“We’ve spoken of this before, brother.” Vad’Alvarn picked up a piece of apple and used it as a pointer to indicate the world outside the window nearby. “It is not time yet. Let us bring the rest of the world to its knees and then we will be finished with them.”
Knowing he was not going to get any further on the subject, Navar let it pass. It happened every so often, this conversation, usually whenever the possibility came the bloodshed would end. Navar needed the bloodshed, needed the combat, perhaps more than even Vad’Alvarn did. He was a dog of war, but he was leashed to a far more calculating man than he himself. Fingers drummed against the table top, his eyes went everywhere but to the man he had grown up under. During their time together Navar learned it had always been Vad’Alvarn’s dream to conquer the world. Navar had signed on because they were like brothers and that was what brothers did, they followed the dreams placed before them by their siblings and put their shoulder against the wheel to help them rotate it against fate. “So is she the one?”
“The Princess?” Vad’Alvarn started at the question, his reaction sudden and guilty. “She is.”
“You do not sound too happy.” Trust his brother to notice such a thing. “What’s wrong?”
“She does not remember. None of it but the light cannot be wrong.”
“It took you years to control what you are.” The same darkness now leaking into the air around him despite the fact the room was well lit with sunlight. Navar gestured at it as if it were nothing at all to worry about. “Crawling all over you.” Vad’Alvarn had not noticed his powers were active, though he felt the familiar tugging at the edge of his senses.
“What?” He glanced down, it was radiating off his skin, reaching out with grabbing hands for the nearest living being, Navar. “How?” When he brushed his fingers through it, the dark curled around his fingers like smoke before continuing to reach. “She’s awakening?” Then it was gone, the darkness receded, leaving behind only an image of itself in the air for a moment. “Wishful thinking,” he muttered.
“Tell me she’s at least good in bed.” Navar was well aware of the attributes of most of the royal wives. He made more use of them than their master did, their master who had been hung up on a single woman but had taken others just for show. He slept with them once, conferred upon them the title of princess and continued on with his campaign. It was not he did not like women, just there was a particular one, one he had been waiting for forever it seemed. Now she was there, right there, within his reach and he did not dare to touch her. Vad’Alvarn shook his head at the question, shoving a bit of apple in his mouth to avoid having to answer. “You did not even once?” Shocking, he had let a woman just slip through his grip without even tasting her.
“She’s the one,” Vad’Alvarn replied once he finished chewing. “I have to be more careful.” The expression on his brother’s face said so many things and none of them was belief.
“She is the one because the light says so, but she does not remember anything. So you’re going to do what with her now?” Leave it to Navar to boil things down to the bare bones. His simplicity was something Vad’Alvarn occasionally envied, but not often. In this situation, it was exactly what was needed.
“The Princess wishes to go home. Unfortunately, Sartol is nearly unreachable in the winter. I told her she would have to wait until spring.”
“Well, Master Strategist, you have a time limit on your campaign. She has to remember before spring, or she’s going to hold you to your word.” Now Navar picked up an apple himself and following his brother’s example began to peel it, coiling the peel on the table in front of him, stark red against the white linen cloth.
“I think I want to take her home,” Vad’Alvarn admitted before popping another apple slice into his mouth.
“Deliver her back to Sartol?”
“No, to the Burning Island, where she was born before.” He had to swallow before he could answer, whatever one could say of him, he did have his manners. The city of Arthum had been the capital of the Burning Island for over 20 generations. There was no one alive who remembered when it had been located somewhere else, though the histories did speak of a different place, a place among the clouds where the children of the Burning Island had come from. Thoughts dismissed as fairy tales by all but the clergy and those who saw Vad’Alvarn as an embodiment of just such a creature as they were supposedly descended from. “I’m hoping maybe walking the old streets will awaken something in her.”
“It’s not like you have anything to do here.” The sarcasm was obvious. Vad’Alvarn was the supreme commander, he was the king, his presence was absolutely necessary. “The army will not follow just anyone to continue your campaign, you know that.”
“I know.” The admittance was reluctant. Having her back in his grip so many other things seemed secondary. Even the need to conquer for the moment was quiet in the face of his need. “The answers are not coming now.” So many things had changed last night when the light danced around her, when she had called out to the darkness in him. None of the others had done that. None of them had been able to summon the darkness in him out at all, but she had drawn him like the proverbial moth. Since then, he had been trying not to frighten her away, yet his confusion made it hard to decide what he should do. If he moved against her like she was something to be conquered, what would she do? He thought she would try desperately to escape him, just as she was now. Though he could keep her from leaving him, he could not command her heart and mind so easily. He wanted the expressions he remembered, the shared emotion. Eyes that met his and invited him to stay. Showed him a kindred soul. Jalcina watched him now with an enemy’s eyes, searching for weakness, a chink in his armor for her to exploit. It was hardly a good beginning for them. “Perhaps a pass or two in the practice ring will help me to figure this out,” he thought out loud intentionally knowing what would come next.
“I owe you a bruise or two, brother, so let’s go.” Navar invited himself along, just as Vad’Alvarn had expected and hoped. They were well-matched; years of having trained together making them nearly identical in style, strength, and speed.
The fall sunlight was still strong as they exited the castle walls and headed for the fences separating the stabling and practice areas from the rest of the palace. Walking together, it was easy enough to tell them apart, but for someone who did not truly know the king, they often tended to gravitate toward Navar as the leader. It was a ruse they had used a time or two to their advantage. After all, if one is attacking one person, it was harder to pay attention to the other coming up from behind. A thought worth keeping in mind during a battle situation, not every attack is going to come from the front. They had no need to call for weapons, both wore their own regularly and armor could be used or not used, it mattered little. Since they both had it on and were using bladed weapons, it was probably going to be quite a practice round. Of course, beating each other bloody for practice was something most civilized warriors no longer did. They had ritualistic practices using wooden weapons and armor to keep damage from being done. The Burning Island trained its warriors with the same weapons they were going to use when they went into battle and often the same armor too. Trained them so often those items were extensions of the self. It made them the most feared army on the continents.
Swords flew from their scabbards as the two turned to face one another across the expanse of open field. From the way they approached, it was an easy assumption they truly meant to kill one another, sparks floating in the air around them as their swords met repeatedly.
Being shaken awake was not something Jalcina was used to and she fought as she woke, throwing her arms about herself wildly. It only served to amuse Rom who had half a smirk on her face.
“Princess,” she said once the woman had regained her composure enough to realize what was going on was not some kind of attack. “Did you plan to sleep your day away?”
“No.” The fact she had gone back to sleep escaped her. Yet as she looked ar
ound, she realized she had curled back up in the bed and gone to sleep as if this were her room. “I was.” Her actions prior to falling back to sleep were fuzzy as though the memory refused to make itself known. Drawing her hair back from her face with both hands, she gazed at the woman assigned to keeping her and then shook her head. “I must have dozed off after Vad’Alvarn left.”
Rom shook out a dress she had apparently brought with her since Jalcina did not remember it being there when she laid down. “Well, it’s time you dressed and moved on to breakfast. You need to keep up your strength.” The dress was a summer sky blue, with silver seams and an embroidered falcon striking dominating the back. Rubbing the embroidery curiously, Jalcina had to ask. “Whose standard is this?”
“I do not know, Mistress, but the King requested it for you. It was awfully hard to find.” The stitching was beautiful, but the falcon was not her new husband’s standard. The rising dragon was; it was what should have been on the back of her dress identifying her as a member of his household. “I would guess he means for you to wear it then.”
Once again, Jalcina gave herself up to allowing this woman to dress her. The night before it had been in the garb for a wedding she did not remember taking place. She had heard no vows exchanged, neither from herself or from her husband. He could not bind her without bringing it before the eyes of the gods, could he? “What God does Vad’Alvarn serve?”
“I’m sorry, what do you ask, Princess?” It was as if the words were foreign to Rom the way she watched Jalcina’s mouth as she spoke.
“Vad’Alvarn’s god,” she repeated the thought. “Which one is it?”
“You would have to ask him, Mistress,” Rom said quietly, fitting the dress as best she could around Jalcina’s body. Apparently she needed to lose a little bit of weight in some areas, given the way it stretched over her stomach. Yet, she managed to wear it. The long sleeves slipped down over her knuckles and nearly hid her fingers. “Sit please.” The directive was given and followed. The younger woman sank to the edge of the bed and Rom settled behind her, pulling a long comb through her hair. “The Master will say what he wishes, but he does not speak of the gods. He speaks of wars, of generals, of warriors, but never of gods.” The feeling of Rom stroking through her hair with the comb coupled with her voice had the effect of stilling Jalcina’s thoughts. “The Master is a very lonely man, but he says he has waited for you and you are the one he has awaited.”
“How can he have waited for me?” That phrase caught her attention, forcing her back into paying attention.
“You know if you are like him, divar. Dead and alive again.”
“Divar.” She had to mimic the sound because the word was foreign to her.
“Cursed.” Rom gave her the nicest translation. “The Master is such and so are you.” Jalcina opened her mouth to speak and realized she had no words. Under the god she had been raised with, people who died were dead. They did not return. Sometimes they would touch events from their place in the afterlife to assist their ancestors, but nothing beyond that. They did not take up new bodies and start wars.
“There is no such thing.”
Rom did not say anything in return, continuing to comb through Jalcina’s hair. But she kept her lip caught between her teeth as if to stop the possible flow of words. With Jalcina’s hair combed all the way through, Rom then braided it carefully before twisting it into a bun at the back of her head. A few stray strands fell to frame her face, but they were pretty where they were, and as such were let be.
“Of course my telling you that is silly. You would not be saying such a thing if you did not believe in it.”
Still no answer from Rom, after all, it was not her place to argue the beliefs of her Master and Mistress. Her Master believed, believed with everything he had in his heart he was a man caught in divar. Reborn and forced to pay for some past crime, but also allowed to perhaps atone if he followed through on his word. Why his beloved was also trapped as one, he had not discussed, never spoken of, and probably never would have except now she was found.
“Will not you say something? Anything?”
“There is nothing to say, Mistress. You wedded the Master--,” Jalcina cut her off.
“I have not been in any wedding.” Beyond the fact she had been made to dress up, there was nothing telling her she was in any wedding. There were no bands or anything on her finger, no brands up on her flesh, nothing to say she was bound to anyone in any way. “I did not marry anyone. No vows have been made before the gods.”
“But Mistress, the Master says it is so.”
“Then he is wrong.”
“Then you should go and tell him so,” Rom sputtered. From the color her face became, quite a bright red, it was obvious those were words she had not meant to say. “Forgive me, Mistress, I should not be asking you to have any kind of distress with the Master.” Moving from her place to the doorway, she bowed hastily and headed out of the room.
“Tell me where to find him and I will do exactly that! He has no right to keep me here if I have agreed to no vows.”
The flush in Rom’s face refused to die, making her entire face the color of a summer flower.
“Will you not tell me where he is?” The princess had risen to follow her servant as she attempted to flee.
“I do not know for certain where he is. He could be anywhere.”
“Think!” Jalcina’s fingers wrinkled Rom’s sleeves as she grabbed a hold of her and shook her gently. “I need to find him.”
“Mistress, the only place I know to send you is to the practice grounds. Even if he’s not there, someone will know where to find him.”
Then she pulled away, keeping her eyes lowered to the floor. The way she shuffled her feet was so childlike as to be pathetic, but she was obviously hoping to be dismissed. After a long moment, which Jalcina used considering whether or not she wanted to go start a public fight with her ‘husband’. He had not done anything to her, yet, other than keep her from doing what she pleased. Though he had a good reason for his denial, there was nothing holding her to his side. None of her choices were going to be held together by anything other than his wishes. Jalcina did not want her life dictated by some man she had known for all of two days at most. A man who had already proven himself to be evil and treacherous toward those whom he had no cause to be treacherous toward.
“Point me in the right direction.”
“You’ve been to the stables, Mistress,” said Romkita preparing to leave the room. When she reached the door and knocked she said, “Please be gentle of his feelings. He believes even if you do not.”
The statues opened the door for Rom and she slipped from the room, leaving Jalcina to make the decision of whether or not she truly meant to seek Vad’Alvarn out. After a few minutes of pacing the room, dress swirling around her heels like some great whirlpool, she went to the door and knocked on it. The statues outside did just as they were taught to, opening the door for her and standing aside. Reaching the stables was not terribly difficult, even if it took her some time. When she reached the stables, she searched around for the practice field. It was the sound of ringing steel drew her in the right direction.
Both Navar and Vad’Alvarn were starting to show signs of having fought for too long, taking longer between strikes, audible breathing, sweat coating their showing skin. There were lines of blood in places where they had come close to truly injuring one another before pulling up short. Neither noticed her when she first arrived, leaning against the fencing like an interested spectator. It was not until Vad’Alvarn did a turning pass at Navar he saw her out the corner of his eye and the sight almost caused him to be brained by his opponent. He was slow in bringing up his defense, caught by how much the sight of her leaning on the fence was similar to the memory he had of her from ages before. Her hair tied away from her face, leaning against the fence watching him as he moved. Of course, then she had been his, not this stubborn creature who looked at him with hard eyes and a defiant stance.
He brought his sword up to block just in time.
“Hold,” he yelled it to bring the practice to an end, ducking the swing Navar made for his head before he could stop his momentum. “Good Morning, Princess.” He bowed toward her after rising to his feet. “Is there something I can do for you?” The streaks of dust on his armor bothered him not at all as he covered the distance toward her, putting away his weapon.
“You and I are not wed.” It was a statement, not a question. Her arms crossed over her chest, she tossed her head like a proud horse before continuing. “I have no reason to listen to you and you have no right to keep me here.” Spoken like a true princess who has no fear of being disobeyed. “Therefore, I will be going.”
“Will you?” He stopped at the fence and put his hands on it, feeling the wood give a little against his weight. “And you wish to continue with this foolishness of heading into the mountains, I suppose?”
The two of them talking across the fence at one another appeared almost normal, except she was dressed far too well and he was bleeding from various small wounds on his person.
“Did I not make myself clear enough?”
“Of course you made yourself perfectly clear,” she said as she turned away from him. “But you have no right to command me and as such your words are nothing more than thoughts; I have no reason to listen to you.”
“As my wife…”
“When did we wed?” Her eyes dared his answer from over her shoulder.
“You wish a more traditional wedding?” He seemed amused by the concept. “Then my Princess, you shall have one.”
That was not what she was saying at all and the fact he seemed to miss the point only made her stop and gape at him as if she were trying to catch flies on her tongue. Was he honestly so dense?
Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1) Page 13