Lliandra sobbed harder, her face a purplish mess of concentration and agony. The nurse pushed and prodded until a tiny pink body slithered into her hands. She held the newborn aloft and declared,“A princess!”
Relief, raw and scorching, swept over Rhoane. Something foreign bloomed in his chest and pinched his heart, unlocking what he’d painstakingly hidden away.Hope.
Nadra stepped from where she’d been hovering just beside the bed. A sword appeared in her hand and a collective gasp silenced the room.
“No,”Lliandra whispered,“not my daughter. Please. Not again. I cannot bear it.”
“You know the prophecy as well as I. It must be done, if we are to be certain.”
The nursemaid held the princess against her bosom, unsure what to do.
Nadra’s sword glowed white with ancient power. Claidholm Solais answered in kind, emanating power within the ornate scabbard Rhoane wore low on his hips. Rhoane absently hushed his weapon, keeping a trained eye on the other blade.
Nadra held Ynyd Eirathnacht, the sword Daknys had wielded in the Great War. The same sword that helped seal away her lover and betrayer, Rykoto. A sword embellished with two dragons.
“Bring the child to me,” Nadra commanded, and the nursemaid trembled as she pushed the tiny babe toward the goddess.
Lliandra lurched forward to snatch the princess.“Let me hold her once before you ruin all our lives.” She breathed in the newborn, like a grierbas marking the scent of her young.
“Brandt,”Nadra called, and the high priest stepped around the gathered nobles to take the infant.“Place her right palm against the blade.”
Brandt did as told, gingerly holding the tiny pink hand out toward the sword. When the infant’s palm touched the metal, a light brighter than the sun blazed forth and the sword erupted in song. Those in the room covered their ears, but not Rhoane. He stood motionless and listened.
Although cut off from the ancients, he thought he heard their murmuring in his mind. The sword sang of a day when peace would blanket Aelinae and at last the land would be united as it was meant to be from the start. A peculiar rustling tickled his thoughts, like leathery wings unfurling in the wind. A voice, older than the terrarae and full of sorrow, whispered in his mind.
We will be here, our prince—waiting, watching. You are our last hope.
Rhoane stilled, willing the others to quiet so he might hear more, but the voice was gone, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.Remorse.He knew that taste well. Had honed it like an aged wine until it became palatable.Hope. The voice had said he was their last hope. But who was he, and who were they? What did they wait for?
He patted his pocket, where the cynfar Verdaine had crafted for the Darennsai rested. All their hopes were as young and fragile as the infant princess, who stared in wide-eyed fascination at the sword.
“Please.”Lliandra sobbed quietly.“Let her stay here. I promise I will raise her to be fair and without bias.”
“You know I cannot do that.”Nadra’s musical voice undercut the words of the sword’s song.“This child is the Eirielle and must be raised away from your or the other rulers’influence. It is the only way. We discussed this, my daughter.”
“That was when I thought the child would be a boy and you would take him far from Valterys.”
“Even so. We must protect Aelinae’s future. It is the only way.”
“Will I at least be able to visit her?”The empress’s face contorted into a mask of rage and incredulity.
Nadra motioned to the nursemaid, who swaddled the princess in a fine woolen blanket.“No, my darling. You must never try to find her, lest your enemies learn of her existence. Everyone in this room will be compelled to forget the princess was born. When Valterys arrives tomorrow morning, he will find only his son. It is the only way I can protect her. Protect Aelinae.”
“At least let me see my niece before you send her away.”Duchess Gwyneira, so similar in coloring to her older sister but vastly different in temperament, took the infant from the nursemaid and bent low to whisper in her ear,“Fear not, little one. We are with you always. Though you may not see us, or hear us, we are in your heart. Remember this: there can be no Light without Dark, and no darkness without light. When you return to us, you will be our sun and moon, our stars and shadows. You will be Aelinae.”
“What are you telling her? Give me my daughter.”Lliandra held her hands out to take the baby, and Gwyneira obliged, but not before she placed her lips upon the little princess’s.
As she bent to give the child to her sister, she grimaced and placed a hand on her swollen belly.“Gods be willing, there might be need of the nursemaids once more tonight.”
Nadra placed a protective hand over Gwyneira’s.“Nay, my love, your child will be born in two days hence. He is excited to be so near his cousin.”
“He?”Gwyneira cast a sly glance at her husband, Duke Anje.“And you swore it was a daughter.”
Anje winked at his wife.“I said I welcomed a child, male or female. Either would be equally loved.”
“Yes, and you also said you wanted a daughter to spoil.”
“It is time,” Nadra interrupted, indicating to Brandt that he should take the baby.
“But why Father?”Faelara asked.“Why not Myrddin? He’s older than all of us and almost as powerful as the empress. Surely he would be the best caregiver for the child.”
“Myrddin and I have discussed this,”Nadra began,“and it’s been decided Brandt is better suited to raising a child on his own. Myrddin, as you know, has no offspring, and although his powers are great, his paternal skills are not.” The last was said with a smile warm enough to brighten the leaden skies.
“It is only for a few seasons,”Myrddin added.“You will see your father again before you know it.”
A tear streaked down Faelara’s cheek, and she sniffed.“Yes, I know. I’m being quite selfish, and I apologize. Don’t do anything foolish, Father. Bring the princess home safely.”She stood on tiptoe to kiss the high priest.“I love you.”
“And I you, my dearest.”Brandt hugged the child to his chest and wrapped his other arm around his only daughter.“I will think of you every day.”
“Rhoane,”Nadra said,“you will accompany Brandt.”
“It will be my honor.”Rhoane bowed low to Lliandra, then to the others in the room. Voices rose in a chatter of dismay. Lliandra’s sobs were stifled beneath requests for one last cuddle, one final kiss, but Nadra ignored all of them.
As Rhoane left the birthing chamber with Brandt, he heard Nadra whisper,“You shall forget this child. Erase her from your mind so she can be safe.”
They sped away from the palace, Brandt on a sturdy gelding and Rhoane on his stallion. They had no clothing and no food for the infant, and no idea where Nadra wished them to go. They rode through the night, headed west toward the Spine of Ohlin. Every so often Rhoane would check behind them, but they were not followed. Not that he’d expected anyone to ride after them, but he’d learned long ago to be cautious just the same.
We’re to meet Nadra in the cavern.Brandt’s gravelly thought brushed against Rhoane’s mind.
Then I shall get us there without delay.
He folded time and by the time the sun rose in the west, they were several days from Talaith. The baby slept most of the night, tucked safely in the warm confines of Brandt’s tunic, but with the dawn came her hunger.
“We must find some milk for the babe,” Brandt said as they approached a farmhouse on the outskirts of a small village.
Rhoane scanned the barn and listened for sounds of livestock. At the bleat of a goat, he prodded Lucitan.“There is fresh milk to be had in there.”He pointed toward the well-made building.“The farmer is not yet awake. We have a small amount of time to procure what we need.”
They hurried to the barn and tethered their horses to a stall inside. Brandt kept watch while Rhoane filled two wineskins with warm milk. He fashioned a nipple by wrapping cheesecloth around the tip. Brandt he
ld the bottle to the princess, and she drank hungrily for several minutes before she settled into a satisfied sleep.
“We must hurry. The farmer will wake soon.” Rhoane cocked his head as he listened for any sound to cause alarm. Hearing none, they reclaimed their mounts and raced from the farmstead toward Mount Nadrene.
Rhoane folded time once more, and they sped through towns and villages, unseen by others. To them, he and Brandt were but a trip of the light, something glimpsed and then forgotten. If they even noticed at all. Still, Rhoane couldn’t shake the feeling something tracked them on their race to the cavern. Not Aelan, nor Fadair, nor even man or beast. Something malevolent that whispered through the trees. Rhoane eased his stallion closer to Brandt and placed a protective ward of his ShantiMari around them.
Brandt’s stern face was set in a grimace as he clutched the child to his chest.“Do you sense it as well?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Aye. Whatever it is, it is immune to my power. We should be at the cavern by nightfall. Have you the strength to carry on?”
“Don’t worry about me, lad. I’m not as old as I look.” They both chuckled at that. Brandt was older than Rhoane by at least a century, but had the health and stamina of a man of mid-age.
Dark clouds funneled over the fields, and Rhoane cursed the summer rainstorms prevalent this season. Mid-summer was a time for sunshine and Light. Not the dire rain and darkness haunting their days of late. He glanced at the sleeping babe in Brandt’s arms. Gods, but he hoped the prophecy was true. He hoped this child was the bringer of balance to Aelinae, and not the destruction of them all.
They reached the hidden cavern entrance and painstakingly made their way to the sacred space nestled deep in the mountain. Nadra waited for them on the bank of the great lake that sprawled to the cavern’s depths. Rhoane had visited the cavern several times in the long seasons he waited for the Darennsai’s birth. Each time he saw the clear waters of the lake, his tension and anxiety unfurled from him like a darathi vorsi stretching its wings.
He wordlessly took the child from Brandt’s embrace and removed the woolen blanket. She wriggled in his grip, squirming to recover the warmth. He shushed her and held her against his tunic until she quieted, then gently dipped her into the lake. Her deep blue eyes grew large against her tiny face. He sang in Eleri, a song of devotion.
When she was fully submerged, he smoothed his hand over her nakedness, washing away the taint of Aelinae. She needed to begin her new life innocent of every expectation, hope, and demand he saw in her future.
He lifted her from the water and chuckled at her wild-eyed sputtering.“I would never hurt you, Darennsai.”His ShantiMari curled around her, warming her skin, providing comfort and protection that would last far into the future.“Nyath minas, ninyeh Taen das laerl. Dinyath allundrel kneesh awl hap teergartn.My heart, my sword, my life is yours, sweet Darennsai.”He removed the cynfar Verdaine had given him from his pocket. In all the seasons since he’d left the Narthvier, he’d carried it with him. As he placed it around her neck, he heard the dulcet tones of another song, not from his sword, but the pendant. His words had bound him to her. The song wrapped around him, into him, through him.
She peered up at him as if understanding what was happening. Intelligence shone in her eyes, and he recalled his vision on the beach.“Be brave, little one. I will be here when you return. I promise.” His lips brushed the smooth skin of her forehead, and he inhaled her scent deeply, imprinting it on his heart.
“Please, can I know her name?”
Nadra brushed the soft curls on the infant’s head.“She is called Taryn Rose.”
“Taryn,”Rhoane whispered,“I will wait for you.”
He handed the child to Brandt and knew in the depths of his being he would honor his oath to Verdaine. If he had to wait ten thousand lifetimes for her—for Taryn—he would. Together they would bring balance to Aelinae.
He finally understood what he needed to do, but he required her strength to accomplish his task. Not just her strength, but her unconditional love.
You will betray her not once, but twice.
He ignored the taunt and replaced it with his own version of the future. They would heal Aelinae together. In him was the remedy. After all, he was the Darathi Vorsi Prince.
Chapter 15
CROWN Princess Marissa crept through the silent halls of her mother’s massive palace. At this time of night, the nobles were either sleeping or carousing in one another’s beds. A few servants scampered down darkened hallways, but no one saw her. At least, she hoped they didn’t.
She’d woken from a dream of her mother screaming, yet when she checked her mother’s sleeping quarters, the bed was empty. This close to the baby’s arrival date, Marissa knew it could only mean one thing—the child had come early. Valterys’s son. Her stepfather would be arriving in the morning, and Marissa imagined the pleased smile on his face when he held the baby. He was a caring, loving father who had shown her nothing but kindness.
Over the course of a decade, he’d become the father she’d wished for, the loving parent she’d craved. He showered her with attention and affection, the two things her mother either couldn’t or wouldn’t give.
A creak on the stairs alerted her a moment before the courtier rushed past. She pressed herself against the wall, too terrified to breathe. If her mother caught her sneaking into the birthing chamber, she’d be punished with more than just words. Lliandra had made it clear Marissa was to be nowhere near the chamber when the little prince was born. Something about having all the heirs too close together and safety, but it was nonsense.
Marissa knew her mother. Knew Lliandra didn’t want Marissa to bond with her little brother before Valterys took him away. A vague memory of a bright little boy with chestnut hair and an impish smile pricked her nerves. He’d been in her dreams often of late, but she had no idea who he was. It didn’t matter. She had a brother to think about now.
Little did the empress know, Valterys had already promised Marissa her own suite of rooms at Caer Idris and the offer to visit any time she liked. He’d even shown her how to transform into a great feiche, so she could fly there in the space of a night. Lliandra was a fool to think she could keep Marissa from her brother. Just like she was a fool to think she could control Marissa’s growing desires.
The empty hallway to the birthing chamber gave Marissa pause. There should be guards outside the doors. Servants, perhaps; definitely odas, the women trained in the art of bringing babies safely into the world. The constant pelt of rain against the windows was the only sound. No screams, no joyous chattering.
Marissa glanced up and down the long corridor before she placed a tentative hand on the door handle. A wave of nausea swept over her. She snatched her hand away. The door was warded against anyone entering. But why?
She felt along the wood and metal of the doorknob, sensing the ShantiMari that bound the door closed. Untying power was much like untangling a necklace. It took time, patience, and nimble fingers. Even though she couldn’t see the ShantiMari, her own power could work through the bindings. Usually. This power was unlike any she’d come across before.
Marissa stepped back and surveyed the door. It was much the same as the others in the palace—painted white with gold trim. Nothing about the door indicated what the room beyond was used for. If a visitor to the palace didn’t know their way around, they would walk past none the wiser. But tonight there was something extraordinary going on inside, and she was going to find out what.
The clack of sturdy work shoes sounded against the marble floor, and Marissa scurried to a darkened alcove. A serving girl approached the door and entered without any resistance. For the briefest moment, Marissa heard the frantic whispers from within. The baby was coming!
Once more she tried the door, only to be blocked by an unseen force. Undaunted, she prowled the adjoining corridor until she found a secret entrance that led to cramped and musty passageways. The entire palace had inner walkw
ays. No longer in use, the first empress had had them built behind the walls to prevent nobles from being disturbed by servants. Over the seasons, the corridors were used more for the nobles’illicit encounters than for keeping servants out of sight. Marissa knew the passageways well. Especially the rooms where her mother’s courtiers took their lovers when they didn’t want to be discovered.
But that was on the far side of the palace, and not what Marissa was interested in at the moment. She flicked her wrist, and a flame of her Mari sparked to life to illuminate the tiny space. Beyond the wall to her left, she heard movement and followed the sound until she came to another secret doorway. On the other side of the wall, the door was concealed by a heavy tapestry. One she detested but her mother loved. It showed a scene from the Great War, of Rykoto being imprisoned into the Temple of Ardyn with the elder gods watching as Nadra set the final seal into a column. The anguish on Rykoto’s face had caused Marissa to have night frights.
Not because she feared the mad god, but because she felt sorry for him.
She pressed the latch and held her breath as it creaked open. When no one came looking for the cause of the sound, she slid behind the tapestry and inched her way to the edge of the fabric.
A shriek that could split the hairs on a carlix’s tail froze Marissa in place. Her mother. The baby.
Marissa eased her head from behind the tapestry to glimpse the room. What she saw stole her breath. A cry rose to her lips, but she bit her tongue to keep silent.
There, in a basket carelessly set away from the birthing bed, was her brother. A thin blanket covered the tiny thing, but she could clearly make out the shape of his face, his tiny hands—his maleness, even. The thrall of death clung to his inert form.
Another cry from her mother caused her to glance toward the bed, where she saw the oda’s arms disappear between the empress’s legs to coax another child into the world.
Twins.
The Darathi Vorsi Prince (Song of the Swords Book 0) Page 12