She smiled. “Isn’t this a happy ending of sorts?”
“No. It’s a moment, and there’ll be far more of them before our endings come.”
“I hope so.”
He rolled onto his back once more. “So where is Danner?”
“At Gialdin. When you last visited he was drunk, but when he finally sobered up he recognised your scent. He did not like it, and so I decided to leave him behind when I came for you.”
Morghiad felt his forehead crease in a series of frown lines. “You think he has the same nose as the old Danner?” A headache began to proliferate through his mind with those words, the same headache he had felt when Sergeant D’Avrohan had said
something to him. What had he uttered again? Strange images flitted before him, and in one he was sure he saw Artemi pregnant and sleeping. That was odd. Apossible future?
“Are you alright?” Her fingers moved gently over his hair. “It will pass soon.”
As soon as she uttered the words, his headache dissipated. “Fine. What was that?”
“Part of the final stages of growing into a man.” She winked. “You will have more, but you have nothing to fear from them.”
Was this some sort of magic she
had wrought upon him? Not that he minded especially, but he would rather love her with a working brain than without.
In the morning they visited Valina in her stable and Artemi agreed, following a great deal of persuasion, to attempt to make the creature into a blood horse. She sat with the filly for a while, ensuring that the animal was calm and content. Then, rising from amongst the straw, Artemi withdrew a dagger and thrust it sideways into her own arm. The pain made Morghiad tense, and he very nearly ground his teeth together as she dragged the blade downwards. But the cut was sufficient to draw enough blood before it healed, and soon Valina’s feed bucket had been filled with a great deal of it. The foal sniffed tentatively at the liquid at first, but eventually took it. Artemi huddled into Morghiad’s side as they watched; she felt as nervous as he did. For an hour they held vigil as the foal fell into a deep slumber, its chest rising and falling with long, deep breaths. At times Valina twitched, but always remained quiet. And then, with a fluttering legs and a swish of the tail, Valina roused from her slumber. She looked at them both cynically, as if to
accuse them of expecting any less of her than survival. Artemi’s face filled with smiles and grins, and Morghiad’s body became suffused with relief.
“Now that your gift is complete,” he said, “there is something I must make clear. I give her to you as I would offer you the fires of the sun and the cascades of rain, if I had them. This is the object I offer as I offer my heart, or let them burn together in the fires of Achellon for eternity. They are yours to do with as you wish.”
Artemi raised her eyebrows. “She has my blood, and I have already accepted her. You do not give me
much of a choice, Morghiad.”
He allowed himself a wicked smile. “Is that a yes, then?”
She embraced him and kissed him softly. “Yes, I accept. And I will
marry you.”
Artemi tilted her head as she met eyes with her first, and very own, blood horse. She was sure the creature could understand her thoughts. Sure of it! Already Valina was almost twoyears-old and really quite wild, but very fast indeed. She would be trouble to break in, alright, lots of trouble! Artemi gave the horse’s nose a rub and turned
from the enclosure to gaze at the sprawling white towers of the city. Some of them branched off into smaller turrets as the rose into the sky, and most of those were entirely obscured by the clouds. She sighed with contentment as she thought of her eldest son and daughter, who had taken up their respective roles with skill and dedication. Silar had been in a comparatively good mood in the years since capturing Talia’s killer, as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Artemi’s ranger squad had captured no fewer than fifty fraudsters, thieves and murderers in the last few
months, and Morghiad had regained the respect of many through his efforts.
She had even begun to feel only optimism for Kalad, whom she now heard from more often than monthly. Of course, her re-marriage to her husband had been postponed for numerous reasons, and Kalad was one of them. The other, perhaps more obvious reason, was Morghiad’s increasing trouble with his memories. They confused him daily, and had more recently rendered him unable to fight. He slept for now, but Artemi knew that the time of his return was imminent.
There had been several moments of awkwardness, and neararguments that should not have happened if he had been in possession of the right knowledge. “I can give you a matching set of children,” he had said, grinning with a great deal of pride and arrogance. But more children were the last things she wanted from him. That part of her life was done, and it had been a great risk to allow it to happen anyway. But her response had upset him, and it had been one of the many instances when she had wished he remembered he was already a father.
She began walking back toward the palace, but as she moved through the city gate she felt an excruciating roar of pain unfold within her head. Blazes! She should not have left him! She instantly broke into a run and hurtled back toward the castle as fast as her legs would bear. Whereas she had ten-thousand years of memories to recall, Morghiad would only have seven decades. And if it took her three days to assimilate every recollection, it could take him less than an hour to become cognisant of his former self.
She pelted through the winding streets of ivory mineral, and leapt over
the throngs of citizens who prostrated themselves before her. When she arrived at Morghiad’s bedside, she was utterly breathless, with crazed hair and a thumping heart. But he was unconscious. It was happening now. Artemi lay beside him and watched his breathing as she had watched that of her blood horse through its transformation. A part of her feared what he might become when he opened his eyes again, or what he might try to do to himself when he realised the extent of his mistakes. But she knew her husband better than any Daisain or general, and she knew what
he needed. She had been thinking of that for over twenty years.
He felt her heart cease beating before his own wound its rhythm down to nothing. He felt loss, and he embraced the void that loomed above him. He had completed his duty. He was dead.
Morghiad opened his eyes, and
blinked at the bright, white brilliance of the walls. He realised that he felt cold, very cold indeed. Someone lay close to him: someone who held a roiling, confusing mix of battling fires within her, and who roused a tempest of emotions within him. Not dead. He turned to face her, and the mess of events began to order itself into some sort of story. “Artem-”
Stars danced before his eyes, and a rage of fury bore through his mind from her. She had slapped him.
“Bastard!” she shouted. “You stupid, follocking, idiotic, thoughtless and reckless bastard!”
His face stung on the other side this time. Another slap.
“The first was for leaving me, and the second was for Kalad.” She fumed at him while he regained his vision, and took a moment before speaking again. “You were wrong. You made a mistake. It is done with now. This is for coming back to me.” Artemi leaned forward and kissed him, which, he had to admit, was a great deal more pleasant than being struck.
But as their embrace continued, the guilt of his actions began to coalesce into something very large and very negative indeed. He saw the black river again, and he saw something stirring within it. It was not dead. The thing was still there...
Artemi withdrew from him and held his eyes with a stare that could burn through mountains. “I have had twenty years of dealing with that thing. I know how to control it. It will not hurt anyone for as long as you are content, and as your wife, it is unquestionably my duty to ensure that you remain so. And when we next die it will be gone forever. But until then we will manage it, do you understand?”
Morghiad was not entirely sure that he d
id, but he nodded anyway and
drew his fingers through her fizzling hair. “I loved you the moment I first read of you.” And now he was tied to her irrevocably. His heatless existence would be nothing without her fire, and his deaths would never be complete. “I will love you for eternity.”
“And I will love you for as long, idiot.”
He smiled as they neared for a second embrace, but then paused. “Wait. Silar kissed you?”
Her cheeks coloured. “Ah. Well... ah, you were dead and it was just – I, well, it was he that made the move, really... and-”
The green-eyed man had heard enough. He jumped out of the bed, threw on a shirt without tucking it into his trousers, pulled on an old pair of boots and stalked out of the room. He would find his friend, and grind that blond head of his into the blasted floor! She was Morghiad’s fire, no one else’s!
He was dimly aware that Artemi had followed him. “Don’t you think this is a slight overreaction? You haven’t had time to properly come to terms with it all yet – just wait...”
Just because he had given the man permission to watch over his children did not mean the general was
free to take liberties with his wife! The thought of it knotted his stomach, and he quickened his pace.
“Morghiad, you owe him your thanks, not this!”
He ignored her. Artemi had done well not to be seduced by Silar’s womanising tactics, which had been all too effective when he had been a young man. Morghiad stormed into the administrative regions of the palace, lengthening his stride and clenching his jaw. He had a vague feeling that he was no longer the king, but he still felt like one. He thrust open the office doors once he reached them, and was
rather pleased to find the general lounging at a desk beyond.
Silar looked up with some surprise. “Oh, you’re bac-” His forehead creased as his friend advanced.
“Silar, I’m sorry – he hasn’t worked it out yet!” Artemi’s voice. If she had really wanted to stop him, she could have fought him. But Artemi had not withdrawn any of her blades.
The one-time king of Calidell reached for his general’s neck and used it to thrust the man into his papers. “You touched her!” Blast him! Oh, how many ways there were to make
him pay for this! But as his grip tightened, and Silar refused to do anything to defend himself, Morghiad’s anger began to subside. Artemi had been alone. His children had been without a father. His children... adults. He let go of his friend, and muttered a quiet apology.
Silar immediately stood, readjusted his clothing and folded his arms. “Apology accepted.” A slow smile then spread across his face. “We have missed you, you old, moody git!” And with that he stepped forward, opened his arms and gripped Morghiad about the shoulders. It felt like a hug.
From a man. Very odd.
Artemi giggled from her place of observation in the corner. She wore a smile of relief, and it looked rather beautiful upon her.
Once Morghiad had extracted himself from his overly amorous friend, he started to think very carefully about the real sequence of events. “I owe you a great deal.”
Silar nodded. “This is true.”
“It is not something I can repay.”
The general sighed through his nose and twisted his mouth. “You didn’t kill anyone and you have made
her happy again. That’ll do.”
Kill anyone... No. Not directly, and not quite. He began to feel unwell as he considered Kalad.
“You successfully avoided your fate, Mor. And The Daisain was behind all of it: Dorlunh, the things in those books – everything. He tried to make it happen.”
Morghiad nodded slowly. His second father had been capable of some improbable things. “He was worse than Acher. At least I did not have to spend all day with Acher.” And that king had never known about Kusuru training methods. Fires of
Achellon... He turned to Artemi, who had endured far more of the same to become what she was. Was he like she and the others now? Or was he something else? He shook the thought from his head. There were more important things to deal with first. “We can reminisce later. There are others I must speak with.”
Artemi left him to walk to Medea’s rooms alone this time, and it felt like a very long walk indeed. When he found her, she was poring over several ancient tomes that appeared to be filled with numbers. She jumped when she saw him. Awoman! Blazes!
“Interesting?”
She snapped the book shut and grinned. “Father.” With rapidity she leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms about his neck, just as she had as a girl.
Morghiad very nearly laughed as they embraced. Not dad anymore, but father. He spent some time talking to her about her achievements, which seemed to be far too numerous to comprehend, and far too good for her to behave with such little confidence. And he felt his pride growing to foolish proportions as he listened to her. But there was a certain sadness about her that concerned him, and he could not
quite identify what it was. He tried to ask her about it, but Medea simply changed the subject or asked him how he had found his new sword.
When their talk was finished and he had very nearly given up fighting his tears, he went to visit his eldest son. King Tallyn! That was a strange thought, and a title he had never expected to utter in his lifetime. Morghiad found him lounging beneath one of the trees in the gardens. He was talking to a woman, who immediately made herself scarce as soon as Morghiad approached. “I am far too young to become a grandfather,” he
said in low tones.
Tallyn stared at him for a moment, and then blinked. “You remember?”
“Can you forgive me?”
His son rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have given the damn horse back if I hadn’t forgiven you!”
There was another strange manembrace, although it felt far more natural hugging his son than his friend. Too many emotions! He struggled to keep them all in control. “How do you find being the king?”
Tallyn reprised his seat beneath the tree, and Morghiad joined him.
“Tough.”
“It is. But I can help you, if you need it. I do not think that you do, but-”
“I would be glad for any help.”
Morghiad smiled. “I can’t do it for you, you understand. It’s better that you become your own king – something different from and better than I was.”
Tallyn gave a brief, “Hmm,” and pulled at the grass.
“And I understand that I have you to thank for my current... state of being alive again.”
His son shrugged. “Medea did
the work, I simply told her where to wield. There’s time around everything, you know, and I can see it. It’s different around you now, like it is around mother and the others like you. But I was allowed to see The Daisain for the first time last year. He’s not vanha-sielu.”
“But he died.”
“Apparently so.”
Morghiad did not want to think about that man for a moment longer. He changed the subject slightly. “Do you think you could bend time enough to speak to me in my dreams?”
Tallyn frowned in confusion.
“When you were very small, and your mother was taken from us, I saw you in a dream. You looked as you do now, and you told me where to find her.”
“Really?” His voice was thoughtful.
“You also left me to stumble around in the dark, which wasn’t much fun.”
His son laughed. “Well, I should apologise for that then.”
“No. If it had not been for that vision, your mother and sister would not be here, nor Kal.”
Poor Kalad.
When the sky had darkened and the night’s breezes had whipped up, they drew their conversation to a close and returned to the palace and their family. Two days passed before Morghiad was ready to leave the castle with Artemi at his side, and her fearsome wolf at hers. Danner still seemed to be immensely suspicious of him, and that only made him more eager to return the animal to Kalad.
>
You’ll find Kal at an inn in Cordinh, Silar had said, though do not expect a rapturous welcome from him any more than you would from Toryn. Morghiad expected no such thing, but
he was determined to make some sort of effort. And he desperately wanted to know the boy whose childhood he had missed. He had to put something right. Their ride to the village was a pleasant one, if not as swift as he would have liked. Artemi refused to make use of the Sky Bridges, and claimed that they had become worryingly unstable in the last two years. But by the end of the journey they had settled into their old, marital rhythm of conversation, which typically consisted of gentle insults and warm thoughts. Sometimes those thoughts were more than warm, and always the
nights were full of heat.
They arrived outside the inn at a late spring’s dusk, when the dying sun sent out its golden rays to clasp onto the last remnants of life in the leaves of the trees. Danner must have immediately caught the scent of his former owner, for he bounded into the tavern before Artemi could stop him. And Kalad, clearly intrigued by the return of his wolf, stepped out of the inn just as his parents dismounted. He stopped there for a moment, staring at his father.
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