City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array)
Page 24
His head spun. He felt sick to the stomach. Right or wrong? He did not have to agree with his father on everything, but the old man had always had Morghiad’s best interests at heart. He pulled out the letter again. Of course, it made complete sense now. His father thought he was weak, an embarrassment. Perhaps he had hoped his captaincy would toughen him up. Morghiad crushed the letter tightly in his fist. He felt... anger.
It poured out of the undercurrents of his mind and dominated his features. He allowed it to fill his body with rage, allowed it to take over completely. It felt almost as good as the Blazes coursing through him. The kahr reached through the bars of the cell to the head of the benay-gosa. He pulled it close and looked deeply into her still open, glazed blue eyes. They still spoke of fear and they still cried injustice at him. He felt it keenly. “Never again,” he whispered to her frozen face. He laid the head back on the ground and stood, making for the door. “Alright. You’ve shown me what I need to see. Now let me out of here.” He hid his anger from his voice with impressive control.
A key turned in the lock and Morghiad poised himself to attack the guards outside. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
The faces of three prison guards met him as the door swung open. He could have slit all three of their throats before they knew what was happening, but something stopped him... something quieted his anger. Morghiad later wondered if it was reason or lessons learned from his time with Artemi, or perhaps an unconscious knowledge that he was needed elsewhere. Whatever it was, it lifted his bloodlust almost as quickly as it had come upon him.
He did not like leaving these men alive, but a voice in his head whispered to him that he had to. The kahr turned instead and stalked free of the prison tunnels, anger still roiling over in his mind. He clamped his hands behind his back and paced down the corridors of the castle towards the stables. A ride on Tyshar would be the only thing to clear his mind now. He needed to leave everybody and everything that troubled him, then he could plan. He would find a way of preventing his father from re-capturing any women that escaped. Perhaps those prison guards could be used somehow...
Morghiad climbed the last set of stairs that led to the main courtyard. It was as quiet as the castle tombs. That was odd. Where were all the guards? There should have been at least three pacing the perimeter. There would have to be words with Hunsar about misdirecting duties. He doubted his men would shirk their roles, since so many had displayed such fervent dedication. Surprisingly few soldiers frequented the servants’ cellars following his reforms, though it was likely due to Artemi that they had stamped on that hunger. She had a very strange effect upon the men.
He looked up to the sky. It was past midday already. Time could vanish in an instant in those black tunnels. Morghiad approached the box that held Tyshar and began readying his saddle. Where was everyone? Poor guard distribution would only weaken the castle’s defences. He felt his anger surge again. A young soldier in green and black came running towards him.
Morghiad tensed. “Finally! I was wondering where you all had gotten to!”
The young man appeared flustered. “Everyone in the castle has been looking for you, lord-captain.”
He had not been gone that long, had he?
The soldier took a breath. “The Lady Artemi - the king is to make her benay-gosa. This afternoon. Now!”
Morghiad dropped the saddle and ran. He had no idea how he was going to stop this from happening, but he had to do… something! Why did she attract so much trouble? But Artemi was his soldier, and he could not allow her to suffer the same fate as the woman in the cells. Ilena’s fate. He sprinted to the benay-gosa quarters; they had to take her there first. The main door was open. He entered, and three women immediately appeared to greet him. One of them opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her short. “Where is Artemi?”
They looked at him wordlessly.
“Where is she?” he demanded again.
A short blonde woman spoke, “She was taken to the admission ceremony half an hour ago, my lord.”
The kahr turned and darted down the corridor again. The king would undoubtedly have her undergo the ceremony in the Malachite Hall, and Morghiad prayed he was in time to stop it. His muscles started to complain at the speed he was pushing them to run at. He turned the penultimate corner, and was met by a hallway full of guards. “Get back to your posts, now! I will deal with this,” he barked at them.
They milled around nervously.
“Now!” Morghiad walked through to the great doors. Silar was sat in front of them, admiring his sword.
The blond man looked up at the kahr. “I’m sorry, Morghiad. You are my friend, but I’m afraid I’ll have to... stop your father when he walks out of here with her. That is, unless you sort this mess out.”
“I won’t let him take her, Silar, you have my word on that.”
The lieutenant nodded and moved aside. His lust for her had quite clearly driven him beyond any sense of reason.
Morghiad opened up his lungs, and pushed open the great doors of the hall. A small crowd of people stood at the end and wide-eyed, nervous-looking guards manned each exit.
A pair knelt before the minister of the ceremony, surrounded by the existing benay-gosa in red. One of the pair stood and turned as he approached - his father. “How dare you interrupt this ceremony?! It had better be serious business that has brought you here, lad.”
Morghiad’s eyes came to rest on Artemi. She did not turn her face to him, but then, he could see rather a lot of her already. He suppressed his blushes and returned his gaze to King Acher. “I cannot allow you to take her as benay-gosa, father.” A plan started to form in his head from the words.
The king’s eyebrows formed into perfect arches. “This is not a matter for you and I to squabble over, Morghiad. I hope this has nothing to do with the... entertainments I offered you this morning?”
The kahr bit his lip. “No, it is not that. You cannot have her because... I want her for myself.”
Artemi snapped round, eyes wide. It felt as if all present had stopped to gawp at him. He avoided eye contact with the red-haired girl, though her looks tried to draw it.
His father took time to think about the words. “It’s good that you’ve finally shown an interest. But...agh! I cannot let this one go. You’ve seen her for yourself. No. She shall be mine. We’ll find you another red head.”
Morghiad felt a tinge of despair. “I really must insist, father. I will have no other woman but her.”
The king frowned and folded his arms. “Really? None at all? I doubt that.”
“In all the years I’ve been here she is the only one to have stirred my... appetite. And I have already shared my bed with her.” Blazes, but that was an awkward lie to tell!
Acher grimaced. “You have? Well, that is something. Picky. Always so picky!” He paced around the circle for a minute, rubbing his beard. “Alright then. But if you don’t produce an heir after nine years I’ll have her off you.” The king turned to the officiator. “Master Hawkser, would you kindly see that these two are lawfully united?”
The spindly man nodded vigorously.
Morghiad knelt down next to the young woman, and took her hand, breathing quietly as fire sprung from the contact. He feared he would see anger in her eyes when she next turned to face him. Her face and hair had been adorned in the usual way, and she looked strikingly beautiful with it. Artemi would have thrown all of the king’s benay-gosa into the shade, even if she had been unwashed and dressed in rags. Her dark eyes looked intently at him, but were not ireful. Perhaps it was more... relief that he saw in them.
“...my lord?”
Someone was talking to him. Morghiad snapped his head round to Master Hawkser.
“Concentrate, lad!” muttered his father.
“My Lord Kahr Morghiad of House Sete’an, First heir to the Marble Throne, do you accept that this woman is worthy of your bond?” asked the thin man.
“Yes, I do,” he replied.
He felt Artemi twitch her hand a little. “Yes.”
The ceremony dragged on for a long time, full of seemingly endless questions about rank and permissions to marry or make alliances or dispose of one’s benay-gosa. Morghiad began to plan how they would feign their relationship in public. At least this way he would be able to walk with her at his side around the castle, but managing sleeping arrangements without arousing suspicions would be tricky. And then there was Silar. Silar would not be best pleased with this situation.
When the ceremony was finished they were both made to stand before each other. The kahr kept his eyes firmly fixed upon her face, as the sheer fabric she had been dressed in exhibited far too much, and the king seemed rather fond of leering at all of it. To Morghiad’s relief, she was finally dressed in a red silk gown which ably covered her numerous female parts.
King Acher stepped in. “No, remove the gown. She is not one of my ladies and therefore should not wear the red of the king’s benay-gosa.”
The red gown was duly stripped, and Artemi huddled in an attempt to cover her modesty.
“Choose your colour for her and choose it wisely. All your other benay-gosa will have to wear the same,” his father said to him.
The king and his women in red departed with the officiator, floating in a majestic cloud of scarlet.
Morghiad quickly tore off his coat and set it about Artemi’s shoulders. Luckily it was long enough to hide her from the otherwise inevitable embarrassment. She pulled it around herself tightly. “I’m sorry Artemi, to have tied you to me like this. It was the only way I could think of to keep you here and keep him happy.”
She nodded slowly but said nothing.
“We will find a way of making them believe,” he whispered.
She half-smiled at that. “And when there is no child?”
Morghiad compressed his lips. “I suppose we’ll just have to find one.”
Artemi laughed. It was a full and beautiful laugh that eased his concerns considerably, but it did not last long. She turned her head to the door, to where Silar’s figure was silhouetted against the light as he watched them. He turned and stalked away as soon as Morghiad met his eyes. How was he ever to set things straight with the man? The truth would have to come out about his power difference with Artemi. At least then Silar would know he had no intention of bedding her, though such a truth risked making everyone else fear her. “What do we do now?”
“Well I suppose it would be expected at this point that I come to your rooms.” She raised an eyebrow.
Together they headed into the dull grey of the vaulted hallways. The men had cleared it and had since returned to their posts. A thought occurred to Morghiad. “How did the king discover you?”
Artemi sighed. “Your friend, Lady di Certa, caught me leaving your rooms this morning. She took me to him as punishment.” She smiled. “I suppose she was right in the end, I am your whore now.”
Of course, Artemi had lost honour in this. Morghiad had not wanted that to happen, though looking back, his attempts to preserve it seemed poorly considered at best.
Several of the nobles they passed gave them curious looks. He did not want to stop and explain what she was doing in his coat, however, and ignored them. The castle being the hotbed of gossip it was, they would find out soon enough. He held the door open for her when they reached his rooms and she glided through like a queen in spite of her dress. As soon as the door was shut, the apparent happiness dropped from her features. “I have caused you too much trouble, my captain.”
She said this after her injury, and the dangers she had faced? “No, I am guilty of doing that to you. I should have sent you away from here the minute I found you,” he said.
Confusion marked her features. “Do you mean all this has been for nothing? The training, the wielding? You have turned an entire army of men to protect the life of a wielder, of all future wielders. Are you telling me that was a mistake? The servants have enjoyed the warmest winter in centuries because you kept me here.”
Morghiad folded his arms. “But you could have enjoyed a happier life outside of here. And yes, my work with you has benefitted Cadra, but – then why do you think I am troubled by you?”
She curled up in the armchair. “It’s not that. Lady di Certa - I have come between the two of you. Do you think she will still see you now that I am your benay-gosa? And what of Silar?”
The kahr was surprised she had thought anything of Aval’s advances upon him. That noblewoman was a blazed snake! “Whatever relationship you perceived exists in Lady di Certa’s mind only. I will not miss her attentions in the slightest. If anything, it would be a relief to be free of her. As for Silar, I’ll speak to him.”
Artemi rose from the chair and went to gaze at the bed. She still looked unhappy. Morghiad did not normally like any form of affection, but he was disturbed by her apparent sadness. And out of guilt for the part he had played in it, he drew her into an embrace.
Artemi awoke for the third time that night. It was unbelievably hot in his rooms. She just wanted to strip off and lie on top of the covers, but that would not be appropriate here. Not with him sleeping in the chair at the other end of the room. The fool man had insisted that she take the bed each night she stayed. It was ridiculous, given the size of the thing. Four people could easily have slept in it without even being aware of each other’s presence. Worse, the captain slept so lightly that every time she shifted he would wake, check on her and then take an age to settle himself. Also, he suffered nightmares. How he managed to get any sleep was an utter mystery to her. Predictably, he left his chair and came to inspect her. “What is it?”
Why could he not stop fussing? At least he had spoken to her this time. In the last few weeks he had become very withdrawn, and even less conversational than he usually was. She hadn’t seen him smile for a very long time.
She pushed off the covers. “It’s just rather hot up here.”
Morghiad looked around the room. All of the windows were wide open and he seemed to be wearing several layers of clothing against the incoming breeze. “That leg wound is fully healed now?”
“Yes!” How many times would she have to tell him?
He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand to her cheek. Hot, raging fire seemed to explode at the point where he touched her.
“Your power is maturing inside you - that’s why you feel hot. By tomorrow you will have exceeded me in ability.” He rose and went back to his armchair. That was about as amicable as Morghiad would be with her. She had no idea what it was she had done to upset him, and asking him directly about it got her nowhere. At least she had a friend in Caala and was able to see her when she came to change the bed sheets.
At first the broad woman had been angry at her, thinking she had lied about her relationship with Morghiad. It had taken a lot of begging for forgiveness to bring her to an understanding, which itself was a lie. The only problem now was Caala’s irrepressible excitement at Artemi’s supposed impending motherhood. Though that was nine years off, it was still irksome that she had to discuss it at all.
Unlike Morghiad, Silar had warmed to her more in recent weeks. He regularly came to check upon her and the captain, even joining them for walks in the gardens. Artemi was glad for his company on those walks, as Morghiad would remain entirely silent and grim throughout. It had not taken Silar long to realise that the kahr was not taking advantage of his benay-gosa, and he had since remained quiet on the matter, instead choosing to enthuse over her forthcoming dancing lessons. And after all, it was expected that benay-gosa dance with their master at feast days. Too bad for Morghiad he had chosen clumsy, treble-footed Artemi.
They had arranged to meet in the practice hall tomorrow,and she hoped to elicit at least a smile from the green-eyed kahr, even if it was a laugh at her falling on her backside. She knew how good he was at dancing, so he must have enj
oyed it at some point in his bleak existence. Artemi rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She still felt as if her skin were afire.
When she opened her eyes again it was light. Full spring sunshine flooded in through the windows and glared off the white sheets of the bed. She could hear birdsong from the gardens and castle roof. The smell of spring was a wonderful thing, and she drank it in deeply, a broad grin spreading across her face. The kahr watched her from the door of his washrooms. He was shirtless, as had become usual in her presence, and rubbed a towel through his dark hair.
Artemi tried to count all the thin scars that ran across his arms, but he turned his back under her gaze and replaced the towel inside the washroom. The tattooed crest on his shoulder blade caught her attention. She had seen it before and knew of its significance, but this time she left her bed to examine it more closely.
Morghiad turned to face her and stared when she approached, but then waited patiently while she walked around to his back. The blazed man was quite a bit taller than she, and she had to stand on tiptoes to see it properly. The mark seemed to depict a hawk perched upon sword and feathers. There was something... unusual about it though. Artemi reached toward it with her fingers. When they made contact, Morghiad gave no reaction at all, but she could feel the difference in their ability now. There was something about the drawing of the hawk. “This has been made with Blaze Energy.”
“Anyone could have one made otherwise,” he said.
Artemi frowned. “But this is not Ilena’s work...”
Morghiad spun and snatched her hand out of the air. “You should bathe and get ready. Silar will be waiting.”
She knew she was right; Artemi had seen enough of Ilena’s work to know that was not her style. Which other wielders had been allowed in Calidell during Morghiad’s lifetime?
He had left a bowl, full of clean hot water for her in the bathing room, which was quite generous. Though, she did not understand why he did not use her power to make it hot. She pulled off her nightdress and ran a soaking sponge over her skin. The familiar scent of purple wisp root soap prodded at her nose as she washed. Artemi dunked her hair in the water to finish her ablutions, and then flicked it back over her head, sending a spray of water everywhere.