts to think about it any longer tonight. Setting the empty cup back on the table, he climbed into bed, grateful for the warmth that slowly sank into his half-frozen bones. Snuffing the candle, he let sleep have him.
Chapter Fifteen
Kamir wanted to die. The trip to Kyrmine should have been a simple two-day affair. Instead, they were on day four and the only time he'd been more miserable was the night he'd spent ten hours giving birth to twins.
First a sudden, nasty storm had slowed them down. That had been followed by poor roads that had cost them not one but two wheels, and on the rare occasion the carriage was cooperating, Kamir's stomach was not.
He climbed back into the carriage from his latest bout of throwing up and curled up in the corner, resting his head on the soft pillow Charlaine had been kind enough to obtain for him. "I am sorry I keep slowing us down."
"This is your trip, my lord," Charlaine said. "We travel at your pace and pleasure. Are you certain there is nothing more we can get for you? I do not think I've ever seen someone look so miserable."
"I'll be fine once I can get out of this carriage for good," Kamir replied. "Thank you, though. I am grateful to have you here. I'm certain there are many things you would rather be doing, instead of being stuck with me all the time."
Charlaine's mouth twitched. "If I was back in Harkenesten I would be standing in front of a door or training in the barracks until it was my turn to stand in front of a door. Mind you, I'd rather guard doors than hurt and kill people, but I'm not going to complain about having something different to do. Neither will Van."
"That really was too much." Kamir had no idea how he was going to pay for the additional bodyguard, but that was a problem he would have to address later. He hated to leave the children behind, but there was no way he would be able to manage them, himself, and the estate.
"It really wasn't, my lord."
Kamir nodded and rested a hand on his roiling stomach, willing it to behave for just a few hours. That was all they needed, and then he could take the remainder of the day to rest before getting to work tomorrow.
Thankfully his stomach did behave the last stretch of the trip, and as he stepped out of the carriage and breathed in the sea air, he started to feel even better.
A tall, broad, handsome woman came down the steps to greet him, her bright red hair fanning out around her head in beautiful curls. "Lord Norring?" When he nodded, she bowed low. "It's an honor to have you here, my lord. Your assistance these past months has been greatly appreciated."
"I'm happy to be of help, and it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mistress Heti." Kamir said. "I do not suppose I could trouble you for some tea? Calo if you have it, something herbal otherwise. I'm afraid carriages and pregnancy do not get along well for me, and I could do with something to soothe my stomach."
Heti's gave him a gently admonishing look. "Of course, of course, you should have said so immediately instead of letting me blather on, my lord." She motioned to the men who'd come out of the house and stable. "See His Lordship's things are taken to his room with all haste." She looked at Charlaine, eyes widening as she finally took him in. "Fathoms Deep, that is quite the honor. What brings you to our humble estate?"
"I am Lord Kamir's bodyguard," Charlaine said. "If you could arrange a room for me that is close to his, I would be grateful, though if necessary, I'm happy to sleep in his room on the floor or a sofa."
"Nobody sleeps on the floor in my house." Sniffing in offense, Heti bustled off into the house and started handing out orders as servants approached. When that was done, she escorted Kamir into a beautiful parlor appointed in cream, pink, and mint green. "Tea and some food that should stay on your stomach. How far along are you? Is this your first?"
Kamir settled into a delightfully comfortable chair with a happy sigh. "No, thankfully, though it's been some years since I gave birth to my twins. They're nearly nine now, so I am long out of practice. This one is a little over three months along, about fourteen weeks, I'd say." Free of his travel coat, the bump from the growing babe was more visible, though it'd be a few more weeks yet before it showed heavily.
Heti clucked her tongue and muttered to herself as she bustled out of the room, vowing to bring the tea and food herself.
"Are you certain you're well, my lord?" Charlaine asked.
"I'm fine, I promise. Me and my fussy stomach are old enemies, and it hasn't beaten me yet." Kamir settled into his chair and closed his eyes. "Nothing some tea and rest won't fix, and hopefully the journey home will not be as miserable as the journey here." He opened his eyes, and startled slightly to see how intently Charlaine was watching him. "Is something wrong?"
"What? No, my apologies, my lord. I was
simply thinking that it's readily apparent why the Commander is so fond of you, and why the High Consort thinks so highly of you."
Kamir opened his mouth, but immediately closed it again, not really certain what to say. He doubted Allen thought of him much at all, though he'd sent a couple of notes commenting Kamir was missed. Which was ridiculous.
As to Jader… Jader was complicated, and Kamir was too worn out to tread that well-worn path at the moment.
Thankfully Heti returned then bearing a large wooden tray that contained a pot of tea, cups of mango juice, a larger cup of beer, and various snacks. There was also a plate piled with proper food that she handed to Charlaine before returning to fuss over Kamir for several minutes. "Ring if you need anything further, my lord, and the moment you think you can keep proper food down, don't hesitate to let me know. If you need me to push back appointments a day or so, we can do that easily."
"No, tomorrow should be fine for all of it. I would hate to delay matters further than I already have. Oh, I did receive a reply from His Lordship, and he has granted full approval to re-open those shops the previous Marquis closed. So contact them and arrange appointments for later in the week, if you would be so kind, and we'll set that in motion as well while I'm here."
Heti looked like she wanted to hug him, but she settled for folding her hands in her apron and sweeping him a beautiful bow. "Yes, my lord. Ring if you need anything, I mean it." She bustled off, closing the door quietly behind her.
Sipping gingerly at his tea, Kamir sighed in relief when it seemed to settle on his stomach. After he managed to keep down the first cup of tea, he nibbled at a bit of rusk dipped in his tea between sips.
"You're looking better," Charlaine said as he finished his own meal and set the plate back on the tray, picking up the cup of beer that had been sitting there.
Kamir's mouth quirked over the rim of his teacup. "I certainly feel much improved, as I'd hoped. I think I will go to my room to freshen up and then see what can be done today." He finished his tea and rose—but hadn't gone more than two steps when the door opened again and Heti entered holding a stack of post.
"You shouldn't be up and about yet, my lord." Practically dragging him back to his seat, Heti flipped neatly through her stack of letters and held one out. Kamir's heart gave a lurch to see Jader's familiar handwriting. "Finally had a chance to go through today's post and this was there for you. I've nearly got your room ready, if you'd like to go lie down in a bit and rest until supper. I'll be back. Do you need anything, Sergeant?"
"No, but thank you."
She bustled out again, and Kamir took a cautious sip of the mango juice before breaking the wax seal on the letter.
Inside was not one, but two letters. The second one was sealed with red wax, a small heart pressed into it. Surely not. Kamir's cheeks heated and he hastily stuffed that letter back into the envelope to read later in private. Opening the first letter, he read:
Dear Kamir,
Have I said enough that I hate snow? Because I truly fucking hate snow. Especially when that snow is hiding ice, and instead of going for a relaxing walk, I wind up tumbling like a drunken oaf and damaging my ankle so badly I now hobble like someone three times my age. My dignity, presumably, is still somewhere outside in that mother-forsaken snow.
Kamir pressed the hand holding the letter to his face to muffle his giggles. It was terrible of him to laugh, but the idea of Jader forced to hobble around instead of storming about the way he always did was too funny and endearing not to laugh. He must be a hundred kinds of miserable.
When he was finally able to quell his giggles, Kamir continued reading.
Thanks to the snow and my own clumsiness, I am now confined to the Abernoth manor much as the snow confined me to Wessel's home before. Worse, I am confined to the ground floor, since trying to go up the stairs nearly ended in my pride joining my dignity. My patience may soon become another casualty, as being unable to move much means I am often trapped in a room, and once people enter it to talk to me, they seldom leave until they must. I'm not certain what's worse: the impossibly rude questions of Wessel's guests, or the detailed inquiry into every second of my life being inflicted on me by the Abernoths. That sounds unkind, and I don't mean to be. Largely I feel awkward and ashamed I am not the son they so desperately want me to be. I can only say 'I don't remember' so many times before I sound and feel like an ass. Normally I do not mind being the center of attention, but I prefer to be so when I am either handing out orders or trying to get clothes off, or at least able to leave when a conversation grows tiresome.
All this sitting about doing nothing but chattering has left me sleepless at night, but I have found something of a cure, or at least a distraction, in thinking of you. I often do anyway, but my thoughts have turned very specific and increased in frequency. I have enclosed those thoughts in a separate letter, as I'm sure you've noticed. Feel no obligation to read or reply.
Now that I have spoken incessantly about me, how are you? I hope you and the children are still enjoying the new house. I will look for a suitable new home gift the moment the snow clears and I can walk again. If there is something in particular you would like, feel free to say. That seems the very least I can do for the way you so kindly endure my endless whining.
This letter will find you, assuming I guessed correctly, at the fancy new manor that belongs to me which I have yet to see. I hope you are being treated well; Mother Ocean knows you're more its lord than me at present. Do as you like, please. If there's anything I dislike in the future, I'll deal with it then, though honestly, I think you'll make far better decisions than I, this being one of your fields of expertise.
Have Tara and Shemal pulled you into their antics yet? You'll have to tell me what you've been up to with them; Allen's letters are infrequent and strictly about business. I do not think Sarrica has ever written a letter in his life, merely signs the ones put in front of him. Tell Lesto of my woes and order him to write me. I am stuck in parlors all day listening to gossip or disappointing my Bentan relatives. If this goes on for much longer, I'm going to break into the wine cellar and stay there until I'm allowed to return home.
Kamir broke into giggles again, this time so overcome with them he had to brace himself with both hands, elbows resting on his thighs.
"What in the Pantheon has you laughing so hard?" Charlaine asked. "I don't think I've ever seen you laugh that way."
"Oh, my apologies," Kamir said, laughter fading. "I must seem a complete loon."
Charlaine shook his head. "Not remotely. You look happy."
Kamir ducked his head, smile returning as he stared at the letter. "Jader damaged his ankle while out for a walk in the snow. He's, um, not very happy about it."
"The High Commander turned his ankle in the snow?" A look of disbelief and delight overtook Charlaine's face. "And now he's whining about it? Oh, to be back at the palace with the pleasure of spreading that tale."
Kamir gave him a playfully reproving look. "Sergeant, Fathoms Deep is supposed to be above gossiping."
"Fathoms Deep has simply refined our skills to the point Lord Lesto doesn't catch us at it." Charlaine grinned when Kamir laughed. "What else does our estimable High Commander have to say?"
"That he is stuck sitting in a parlor all day forced to listen to other people and answer a thousand rude questions."
Charlaine rolled his eyes. "Poor High Commander, enduring all that cruel torture."
"He agrees with you completely," Kamir said with another giggle as he resumed reading.
When I am not trapped or writing whiny letters, I dine with Her Grace. She is a sharp, fearsome woman, and I admire her greatly. I hate that I have no memories of her, and that we do not share a language, but must go through Seredia or Krista at all times. I am trying to learn some Bentan, but honestly it was by the grace of Mother Ocean I managed to learn Harken. I don't know how the silver tongues do it, never mind the unfathomable skills Allen possesses.
Unrelated,
mentioning Allen reminds me that your hair, of all things, came up at dinner the other night—the second time, in fact, as it also came up at Wessel's dinner party. One of Cherrell's friends was unhappy with his son, who'd run off and dyed his hair emerald green. Apparently it's the practice of 'vagabonds and cheap whores', but given the man uses the same tone of voice when speaking of Islanders, I wasn't terribly sympathetic to his plight. The look on his face when I told him my lover made an elegant hobby of dying his hair beautiful colors almost made this entire trip worth it. Are you still sporting purple, or have you moved on to a different shade? What color?
Kamir reached up to touch his hair, which was mostly back to its mouse brown. He'd been so busy and reluctant to spend the money when there was so much else to do—especially with a custody challenge looming over him.
Would it be so terrible to dye his hair, though? Certainly it would be time consuming; he'd spend most of a day getting it done. But he could trim what remained of the purple, maybe go to the trouble of bleaching it this time and pick a jeweled blue or green…
Shaking his head, he finished the last bits of the letter.
But I believe I have rambled and whined at you long enough. I must save some whining for the next letter, after all, though with my luck by that point I'll have managed to break my arm climbing out of bed.
I hope this letter does find you well, and that you're enjoying your time at Kyrmine.
Yours,
Jader
Yours… Normally Jader signed with 'sincerely'. What had provoked the change? Kamir really wished his heart would stop pounding. One silly little word change meant nothing. His letters had grown increasingly casual; no doubt this was simply a product of that.
Kamir savored it all the same. They would not be lovers forever, and certainly never spouses. Jader would never love him the same way he loved Jader—was coming to love, anyway, really love, not the ridiculous infatuation he'd nursed all these years. But friends was not a bad thing to be, either. This letter felt like they were really and truly friends, and that was something Kamir could happily live with.