She started to retort then leaned back in her seat. “I see,” She picked at an imaginary spot on the table. Her voice and smile were glazed with sweetness that didn’t match her words. “We go to battle for peace. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“Elenya!” Tahruk’s whispered reproach had her pulling her hand out of his.
She returned her glare to the elder Sharanis. “My people spent almost a hundred years enjoying peace…”
“Your people had a trained guard that often fought alongside the King’s men.” Redahn’s voice captured ears and eyes alike. “They weren’t preparing in case of peace, now were they? And, begging your ignorance, but the King was prepared to defend them as well, even though exile should have had him turning his back on them completely. I know this only too well because I was injured in one such skirmish not far from the lines marking Aleone’s territory. They enjoyed peace at the expense of others.” He cleared his throat. “Your freedom cost me my ability to effectively wield a sword, my lady. As a warrior, I am essentially worthless.”
The bitterness in Redahn’s voice as well as the truth in his words turned Elenya’s stomach. She watched him shrug off the nurturing touch of his mother, wishing his resentfulness could have been shoved away just as easily. She sighed. Just another reason for these people to hate hers.
“Whether you believe in war as a means to an end or not, my dear, sometimes it is necessary.” Nema toyed with the stem of her wine goblet as she spoke. “Besides, we share blood with Corigan.” She stole a quick look at Renaine. “Our lord’s chosen is the daughter of Travensworth’s father’s sister. One of his sisters, at least. Above all others, it is our duty to step in and help protect their King, our kinsman.”
Through Nema’s speech, Elenya stared at Neria. “You are a princess, my lady?”
“Of lesser standing, yes.” Neria nodded. “Our mother was Mardek’s youngest sister.”
“Was?”
Nodding again, Neria blinked back tears.
“Elenya, can you not leave well enough alone?” Tahruk chastised her through clenched teeth.
It was obvious she had sorely tested her warrior as well as others around the table, and yet she continued to give voice to the thoughts forming in her head. “This King, his majesty Travensworth, he has no children, if memory serves. And he is the only son, which means his kingdom would fall to the eldest son of one of his siblings.” She turned to Tahruk. “Would that be you?”
His lips pressed firmly together, he ground out, “It is believed so, yes.”
Believed? There was something missing from this confusing puzzle. “You… do not know, my lord?”
When no answer came, Elenya leaned forward. Her elbows anchored on the table, she rested her chin against steepled fingers and looked directly at Renaine. Inwardly quaking, she didn’t so much as flinch from his icy glare.
“There’s talk of a son from an older daughter, though I don’t see what concern any of this is to you,” Renaine told her.
The laughter that burst from the young woman startled the group. “Begging your pardon, my lord. I believe it affects me greatly when the children I most assuredly will bear may one day be required to lead a kingdom. I can’t believe I didn’t know. Why do you not carry the King’s name anyway?” She covered her head with her arms, continuing before he could answer. “What great responsibility rests upon the shoulders of the members of this family, on your oldest son and the woman marked with his blood! I should have been informed.”
“Why do you go on about such things, woman? It changes nothing!” Renaine’s fist against the table caused the silver and crystal, along with the occupants of the room, to jump. “Did you have any choice in becoming a part of this family any more than we had in whether we would accept you? And do you think the responsibilities that lay before us are something I have not considered every single day since the Dremis that brought my chosen to me?” He looked at Nema then pushed his chair back and turned to stare at the blazing fireplace in the corner of the room.
“How we got here makes no difference,” Neria said to no one in particular. “We’re all descended from royal blood, the markings pulling us together for the sake of peace and stronger lines.”
Her brows down, Elenya worked up a half-hearted smile before nodding to the lady of the house. For the first time she realized just how simple Neria was and that the lady had absolutely no idea the implications a kingship would mean to her son or to his children. Especially a kingdom wrought in turmoil.
The picture began to sharpen, every piece beginning to fit. No wonder this family, the Zanak Drille, was afforded so many luxuries. She looked at Renaine. Who was he? The son of one of the King’s sons, obviously. The age would be correct. Andorak was the oldest recorded living King. It made sense his grandson’s blood would be dispersed to a princess of another kingdom … what a grand plan. She sucked in loudly enough that those around her turned to stare, not that it took much since she’d spoken out. Still, the thought that hit her was truly shocking. What if King Andorak was responsible for the young King of Corigan’s death in order to secure a place for his own heir on the throne of that kingdom…
“Perhaps you would do well to return to chambers with your chosen, my son? I believe she is not well.”
“No,” Elenya spoke before anyone could respond to the order issued as a question. “Forgive my outbursts, my lord. I shall remember my place here and remain quiet.” Her eyes locked with Renaine’s, who had turned back to the table. The older Sharanis reached for his wine goblet and swallowed down a good portion before nodding his consent. Elenya looked at Neria to his left. She stared off in an almost dream like trance. Beside her Redahn’s frown left her wondering what he was thinking. No doubt something resentful. Nema gnawed at her bottom lip in stern concentration, though why she would have such concern over any of this was beyond Elenya’s understanding. She reminded herself again to uncover Nema’s true place within this family hierarchy.
Elenya could not bring herself to look at the warrior beside her. Tahruk had remained mostly quiet throughout the altercation and she could not bear to receive the look of disapproval she deserved from him. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head breathing deeply to quell the roiling of her insides. Why had she never mastered the ability to silence her tongue? She wouldn’t blame her warrior if he was cursing the Masters for their irrational decision to put them together. No doubt her outburst this evening had killed anything that might have been forming between them.
The thought filled her with such sadness she could not contain the handful of tears that squeezed out to fall on her hands folded in her lap. She opened her eyes as the warmth of Tahruk’s hand spread over hers. Slowly, she looked up at him, surprised to see him smiling at her, a look of admiration on his face. A small gesture, meant just for her, he winked and bumped her shoulder ever so lightly with his own before turning back to his father as the men discussed the news of the missing King and the dilemma it posed, without further interruption. The measure of relief that surged inside lightened her heart though the queasiness she’d felt continued its assault. Hopefully the food that was finally beginning to arrive would help. Heaven help her, she wanted nothing more than to stay and listen to everything these men had to discuss.
Elenya’s flailing of the covers awakened both her and the man at her side.
“What is it?” Tahruk asked, sitting up as she did, staring at her clutching the bed sheets tightly to her heaving chest.
“I dreamt men came and you had to leave. And because I had denied you the night of the Dremis I failed to conceive.” She stared at him with eyes more troubled than his. “Forgive me my insolence.”
He gave her no response save his lips covering hers before he pushed her back to the softness of the matting beneath them. He felt sure his duty had already been fulfilled, that his child lay in her womb, a son, a warrior mightier than even he could boast because of the strength of his blood that ran through her veins. Together, they would
make fine children beyond the one she now carried, children who would grow up capable of ruling a kingdom, if necessary.
Still, he would attempt to quell her fears, making love to her every chance he had before the part of her dream where the men showed up, came true. He had no doubt, they would come and he would have to leave.
For the first time in his life he was not looking forward to that day.
Chapter 23
Some five days later the men came from the Royal Courts summoning the King’s military forces. His sword draped in silk across her forearms, Elenya watched as Tahruk’s armor was fastened. Her posture stiff, he knew she was fighting the same sense of foreboding she’d been filled with the past few days.
“This is who I am, Elenya,” he’d told her one evening as she lay in his arms barely able to hold back her anger. Her ire had surprised him as much as her passion. “Whenever the King calls, I must go. This is what I have trained for my whole life.”
“Nothing is solved on the battlefields,” she’d protested.
“You’re wrong, Elenya. Fear is a great motivator. If we don’t subdue the enemy, they’ll continue to push until they overtake us and then we’ll be at their mercy. We must protect what is ours, especially in this case. It is of utmost importance that we find Travensworth and reinstate him onto his throne. You know full well this means much more to our family than simply helping a King regain his kingdom.”
Tahruk thought of how their lives would change should this mission fail. Or, worse yet, if he should not return...
That was not an option.
“I will come back to you. I promise,” he’d told her, kissing her, his hand covering her belly before beginning a more sensual assault of her body.
They’d talked of it no more though her fear of him not returning and leaving her childless remained heavy on her. Now, as she stood before him in the armory, one of many women of Zanak prepared to see their men off, he could do little to quell her misery. As he stepped forward, prepared for the first time to receive his sword from the woman chosen for him, he tipped her face up to his with a finger beneath her chin. Her shoulders squared, she smiled at him. Her eyes alone belied her confident stance.
“We must go, my son.” Renaine’s voice intruded as the older warrior lifted his sword from Neria’s arms. Neither Tahruk nor Elenya turned, the younger Sharanis leaning down to kiss his bride before claiming his own sword and slipping it into the sheath at his side.
“You have my promise,” he whispered.
With one more look, he turned and followed the mass of warriors from the room.
From somewhere behind her, Nema commanded Elenya to come with her. “We need to hurry to get into position to see them when the procession begins. With the Elite riding out first before the King they’ll be toward the front.”
Nema grasped Elenya’s arm and began pulling the stunned, younger woman along.
“He’ll be fine, love. Your warrior is the best there is. No harm will come to him, especially now that he has even more reason to return.”
Elenya was almost sure she felt Nema’s free hand graze her belly right before they pushed through the door, though the cloud that had ascended when Tahruk left kept her mind from forming the question she wanted to ask. Perhaps fear kept her from it as well. She uttered a silent prayer that her fears would be unfounded. First and foremost she wanted to believe his promise, to know this man whom she had feared and loathed not so long ago would return to her unharmed. Beyond that, she prayed his seed had indeed taken root inside her. Soon enough, she would know.
She caught her breath and held up her head with renewed hope. Catching one more glimpse of him was suddenly the only thing the girl with the honeyed-cinnamon crown of curls cared about. Nema chuckled, lifting her skirts and moving with a speed that belied her age as leader became follower, verbal directions taking them where they needed to be.
As the women crested the hill, they could see the assembly of armored men atop gallant warhorses working their way to the courtyard. The King and his entourage, traveling from the opposite direction, would meet them down by the copse of trees Nema pointed to.
“Go quickly,” Nema told her. Elenya’s insides quivered as she ran down the hill to where she could plainly see the King with his closest confidant riding beside him. They were flanked by his flag bearer, two personal guards, and four of his sons. The tiny group pulled up before the thicket at nearly the same time as Elenya. She stopped a few feet from them, stood unaware of the King’s eyes on her as she watched the approaching military.
Elenya had watched the assemblage of the men of Aleone many times, her father leading the men in later years from the city, though never had the numbers come close to the mass that moved toward the waiting King. Briefly her mind flitted to her people back home, wondering if they were also gathering. She knew, especially since her delivery to the Centrehead, they would fight beside the King’s men. Shemek. He hadn’t crossed her thoughts for days.
Nema’s eyes were on the King, watching him watching Elenya. Her disdain for him had not lessened in all the years. The thought that he’d have dissolved the ties between Dorengar and Corigan all those years ago had Renaine not fought for her to remain within his household sparked her ire anew.
“You are the Aleone woman?” Nema heard the King ask, watched Elenya turn toward him in momentary confusion before dropping into a low curtsy.
“Yes, my lordship,” she answered softly before rising at his command.
“Your likeness to Princess Damalenya is strong. To whom were you matched?”
“She belongs to your lord Sharanis,” Nema answered coming up beside the young woman.
The King looked from Elenya to Nema. “To Tahruk? I’m surprised I was not told his chosen had arrived.” His astonishment gave way to a hearty chuckle. “Not a match I would have suspected for my great grandson.” He studied the red haired beauty who had already turned back to search the approaching men. “Though I cannot say I am displeased with the Masters’ choice in this match. Zanak has a reputation for the unusual, it seems.” He looked back to Nema before the thunderous approach of horsed warriors pulled all attention in the direction of the majestic sight and away from the subject of matches.
Nema sucked in a deep, steadying breath. Even having seen it so many times throughout her years, she still felt the same unseemly mixture of pride and revulsion she’d experienced the first time the King’s forces had amassed. They might be mighty to behold, but their coming together meant lives would be lost, most assuredly on both sides. War was barbaric, even if necessary. This time it involved more of her people, which made it that much harder. She wondered whether these men would be forced into battle, risking their lives, had she not been matched to the older Sharanis to unite the kingdoms.
With the young King Travensworth missing, his kingdom under siege, it put those she loved in both kingdoms in harm’s way and threatened to change the paths of their lives forever. It was unknown whether the King still lived, though whoever was in charge of his military forces plainly planned to march them upon Dorengar. Those willing to speculate believed King Venderlay to the North had taken control of Travensworth’s kingdom, that his sending his daughter to marry the young King had been a ruse to work his way in. He was known as a power hungry control monger who would go to any extent to get what he wanted. Nema shuddered remembering the one time she’d met the man. At only fifteen, already having taken on the characteristics of the beauty she would become, she’d found herself in a near compromising situation, not of her own accord, of course. Had it not been for her uncle, the current Travensworth’s father, Venderlay would have had his way with her.
“She wears the sign of the marking, Venderlay,” her uncle had said, his voice icy even as he wrapped a gentle hand around her arm to move her behind his formidable frame. “Would you jeopardize the uniting of my kingdom with Andorak’s to satisfy your lusty needs with an unskilled girl when many beautiful and available women reside
within the chambers of the Ladies of the Courts?” The elder King’s voice had been as smooth and as sharp as cut glass. “I didn’t think a wise man would make such a mistake,” he’d said without giving the other man a chance to answer. “I demand you take your leave of my castle at once lest I be tempted to give you what the law allows for attempting to compromise a marked woman.” With that he’d turned, tucked her arm in his and led her from the corridor back into the hall filled with guests enjoying holiday festivities.
He never asked how she’d come to find herself in such a position, though from that day forward, a corisan had been assigned to be with her at all times. She knew his words to Venderlay were not idle threats. He was as ruthless when necessary as he was filled with a compassion that was rivaled by none in his position. Always having treated Nema as if she was his own daughter, a bond had formed between them that had been unbreakable until his death some fifteen years back. That bond had made her inability to conceive and produce the heirs that would unite their kingdoms that much harder. The elder Travensworth, having experienced the woes of infertility for many years, had never seen her as a failure.
“You may not carry the children, but your blood, your sacrifices still united our kingdoms, my child,” he’d told her when he’d come to bless the union of the man for whom she’d been marked and her younger sister, Neria. “Do not forget who you are and what you have done.”
She’d been gone from the kingdom for some time before the birth of the King’s son, the current king of Corigan - King Garrick Findlay Travensworth. Her move to the Drille near the Dorengar Centrehead had also shielded her from the travesty of the affair between her uncle’s sister and Durant, the leader of the miscreants that lived in the woods around the castle. It was said before the princess had ended her own life, a child had been born from the union, taken and raised by the ruffians.
Dance With The Enemy Page 11