by Pati Nagle
“How is Lady Ohlani?”
Surani looked up at him, smiling. “She is well. Safely delivered of a daughter.”
“Oh! Excellent news. Is Lady Aliari with her?”
“I believe she has returned to the Healing Hall. She asked me to express her regrets—“
Jharan waved it away. “She is where she is most needed.”
“Is there aught else you need? Are you hungry?”
He took another swallow of mead, then shook his head, glancing at the guests still waiting to meet him. “Too tense. Perhaps later.”
“I will send a tray up to your suite.”
“Would you bring it yourself?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. He was surprised himself; he had not intended to ask it, but he realized now that he wanted very much to see her in private.
He blinked, suddenly self-conscious. “If you care to. If you are not—“
“I would be delighted.”
Her eyes were warm, and her khi hummed in the air between them. Despite the noise and crowd filling the hall, his awareness narrowed to her. He raised his cup slightly, then drained it. Surani’s hand brushed his as she took it back, sending sparks of khi shooting up his arm.
She glanced up at him, then made a courtesy and departed. Still tingling, and now wishing he could leave at once, Jharan turned back to his duty.
Shilonan was either acutely aware of his movements or had received a signal from someone else who was watching, for he turned, bringing forward a male and female dressed alike in sage and lavender, the colors of Clan Fairgood, a major kin-clan of Greenglen.
“Lord Ishalan and Lady Ruleni, the heads of Clan Fairgood, my lord governor.”
Jharan smiled as he clasped arms with them in turn. “Well met. You honor me.”
It was Ruleni who spoke for them, by which Jharan deduced she was senior. “We offer you congratulations and the allegiance of our clan.”
“Thank you.” Unsure what response was expected, Jharan glanced at Shilonan, who bowed to the visitors.
“We shall look forward to seeing you again at the formal gathering of clans. You may expect an announcement in the next few days.”
Jharan talked with them a few more moments, then Shilonan invited them to partake of the feast, and ushered the next guest forward. The stream of visitors continued to flow, guided by Shilonan and Kimoren. Jharan bit back his impatience to be gone, though as the evening wore on it grew more difficult.
He was tired. He had spent the morning in the saddle, and since his arrival had been almost continually surrounded by people who wanted his attention, not to mention the strain of Giradon’s opposition. Though he did his best to be pleasant to all of his guests, he could not help casting a weary glance at Shilonan as one head of a lesser guild departed.
Shilonan smiled back and led forward a slight female dressed in a robe of unadorned silk. “My lord governor, may I introduce Ciramani, the mother of Torithan?”
It took Jharan a moment to connect the name to one of Turon’s seven fallen successors. He bowed deeply.
“Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you. I might offer you mine in return, though I see you are handling your new role very well. Better, I think, than Torithan would have done.” She smiled sadly. “He knew nothing of his standing in line for the governorship.”
“Nor did I.”
“But you have the air of a leader. I see that now, and I am glad. May the spirits watch over you always.”
Jharan felt his throat tighten suddenly. “Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you or your kindred?”
She shook her head. “There are many who mourn in Glenhallow this night. And no doubt many more who have yet to learn of their losses.”
He nodded, certain she was right. There had not yet been time to notify all the kin of the hundreds who had fallen at Skyruach.
“The fallen will be remembered.” It seemed an inadequate promise, but Ciramani smiled.
Suddenly the hall seemed over-warm, and far too crowded. Jharan offered the bereaved mother his arm, and she clasped it lightly, then moved on to where two others dressed plainly were awaiting her. More of Torithan’s kindred, no doubt. Jharan would have greeted them as well, had they come forward.
He turned to Shilonan and was surprised when the steward took his arm and turned away, strolling down the hall. Jharan leaned toward him and spoke quietly.
“I cannot have seen everyone who sought to meet me.”
“No, nor could you, if you spent the whole night here.” Shilonan nodded to Davion, who ceased his conversation and bowed as they passed. “You have greeted the most prominent, and have earned a rest.”
Relief poured through Jharan. “Thank you for managing it all.”
“I am glad to serve.”
They continued through the hall at a leisurely pace. The babble of hundreds of voices washed over Jharan, and he now noticed the sumptuous attire of many of the guests. He smiled at those who caught his eye, but did not pause.
As they neared the dais at the back of the hall, he saw Mithrali moving toward them through the crowd, her robe glistening in the light of many torches. Shilonan turned to him abruptly.
“Forgive me, my lord governor. I neglected to tell you that Lord Felisan wishes to speak privately with you. Will you step this way?”
Without waiting for a response the steward drew him up onto the dais. Jharan glimpsed Mithrali’s expression of unguarded displeasure as Shilonan led him toward a door in the far wall.
They passed through it into a much smaller chamber, a waiting room by the look of it. In it were the minstrels from the Guard, playing for an audience of one: Felisan. He looked up, eyes lighting at Jharan’s entrance.
“Aha! The rescue has been accomplished at last.”
Jharan glanced at Shilonan. “Rescue?”
“Perhaps escape is a better term.” Felisan gestured toward the musicians. “Clever of me to bring them in here, no? They would never be heard in that throng.”
Jharan nodded, smiling as the lute player caught his eye. “I hope they will be here another few days. I would like have leisure to hear them when things are more settled.”
“I believe they are at your service.” Felisan grinned, then stood and picked up a goblet and ewer from a nearby table. “No doubt some wine would be welcome?”
“Yes, thank you.” Jharan accepted a cup and gazed at the musicians. “How long have you been waiting here?”
Felisan eyed the steward. “Longer than I expected.”
Shilonan picked up another goblet and held it out to be filled. “If you please. We withdrew as early as we dared. Too many prominent souls sought to meet the new governor.”
“Never fear, Jharan. Their curiosity will fade in a year or two.”
Jharan took rather too large a swallow of wine, and coughed. He was glad to be away from the crowded hall, but was disinclined to tarry here, however pleasant the music might be.
Felisan lifted a platter of elaborate dainties, somewhat picked over, from the table. “Something to eat? The mushrooms as especially good.”
“Thank you, but I believe a meal is being brought to my room.”
“Ah. Let us proceed there, then, if the steward has no further need of you.”
Shilonan shook his head, and raised his cup to Jharan. “No, indeed. I will come to you in the morning, my lord governor. Enjoy your rest.”
Jharan returned the salute and quaffed the rest of his wine, then watched the steward slip back through the door into the audience hall. Felisan carried the platter of food to the musicians, who stopped in mid-tune to receive it. Jharan thanked them, and they responded like the guardians they were: they returned the thanks, then cheerfully devoured the food and were helping themselves to the wine as Felisan led Jharan out a back door.
Two guardians standing outside it turned as they emerged, then bowed to Jharan, their presence explaining how the room had remained private. The noise of the fe
ast was now muted, a distant rumble. Jharan gazed about the empty, unfamiliar corridor.
“Where are we?”
Felisan’s eyed narrowed. “Not far from the arcade, I think. This way.”
One of the guardians followed them, whether obeying orders to attend the governor or from a wish to help if they should need guidance, Jharan could not guess. Felisan proved to be right, and they soon found a staircase to the upper arcade. Jharan paused to look over the balustrade at the fountains.
Moonlight flooded the garden, turning the glistening water silver-blue. Even at a distance, the curious restless calm of the fountains reached him. He wished to walk among them, but he was weary. Nor was the garden empty; many of the guests were strolling along its paths.
He turned away, seeking his chambers. Solitude would be a rare thing for him now on. He would treasure it where he could.
Their guardian joined his fellows outside Jharan’s chambers. Inside, candles glowed softly in the heath and on the table, where an ewer of wine and fresh goblets stood. Felisan went to pour while Rinovon and Lorovon came in from the bedchamber.
“Good evening, my lord governor.”
Jharan glanced at Rinovon, raising an eyebrow. The attendant smiled, gesturing toward his attire.
“May we assist you?”
Jharan let them remove the coronet and robes of state, sighing softly with relief. They were not heavy, but they still felt a burden.
Felisan handed him a goblet of wine. “No meal.”
Jharan sipped, careful to speak in a casual tone. “Surani is bringing it.”
“Oho. Perhaps I should bid you goodnight.”
“No, I—“
“After all, she will not expect to have to feed me as well.”
“I have no doubt there will be more than enough. She thinks ahead.”
“But I am not really hungry. I have spent the evening enjoying the feast while you were busy meeting half the realm. You make me tremble at my future fate, Jharan.”
Knowing he would get no seriousness out of Felisan in this mood, Jharan merely shook his head, laughing. He took a mouthful of the wine, which was excellent, and sat in a chair beside the hearth.
Felisan joined him. “An extraordinary day.”
“Mm.” Jharan swallowed more wine. He was beginning to feel its effects.
“You will have to keep an eye on Giradon.”
“I know.” Jharan set down his cup and pushed back his sleeve, unstrapping the knife from beneath it. “I wonder how bad an enemy I have made there.”
Felisan watched him, one brow rising slightly. “Two enemies. The friend may be the worse.”
“Toshanan?”
“He hangs his hopes upon Giradon’s success. You saw how bitter he was—“
“Yes.”
“Both bear watching.”
Jharan set the knife aside and retrieved his wine. He took a mouthful and let its flavors assail his senses before swallowing.
“As does the Mistress of Guilds.”
“Indeed. Quite interesting, Lady Mithrali.”
Jharan shivered, more glad than ever that he had avoided an entanglement with her. Disheartening, this constant concern over the wishes of those around him. He would never be free of it, but perhaps he would become better at handling it.
“Jharan?”
He turned his head. Rinovon stood in the doorway of the bedchamber.
“Is there anything else you require tonight? A bath?”
Jharan smiled, thinking of how seldom he bathed when in the field. “Thank you, but no. I am comfortable.”
“Then I shall retire, if I may. Pull the green cord beside the bed if you wish to summon me.”
“Thank you, Rinovon. Rest well.”
“And you, my lord.”
The attendant went out, accompanied by Lorovon. They carried the robes and coronet of state with them, no doubt to be cleaned and returned to safekeeping somewhere in the palace. Jharan wondered idly where. Surani could tell him.
“Shall I seduce her?”
Jharan turned to stare at Felisan, anger rising. “What?”
“The Mistress of Guilds. Shall I distract her for a while?”
“Oh.” Jharan relaxed. “I doubt it would be worth the effort.”
Felisan swirled his wine in his cup, then drank it off. “She has a certain fascination.”
“And is drawn to power. Tread carefully, my friend.”
“No fear. I may appear powerful, but in fact I have nothing to offer her.”
“Except your influence over me.”
“Presumed.”
“I think all of Turon’s advisors know that it is real.”
The laughter faded from Felisan’s face. “You honor me.”
“You know I would not have come through this without you.” Jharan sighed and ran a hand through his hair, thinking over the last few days, which had brought him more changes than he had hitherto known in all his life. “Were we really on top of Skyruach two nights ago?”
“Yes. Bidding each other farewell in expectation of being slain.”
“Hard to believe.” Jharan gazed at his friend, then reached out his arm, wanting the warmth of flesh to remind him of their bond.
Grinning, Felisan clasped arms. “‘Governor Jharan’ is what I find hard to believe.”
“After all your support?”
“I had to support you. You are my friend, and I—well, I was your nextkin.”
Jharan leaned back in his chair, gazing at Felisan. “So you think I am unfit for it.”
“Not at all. I know you are fit. I am merely having difficulty reconciling my raucous guardian friend with the governor of Southfæld.”
Jharan smiled slowly. “It is a paradox, no? Pass the wine.”
Laughing, Felisan filled both their cups. Jharan took a swallow and chuckled, making Felisan laugh the harder. They fed each other’s mirth until Jharan’s eyes were watering. He set his cup on the heath to wipe his cheeks, and heard the door open.
Felisan was on his feet at once. “Lady Surani. Welcome, and none too soon! Jharan has imbibed a bit too much, methinks.”
Jharan coughed, struggling against more laughter. “You have had more than I!”
“But I have eaten, and you have not. I see Surani has the remedy, so I will leave you to it.”
Jharan stood and turned, saw Surani in the doorway, and caught his breath. The warm glow of torches out in the passage framed her, lighting the edges of her hair with a golden nimbus that seemed an echo of her khi. She still wore the rich clothes she had donned for the feast; torchlight gleamed on the silver threads in her robe. She bore a covered platter and looked hesitant.
“Come in!”
Jharan stepped toward her, catching one foot against the chair and scraping it along the stone floor. He recovered, ignoring Felisan’s shaking shoulders.
“Please come in, my lady.”
She entered, pausing as Felisan swept her a bow on his way out. He looked back at Jharan from the doorway, grinning.
“Rest well.”
Jharan sent a tiny frown after him, then hastened to join Surani at the table as she set down the tray and lifted the cover. Savory aromas rose from the plates beneath.
“Thank you. Spirits, there is enough here for four!”
Surani glanced after Felisan. “I was not certain whether you would have company.”
“Were you not?”
He said it softly, but she turned a startled look on him. Gently he removed the cover from her hands and set it back over the tray. He was not hungry now—for food.
She stood gazing back at him, eyes wide, face uncertain. He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. The shock of khi as he kissed it sent fire through him, even as she gave a small gasp.
“Surani.”
His flesh knew no doubts, but his mind churned with contradictions. Was it folly to desire Surani when he had been so careful to avoid Mithrali’s advances? Was he too vulnerable to judge well, a
fter this astonishing day? Perhaps it would be wiser to wait, but his body knew exactly what it wanted.
So, apparently, did hers. She stepped closer and raised a hand to his face, her khi tingling against his skin. Yielding to the passion that had been building in him, he let go her hand only to clasp her waist, and kissed her.
Fire roared through his veins as their khi met and blended. Again and again he kissed her, as if he would devour her, and she returned equal enthusiasm. Finally he drew back, only long enough to catch her up and carry her through the doorway into the bedchamber.
The room was aglow with candlelight, mostly around the bed. Deliberate? Rinovon would tell him if he asked, he supposed. He did not plan to ask.
Southfæld and duty had commanded him long enough. For the rest of this night, he was a guardian with a new lover, and would think of nothing else.
The gentleness with which he set Surani on the bed was opposite to the fierce embrace in which he then caught her. Impatient to feel more of her, he paused to pull off his robe, then tugged at the sash of hers. She shed it almost as quickly, and then there was only silk between them, sliding softly, taking cool from the air and heat from their flesh.
Kisses and caresses, sighs and gasps followed as they discarded the silk, wearing only their khi. Surani brushed a hand across the bandage around his ribs. He caught her hand and kissed each fingertip.
With desire spiced by all of the heartache and dread of recent days, Jharan took her for his own. No lovemaking he had ever known was as sweet, as hot, as perfect in its clumsy desperation. They fit together delightfully, again and again.
As the night wore on his desire for her only increased. They spoke little, each understanding the other’s flesh with no need for words. Sometimes languid, sometimes frantic, their loving was a stream whose only constant was that it never stopped flowing.
At last, with the cool light of dawn edging in around the window’s tapestry, Surani slipped from his arms. He reached after her half-heartedly, knowing they must both prepare for the duties they faced. Her fingers caressed his as she left the bed.
He watched her pull on her silks, pale hair dangling in her face, her small hand catching it back behind one ear. Every movement filled him with delight. Even now, with weariness weighing his eyelids, he wanted her again.