Duality

by Renee Wildes

  She wondered what “elingrena” meant, and blushed recalling the last time he’d said it. Biting her lip, she wriggled out of her boots, belt, breeches and hose, careful to keep her tunic down over her backside.

  His eyes lit with rueful amusement. “I cannot believe you would still be shy with me.”

  “Fine.” Taking a deep breath, she whipped the tunic over her head and tossed it to the floor. She shivered as his gaze traveled over her body, and resisted the urge to cover herself. He merely held out a hand to help her into the hot scented water, and she settled betwixt his legs, resting hers atop his, facing him.

  He spanned her waist with his hands. “You are so beautiful, I almost forget to breathe.” He reached up to tug at her braid, pulling off the restraint and running his fingers through the strands to unravel the weave. “I love your hair. I remember yanking off that ridiculous hat and watching it tumble free.”

  “What do you mean, my ridiculous hat?”

  “No more.” His eyes turned serious. “No more hiding who and what we are.”

  She shook her head and pulled him to her for a kiss, Slow, drugging kisses meant to soothe and comfort, not arouse. Just the touch of another soul to tell him, “You’re not alone. I’m here with you. For you.” She broke off the kiss and reached for the washing rag, scrubbing the battle from his hair and body, shivering when he did the same for her. It was mostly silent, but an intimacy that needed no words. A bridge had been crossed, and there was no going back.

  Loren helped her from the tub, and Dara wrapped her arms around him. For a moment they simply held each other, then he grabbed a drying cloth. She stood quietly as he dried her off and wrapped her in his chamber robe. She had no idea where the road ahead might lead.

  An urgent banging hit the door. “Dara?” Verdeen called. “Brannan is with me. Let us in.”

  Loren wrapped the drying cloth around his waist so it covered him to his knees. He went over to open the door.

  Dara tried to act nonchalant. “What’s going on?”

  “You must come with me, now,” Verdeen said.

  “I won’t leave Loren.”

  “You must.”

  “That is why I am here,” Brannan added. “I shall take him to the House of Healing when we are done here. I promise I shall not leave his side.”

  “Come on.” Verdeen tugged on Dara’s arm. “You must dress.”

  Dara allowed herself to be dragged into her room for a quick change afore being hustled down the hall. What was so important as to drag her away from Loren?

  Just outside the palace entrance, Dara plowed to a halt afore she crashed into Lorelei. Verdeen’s hand on her arm steadied her. “My lady, what’s wrong?” Dara asked Lorelei.

  “Thou hast a visitor. Verdeen, thou art excused.”

  Verdeen disappeared back into the palace.

  “Come with me.” Lorelei started down the stairs, where Cianan, his shoulder bandaged, waited with a short, heavily armed and robed stranger.

  His gaze met hers briefly. Warmth and comfort shone in his cobalt eyes, although he did naught but nod. It felt like a hug. He loved Loren, too, as a brother, and worried with her. She wasn’t alone in this.

  Dara didn’t recognize the silhouette, child-sized, but stocky. “Were you awaiting me?”

  Eyes glittered at her from beneath the hood. “I believe you have been waiting for me, child of earth and fire,” came a gruff reply. A small, rough hand yanked the hood back.

  Dara stared. So this was a dwarf woman. Long shaggy brown curls framed a round, weather-tanned face. Humor glinted from wicked black eyes. “Greetings, ma’am.” She dropped to her knees at the woman’s feet.

  The voices screamed their protest. “A queen bowsss to no one.”

  Dara ignored them.

  “I am Pahn. I was led to believe I was needed to help with a personal problem, but mayhaps I have the wrong person. I have never seen a dragon bow to any, the Kahn Androcles females in particular. Be you an imposter?”

  “I am but a very recent dragon, ma’am, and a mere half at that. I was taught to respect my superiors. I ask for your help. I have no one else to turn to. Others have tried and failed to remove this curse.” Her eyes filled with tears. “A man died today because of me. I will have no more deaths on my head.” Her failure had nearly destroyed Loren.

  Pahn snorted, but her voice was not unkind when she replied, “A queen has a great deal of blood on her hands. If needs must, she would order a man to his death to serve her purpose. You must make sure it is always for the greater good to sleep at night; that is all even your Lady can ask.” She turned to Cianan. “You may go.”

  Cianan bowed. “As you wish, majeda. Good luck, vertenya. I shall see you later.”

  Lorelei turned to Pahn. “Thou must be tired. Please, allow us to show thee to thy quarters, and I shalt order refreshments.”

  “Was a bit of a hike at that. I require no maiding, though.”

  “As thou wish.” Lorelei led them back into the palace, down the public corridors to an ornate doorway. “I believe thou shalt find the Starlight Suite comfortable. Make thyself at home.” She returned down the hall.

  Pahn entered the room and looked around. Done in shades of midnight blue and silver, it had great windows and billowing, gauzy curtains. She grunted. “Not a very earthy room, if you ask me.”

  “This is their best guest chamber,” Dara said. “Would you prefer something less airy?”

  Pahn shrugged. “I would, but I’ll manage. This palace was built on earth and fire, so it still suits my purposes. I’m not one to whine o’er color.” She eyed Dara. “I’m guessing you’re not, either.” Pahn hung her cloak on a hook and peered into the small pack on the table. “Good, they left my things alone. I half expected someone to rummage through it in the name of security, but the wards are undisturbed.”

  “I should leave you to your rest…” She longed to return to Loren.

  Pahn waved her hand. “Sit. Let’s get to know one another. Been a long time since I’ve had a chat with one of your ilk, child. I need to know what’s happened.”

  “My name’s Dara, great lady—”

  “I’m no lady, so stop right there. My name’s Pahn, and that’s enough greats, child. Understood?”

  “Aye.” Dara swallowed. “My mother died when I was very small, and I never knew my real father…”

  A knock at the door interrupted them. “I was sent with food,” a page called.

  Dara took a tray loaded with enough bread, cheese and roasted fowl to feed a small army. A second page bore a large earthenware pitcher brimming with ale. They placed their burdens on the table and took their leave. Dara recounted her tale of woe while Pahn made short work of the meal. “I tried to heal Deane, but I couldn’t. It’s a wall I can’t get over, around or through,” she finished. “Can you help?”

  Pahn burped and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “’Course I can. But iron’s the least of your ills. What of that demon that’s running around your king’s fine castle? What of him?”

  “I would send him back where he came from, for good.” Dara clenched her teeth. “I will not rest until he’s gone or I’ve died trying.”

  “Well, they don’t have metal mages in this accursed-pretty land. Guess I won’t be goin’ home for a while. Someone must hold this point of the pentacle.”

  “I hoped you’d say that.”

  “Hmph.” Pahn eyed her with that wicked amusement. “What of you? You realize you and your fancy necklace hold a point of your own, don’t you? Can you at least call fire?”

  “I almost set this palace aflame the first time. But I’m much better now.”

  “Ha. Keeping that prissy water mage on her toes, I’ll warrant. Good for you.” Pahn drained her cup of ale and held it out to Dara to pour more. “It’s chilly in here. Would you mind?” She indicated the fireplace.

  Dara focused and pointed. “Go.” The wood burst into flames. Dara swallowed the acid down and turned to the dwarf mag
e.

  “Good enough. Hold out your hands. Let me see.”

  Dara obeyed, her heart in her throat. The voices were quiescent as Pahn stared at the reddened, flaking skin around her wrists. The dwarf muttered under her breath, guttural words Dara couldn’t quite distinguish, and Dara felt a tingling probe. For a moment she saw fine black threads twisting under her skin, then the vision was gone.

  “Well, if I had any doubts about your story, that cinched it.” Pahn sat back. “Only a dragon is so vulnerable to iron. Good thing it’s so rare a metal here; you’d have a pletha of a time back home.” She pulled over her pack, rummaged through it, and pulled out two stones, one smooth and gleaming black, the other jagged and a dull silvery grey. “Hold still and picture black smoke leaving your wrist.”

  Dara watched Pahn place one rock on either side of her wrist. Black smoke, black smoke. The threads writhed and the burning began anew, but she kept her focus. The first thread pulled free from her skin like a needle jabbed from the inside out, curling toward the black rock as if drawn by a magnet. More followed, one by one, thread and needles and smoke. Dara gritted her teeth against the tears, so grateful to have the iron removed she’d have borne any amount of pain to see it done.

  “Give me your other wrist.” Pahn didn’t even pause for breath. Dara obeyed and the process repeated itself. After the last wisp of smoke had disappeared into the black rock, Pahn took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “The ties within your body I will draw down to your ankles and out. Focus down.”

  This was harder. A thousand little threads made their presence known. A tiny stab here and there she could have withstood, but all of them at once, everywhere, stole her breath away. The voices hissed and pushed with all their combined might. Pahn swirled the stones, coalescing all the poison into a downward spiral. Downdowndown. Dara sweat, cramping through little breaths. Go. Down. Out.

  With a final stab of pain, the last of the iron streamed from her body into the black stone. The release was so abrupt, and so great, Dara started to cry in earnest. Pahn put the stones away and poured ale for each of them.

  “There, now, girl, it’s done.” Pahn’s shoulders slumped. “How do you feel?”

  “Like myself again. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. The iron’s gone, but the brand’s still there. It’ll only disappear with the death of Jalad and the banishing of the demon.”

  Dara swallowed hard. She’d figured as much. This entire situation seemed to be a series of victories and setbacks.

  “But your former strength will return. Don’t try to do anything yet. We both should rest. The funeral’s tomorrow, I’m told. Then the coronation of your fancy princeling.”

  “He doesn’t want the crown.”

  “Well, the crown wants him. No use fighting what must be.”

  Dara’s jaw dropped. “You’re a…preor—” She couldn’t think of the correct word. “A…one of those.”

  Pahn laughed. “I believe in the Destiny Hand, aye.”

  The voices hissed. “We choose our own fates,” Dara decreed. “I won’t have mine decided for me.”

  Pahn sighed and rubbed her face. “That is a discussion for another time. Good night. I will see you in the morning.”

  Loren’s room was empty. Verdeen greeted Dara at her door. “It worked, I can tell. You feel…lighter.”

  “You have no idea.” Dara shuddered. “Where’s Loren?”

  “The family is all at the temple, attending the watch. They shall be at it all night. I am sorry, but it is family only. Would you like something to eat?” Dara shook her head. Everything ached. She just wanted sleep. She was so tired, she doubted she’d be able to light a candle. But come tomorrow…

  Jalad had best keep watch. Dara was back, and his days were numbered.

  ***

  Drums were the first thing Dara heard in the silence, a deep “boom” that reverberated through her soul. Verdeen made a final adjustment to Dara’s black veils, ensuring no hair showed through.

  Pahn caught Dara’s eye and nodded. The dwarf would pay her respects to a fallen foreign leader, as any visiting ambassador might.

  Lorelei and Paulette looked odd with their eyebrows shaved. Paulette had gone even further and shaved her entire head like the professional mourners did. She resembled a marble statue, expressionless save for reddened eyes.

  Those eyes made her look a bit mad, as well.

  “Pepper,” Verdeen whispered.

  “What?”

  “You can shed just so many tears. Pepper reddens the eyes to complete the look of mourning.”

  Dara’s jaw dropped. “You mean she cheats?”

  “Aye. Theirs was no love match.”

  Sirona too had shaved her eyebrows. “I am glad you are better. Thank you for being here.” She nodded toward Cedric. “It means a lot to him.”

  Dara felt like a hypocrite. She regretted Loren’s and his family’s loss, and the kingdom losing their heir, but she couldn’t fake a personal sorrow. Deane had been a boor, arrogant with little to be arrogant about.

  But Loren’s guilt was a crushing weight she sensed across the room. She was here for him, not his brother. Even though protocol, as Verdeen had explained, did not permit her approaching the Lady’s champion, she caught his eye.

  He nodded, flanked by his grandparents and the high priestess Aletha. Later, his eyes seemed to say. It was enough for now.

  The windows, the infernal paintings, even the railings in the palace were draped in black crepe. The guards were caparisoned in black velvet with a gold rising sun embossed on their chests. Obsidian blades gleamed in their ritual weaponry.

  The cloying scents of thousands of cut flowers and too much incense made Dara’s head ache. She sneezed. The incessant heartbeat of dozens of drums, combined with the oppressive atmosphere in the palace, threatened to suffocate.

  Loren was the sole brightness in his full ceremonial garb as Lady’s champion. He rode Hani`ena, escorting the funerary cart bearing Deane’s sarcophagus to the royal family crypt.

  Priests and priestesses led the parade, waving burning incense censers on silver chains. Then came Loren on Hani`ena, holding Justice aloft. Pulled by two all-black draft mares led, not driven, by Deane’s groom, the cart carried Deane’s sarcophagus through the city streets from the central palace to the eastern temple. Torgon, in full parade gear, was tied to the back of the cart. An honor guard of six mounted rangers armed with obsidian spears flanked the cart.

  Next followed a second smaller cart bearing trunks of Deane’s clothing, weapons and jewelry. The royal family followed the two carts, with Dara and Pahn betwixt them and the professional mourners, then the palace servants and lastly the general population.

  Once at the temple, the choir sang a solemn funeral dirge as formal bearers bore Deane’s body into the antechamber itself. The priests and priestesses led the way below into the catacombs beneath, where the royal family’s burial crypts were. Betwixt Ayala and Markale was Deane’s own chamber. The bearers placed Deane’s sarcophagus so he stood upright facing eastward.

  Each family member carried a trunk of Deane’s personal belongings. His personal effects were placed about the chamber, along with gold and silver coins, a loaf of bread, a cask of wine, several minute gold horses and dozens of carved figurines for servants, sensuri and bodyguards. Then the family was left alone to bid their final farewells afore exiting for the last time. Dara and Pahn waited in the corridor, having naught to say to the former heir.

  As the priests sealed the chamber door, a hundred white doves were released from the temple rooftop to carry Deane’s soul eastward to the Hall of Fallen Heroes.

  Dara doubted his fitness to reside there.

  The servants returned to the palace to serve dinner to the family, ministers, mages and nobles gathered to pay their respects. Dara barely noticed them. She moved immediately to Loren’s side. Cianan and Brannan moved off at her approach, acknowledging her right to be there. Ignoring the stares and
murmured comments, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “I felt the dwarf mage heal you,” he told her. “You are yourself again. The clear golden aura that was Dara, when we first met, is back. And I rejoice for you.”

  Tears stung her eyes. After all he’d gone through, he spared a thought for her? “How are you?” she asked. “I missed you last night.”

  “I am…managing.” His eyes were dark with regret. “I apologize for —”

  She laid her fingers against his lips. “Don’t. ’Twas family only. I understand.”

  “Nay, you do not.” Loren slid his hand through her hair to cradle her head. “You are family, dear to me as any kin. Do you not feel the bond, the separation when we are apart, the relief when we are together?”

  Dara froze. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know.” His eyes burned into hers. “You feel it now, as do I. The completeness when we are together. You have been wondering, wanting to ask questions. And I swear, we shall speak of this. We need to speak of this, of our future.”

  They had no future beyond deposing Jalad and restoring Hengist. Tonight he would be crowned heir to the throne, future king of the elves. He moved ever farther away from her. “Later,” she evaded.

  ***

  Bile rose in Loren’s throat as he stood in the wings of Justice Hall that evening. The family and ministry awaited him, the next surviving son. His granna would place the crown of Cymry on his unwilling head. He was right hand, Lady’s champion, a man of action, not words. He had demons to slay. He could not be torn betwixt the world of elves and the world of men. Not now…

  He was not going to declare war on the goblin nation on the ministry’s say-so.

  “Jalad first,” Hani`ena agreed.

  Hani`ena’s warmth lingered in the back of Loren’s mind. A second warm presence slid up behind him, and a pair of arms encircled his waist. The miracle of Dara’s clear golden aura. “I am glad you are better.” The words themselves seemed woefully inadequate. He placed his hands over hers, willed her to grasp the emotion behind the words.