Kai squinted at him and flashed a smile. “That depends, Lof Shraen, on your wishes.”
“Come then.”
When they reached his chambers, Elcon motioned Kai toward his meeting room. “Wait in here. I’ll have Anders send for Craelin.”
Kai took the seat he normally occupied, leaving a space for Craelin between himself and Elcon. The room was not yet lit for whatever meeting Elcon planned, and in the small fireplace the ashes looked gray and dead. Elcon joined him and they sat together as Anders lit the torches. Elcon dismissed the servant when he bent to revive the fire. “The day warms.”
Kai regretted the loss of the fire. Although sunlight heated the outside world, the chill of night had not yet left this chamber. But he rubbed his hands together and said nothing.
“Kai, it occurs to me I never said thank you for all you did for Shae.”
The words hit Kai in the stomach. What had he done for Shae, after all? “I left her there.”
“She stayed.”
Kai acknowledged the truth of Elcon’s words, but his heart could not yet accept their peace.
Craelin entered with Anders behind him and glanced sideways at Kai before facing Elcon, who waved for him to sit. “Anders, leave us and shut the door.” Craelin had barely seated himself when Elcon spoke again. “I’ve news from Shraen Garreth of Tallyrand. His spies report that Freaer denies my right to rulership of Rivenn and Faeraven and approaches King Corbin of Norwood in an attempt to curry support within the Elder nation. He claims himself as the true Lof Shraen of Faeraven.” He flattened his hands on the table before him. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Does he really think the Elder nation will take up a fight not their own?” Craelin spoke from beside Kai.
“They may choose to ignore Freaer.” Elcon voiced what could only be a hope. He frowned. “Or they may blame me for recent disturbances and wish to remove me from power.”
“We must act in swiftness to counter Freaer.”
Elcon eyed Craelin. “How do you suggest we do that? I’ll not pick a fight where none may exist.”
“Why not go on your own tour of the Elder kingdoms and dispel ill will?”
Elcon put his hands over his face, but with a sigh lowered them. “Your idea has merit, Craelin.”
“Ask Shraen Brael for help.” Kai spoke the words almost before he knew their presence in his mind.
“Are we back to that, then?” Elcon’s tone bespoke impatience.
Kai drew air into his lungs. “He’s come to help you, if you will only give him the chance.”
Elcon’s head came up. “You speak out of turn, Kai. I’ll not grovel before an unproved Elder youth. I’ve already decided his fate.”
****
Garbed in blue and gold, Elcon sat in state before the three great arches framing two carven and canopied strongwood thrones. From his position behind and beside the throne Kai gazed over a crowd swelling the chamber beneath an enormous golden chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Light fell in beams through tall clerestory windows above pillars that marched down the chamber on either side. Beyond them, strongwood leaves lifted in a breath of wind.
A herald took his position before the throne platform. “Bring the prisoner.”
Craelin and Dithmar came forward, Emmerich between them, but somehow it looked more as if Emmerich brought the two guardians, rather than the reverse.
Emmerich, but a slender youth with tousled dark hair, nonetheless stood with quiet dignity and a bearing that bespoke nobility. He did not speak but fixed deep brown eyes upon Elcon.
Elcon curled his fingers on the arm of the throne. “Tell me the truth of your identity, and you may find lenience.”
“I am Shraen Brael, the DawnKing of prophecy.”
“So, you hold to your story?”
“You asked for truth.”
“What is this insolence, Lof Shraen?” The voice, which came from the forefront of the crowd, belonged to Benisch.
Elcon raised a hand to silence the roar in response from the crowd. His voice sounded thin in the sudden silence. “Very well, then. Let your presumption decide your fate. I hereby banish you. You will be taken to the border of Westerland and there released. If you ever return to Faeraven, you will be put to death on sight. Do you understand?”
Emmerich lifted his head with an expression not unlike pity on his face but gave no reply.
Elcon’s voice shook. “Take him, then! I loathe the sight of him.”
Craelin and Dithmar escorted Emmerich from the presence chamber.
From beside Kai, Benisch sighed as if in contentment.
Kai’s face felt chilled, and touching his cheek, he found there tears.
****
Kai woke in the night to hear Elcon pacing. He rolled over and tried to sleep once more, but nothing could drive the sound from his mind. He rolled to his feet and abandoned the warmth of the cot where he slept when he needed to watch over Elcon in the night. The door that separated the inner chamber from the dressing room gave way beneath his palms. Moonlight pooled on the floor from the tall, arched windows, for the hangings were drawn and the shutters open. Elcon entered from the outer chamber and began his circuit of the room with bowed head and clenched fists.
“Lof Shraen.”
Elcon turned at his call. Kai stepped into the inner chamber and came to stand before Elcon. He could not see Elcon’s face with the moonlight behind him. “Are you well?”
Elcon shrugged. “Well enough. My body does not trouble me, only my thoughts.”
Kai waited. Elcon gave a short, bitter laugh. “When I accepted the scepter of Faeraven I didn’t know I would pay a price in sleeplessness. I did not know the costs of rulership but saw only its privileges.”
Kai fell into step with Elcon, who resumed pacing. They completed a circuit of the inner chamber and passed through the connecting door into the outer chamber. Elcon stopped before the fireplace. “You think me wrong.”
The statement lay between them, harsh and final. Kai searched for words but found none.
Elcon stared at him for several heartbeats in the light of the glowing embers. When he turned away, Kai did not follow.
7
Departure
“Come back to me.”
Arillia’s gentle call summoned Elcon’s thoughts from the gray wasteland they wandered. The garden path they walked appealed to him more, for the vibrant garments of fall dressed the trees. A piquant breeze stirred the leaves and searched his collar as he bent his head to focus on her familiar face. “I’m sorry, Arillia. I have much on my mind.”
With a gloved hand she touched his face. “What a weight you bear, Elcon. I hope you will not let it overcome you.”
He captured her hand and carried it to his lips in a courtly gesture that brought a sparkle to her eyes. Tucking her arm into his own, he took her farther into the scented shade. She matched her steps to his and, when he paused, turned into his embrace. This time he kissed her in earnest, much as a thirsting man quenches the need for water. He drew away to look at her and caught his breath at her dewy skin, reddened lips, and pale oval lids. She opened her eyes, gasping a little, and he backed away, for honor’s sake.
She gave a slight smile. “That was not a goodbye.”
“It will have to serve as one, since you intend to leave me this day.”
She sent him a coquettish look. “You must find occasion to visit Chaeradon, Elcon.”
He sobered. “It will be some time before I can do that, Arillia.” He tucked her arm in his and strolled back along the path. “I depart tomorrow on a peace-making tour of the Elder lands.”
“Is that what so occupies your mind?” Jealousy tinged her tone.
“I’ll come to Chaeradon when I return, Arillia. I promise.”
A contented look settled over her face. “I’ll look forward to your return.”
They walked on in silence, but when he started toward the fountain where Kai waited, Arillia touched his arm
and stopped him beneath a strongwood tree. “Wait. I’m not ready to go back. I need to know something, Elcon, and I want the truth.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”
She looked full into his eyes with shadow and light playing over her face. “Do you mean to court me?”
At her words, laughter shook him.
Horror crossed her face. She stumbled backwards, turned and ran.
Elcon recovered his wits and caught up to her. He took her by the shoulders, but she averted her face. “Forgive me, Arillia. I don’t laugh at the idea of courting you, just that you would ask such a question after…” He sent a look Kai’s direction and lowered his voice. “Do you think I would embrace or kiss you if I did not mean to honor you?”
Her face lit with sudden joy, and he flicked her tears away with his thumbs. “Stop weeping, dear one. I have a journey to make, but when I return, if you will have me, I’ll court you.”
She smiled and reached to place a kiss on his cheek. “Keep safe on your journey, Elcon. Remember, I await your return.”
He laughed at the satisfaction in her tone and pulled her into his embrace. “With that in mind, I’ll take even better care of myself.”
8
Desire
“Aewen.” Murial’s quiet summons cut through the morning.
Aewen gave a wry half-smile and stopped moving but did not turn back.
“Time to return, flitling. The household will awaken soon.”
That Murial named her after the tiny birds that flitted from bush to bush in freedom seemed more irony than she could bear. Her life had become a cage. Each day she spent as Raefe of Darksea’s betrothed showed her more clearly how unsuited they were for marriage. Did he see it, too? If he did, he gave no sign.
She could not fault his attentiveness, except that he scoffed at her need for quiet and called her “bookish” because she could read. He also informed her that wandering in nature was no proper occupation for a woman. “Leave that to the commoners.” She understood by his tone that he would not welcome a wife who tended “peasants.”
Aewen looked across the Cobbleford to the other shore just as a fawn emerged from the trees. She put out a hand to silence Murial, and the little creature’s ears flicked. She held her breath. The fawn reached down to drink. Tears stood in her eyes. When its head lifted and the delicate creature vanished into the underbrush, she barely saw it go. How could she bear it? Except for those tournaments and social gatherings he favored, Raefe meant to confine her indoors, away from nature’s beauty.
Murial touched her arm with a gentle hand, and a smile split her weathered face. Her maid seemed more fragile these days. She kept silence more and startled easily. The change in her made Aewen’s heart sink. She wished she could do something to ease Murial’s peace of mind, but could not even save her own, not with the wedding banns soon to be nailed outside the chapel door for all to see. To soothe her maid, Aewen attempted a weak smile that, when they started back, failed entirely.
Upon her return to the castle, garment fittings, discussions of jewelry, and hair stylings soon overtook Aewen. Mother at first included her in the excited discussions of fabrics and flowers and friends but, when she failed to respond, no longer consulted her. Aewen could summon only a lackluster interest in such things, whereas Caerla brought into the conversation all the enthusiasm a mother could want.
Raefe called for Aewen partway through the morning, and her mother, laughing, drove him off until after the midday meal. Mother seemed gay these days, almost as if she herself became a bride once more. Aewen, by contrast, sank deeper into gloom with each passing day.
That afternoon Raefe took Aewen and Caerla riding in his carriage and urged his driver to whip the horses until they bolted down the rutted track. Aewen shrank into a corner of the carriage, which rocked and jostled her so severely she nearly tumbled from the seat. Her white fingers gripped the elk-leather armrest as she fought the urge to vomit. She could not even enjoy the benefit of scenery since the red velvet curtains were drawn against the dust, although it entered anyway. She felt its effects in her stiffened hair and aching eyes. Caerla and Raefe seemed unaffected by these discomforts. When the carriage canted at what seemed an unsafe angle, they laughed out loud. Where Caerla found such an appetite for danger, Aewen did not know.
She was thankful when they arrived home. It took Murial a long time to wash the road dust from her hair and change her into clean garments for the evening meal. Aewen stared at her bed, longing to crawl into its comfort and forget the ordeal she’d just experienced. Soon she would find no refuge in her bed. Mother had explained physical duty to a husband as a distasteful burden she must learn to bear.
Aewen stood still and allowed Murial to fasten her new garments and untangle her hair. Protocol required she present herself in the great hall for the evening’s feast. She might contrive to slip away early, however.
She sat beside Raefe throughout the meal, smiling and commenting whenever politeness required, but for the most part ignoring him. His blue eyes sought hers repeatedly, as if he sensed the distance she placed between them, but she could not, after that frenzied ride today, manage anything more.
“You are quiet tonight.” Raefe refused to be ignored.
At the annoyance on his face, her irritation melted into remorse. The fault was hers. A man should find more of a welcome from his intended bride. Raefe was handsome, but he didn’t attract her. What would it be like to yearn for her bridegroom? The thought made her sigh, but she instantly regretted it. From the way Raefe’s eyes narrowed, the sound gave away more than she intended. “I am weary.” She shifted forward in her chair, and he grasped her wrist with a restraining hand, as if he guessed she meant to flee.
“They’re about to start. If the music pleases you, we’ll invite this troupe of minstrels to play for us at Trillilium.” The name of her future home, seat of Darksea, spoken by her betrothed, should have brought delight to her. She sighed again. How far she was from the bride he would want her to be.
Caerla leaned toward Raefe, her tawny eyes alight, and Aewen saw again her sister’s hidden beauty. “Another sort of entertainment will follow.” Excitement infused her voice. How Caerla could look forward to an evening’s entertainment after the battering in the carriage, Aewen had no idea. She hadn’t lied to Raefe. She could barely keep her eyes open. Still, for his sake she lingered. Minstrels strummed lutes and psalteries while timbrels and finger cymbals lent percussion. There was even a timpani, carried into the minstrel’s galley on the back of a brawny youth with deep brown hair. That particular minstrel struck her as a little strange, although she couldn’t decide why.
King Devlon, seated on Aewen’s other side, glanced across her to his son. “That one bears Kindren blood. They’d better watch the silver.”
“And the women.” Raefe’s laughter sounded course. “He’ll be a half-cast, probably a son of Ellendia.”
Aewen knew the story as well as any Elder maiden. The huntress Ellendia of Sloewood had fallen under the enchantment of a son of Rivenn who found her after she was thrown from her horse in the canyonlands. The Kindren were no more ready to accept her as an Elder than her own people would condone her marriage to a son of Rivenn. Aewen didn’t know all the details, but Selfred, one of the Kindren kingdoms, had formed when it divided from Glindenn as a result of the strife that followed. Ellendia and her husband had vanished together into the wilds of Dyloc Syldra to live hand-to-mouth, under constant threat from the garns who dwelt there.
Aewen stared at the minstrel with unabashed fascination. While he had the Kindren’s long eyes, his darker coloring was that of an Elder. Could he be a son of Ellendia?
He swung the timpani into place and boomed an accompaniment to “A Pirate’s Rolicking Tale.” Another minstrel stepped forward to sing, his bright voice threading the jaunty music.
Oh, I’ll away ‘cross the rolling sea
To an isle overlooked by all
But the lively men o
f Dead Man’s Key
Who never forget to call
Wandering ships into the lea
Of their hospitality
As verse after bantering verse enlivened the hall, Aewen’s exhaustion fell away, and she tapped her foot in time. Raefe, after ensuring she remained at his side, all but forgot her as he laughed with Caerla.
Now was her chance to escape. If she hurried, she could distribute leftover food to the poor when they gathered at the castle gatehouse. How she longed for her accustomed task and to hear news of little Caedmon. Had his wound healed? She hadn’t been able to keep her promise to check on him again. She made to rise from the table, but Raefe caught her wrist. “Stay with me.” His tone brooked no refusal.
A frisson of fear touched her. What did she really know of Raefe of Darksea?
She sat back down with her cheeks burning and rubbed the wrist he’d squeezed too tightly. Wood scraped as servants cleared the trestle tables from the floor below their dais, and a troop of acrobats ran in. They wore jerkins and leggings but kept their feet bare the better, she supposed, to perform their feats. The acrobats climbed on one another to form impossible towers. When they tumbled in a beautiful free fall, Aewen gasped with the others, but the acrobats landed on their feet.
Her weariness returned. When Raefe forgot her again in favor of Caerla, she managed to slip from his side at last. This time she did not murmur polite words in his ear but whispered instead to a servant she instructed to deliver her apologies to Raefe and her mother after she left. She sidled out of the hall by a servant’s door and followed the narrow passageway to the kitchen. Raefe might be angry to find her gone, but he should have let her go earlier. He didn’t own her, after all, at least not yet.
She descended worn wooden stairs illumined by wall-hung torches as voices drifted to her from below. She could put names to most of them. Maered, a dark-haired serving girl about half her own age, looked up from the rush baskets which held scraps of food and the trenchers of bread from which they’d eaten their meal. Maered smiled when she saw Aewen and held out one of the baskets from long habit.
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