Broken Lords: Book Two of the Broken Mirrors Duology

by A. F. Dery

  Somehow she found herself hastening from his lap, her fingers finally pulling free of his shirt, more humiliated than she could ever remember being in her life. Oh gods, what if I did? How can I ever even look at him again? Her face burned with an almost intolerable heat. The “demands” of the bond were supposed to be easily dismissed by the refrere, but perhaps Thane was somehow more susceptible than most. He had been very attentive since they had bonded. Oh gods! Is there something else broken with me?

  The door swung open, and Kesara realized, only now, that Thane had brought her into her bedroom. Graunt loomed in the doorway, looking beady-eyed, smug, and entirely like her usual self. Kesara’s sudden surge of anxiety over what had just taken place somehow overrode her previous terror of Graunt and she felt nothing now but the dimmest echoes of it at the creature’s appearance.

  “Not interrupting something, I am, lad?” Graunt asked slyly, with a pointed look at Kesara.

  Thane stood abruptly. Kesara glanced at him from the corner of her eye and saw his face was set in grim lines.

  “Say what you came to say, Graunt,” he said tersely.

  “Now, now, boy-”

  “I’m not interested.” Thane’s voice was cool, nearly toneless. “Did you have anything to say, or were you just enjoying a late breakfast at the expense of ours, madame?”

  Late breakfast, dear gods. If Kesara had felt a little sick before, she was certainly feeling it now in earnest. Again she thought of the spreading pool of blood and touched a hand to her throat.

  Graunt made a strange face, her mouth twisted up and her dark little eyes scrunched down. “That ‘late breakfast’ was an interloper I found in my room, Lord Eladria. I brought him here thinking you might like to question him, but unfortunately, he thought to resist and I found myself unable to.”

  “Did you ask him nothing?” Thane asked, apparently unaffected by Graunt’s use of his formal title.

  “Well, of course,” Graunt said impatiently. “I asked him where he was from, he would not say. I asked him what he was about, he would not say. I started to ask him a bit more, shall we say, demonstratively-”

  “I understand,” Thane interrupted. “And that is all the detail necessary for now. If that is all, we will speak again later.”

  Graunt eyed him as though he were a particularly interesting insect she spied on a window sill. “It certainly didn’t take you very long,” she said finally. “I didn’t think it would, but I did expect you would take longer than this.”

  “If that’s all,” Thane repeated. Graunt gave a rolling shrug of one slumping shoulder and left the room. Thane and Kesara both stood silently where they were until they heard the click of the outer door.

  “Kes,” Thane said, a little awkwardly. “I need to go out. I’ll explain everything later to you. Maybe you should lie down for a bit. You’ve been very upset.”

  “Thane,” Kesara hesitated, biting her lip, but he shook his head, holding up a hand.

  “No, we aren’t going to talk about this now. Later. It’s going to be all right, Kes.” He looked at her very earnestly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Afraid of?” she suddenly felt as though she’d missed something important, but he was walking past her now, briskly moving into the corridor. Moments later, she again heard the outer door click into place.

  Kesara moved stiffly to the bed and laid down, unsure of what else to do with herself and so defaulting to Thane’s suggestion, her mind spinning and her heart sick.

  He couldn’t do it now. Couldn’t talk to her, think clearly, make sense of what the hell was going on. Thane didn’t even look at the remnants of Graunt’s “interloper” as he left his rooms, and he barely paused in his stride as he barked out an order to a passing servant of the High Lord’s to collect whatever was left of him. He wasn’t entirely certain that the order was even intelligible, but he couldn’t seem to pry his thoughts from Kesara, in his arms, her hair, her lips-

  No, no, no, he told himself. He felt certain he must be going mad. He couldn’t believe himself. He couldn’t believe what he’d done. Never in his life had he done that, and now? To her, a woman under his protection? What good was his word now? Why should she believe or trust him when he said anything to her? He had been overcome by his own desires when he had felt whatever it was he had felt through their bond. But he couldn’t blame her for that. He must have misunderstood what she wanted, but even if he had not…taking such an action then, when the poor woman was half mad with fear? Whatever it was she had thought she wanted then, it was sick, deplorable to take advantage of someone not fully in their right mind. He couldn’t believe himself, didn’t want to believe himself, wanted it all to just go away.

  But it couldn’t. It wouldn’t. The memory was seared into his eyes, his thoughts, his hands, his treacherous, disgusting mouth. His thoughts returned to their bonding, and he feared anew that it had not been “normal” at all, and that he was to blame for it. He couldn’t imagine what she must think of him now, what she would be thinking an hour or two hence when all had calmed and she was herself again. He had felt such keen anxiety and yes, fear, coming from her when she had left his arms, his lap. No doubt because her mind had finally caught up with what had just happened. He could console himself that he had felt no revulsion coming from her, had seen none in her eyes, but he would have preferred even that to what he had felt.

  She was afraid of him now. Or again. He couldn’t be sure which, of course, but whatever she had been before, she was most certainly afraid now, afraid of him, of what he had done, of what he could do, and the thought made him want to die.

  He found himself outside in the courtyard and headed towards the High Lord’s armory before he even realized where he was going. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have armed himself with his own familiar weapons before even leaving the tower, but he had needed nothing more than to leave. He didn’t have his ax, nor did the High Lord have one publicly available that he would find suitable in heft, so he settled for the biggest, heaviest mace on the rack.

  There was no one here he could spar with without harm in his present state of mine, and no practice dummy yet made that could withstand him, so he crossed the drawbridge on foot and went hunting for whatever could find him.

  He would drive this madness from himself if took every last drop of his blood, he thought grimly. Then and only then would he let himself think on it, think of a way to make it up to her, to banish the fear he had placed in her, to re-win her trust. He had to believe it was possible, that there was some slim hope her last words to him had not been spoken from some desire to placate him or prevent further molestation of her person. He had to believe those impossibly blue eyes would look at him again like they had when he had first brought her into that bedroom. He couldn’t believe how much he longed for that, just that.

  Then off in the distance and from his left he heard a low howl, and all other thoughts were gone.

  The rest of the day passed more quickly than Thane expected. The sun was already sinking into the horizon when he came to himself and returned to the palace. He, and the mace he wielded, were covered in blood, none of it his. His body was exhausted, but his mind was finally clear, or as close to it as he thought it was going to be getting any time soon.

  He had to face what happened, he knew; he had to face her. Words would be insufficient to atone for his lapse, he must prove himself through action. But rather than guess and bumble his way through the dark, he would just ask her, simply and directly, what she would like for him to do. He would do whatever was necessary to make her feel safe again.

  Tentatively he groped in his mind for the bond, which instinct had somehow set aside his awareness of while he had been in the forest. It was the first time he had disregarded it for any length of time, and he hadn’t even done it deliberately; however, when he found it again, he froze.

  Such bleakness in the bond now, something that felt like desperation. He didn’t know what needs the
se emotions could signal, but the darkness of it chilled him and he quickened his pace back to the tower.

  When he entered, all was growing dark; evidently no one had come by since the remains of the “interloper” had been removed, for there was nothing there now and the floor had been scrubbed clean. A few last rays of sunshine fell in through the windows, staining everything red anew.

  “Kes?” he called, feeling worry rising within him. A moment later, she stepped out in the sitting room. She was still wearing the gray dress. Her hair had been fixed since he’d seen her last, now half caught up and half spilling down her back. She was very pale, almost ghost like in the gathering darkness. There was no expression on her face, but her eyes betrayed all the bleakness he had sensed from the bond.

  Those eyes widened now, taking him in. “Thane, are you-”

  “I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Please don’t be alarmed.”

  “I know it can’t be yours.”

  “No, it’s not. Everything is fine, though, so don’t worry. But we do need to talk, Kes.”

  “Yes, we do,” she said, and her voice was suddenly very weary. “But not now. We will be expected soon.”

  Thane could have cursed; she was right. There wasn’t time for the kind of talk they needed to have, not now.

  “Are you all right?” he asked finally.

  “No, but I will be,” she said quietly. The words were somehow oddly final in the way she pronounced them, and his skin prickled with goose flesh.

  He felt suddenly like things were terribly, desperately wrong, more so than he could have anticipated. Yes, he’d behaved badly, but it had been a kiss. He didn’t understand what the bond was saying, didn’t understand the look in her eyes now. She didn’t seem afraid, or even wary; that much he would have expected after what had happened.

  She just seemed tired, hollow somehow…

  “Kes,” he said, feeling a sudden surge of desperation. “The dinner can wait.”

  “It can, but the High Lord can’t. Please get ready, Thane. We can talk later.” The words were reasonable, but her voice was toneless.

  At a loss, Thane retreated to his own room, his heart sinking inside of him. What have I done? And what do I do now? It was a small comfort, at least, that she still used his given name.

  He couldn’t remember ever in his life feeling so far out of his depth, not even when he first took his father’s throne, not even when he made his first appearance at Court. Something had changed in her, and it had happened while he’d been gone.

  I shouldn’t have left her. Leaving like that was the coward’s path, he admonished himself fiercely as he cleaned himself up and dressed for dinner.

  He tried to tell himself that all would be resolved by night’s end, he only had to make it through one more insufferable dinner, but the tension between them now felt unbearable. It was hard to even breathe. He needed to know she was all right, needed this knowledge on some visceral level he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t have it, and couldn’t get it.

  And it’s my own damn fault. Have I always been such an idiot, and just didn’t know it? Or is this a new development? Thane wondered. Surely I’m not so old that I’m already growing dim with age.

  When he reentered the sitting room, the lamps were lit, a small fire was burning in the fireplace. Kesara was seated next to it, perfectly still and staring vacantly into the flames.

  “Kes?” he said, but then he heard a rapping at the door, no doubt one of the High Lord’s servants there to escort them to the dining hall, and he bit back the urge to roar at the unsuspecting fool.

  Kesara stood, looking at the floor rather than at him. He suppressed a sigh and they made their silent, tense way back to the High Lord’s tower, Kesara again walking a few steps behind and to the side, her face blank when once he looked back at her.

  This time they were shown through one of the side doors in the front hall and down a winding corridor, into a spacious room that adjoined the formal dining hall. Here there were plush seats, roaring fires, and various wines and ales being carried around on trays by servants. There was the continuous murmur of voices, punctuated now and then with laughter that would grow increasingly shrill and raucous as the evening wore on and the drink continued to be poured. It was a sound that never failed to put Thane’s teeth on edge. Most of the other nobles of note were already present, but Thane saw to his relief that he was not the last one there.

  He had, however, come after Malachi, who stood off to one side with his immensely pregnant wife seated in a large chair beside him. Their Mirror sat as well, but against the wall behind them, staring absently off into space.

  He glanced at Kesara and saw her eyes drifting to the other Mirror. “Why don’t you go and say hello?” he suggested. “Malachi wouldn’t dare try anything in here, and it doesn’t look like he’d even notice.” For it appeared that Malachi, both Lord and Lady, were ignoring the haggard figure behind them entirely.

  But Kesara gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t wish to sound snobbish, my lord, but you told me appearances matter here,” Kesara said in a low murmur he had to strain to hear. “And I outrank her, as we Mirrors reckon these things. She must come to me, not I to her, or I lose face.”

  Thane stilled a frown. “I had no idea you had to deal with such politics as well, Kes.”

  “You have no idea, my lord,” she muttered in return, and he was startled by the bitterness in her voice. There was something deeper to that, he realized, but he could not pursue it now.

  As if reinforcing that thought, Lady Ossian approached, her smile painted on and a half empty glass already in her hand. “Well, well, finally, you join us, Eladria! And here one of my personal guard told me that you were breezing through the corridors wild-eyed and covered in blood a mere hour ago. I thought perhaps you might not be up to it.”

  “That’s only a matter of course for one of his kind,” sang out another female voice, and Thane did not need to turn his head to know Lady Kitarin was joining them. “Probably doesn’t realize the kitchens provide the food here, no need to eat it raw out in the trees like at home.”

  “Ladies Ossian, Kitarin,” Thane said politely, with an incline of his head.

  “Ooh, he tries to speak,” Kitarin smiled with lips as red as blood. She had come around to his other side now, standing between him and Kesara. “It’s so precious when they try to talk like us people, isn’t it, Jana?”

  Ossian gave a nervous little laugh in response, darting a glance at Thane. But he did not respond and her giggle grew a little louder before she took another swallow of wine.

  “Is this the Mirror I’ve been hearing about, then?” Kitarin went on, turning to face Kesara fully. She frowned a little, looking the Mirror up and down. “She doesn’t look like such a prize, that’s for certain. Are all of you Ytarens so…dingy looking?”

  “Perhaps you had best return to your consort, my lady,” Thane interjected stiffly, willing his hands and jaw to both remain unclenched. His face hurt with the effort of holding it in composure. “I assure you that there is nothing to be gained by remaining.”

  “Oh, it’s too bad I can’t make out what he’s trying to grunt at me, he does look so earnest,” Kitarin said, turning back to him with a tinkling laugh. “Don’t worry, Eladria dear, the food will be out soon, and you won’t even have to stab it first.”

  Thane smiled broadly, showing all his teeth, and tried not to feel pleased at the way she suddenly lurched backward, almost tripping on her skirt in her haste to distance herself from him. “Never fear, my lady. It comes as no worry at all if I must…stab it.”

  Kitarin’s tried to smile again, but the expression faltered. “Come along, Jana. He does seem to be getting feisty about something or other, doesn’t he? I can’t imagine what. Perhaps it’s all the excitement of being indoors for so long.”

  Ossian didn’t reply. He angled a glance at her and saw her staring at him, open mouthed and pale. Seeing him notice her, she shrank back a
little and looked hastily down at her glass.

  Kitarin gave a short laugh and moved off, Ossian hurrying after her. Thane quickly composed his expression into what he hoped would pass for polite indifference- what he liked to think of as his default state- and looked back to Kesara, who was looking at him strangely.

  “Is she always like that?” she asked.

  “What do you think?” Thane waved away a servant who was attempting to give him a drink. The servant offered the tray to Kesara and he watched her carefully select a flagon of ale.

  “I don’t know. It might have been a show she was putting on for my benefit, much as certain animals display themselves to intimidate newcomers,” Kesara said thoughtfully. She held the flagon briefly to her lips, only just allowing the ale to moisten them.

  “You give her too much credit. She’s just always a bitch,” Thane said bluntly. “And she’s not the only one, either. These aren’t nice people, Kes.”

  “My lord,” Kesara said, looking around quickly.

  “No, it’s fine if they hear me. Half of them pretend they can’t understand me, no matter what I say. The other half know better than to call me out if they value any metal worth more than tin. This is Court, gods help us.”

  “It’s fine, my lord,” Kesara said, offering him the flagon. His eyes widened.

  “What-”

  “No, it’s fine, my lord,” she repeated, a little more firmly. “But I can taste it again if you like.”

  He stared at her like she’d lost her mind, but took the flagon from her. “What are you doing?” he asked, very quietly.

  “Sowing the seeds of suspicion,” Kesara said, with such casualness that he almost thought he had misheard her. But her blue eyes were watchful and he knew he had not.

  “But why?”

  “Why, indeed. Half the room watches us when they think we are not looking, the other half just watches,” Kesara said in a low voice. “I must not be seen as too important to you, and you must not be seen as too trusting. Did you not tell me that appearances matter? You are a known xenophobe in a roomful of foreigners, with a foreign servant.”