“That’ll give you time to go home to Carina and spend some time with the twins before you have to come back to the palace.”
Jonmarc’s attention snapped back to Berry. “Return?”
Berry turned her most calculatedly innocent grin on Jonmarc. “You’re Queen’s Champion. The Queen’s Champion stands at her side throughout the handfasting to make sure the bride and groom live through the wedding. It’s tradition.”
Gethin chuckled out loud, and Jonmarc glared at him, but he gave a resigned sigh. After everything they had been through, Jonmarc often felt as if Berry was his oldest daughter rather than his monarch. “Just as long as the chaperoning ends before the wedding night.”
“Yes,” Gethin said.
“Now there’s a thought,” Berry said simultaneously with an impudent grin.
“I happen to know a healer who could give me a convenient outbreak of hives,” Jonmarc replied with a pointed look at Berry.
“And if I don’t send you on your way soon, Carina may be tempted to give hives to me, instead,” Berry said and chuckled. “Much as I hate to see you go, your horse is ready at the stable, and everything’s provisioned. Am I correct that Kolin and Aidane will go with you?”
“Yes. Lord Uri’s made connections in Nargi for us to smuggle vayash moru to safety,” Kolin replied. “We’ll go back to Dark Haven to gather what we need, and then head to Nargi.” He made a shallow bow. “We’re grateful for your hospitality, but there’s work to be done,” he said and took Aidane’s hand.
Berry sobered as she looked from Kolin to Aidane and then to Jonmarc. “I’ll miss you,” she said quietly. “Besides, with everyone else, I have to wear those awful, stiff gowns and pretend to act like—”
“A queen?” Gethin finished with a grin.
“Exactly.”
Jonmarc chuckled. “Here’s a thought. Once the wedding is over, you’re welcome to slip away to Dark Haven for a visit. I’m certain we’ll be up to the rafters with vayash moru and vyrkin refugees when Kolin and Aidane get back from Nargi, and Carina would be glad to have her best assistant back to lend a hand.”
Berry looked wistful. “You don’t know how good that sounds.” She sat up taller, changing from hoyden to young monarch in a breath. “We’ve got a kingdom to put back together now that the war’s over, and while I know it seems silly to put so much effort into a wedding, it’s an historic first alliance between Eastmark and Principality, so it’s a huge diplomatic issue.” She sighed. “On the other hand, now that Gethin’s actually here in the palace instead of off at war, it won’t hurt to have a few months to get to know each other.” A grin spread across her face. “Although it’s too late for Gethin to back out now.”
To Gethin’s credit, the glance he gave Berry assured Jonmarc that Gethin had reasons beyond affairs of state for staying in Principality. Though Berry had confided to Jonmarc that she was “pleasantly impressed” with the Eastmark prince, she knew that it was in Principality’s best interests to go forward with the marriage, regardless of sentiment. Jonmarc hoped that time would forge a bond of affection, if not love. On the other hand, it was clear that Gethin was quite taken with Principality’s feisty queen, and that he had gone from sullen pawn to willing consort.
“Maybe I can convince Carina to bring the twins to the wedding,” Jonmarc said with a wink. “Just to liven it up.”
“I’m counting on it,” Berry replied. “Bring the Blood Council and the vyrkin, too. If we’re going to make a fresh start of things, let’s do it right.” She could not resist casting a mischievous glance toward Jonmarc. “Of course, when the time comes for an heir, I’ll be expecting the Queen’s favorite healer to make the trip up to take care of everything.”
A look of momentary panic crossed Gethin’s face and Berry burst out laughing. “Don’t worry—I think we can wait on that for a while. A long while. I just thought Jonmarc should let Carina know… for later.”
“Later,” Gethin replied, swallowing hard as he regained his composure. “Much later.”
“Good to see you back in one piece, Jonmarc,” Neirin, the Dark Haven grounds manager, greeted Jonmarc, though he looked askance at the sling that bound Jonmarc’s right arm. A stable hand ran up to take the reins of Jonmarc’s horse, and Jonmarc looked up at the moonlit façade of the Dark Haven manor house and let out a long, relieved breath.
“Not as good as it is to be back,” Jonmarc replied, running a hand through his hair as he looked for a light in the window of the upstairs room that was the nursery. He matched Neirin’s pace as they headed for the broad front steps. “Thank you for the updates you sent to Principality. It’s nice to have some idea of what’s going on when I get home.” He stopped halfway up the steps and looked out over the courtyard. “What’s the refugee count?”
Neirin shrugged. “A couple of hundred, give or take a few. Lord Rafe has started taking some of the new vayash moru to his villa, and the Blood Council voted to turn the properties they seized from Astasia into lodging for the refugees, which has taken some of the burden off Dark Haven.”
“Astasia’s manor housing refugees? I like it. She won’t be needing the place anymore.” Jonmarc paused. “Where’s Carina?”
Neirin smiled. “Awaiting your arrival. Kolin and Aidane arrived just before dawn with news that you weren’t far behind. No guarantee on whether she’s had any sleep—I’m told that the twins have a very healthy appetite.”
Jonmarc gave his cloak to Neirin and sprinted up the steps two at a time, ignoring the pain in his leg. He paused for a moment at the door to the nursery, listening, and then turned the knob and eased the door open.
Carina sat in a chair near the fire, holding a sleeping infant. Lisette was walking slowly back and forth near the windows, singing quietly to the bundle in her arms and glancing at the night sky. Both Carina and Lisette turned as Jonmarc entered, and for a moment, the scene in front of him was so much as he imagined it would be that he felt unable to move.
“Welcome home,” Carina whispered, with a nod toward the child in her arms. Jonmarc felt his heartbeat speed as he grew closer, straining to get a first look at his daughter. He bent to kiss Carina’s cheek. She looked at him with concern. “You’re limping. And your arm—”
He shrugged. “Nothing you can’t fix. I didn’t want to stick around Principality City until it was properly healed.”
“In other words, you left against healer’s orders.”
“Maybe.”
Carina smiled warmly. “I’m glad some things never change.” She edged back the soft cloth that wrapped the infant she held. “Corinn, this is your daddy,” she whispered to the sleeping child. At her words, the baby stretched, opened her blue eyes just a sliver, and then settled back into the curve of Carina’s arm.
Jonmarc found himself entirely at a loss for words. He realized that he was holding his breath, and that his heart was pounding in his throat. Strong emotion was nothing new to him; he was well accustomed to fury and vengeance, hatred and fear. Before this moment, he thought he had some experience of love: with the strong bond he shared with Carina, the intense and tragic feelings he had for his late wife, Shanna, and for the parents and brothers he had loved and lost as a young man. He was unprepared for the ferocity of the emotion that swept over him, an unsettling mixture of tenderness and a viscerally primal need to protect, whatever the cost. Jonmarc looked down on the perfect features of Corinn as she slept, and he knew without question that the price of his soul had been named.
Lisette moved silently to stand beside him. “There’s someone else you need to meet,” she said, and gently held out the sleeping baby. Jonmarc took the bundle awkwardly in his left arm. He was aware of how large his calloused and scarred hands seemed, broadened by years of wielding a sword and before that a blacksmith’s hammer, compared to the tiny child nestled within the blankets. Once again, he caught himself holding his breath, afraid that any movement would wake the baby. He forced himself to breathe, and he let himself rela
x as Lisette nudged the blanket aside to reveal a tiny face.
“And that’s Kai,” Carina said, her voice just above a whisper.
“You’re holding her well,” Lisette said with a chuckle. “Carina and I weren’t sure whether you’d ever held a baby before.”
“I was the oldest of four,” Jonmarc replied absently, trying to memorize the tiny, perfect features of Kai’s profile. “My mother had no problem handing the youngest to whoever was available. It was a simple choice. If I wanted to eat, someone had to hold the baby. And I always wanted to eat.”
Kai shifted at the sound of his voice, and her small lips pursed. Her eyes opened, blue like her sister’s, and she stared at him with a wide-eyed, unfocused gaze. Jonmarc found himself awkwardly at a loss for words.
“Hello, little one,” he murmured. Kai gave a little hiccup and her eyes slowly drifted closed. Gingerly, Jonmarc made his way to a chair facing Carina and sat down, holding Kai close to him, marveling at the steady rhythm of her breath.
“They’re beautiful,” he said, and his voice caught. “I just can’t believe—”
“That you’re a father?” Carina chuckled.
Jonmarc shook his head, his eyes fixed on Corinn’s face as she slept in Carina’s arms. “That I could have had anything to do with something so good.”
“Oh, they’re not always this sweet,” Carina replied with a quiet laugh. “You should see them in a mood. They have your temper, all right.” She was quiet for a moment. “Do you think the prophecy was true?”
The same question had been on his mind for the entire ride home from Principality City. At their wedding, an ancient vayash moru had made a prediction: Twin daughters will each bear a son. One will wear a crown, and the other will wield a sword, and together they will challenge the abyss. While Jonmarc and Carina had rarely spoken of the prophecy throughout her pregnancy, he was sure it had never been far from either of their minds.
“I don’t know,” he said, letting Kai snuggle into his shoulder. “Personally, I’ve had my fill of making history. But I suspect that they’ll make their own choices and their own destiny, the same way everyone else does.” He gave Carina a sideways glance. “But just in case, whether or not they turn out to be healers like you, I’m still teaching them to fight.”
Chapter Thirty
Kiara Sharsequin Drayke, Queen of Isencroft and Margolan, looked with a mixture of anticipation and sadness at the satchels and trunks waiting next to the door of her room.
“Skrivven for your thoughts,” Allestyr said quietly.
Kiara gave a self-conscious smile. “Just thinking about the trip back to Margolan. It’s so funny that when I’m there, and I talk about Isencroft, I call Aberponte home. But now that I’m here, and I think about going to be with Tris and Cwynn, it’s home there, too.”
Allestyr chuckled. “I understand completely, my dear. Though with the official residence of the joint monarchy moving to Margolan, it will be some time before your travels bring you back here again.”
Kiara sighed. “I don’t see any way around it, but I’m afraid you’re right. Once the boys are older,” she said, and her hand slid to her abdomen, which was now undeniably rounded, “we’ll have to work out a way for them to feel as much at home here as in Margolan.” Jae rubbed against her leg and she leaned down to stroke his scaly back.
“Do you have any idea of when you’ll know whether Cwynn will be able to be king? It would certainly simplify things if he is able to take the throne. Two boys, two crowns.”
Kiara nodded and began to pace. “Somehow, I doubt things are ever that simple. At least we know that some of the unusual ways Cwynn’s acted have to do with his power. But what it will mean for him, growing up with that kind of magic, and whether or not it lends itself to kingship… we just won’t know for a while.” She patted her belly. “And as for Ghent, we know he’ll wear a crown, the question is, will it be one throne or two?” She shook her head. “It seems crazy, imagining them being kings when Cwynn’s so little and Ghent hasn’t even been born.”
“Ghent?”
Kiara smiled. “Tris and I chose the name before he left for war.”
“I’ll expect you to include drawings of them along with the official papers we send back and forth to you,” Allestyr said with mock sternness. “I want to watch them grow up, not just meet them when they’re old enough to be sent for fostering.”
“Oh, you can count on seeing some drawings,” Kiara said with a chuckle. “Expect them to speak Croft and Markian, too. I’ll send for tutors when they’re older. If they’re to rule Isencroft, then they must be of Isencroft.”
“And how will you work out the choice between the worship of the Mother and Childe versus Chenne?”
Kiara gave him a knowing smile. “The same way mother did. They’ll learn to make all the appropriate official offerings to the Mother and Childe in public, as good princes of Margolan. And they’ll learn to worship Chenne at the altar in my room, so that they make the Crofters happy.”
“I happen to know Viata raised you to worship the Lover, as she did in Eastmark.”
“Fortunately, the Lover Aspect isn’t as jealous as some of the other faces of the Lady. I’ll teach them to make their private devotions to the Lover, just as mother taught me.”
“You’ve discussed this with Tris?”
“Tris is a summoner. He’s seen the Lady in all her aspects, in person. It’s made him rather… broad-minded… on the topic.”
Conversation stopped as servants came to load Kiara’s bags into the carriages that would take her to Margolan. Jae stirred from his place on the hearth and rubbed against Kiara’s legs, as if to assure that he would not be left behind. At nightfall, Captain Remir and his guards would escort her on the first part of her journey, along with her vayash moru and vyrkin protectors. Cerise and Royster would travel with her, and both of them were as eager to return to Margolan as she was, Kiara knew. At the border, Margolan soldiers would replace the Isencroft guards, a concession to politics. Something we’ll need to work out, eventually, she thought.
A knock at the door made both Kiara and Allestyr turn. The guards had a very short list of permissible guests. Cam stuck his head and shoulders into the room. “Are we too late to say good-bye?” The door swung open, and Cam entered with Rhosyn, arm in arm. Kiara noticed that Cam’s limp was more prominent than before the war, and that Rhosyn seemed to be providing support as much as a gesture of affection.
“Not at all. I’m glad you could stop in before I had to leave.”
Cam greeted Kiara with a bear hug. “I guess I should quit doing that now that you’re queen and all, but old habits die hard.”
“There are exceptions in the rules for old friends,” Kiara said with a grin. “Are the two of you heading for Brunnfen?”
Cam and Rhosyn exchanged glances. “In a while. Brunnfen’s not the warmest place to spend the winter, trust me. And while we work out the details of this whole ‘shifting the monarchy to Margolan’ thing, Tice and Allestyr thought it would be better for Count Renate and me to stick around to help keep familiar faces involved.”
“Does Renn know you won’t be moving back right away?”
Cam laughed. “Renn and Captain Lange made a great team. After all Alvior’s plotting, he couldn’t land ships at Brunnfen at all. In fact, the ships didn’t even get close enough to do any serious damage, so instead of cleaning up a mess, like the rest of the coast, Renn can put his time into building the ale house and distillery that Rhosyn’s father’s invested in.”
He grinned. “I’ve persuaded Rhistiart to move into Brunnfen to lend a hand. He’s got a decent head for business. When the tavern and distillery are up and running, who knows? Rhistiart might stay on with us, or he may head back to Dark Haven. There was a vayash moru silversmith who offered him an apprenticeship there.”
“And Renn doesn’t mind standing in as lord of the manor for a while longer?”
“He says he doesn’t. Truth be to
ld, I’ve been gone from Brunnfen for so long, it’s probably best to have Renn in charge. Bum leg or not, I’m not sure I’m ready to sit still long enough to run a manor house just yet, at least, not the way it should be run. Renn will do just fine, and we’ll visit when we can.” He grinned. “After all, we’ll need to inspect the quality of the ale and spirits, now won’t we?”
After Cam and Rhosyn said their good-byes, Brother Felix came to the door. “If you’re ready, m’lady, something requires your attention,” he said.
Allestyr accompanied Kiara and Brother Felix as they made their way into the necropolis, down the long corridor to the warded room where Kiara had one last piece of unfinished business. Kiara and Allestyr stood back and let Felix release the wardings on the ornately carved door. It swung open, and with a flicker of magic, Felix lit the torches. On the table in the center lay the closed box that held the nenkah.
“Is it… the way we left it?” Kiara asked, daring to move to the edge of the table, but hesitant to touch the box.
Brother Felix smiled. “See for yourself.” He opened the box. Inside lay a crude cloth doll. Kiara watched for several minutes, but the doll showed no movement. “I don’t know for certain when the magic ended, but my guess is the night you turned the battle with the burning glass, when you told me that you felt Cwynn’s magic protecting you.”
“So much was going on,” Kiara said quietly. “There was a moment when I was truly afraid, and that’s when I felt a rush of power. My intuition said it felt like Cwynn, but I don’t know how to be sure.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say that the same instinct that led the boy’s soul here for protection also felt your fear and, by instinct, went to his mother.”
“And afterward? How was the nenkah when we returned from the battlefield?”
The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two Page 50