Where Light Meets Shadow

by Shawna Reppert

  No. My queen. I can’t! but then Alban, dearest friend, beloved.

  The queen was mad. The queen his father had loved and served and died for was mad. If he did nothing, Alban would die here. He had unwittingly lured him to his death.

  Alban was screaming now, his sweet voice unbearably harsh with pain, and still the queen kept singing. Kieran’s hands found the harp strings and wove counter music. Power came to him, dark and desperate, as wild as the day he’d called the storm, wilder, threatening to tear him apart. The music spun up and out, wrapping around the queen. In the blindness of her rage, she did not notice, but sang on and on, beautiful, harsh terrible, and the song turned in on her. Would it be enough? She sang on still, her voice and her hatred and will to destroy so very strong it seemed that nothing would stand against it. Still the harp’s music played, and Kieran followed; the music took what he had learned when he and Alban bonded for bardic healing and betrayed the knowledge as no healer ever would, using it to twist and blacken and kill.

  My queen. Brona’s mother. My queen for whom my father died. Kieran tried to still his hands, but could not, not for Alban, and not for all the Scathlan and Leas who had died, who would die for the overweening pride of one monarch.

  The queen’s song ended in a harsh, awful shriek, and she collapsed, blood running from her mouth and nose, dark in the moonlight. Not comatose, as she had been, Kieran knew without checking. Not comatose, but dead. He had roused his queen once to save his people and had been hailed a hero. Now he had killed her.

  Alban’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. “Come on, Kieran, get up. Run.”

  I have killed my queen. I have betrayed my people.

  Worse, if he could go back in time to the moment before he started to play, he would still do the same thing.

  He felt cold, so cold, and his hands were trembling.

  Alban took the harp from him and pulled him to his feet. “My father will shelter you, but we need to leave now.”

  “You go,” Kieran said. “Save yourself. Get your people out of here. There was never hope for peace, it must have been a trap from the beginning.”

  “I won’t go without you. They’ll kill you.”

  Let them. But they would kill Alban too. Alban would not leave without him.

  Kieran allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He watched numbly as Alban packed the harp in its case with as much care as haste would allow.

  Leave the damned thing. I never want to play again.

  Alban slung the harp case over his own shoulder and took Kieran by the hand, leading him out of the garden and away from his dead queen.

  Twenty-two

  Alban had no time to worry about Kieran’s passivity as he pulled him along the path to the entrance nearest the Leas’s quarters. One of the Scathlan would surely be along soon to investigate the sounds coming from the garden. That no one had yet, even considering the distance from the lodge that somewhat muted sound, told him all he needed to know about the complicity of the rest of the Scathlan court in the attempt on his life. They had expected killing magic that night; they just had not expected their queen to fall.

  Had Kieran known? No, his sincerity had been too clear in the link. The queen had used him as a lure, but she had underestimated his integrity.

  When he got to his father’s door, he knocked frantically and, when his father answered, he explained as swiftly as he could what had transpired, stressing Kieran’s innocence and how Kieran had turned against his own queen to save him.

  “And what were you doing out in the garden in the first place at this time of night?” His father stared past him to where Kieran stood passively behind him, staring at the floor, trembling slightly. “Oh, of course. He called and you came. You couldn’t have possibly stopped to consult with me, no matter what you promised.”

  “Father, I—”

  His father reached around him to grab Kieran by the front of his tunic, pulled him in, and shook him like he was a recalcitrant hound. “You! I’ve half a mind to slit your throat and save your own people the trouble.”

  Alban tried to step between them, but his father shoved him off.

  Kieran raised his head, exposing his throat. “Do it, then.”

  He spoke not with defiance, but with bleakness, as though his life had ceased to matter to him. Alban shivered, wanting to link with him, to comfort him, but there was no time.

  His father shook Kieran again. “We will take you in because you saved my son’s life and because, frankly, we don’t have time to argue about it. But if you ever put my son in danger again, you’ll wish I had left you to be executed.”

  “Father!” Alban protested.

  “I understand,” Kieran said quietly. “For what it’s worth, I thought—”

  “You don’t think,” Father interrupted. “That’s your problem. And you are encouraging the same trait in my son.” He turned away in disgust.

  “I’ll wake the rest our party,” Father said with cold efficiency. “We need to leave now.”

  “But if we run, we’ll just look guilty.”

  “I don’t think they’ll stop for explanations, nor will they need them. They tried to kill you. This was obviously a trap from the beginning.”

  Alban suspected as much, but to hear his father confirm it sent cold sluicing down his spine.

  “I’m sorry,” Kieran whispered. “I didn’t know.”

  “Get him on a horse,” Toryn said. “Take my spare. That gray mare of his isn’t fast enough. The only advantage we have is a head start. I’ll not squander it.”

  By the time they were saddled and in the courtyard, they could hear the commotion in the Scathlan quarters that told them the queen’s body had been discovered. They rode like the wind.

  At the first overlook, they could see the pursuit distant in the valley below. The Leas bred better horses. They would maintain their lead and increase it until they reached safety, but it would be a long, hard ride.

  His father’s spare horse was a sorrel gelding, a half-brother to Alban’s own mount, swift but smooth-gaited and docile. Kieran sat it passively, letting it keep its position in the middle of the Leas. Alban kept his own mount beside the sorrel to look after his silent friend.

  Kieran had spoken no words since they left the hunting lodge. He ate what food was put into his hands and dismounted as the others did when they stopped to rest the horses. On those few breaks, Kieran limped badly. His injured leg was still weak, and he had to be in pain, but he shrugged off Alban’s concern. There was no time for healing, anyway.

  He made one request the evening of the second day, when they stopped at a friendly mortal village to rest the horses. Father acquiesced to his wish to send a letter to Brona via mortal courier, explaining what had happened.

  “For all the good it will do you,” Father said.

  “I know,” Kieran replied. “I don’t expect her forgiveness or understanding. But she is—was—my best friend. I owe her this much.”

  By the beginning of the third day, all sign of pursuit had dropped off. “No doubt they’ve realized that they cannot catch up with us,” his father said. “And have gone back instead to prepare their army for war. Which is what we must do as well.”

  “Do you see no hope for peace?” he asked bleakly.

  His father shook his head. “Whoever was part of the queen’s attempt on your life is determined to see war. The queen’s death will not end it. I’m certain that most of the Scathlan will hear that you, with the aid of the traitor bard, murdered their queen at what was to be a peaceful negotiation.”

  “Kieran will not ever be able to go home,” Alban said.

  His father shook his head. “Not and live to tell about it. I thought you should be glad that you get to keep your stray.”

  “Not like this.”

  #

  Kieran sat staring into the dying fire, thinking about his father’s sword. He hadn’t worn it the night he’d brought Alban to meet his queen—why would he
have?—and there had been no time to get it. Perhaps it was more fitting that he didn’t carry his father’s sword into exile with his father’s enemies, but still he felt its loss.

  With the exception of the sentries at the edge of the camp, all the Leas were asleep, as he should be. Tomorrow would be another long hard ride into exile.

  He wondered how Brona was doing. Did she believe him a traitor and a cold-blooded murderer?

  Would he ever stop seeing his dead queen every time he closed his eyes?

  Nights were cold, even in early summer. The damp seeped into his weak leg, making it ache all the more. He rubbed the muscles, trying to get some relief.

  “Does it pain you much? Your leg?”

  Toryn’s voice behind him made him start.

  “I can keep up.”

  The only thing worse than living out his life an outcast among the enemies of his people would be to live abandoned among the mortals, a hardscrabble existence of begging and playing for food until some Scathlan found him and put an end to him. Better to have stayed and faced execution with dignity.

  Toryn walked around the fire, stopping just beside him. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

  Kieran shrugged. “It hurts when I’m tired. When it’s cold.”

  As soon as he’d caught Alban watching him, Kieran did his best to hide his limp. Early in the flight, there had been no time for healing, and now he was almost accustomed to the pain. He didn’t want to cause any more problems between Alban and his father, and he didn’t need any more problems with Toryn himself.

  Toryn crouched down beside him. “You forget that my son is not the only healer in the family. May I?”

  At Kieran’s wary nod, Toryn helped him remove his boot—a task made difficult by the swelling—and rolled up the leg of his breeches. He held as still as he could while Toryn probed, only occasionally drawing a sharp breath when he hit an especially tender spot.

  “The bones are healed,” Toryn said. “Though I suspect when you’re older, they may ache with the damp. The muscles are still weak from all the time you spent in a splint. You have not had time to regain full strength. I can help with the knots and the swelling, if you will allow.”

  “Please.” What had happened to the angry lord who had been half-ready to kill Kieran? He didn’t dare question the change, lest Toryn recall his anger.

  The healing magic felt sublime to his tormented muscles, though he missed being inside the healing. Missed the mind-link. Missed Alban. But Alban was asleep on the other side of the fire, and Kieran was glad he didn’t know how badly off he was. No point in worrying when they had no choice but to continue the journey, pain or no.

  “There,” Toryn said when he was done. “You’ll find tomorrow’s ride a bit easier.

  “Thank you,” Kieran said. “What will happen to me now?”

  Toryn sighed. “I suppose I’ve just acquired a court bard.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kieran whispered.

  “Why? Many courts have bards. I shouldn’t think it so bad a fate.”

  The idea of Toryn and humor seemed so foreign that it took a moment for Kieran to register the attempt at a jest.

  “Your people will not accept me.”

  “They will not harm you, either, while you are under my protection. That is a start. The rest is up to you.”

  “I have heard what your guards are saying. They are not careful about me overhearing. They say that one who kills his own queen cannot be trusted.”

  “You were loyal to your queen for as long as you could be in conscience. And when your queen made it impossible for anyone with a conscience to follow her, you did the right thing. I would rather put my faith in moral courage than in blind loyalty.”

  “And the others?”

  “It will not be easy for you. But you are not without friends. Eamon is fond of you, as is Sheary. I think you know in what regard my son holds you.”

  Kieran ducked his head, lest the extent of that regard show on his face.

  Toryn took a deep breath and then let it out. “I would ask, however, that you consider how close you are to my son, that you be careful of the public face of your friendship. It will do neither of you any good if my people see his support of you as a sign of infatuation.”

  Kieran winced. “Yes, my lord.” And then, when the silence between them weighed so heavy that even the most awkward truth would be more comfortable, “I made a mess of things. I thought I could end the hostilities between our peoples. I was foolish. Arrogant. I let myself be swayed by what I wanted to hear. Now my queen is dead, I nearly got Alban killed, and the two kindreds are about to go to war.”

  “You would be arrogant indeed to assume that all of that was your fault,” Toryn said. “I may have been— No, I was too harsh with you that night. I was angry at what had almost happened to Alban, and yes, angry that he ignored a promise he made me.”

  “I’m sorry. It was my—”

  “It was not entirely your fault. He had a part in the decision. And when I was his age, I might have done the same. Especially if his mother was involved.”

  The comparison between Toryn’s relationship with Alban’s mother and his own relationship with Alban made him blush. He rested his head on his knees to hide it. Sweet Grace, did Toryn know about that last night before he left Leas lands?

  “Do not judge yourself so harshly for believing in your queen’s good intentions. She was your monarch, and you loved her as such. Of course you would not suspect her of treachery. For what it’s worth, I was taken by surprise as much as you were. I would not have come to the meeting, let alone brought my son, did I not believe she could be taken at her word.”

  “But you would not have agreed to an isolated meeting, far from witnesses.”

  Toryn smiled. “No, I would not have. But that is where age and experience comes in. Which is why I would prefer Alban heed mine that he might live long enough to develop his own.”

  Kieran tried to answer his smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t awakened the queen.”

  “True enough. But you had no way of knowing. Even I, who knew her of old, did not expect this end. I hoped, as you hoped, that her waking might bring a beginning of healing between the two kindreds. I respected her once, enough to offer a marriage of alliance. Her long period of sleep must have undone her mind.”

  Hard to reconcile this open, compassionate Leas with the one who had been half-ready to kill him a few nights back. Hard to trust the change, and yet there was one thing he had no one else to talk with about. Alban could not understand, he hoped Alban would never understand, because that would mean he had faced it himself.

  “I— Can I ask? In the war, did you. . .did you ever take a life?”

  It was a stupid question on the face of it, and he cringed to hear it coming from his own mouth.

  “Too many. We all did.”

  “Does it ever become easier? Remembering? Knowing what you did?”

  “I wouldn’t say easier. It should never be easy, even if I had no choice, as you had no choice. But it fades.”

  One more confession and, no matter how dangerous, he had to say it. “It’s not just that I killed. That I killed my queen. But I did something no Leas would do, even in the heat of battle. I used the knowledge of healing that I got from Alban, from when we were healing, and I used it to kill. I twisted the power of life itself.” He hid his face in his arms, awaiting judgment.

  Toryn sighed. “Alban thought you might have. Even when you are not linked, the two of you are attuned, and you must have been projecting incredible power.”

  “How can he bear to look at me? Why did he not leave me there to be killed?”

  “You saved his life.”

  “But I did it by corrupting something that should never be tainted!”

  “Yes. You did. But you have taken no healer’s vow. And if I had been there, if I had the choice of breaking my healer’s vow or watching my son die. . .I can only
say that I’m glad to not have faced that choice. My son lives. I cannot condemn you for that.”

  “I feel like I have lost the Grace,” he whispered. “And I will never find her again.”

  Toryn rested a hand on his shoulder. “The Grace is all around you, always. You just can’t feel her for the pain. But the pain will ease. Try to get some sleep, now. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Twenty-three

  Since Kieran no longer required a healer’s care, Toryn did not assign him his old room next to Alban’s, but instead gave him a room next to his councilors and near to Toryn’s own rooms, as befit a court bard. It meant less temptation and less opportunity for his association with Alban to be anything other than that between a bard and his patron’s son.

  Alban was clearly disappointed, more so because Kieran did not put more effort into circumventing the new situation. Although Toryn had not asked him to do so, he kept in confidence the conversation that he had with the lord of the Leas on the road from the disastrous meeting. Much of it felt private, and he knew Alban would not be pleased if he knew his father had interfered.

  Toryn had been in the right. The Leas, for the most part, trusted him less now that he had turned on his own queen. Kieran could not allow that censure to touch Alban.

  Sheary still called him a friend, and still insisted on having him in for social evenings, though Kieran suspected he understood the tensions that he blithely chose to ignore. If Alban sensed or heard what was being said of Kieran, he didn’t let on. On the one occasion that Alban managed to form a mind-link, brushing against him under the table during one of their evenings drinking with Sheary and his cousins and friends, Kieran let him believe that he was too despondent over having his queen’s blood on his hands to think about love or pleasure.

  It wasn’t possible to lie in the link, but if the link was shallow enough, he could manage to show only part of the truth.