Heddas Sword.jpg

by Hedda's Sword (lit)

  Cianan gripped her arm, just hard enough to draw her focus back to his face. "That was your home, Marete. A place of warmth, of love and laughter. Think how many celebrations those halls have seen. Weddings, birthings, knightings? Feasts and tournaments?"

  Her father's booming laughter rang through her mind. She remembered, little things. She recalled her mother unraveling her embroidery threads for the umpteenth time, her brother and herself sneaking up into the loft to spy out a new litter of kittens, herself slipping a loathsome vegetable under the table to a hound pup that was not so choosy. She smelled bread baking in the great ovens, saw the men coming in after a successful hunt and heard her mother scolding them for tramping mud all over the newly scrubbed floors.

  Everyday things. Ordinary things. Normal things.

  "I remember Jovan once switched the salt for the sugar when it was my turn to make tarts," she told Cianan. "I was running late and in a hurry... and my father choked down the entire thing rather than hurt my feelings." Even remembered mortification made her smile. "They were horrible. I chased Jovan through the entire keep, but that little rat sure could run fast."

  He grinned. "What else?"

  "A maid told me babies were found under cabbages, and I tore up the entire garden looking for one." She shook her head. "The housekeeper was pregnant with twins, and I tried so hard to figure out how the babies got from her stomach to the cabbages. She used to sit in the rocking chair in the evenings – her husband always had to haul her out of it or she'd sit there flapping her arms like a bird trying to get airborne."

  He laughed outright, his face settled into a tender look. "And those walls will hear the laughter of children again, elingrena. Six years of sadness cannot undo decades of warmth and happiness." His eyes twinkled. "Although I hate to break the news to you – babies do not come from cabbages."

  Maleta sputtered on her mead. "Cianan, I was four!" She quivered at the warm glow spreading through her. He was right – Kunigonde wasn't a fortress, it was her home, and the good had to temper the bad. Mayhaps someday she'd even be able to eat apples again.

  "We should get some sleep," he suggested, rising to move the remainder of the food and drink up to a table. "You can move your mattress betwixt Jovan and the fire. I shall sleep by the door."

  "You're doing it again," she commented, dragging one over to Jovan's bed and stealing the fire-warmed quilt to throw atop her chosen mattress.

  "What?"

  "Standing guard over me. I'm a big girl, Cianan." She fisted her hands on her hips.

  "I know you are. That was never in doubt." He strode over to her. "You do not have to bear the weight of the world alone anymore. Let me take some of it. We can take on anything together."

  Maleta rolled her eyes. "You are the most stubbornly optimistic person I've ever met!" she burst out.

  "So I have been told, on numerous occasions," he retorted. He curled a hand behind her neck and pulled her close for a thorough, mind-shattering kiss that scattered her every thought and made her knees tremble. "Give us a chance, elingrena," he whispered against her lips. "I shall grow on you, you shall see."

  "Like mistletoe?" she shot back.

  He grinned. "Like hot water. Like sunlight."

  "No ego issues there," she muttered, slipping free of his arms. She frowned at the sense of loss she felt as she moved away from him. "Good night."

  "Good night," he said, moving away to set up his own bed.

  Maleta bent over Jovan and kissed his forehead. "I will find a way to free you and bring you back," she promised him. There was no response. Resolve hardened her heart. She had not moved heaven and earth to find him, only to lose him again. If to Kunigonde they must return on the morrow, they'd do it together, as a family.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Maleta opened her eyes to the clunking sound of Cianan tossing more wood on the fire. She glanced up at Jovan. There was no change – he was as she'd left him last night. She turned her gaze to Cianan, and stared at his bare back, the hard muscle sliding under unmarked skin as he moved. How could a warrior be so free of scarring?

  "Good morning," he said, without even looking at her.

  How had he known she was awake?

  "I heard your breathing change," he said, turning around. "I felt your gaze on me."

  She couldn't stop staring. Daylight revealed what last night's firelight had hidden. "There aren't any scars." Not even from the darkweed-poisoned knife.

  Cianan shook his head. "Nay. My people are taught self-healing from a young age. Most of us cannot heal others, and it takes deliberate effort to heal ourselves. We can still be killed, if we are rendered unconscious or wounded too severely. We cannot heal a mortal blow."

  Maleta remembered him mentioning trance-healing, but she'd no idea it worked so flawlessly. She sat up and ran a hand through her short spiky hair, doubly self-conscious now. She'd never thought much about her battle scars afore, but faced with an image of physical perfection, with a man used to the most beautiful women, unblemished women...

  "Hey, now," he broke into that train of thought, "none of that." He moved close, to kneel at her side. "Do you not know how beautiful you are to me? Your heart, your courage, your sense of justice and your spirit – they shine through your eyes. That is what I noticed first. Those eyes."

  How could he be so in tune with her, as to read her thoughts?

  Cianan shook his head. "Easy, elingrena. I but read your expressions, nothing more."

  Maleta felt foolish, but Dara's words came back to haunt her, "I sensed no binding... See to it. Soon."

  "But Dara said... "

  He sighed and sat down, reached out a hand to cup her chin. "Say what is on your mind."

  Maleta shook off the urge to lean into him. "The more time I spend with you, the closer we seem to get. It's like you know what I'm thinking and feeling."

  "I have more heightened senses than a human, Maleta," he told her. "I have had years of experience reading expression, body posture. Every emotion has a scent I can pick up." A wary look crept into his eyes. "Nothing supernatural about it."

  "You're being evasive," she stated. "I miss you when you're gone. Not like my parents or Jovan, but like an actual piece of myself disappears. Like I'm only whole when you're here." She cursed herself for starting to shake, for starting to doubt. "Dara mentioned a binding. Coming from a sorceress, that sounds like a spell. If you're manipulating me through some elven paladin magic – "

  "Nay." Cianan dragged his free hand through his hair. "It is not manipulation, it is not even conscious. Look, every soul in this world has another that completes it, a true life-mate. When we find our other half, we are whole. The Light brings us together in stages. The first attraction is instinctual, but the binding vow can only be deliberate, conscious, verbal – and mutual." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You think I may be taking you over?"

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  "Rest assured, lady, you already have me. I was yours afore we even met." He leaned closer. "Those other women you think of competing with, the ones you saw in the sword-vision and believe are so perfect? Appearances can be deceiving. All too often it leads to shallowness, selfishness and vanity. All that beauty without and none within. Heart and soul, I am yours and yours alone. There is none other for me."

  "And what of me?" Her eyes narrowed. "If you think I'm going to spend the rest of my life mooning over you and pining away every time you step out of the room... "

  "Do not fear on that count. You shall not, nor would I wish you to," he said. "That is not love. That empty feeling is but an impetus. Do we take the vow, the bond fills and completes us. There is no uncertainty. We can feel each other's feelings, share each other's thoughts. In or out of the room, we are always together. No secrets, no straying. Two halves of a whole."

  Maleta froze. She couldn't have heard that correctly. "Every thought? Every feeling? No secrets? No surprises?" She shook her head. "Are you mad? Count me out. Go find someone else." />
  "Not all at once," he said.

  "I said no." She shuddered. "I was getting used to the idea of mayhaps – someday – a home and a family, a husband. A normal marriage. What you're suggesting is so far beyond normal – sweet Hedda, beyond impossible – I can't even imagine... " She jerked back and stumbled to her feet. "I can't even handle me in my head. I don't need you in there too."

  A knock sounded at the door. Maleta had never been so relieved. She stomped over to the door to admit Hajnal, who bore a fresh tray of food and a pot of water for tea. Maleta forced a smile. "How is everything this morning, Hajnal?"

  "Th' healers have been busy, but there's hope all will recover," the Shamaru girl reported. "Th' wounded are recoverin'. Th' nighttime patrol was peaceful. All th' city is assemblin' in th' square this morning. Queen Tzigana's not slept a wink, nor th' Wolf – er, Von Berend. They'd meet with ye after th' general announcement, but ye need t' be there – in uniform. Mother Kitta insisted." Hajnal shivered as she gathered up the old pitcher and tray. Her gaze met Maleta's. "She's scary. Ye have an hour. Don't be late."

  The last thing Maleta wanted to do was anger Mother Kitta again. "I could use a bath." She jerked her head in Cianan's direction. "We both could."

  "I'll have hot water brought for th' tub," Hajnal nodded. "Assembly's in an hour. Ye'd best hurry." Her gaze strayed to Jovan. "How is he?"

  "The same," Cianan replied.

  "I'll come sit with him when ye need t' go," Hajnal offered.

  "Thank you," Maleta said, relieved she would not have to leave Jovan alone.

  "I'll be back in an hour. Hot water should be here soon." Hajnal showed herself out.

  Maleta glanced at the tea Hajnal had brought and frowned. "Something tells me I'm going to need all the help I can get today." She pulled merc root from her pack and dumped it into the pot to steep.

  "Maleta – "

  She held up a hand and turned to glare at him. "Nay. Not. Now." Through Hedda's Sword she'd been in far too many heads during the past two years. The thought of being locked with one not her own, for the rest of her life, made her teeter on the edge of panic.

  "I was going to suggest you eat something," Cianan retorted. "Merc root is not something to take on an empty stomach."

  The thought of food made her stomach roil. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to find some clothes and take a bath." She poured herself a cup of the tea and made a big show of drinking it down in front of him, fighting to keep her face expressionless at the bitter taste. It hit her empty stomach hard, and for a moment Maleta feared it would come right back up.

  "You are being foolish," he snapped, shoving a piece of bread into her empty hand. "You are only hurting yourself. Eat." His eyes blazed at her, and, with a growl, he turned away. "I am going to find Tzigana and Wolf. I shall meet you out there." Grabbing his gear, he slammed out of the room.

  Maleta felt herself splinter, just a bit, with his exit. She choked down the bread and turned to Jovan. He lay as if dead. Only the rise and fall of his chest marked him among the living. "Where are you?" she whispered, sitting down aside him on the edge of his bed. "You have to come back. You can't leave me to face that place alone. Please." Tears slid down her cheeks as she stroked his hair. "I need you to break Sunniva's hold. Please come back to me."

  In spite of the happy memories resurrected the night afore, the thought of returning to face the Kunigonde demons alone still chilled her. Easy for Tzigana to order her back – what did she know of it? What did Cianan, for that matter? He hadn't been there. Just the thought of walking through that orchard, standing in that courtyard, turned her blood to ice.

  Another knock sounded at the door, and, as she stood, a line of guild and former guard entered bearing buckets of hot water. One of them was Mrow, who frowned at her. "He's in a rare mood," he stated. "What'd ye say t' him?"

  "Tub's in there," she evaded. She watched them fill the tub, ordered them out.

  Mrow was the last to leave. "Will ye at least talk t' him?"

  "Nay." Maleta turned to Jovan's closet and grabbed the smallest pair of breeches she could find, along with clean tunic and hose. She entered the bathing room and stripped to the skin. Afore getting in the tub, she stared at her hands. Winter-rough skin, short ragged fingernails, sword calluses, the blood oath scar. They were not the hands of a gentle lady, of Van Marete. How could she ever go back to that? What did she recall about running a keep? As a girl she'd avoided those lessons like poison. Now, as a woman, all she knew was fighting, killing, fasting and prayer. What kind of wife would a warlady nun make?

  She studied her reflection in the mirror. Short hair unevenly cut, the scar that disfigured half her face. She stared at the eyes Cianan had commented on, but saw nothing extraordinary there. She had the same curves as any other woman's, but other than her breasts there was no softness about her. Hard living resulted in hard muscle, and she was criss-crossed with many scars from punishment and combat. Unlike Cianan, she had to heal the slow way, and each healing left its own blemish.

  "He's blind," she muttered, sliding into the tub of warm water. Conscious of Hajnal's warning not to be late, she scrubbed and dressed. The breeches were big in the waist, but her hips would keep them from falling to her knees. Under her brother's tunic, nobody could see them anyway. She checked her reflection again – a riveting image of womanly perfection stared back at her. Absolutely. She rolled her eyes and snorted. He'd have to get over it, that whole soul-bonding delusion. He'd come to his senses soon enough.

  He had to.

  Hajnal awaited her. "Hurry up," the Shamaru girl said.

  Maleta yanked her boots on and grabbed up her armor and weapons. Sweet Hedda, in her worry over Jovan, she'd forgotten to clean any of it. Sister Reva would set her hair on fire. She dressed on the run down the corridor, buckling on the weapons belt as she dashed down the stairs. She nearly bowled Raven over at the bottom.

  "Easy, Mal," her Sister said. "You aren't late yet." She frowned. "Forget something last night?"

  Maleta glanced down. "How bad is it?"

  "You look like you've been butchering queens," Raven replied.

  Lovely. "Well, mayhaps it shall reinforce the reality for the citizens of Soto?" Maleta tried.

  "I dare you to try that justification on Sister Reva. Come on, let's go." They crossed through to the throne room, to the stairwell leading to Sunniva's private balcony. Mother Kitta, Tzigana and Wolf, and Cianan awaited them. Sister Reva was not present, for which Maleta was grateful. The ice in Mother Kitta's eyes was bad enough.

  The stiffness in Cianan's stance was worse. Under the anger she read hurt in his eyes. It cut like a knife. Read, or felt? She didn't know anymore. His pain at her rejection of him, of his beliefs, was her pain as well. How to explain her fear? She cursed him for doing this to her, making her feel again – a woman's feelings, along with all the uncertainties. She didn't need this now, on top of everything else, but here it was anyway.

  Mother Kitta led the way up the stairs, followed by an exhausted Tzigana. Wolf kept a supportive hand on her back. Then came Raven, followed by Maleta. Cianan brought up the rear. He didn't touch her. In the wake of Wolf's obvious solicitude, she felt her own loss that much more keenly.

  An unfamiliar banner snapped and fluttered overhead – a black raven holding an oak branch with leaf and acorn in its beak, imposed on a gold background. Wolf looked back over his shoulder at her. "Mine," he stated. Nobility, merchants, artisans, laborers and soldiers packed the courtyard. Maleta saw Cianan whisper something and wave a hand. For a moment he glowed. A slight breeze swirled around her, startling because it felt warm rather than cold.

  Mother Kitta raised her hand, and all eyes focused on her. "Queen Sunniva's reign of terror is over," she pronounced. "The old council is restored, the night watch are no more. Last night we replaced Queen Sunniva with Queen Tzigana and King Berend, to rule jointly on behalf of both the Shamaru and Shamari peoples. Hedda's Own judged Queen Sunniva, by Hedda's Sword." She mot
ioned Maleta forward.

  A wave of murmuring greeted that announcement. Maleta blinked. If she'd known she'd have to give a speech, she would have prepared something – and cleaned her breastplate. She stepped forward. "This land has struggled for years, against famine, against the winter cold, against rievers and dealers. Against the oppressive hand of a queen who cared more about furthering her own power than in taking care of her people. Queen Sunniva misled and misruled Shamar long enough. Hedda's Sword convicted her of genocide against the Shamaru people." She looked at Cianan. He nodded. "Behold the truth of Sunniva's trial."

  The entire progression from the day afore repeated itself, start to finish. People were silent, stunned by the steady disintegration of law, order and reason into paranoia and madness. The murders of the entire royal family, of Von Berend's and Maleta's families, paled in comparison to the outright slaughter of an entire population. The magnitude of Sunniva's treachery could not be denied by even the most biased Shamari.

  "No longer will the exploitation and annihilation of others be tolerated," Wolf's voice rang out. "We are one country, Shamar, and one people, Shamarans. Together we rise, and together we will shine as a beacon of hope. These dark days will end. Queen Tzigana and I have authorized the immediate arrest of all known dealers and their associates, as revealed by Sunniva's own council. Hedda's servants are combing the streets and back alleys as I speak. Return to your homes. The street patrols and curfew will continue until we can ensure the safety of all."

  Tzigana stepped forward. "Go in peace. There are better days ahead, for us all." She led the way back down the stairs. In the throne room, she turned to Maleta. "I found something that belongs to you. Wait here."

  Wolf gave a slight nod of encouragement. Tzigana disappeared into a side room, returning minutes later with her hands behind her back. "Sunniva kept her most prized trophies of conquest in that room," Wolf said, his voice grim. "Where we found my standard, among others. It's where we found this."