‘Nor I you,’ her beloved replied frankly.
‘No matter what happens,’ she said, ‘the baby has to live.’ She watched him closely wanting to be sure he understood, and equally wanting to be sure that he agreed.
Talis touched her cheek and her lips, and then he kissed her again. Khatrene tasted desperation as she kissed him back, never sure which kiss would be their last. Each time Talis took her in his arms she wanted to stop time, to stop Ennae and her own destiny, but it flung her forward like sand in a storm. She was frightened of dying, but her desire to see her baby live was stronger. Talis had to be convinced to feel the same way.
‘I can’t go back to Magoria,’ she told him, touching his face to keep his eyes on her own, ‘but my baby can.’ She waited a moment before adding, ‘You can.’
Talis simply stared at her, the enormity of her suggestion rendering him temporarily speechless.
‘If things don’t go the way we’ve planned,’ she said, ‘I need to know that you’ll protect him, even if it means leaving me here.’
Talis didn’t protest as she’d expected him to. Instead he simply gazed at her for a long time before he said, ‘I knew you would ask me this.’
‘And you’ll do it?’
‘I am not a descendant of the Ancients and only such as they may pass through —’
‘That’s just a rule. You can break it.’
‘Perhaps with the child’s help I can.’
‘Then you’ll do it?’
‘I know it is right,’ he said, ‘and yet I cannot imagine how it would be done.’
‘Open the Sacred Pool. Take the baby. Step through.’ She somehow managed to smile. ‘Easy.’
Talis shook his head. ‘If you were to ask this of me many years from now, I would have memories to last me the rest of my lifetime. Yet to leave you now while our love is still a sweet-scented blossom that has yet to unfurl its beauty …’
Khatrene felt tears sting her eyes. ‘Just tell me you’ll do it,’ she said.
Talis drew a slow breath. ‘If you ask it of me I will not disobey.’ He looked at her a moment longer, his eyes suspiciously damp, then he rose abruptly to clear the camp, ensuring no sign of their passage would remain.
Pagan stirred, and by the time the utensils were packed, Talis had regained his composure. He hefted Khatrene into his arms and even managed a smile as she wriggled into a more comfortable position and closed her eyes, hoping for sleep. Yet instead of rest, Khatrene found only heartache as she imagined saying goodbye to Talis and her child in the same instant. She knew she would be strong enough to send them to Magoria if the necessity arose, but to dwell on the decision before it was taken was to ask for grief. Better to be unprepared and cope with the consequences as they arose.
Instead she imagined how sturdy her son would be, with his strong legs which seemed to need to kick night and day. She was just smiling at that thought and drifting towards sleep when the voice spoke to her.
YOUR BROTHER IS CAMPED WITHIN THE ELDER STAND. YOU MUST SPEAK TO HIM.
Khatrene stiffened and her eyes snapped open. Is this a trap?
‘Beloved?’ Talis dropped a kiss on her forehead.
She shook her head and closed her eyes again, knowing he would assume the baby had disturbed her. Is Mihale —
YOUR BROTHER KNOWS NOTHING OF YOUR APPROACH. HIS COURT HAS TRAVELLED TO THE SHRINE FOR THE CEREMONY OF ATHEYRE.
Is it safe to see him? Or will he give me to Djahr? Khatrene waited desperately to hear what the voice would say. He seemed to take forever replying.
I HAVE DONE WHAT I CAN. THERE HAVE BEEN SO MANY LIVES, YET I AM ALMOST AT THE END. He sounded faint, distant. YOU MUST ACT FROM LOVE AND NECESSITY … AS I HAVE DONE … A whisper of sound echoed through her mind, then there was silence. Deep, dark silence.
Khatrene put a protective hand over her belly, knew there was nothing she could do to stop or influence his actions. She had to concentrate on keeping alive.
Mihale was near. Was this an opportunity to escape Djahr? Why else would the voice have told her? Worry dissolved into exhaustion and eventually Khatrene slept, only to wake in fright as Talis put her to the ground next to a tumbleweed shrub. He was reaching for his sword, but before she could ask what was going on, she heard the sound of swords clashing. ‘Pagan,’ she mouthed, fear growing inside her.
Talis raised a finger to his lips, gave the Plainsman signal to stay put, two fingers pointing down, then turned and left her. She huddled against the shrub, peering in the direction he’d gone, not seeing anything. But she heard. A moment later the horrific clang of swords worsened as Talis weighed into the fray. Khatrene had no way of knowing how many they were fighting against and could only listen to the grunt and cry of battle, a sound she would never become used to no matter how many times she heard it.
She prayed to the Great Guardian to protect them and it was on the tip of her tongue to send up a prayer for Breehan and the children when she saw a shadow pass over her. In the next second she felt a cloth covering her mouth.
‘Make no sound if you want to live.’
Khatrene stiffened but didn’t struggle. Something sharp pressed against her throat as the gag was tied.
‘Our Lord Sh’hale will be pleased with this find,’ the voice said, dragging Khatrene to her feet. Then he added to his confederates, ‘Cover our trail when we leave, and if the Guardians survive the Raider attack, kill them yourselves.’
He pushed at her back and Khatrene stumbled forward, no thought in her mind but to stay alive. As the battle continued behind her, she could only pray again that Talis would also.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
‘The Light of Ennae,’ Kert said, taking her arm from his guard’s and removing her gag.
‘Kert Sh’hale,’ she replied, though her voice was little more than a croak. She swallowed and put a hand to her throat. ‘May I have some water?’ she asked.
He made an elaborate show of producing his flask and wiping the top before he handed it to her. Khatrene couldn’t have cared less about hygiene at that point. She drank the water greedily and handed it back. ‘I want to see my brother. The King,’ she added, hoping that sounded more authoritative to his ears than it had to her own. To illustrate her claim she took off her filthy cloak and let her aura spread into the misty forest around them.
Kert blinked at the unexpected radiance, but he wasn’t impressed. ‘No doubt the King will be pleased to have you back,’ he said.
The King. Not The Dark. Khatrene took heart from that but she kept relief off her face. Kert seemed deferential enough but there was an edge in his voice that gave her pause. Disapproval? She wasn’t sure. ‘So will you take me to him?’ she said in her best ‘regal’ voice.
‘I will check your person for weapons before you come into the presence of my King,’ he replied.
Khatrene was taken aback. ‘You think I’m going to hurt my own brother?’
‘You were in the company of traitors to the throne.’
‘That’s an outright lie.’ Khatrene stared him down but Kert was implacable. ‘I will not allow threats to the person of the King.’
‘Then don’t let Djahr near him,’ she said.
He continued to gaze at her and despite her frustration, Khatrene sensed sincerity in his actions, albeit a fanatical sincerity. He was a Champion protecting his charge and she could find no argument with that.
‘All right,’ she said and put her arms up, giving him her best imperious glance as he patted her body quite impersonally.
Then he ste
pped back and straightened. ‘We may proceed,’ but his attention strayed to her huge belly, then back up to her face, a twitch of distaste visible at the corners of his mouth. Khatrene knew what he saw — dirt. Would Mihale find her disgusting as well? She felt sick at the thought. Wished that … Her thought trailed off. A rippling tingle ran from her scalp down over her skin and she dropped her cloak in surprise, raised an arm from which a mist of dirt was rising. Her hair shimmered around her, shedding dust, and then the sensation stopped.
Kert’s mouth had fallen open. He stared at her in utter amazement.
Khatrene was feeling pretty astonished herself but she knew an advantage when she saw one. Raising her chin, she took a steadying breath and said, ‘Now I am ready to see my brother.’
Kert stared at her a moment longer, then gestured for her to precede him into the camp. They walked in silence, Khatrene glancing at her limbs from time to time, to assure herself she hadn’t imagined that dirt-shedding — trying to work out what else the baby might be capable of. Once in the camp, however, the curious glances of the predominantly Sh’hale force brought her back to herself and she slowed her breaths, preparing herself for the meeting with her brother.
‘Is The Dark here?’ she asked.
‘Not yet,’ Kert replied.
Khatrene nodded. She had some time to work on Mihale, convince him that Djahr was dangerous. To both of them. He’d killed their parents and plotted to kill Khatrene. For all she knew Mihale might be next.
‘Here, My Lady.’ Kert indicated a large tent, ornate with rich fabrics and many tassels, and embellished with the four-circle emblem of the throne of Ennae. Khatrene raised her chin a fraction. Kert had called her ‘My Lady’. That was a good sign.
They drew closer to the tent and Khatrene saw that Laroque stood at the door. She wished she could tell him Pagan and Talis were alive but Kert would overhear. It was a slim chance that his men had snatched her and not found her Champion and his cousin, but if that was the case she wasn’t going to give them away.
‘Laroque,’ she said, and tried to smile.
He nodded, his expression guarded. Did he blame her for turning his family against the throne?
‘Your brother is within,’ Kert said and nodded to the Sh’hale guardsman who also stood at the door. He lifted back the opening.
‘Who goes there?’ said a voice from within.
Khatrene felt her breath catch. Mihale.
‘It is your royal sister, Majesty,’ Kert said and gestured for Khatrene to enter.
She hesitated only a second longer, remembering how her brother had abandoned her to Djahr, then she clutched her skirts and stepped past Laroque. Kert followed close on her heels. The opening closed behind them and her aura abruptly faded. She blinked in the sudden gloom and her heart kicked up a beat. ‘Mihale?’ she said softly. ‘It’s me, Khatrene.’
Kert moved away from her side and was swallowed up in the shadows.
Stillness descended and Khatrene felt herself tremble, wondering who was in the room and how close they were to her. Her skin crawled as she strained her eyes against the gloom.
‘Mihale?’
Nothing.
‘Where are you?’ How small and scared her voice sounded, and how ponderous the silence that followed. She’d had an impression of drapes and some sort of furniture before the darkness had descended but she hadn’t seen anyone. Hadn’t seen Mihale.
‘Khat?’ Right behind her.
She stifled a scream of fright, turned, and found her brother staring at her in the gloom, wonder large in his eyes. She supposed she must look very different with a huge belly, but that didn’t stop her giving him an awkward hug. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered.
Mihale hugged her back, his hands stroking her back and her hair. Then he separated himself and held her away, his fingers restless on her shoulders. ‘Lights,’ he said softly.
Khatrene heard a scratching sound behind her, then a soft glow filled the tent. She could see her brother more clearly now, and as she searched his face she realised there was something different about him. His hair had grown longer and now touched his shoulders. His freckles were just as prevalent but his face looked leaner, the cheekbones more prominent. More than that, the look in his eyes was different. He wasn’t a boy any more. He had become a man.
‘I prayed last night,’ he said. ‘I prayed to the memory of our father that you would return to me.’
Which meant he wanted her there. He still loved her.
Relief washed over Khatrene. Her brother would protect her. He would protect her child. She just had to convince him to include Talis and Pagan in that happy homecoming. ‘I have come back to you,’ she said, ‘to stay. But there’s something else we need to talk about —’
Mihale pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Nothing will ever come between us again,’ he said.
The fingers of his one hand still stroked her shoulder as though in comfort, yet Khatrene found the gesture oddly uncomfortable. She reached up and took his hands in her own, noticing then that his were shaking. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said softly. ‘Alone,’ and hoped her brother would get the message and ask Kert to leave.
‘I’ve been practising,’ Mihale said, as though he hadn’t heard her request. His thumbs stroked the inside of her hands as his gaze moved over her hair and her dress, not meeting her eyes.
Again she felt vague discomfort, but decided to humour him. ‘What have you been practising?’
‘You and I being together’ His gaze still wouldn’t meet her own and Khatrene started to wonder if she’d missed part of the conversation.
She squeezed his hands. ‘We’ll be together from now on,’ she assured him, though of course she wanted Talis with her as well and they needed to talk about that. ‘But for the moment, could we be together, alone?’
‘Of course,’ he said, and then he smiled. Not the lopsided smile she remembered so well, but a strange feverish smile that was more of a grimace. ‘I will dispose of her now. I need her no longer.’
Khatrene frowned. Her? She had missed some of the conversation. ‘Dispose of whom?’
‘Of you,’ he said, and again he grimaced in a smile.
‘Of me?’ Khatrene was confused.
‘No, of me,’ said a scornful female voice from the other side of the tent.
Khatrene turned slowly, yet while Mihale released one of her hands he held the other, his thumb still stroking her palm as the woman approached them. Sickness welled up inside Khatrene so quickly she was forced to press a hand against her mouth to hold it back.
The woman was Ghett. ‘Your brother forgets that you carry another man’s child,’ she said to Khatrene, ‘while within my belly lies his child. His future.’
Khatrene could only stare. She’d never seen anything like it before. Ghett’s appearance was astonishing. Sickening. A blonde-wig, her own jeans and T-shirt. Like a bad waxworks copy, Ghett had ‘become’ Khatrene, and if they had been making the baby she professed to have inside her while she looked like that, Khatrene was going to vomit. A lot.
What had seemed like a soothing touch from her brother now took on a completely different dimension and Khatrene quickly pulled her hand out of Mihale’s, backed away from him as Ghett approached and raised her lips to meet his. Khatrene watched in horror as they kissed, her brother’s eyes never leaving hers.
Then she remembered her own dealings with Ghett. ‘You drugged me,’ she said, pointing a wavering finger. ‘That drink you fed me. You and Djahr …’ She looked at Mihale, and fel
t her sickness grow. ‘You’ve been drugging my brother,’ she said, and wanted to cry at the pitiful state he’d been reduced to. She turned on Kert, lounging in the shadows. ‘What sort of Champion are you to let a servant drug your King? Are you involved in this plot as well?’
Kert stared at her a moment, as though considering her words, then glanced away. Had Djahr told everyone she was crazy? That she made wild accusations? It would be a clever way to protect himself, to destroy the credibility of his enemy.
‘This is so wrong,’ she said, but had no idea what to do about it. How to begin to stop it.
A voice came from behind Khatrene. ‘Is this the sanctuary you sought?’
She jerked in fright, then turned to find her brother’s Chief Counsel, Bhoo, standing beside her. Mihale was still kissing Ghett, fondling her bleached wig. Dizziness spun in Khatrene’s mind, casting dark shadows at the edges of her vision. Djahr might be on his way to their camp even as she spoke, but … how could she abandon her brother?
Khatrene wanted to put her head down. Wanted to run away. Wanted desperately not to hear the sounds of her brother making love to a woman he was pretending was her. Only it wasn’t his fault. She was sure he’d been drugged, the same way she had. But how to prove it?
‘She will never give you what I can,’ Ghett breathed between wet sounds of lovemaking. Her accent was oddly familiar now. ‘Keep her if you will, to look at, Majesty, but do not expect her to take my place.’
Her brother groaned then, a sound of pleasure so obvious it couldn’t help but paint mind-pictures for Khatrene of what was happening a few steps away — what she couldn’t bear to look at. Yet far worse was the realisation that Ghett’s tone of voice was a cleverly developed parody of her own, undoubtedly designed to convince Mihale, even in the dark, that he was making love to his own sister.
That knowledge was too much for Khatrene. Her stomach clenched on itself and she leant over her belly as her gore rose. Yet before she could vomit all over her newly clean dress, another tingling sensation emanated from her baby and her stomach settled. Instantly. She swallowed, took a couple of shallow breaths, then straightened. Bhoo was watching her.
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