The Betrayal

by Pati Nagle

  “You are taking this to him?”

  Galir ducked his head. “I have just brought it away, Bright Lady. At his bidding.” He glanced up at her nervously. “We have taken him fresh food every day, as you desired.”

  Shalár stood still for a moment, gazing at the cup, her heart turning cold. She took the goblet from the tray without a word and strode back to her private chambers.

  “Dareth?”

  She unslung her pack from her shoulder and left it on the floor. The front chamber was empty, the hearth cold. She walked through to her bedchamber.

  Dareth lay upon her bed, propped up by pillows, a scatter of scrolls across his lap. He had been reading, but perhaps not for some while. His eyes were closed, hands lying limp. He was deathly pale.

  “Dareth!”

  Shalár hurried to him, pushing more scrolls off a table beside the bed to set the goblet on it. She caught Dareth's hand in hers, felt the feathery thread of his weakened khi in it, so thin it was almost beyond detection.

  “Dareth. No.”

  She touched his face. Cold—so cold—but not quite devoid of life. His eyes opened, and he smiled dreamily.

  “Shalári. Good, you have returned.”

  “Why have you done this?” Her throat was tight with grief, and angry tears escaped her eyes. “Why, Dareth? I did not go to Fireshore!”

  “But you will. I cannot support it, Shalári. Forgive me.”

  His words stabbed at her heart. She clutched his hand and stroked his face, searching his eyes for a hint of what might stir his interest.

  “You promised to give me a child!”

  “I have failed to keep that promise. I will atone.”

  “No!”

  She wanted to shake him but feared doing him harm. She seized the goblet and held it to his lips.

  “Drink!”

  He turned his head away, frowning as he closed his eyes. Shalár caught her breath on a sob.

  “Please, Dareth. I beg you, do not leave me!”

  He was silent, his lips pressed tightly together. Despairing, she pushed the goblet onto the table again, slopping a little of its contents onto a scroll.

  From habit she picked the page up and brushed away the blood, seeking to preserve the scroll, for good parchment was not easy to make. It was old, a copy from her archives of a poem that had been written many centuries ago in Eastfæld.

  She glanced at some of the others and saw that they were all similar works: old ballads, lays, histories. Dareth had been seeking something in the distant past.

  The scroll in her hands was “Creed of the Ælven,” a poem whose first stave every ælven child learned by heart almost from the cradle. She remembered her mother teaching it to her in Darkwood Hall. It had been written by the great bard Vahlari on commission from the first governor, Arithan, who had codified the creed by which the ælven lived.

  Shalár was tempted to crumple the page. She had not known a copy of this poem was in her archives.

  “It is a beautiful verse, is it not?”

  She looked at Dareth, who lay gazing at her once more, softly smiling. His tranquillity drained all the rage from her.

  “So many of these old songs are beautiful. We should ensure that they are remembered.”

  “Do that for me.” She had no wish for it, but she would encourage anything that might keep him with her. “You know much more than I of such things. Do not let your wisdom be lost.”

  “I am too tired.” He sighed. “Forgive me. Some younger soul will have to take on the task. I am sure you will find someone.”

  “Dareth—”

  “Kiss me now.”

  Weeping, she let the scroll fall to the floor and leaned over Dareth's wasted form. She pushed his pale hair back from his brow and kissed it, her lips trembling against his cold flesh.

  “Stay with me.”

  “Spirits be with you.”

  “That is an ælven expression.”

  Her response, her rejection of his words, had been automatic. She felt a stab of regret, though Dareth only smiled again.

  “But we are ælven, Shalári.”

  Dread rose to tighten her throat, along with arguments and denials, but she dared utter none of them. His smile frightened her.

  She kissed him, trying to wake him with her passion, trying to send her own will into him. He yielded too easily, like a gauzy curtain might yield to the wind, no barrier to its force. When she sat up again, he smiled once more, then closed his eyes.

  She felt his spirit fly, escaping her grasp, leaving behind the flesh that he no longer cared to sustain. Leaving her to struggle on without him.

  Leaning her head against his silent chest, she wept. Her only friend, who bettered her simply by being, gone. She had never felt so alone.

  Later, much later, a tiny sound disturbed her. She sat up abruptly and wiped at her face, though her tears had long since dried.

  It was Galir. “Forgive me, Bright Lady. Nihlan wishes to know if you require anything of her before sunrise.”

  “No.”

  Turning her head, she saw Galir leaving the chamber. “Stay.”

  “My lady?”

  Shalár waved a hand at the scrolls scattered about the chamber. “Pick all these up.”

  “Yes, my lady. What shall I do with them?”

  Shalár stood up, glancing at Dareth's silent face. She would look no more at that husk. He was not there.

  She took up the goblet and drank deeply of its contents. The blood had cooled but still flooded her with new strength, though it could not fill the hollowness within her. She emptied it, then set it down.

  “Burn them.”

  She strode out of the chamber, treading heedlessly on the old songs of the ælven. She had no energy to waste on such follies. Reclaiming Fireshore was all she cared for now. The living souls of Darkshore were her duty, and she would give to their preservation all the passion she had left.

  Luruthin rolled onto his back, pleasantly disoriented. He could not remember where he was, but he was warm, and the scents around him were rich though unfamiliar. Spices of Southfæld, he thought. That was right; he was in Southfæld.

  Memory returned in a rush, bringing him fully alert. He opened his eyes to see soft firelight glinting off long tresses of honey-gold hair spread across his forearm. Honey, not russet.

  His initial dismay was replaced by remembrance of how he had come to be here, in Lady Jhinani's private chamber. She had taken pity on him, but had not made him feel pitiable. He closed his eyes again, inhaling her scent, feeling her khi as a gentle glow enfolding him. He breathed a sigh of gratitude.

  Jhinani turned to face him, smiling as she nestled her head into a silken pillow. He smiled back and reached up to caress her cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  She glanced aside, her lashes veiling her eyes. “That was you making love to her.” She reclaimed his gaze, her dark eyes wide in the chamber's dimness. “Now make love to me.”

  Luruthin drew a long breath. Certainly he owed her at least that much. He swallowed the apology he knew she did not want and carried her hand to his lips, then began slowly to kiss the length of her arm.

  She rolled onto her back, smiling as she closed her eyes. He kissed her deeply, then gently all over her face, throat, and shoulders. She let out a soft moan as he moved on, taking his time, exploring all of her body with his hands and dropping kisses like flower petals on her trembling flesh.

  Now, instead of thinking solely about Eliani, he could not help comparing Jhinani's beauty with hers. The lady of Greenglen was rounder, soft and warm in her curves, with a sweet gentleness that hid strength and passion.

  He kissed her to the point of elation and, finding his flesh inspired anew by her plea sure, entered her, intending to complement her ecstasy with his own. Moving slowly, he sought to sustain her delight. Their lips met and kissed warmly, deeply.

  Everything about her was warm, her khi a golden haze in his awareness now. He drew it close an
d offered his own in return. She sighed, and he felt her acceptance, felt it in his khi and in her flesh, which yielded to him unexpectedly.

  A shudder went through him as her body opened to him, drew him in deeper, deeper than he had ever been before. Astonishment filled him, along with a rising elation. He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes, feeling her khi pour through him, her flesh close around him in a tight embrace.

  His wonder was reflected in her face. Neither spoke. There was no need. Luruthin understood what was happening though he had never experienced it—nor expected to—and surely she understood as well. He searched her eyes for any sign of doubt and was glad to see none.

  Their khi flowed together, blending in a closeness as new to him as their physical union. It sang through him, imprinting Jhinani's essence forever on his soul. Then his body left his control, and he had no thought but awareness of his seed flooding her in waves of ecstasy.

  As his passion ebbed, he sensed an unfamiliar presence, a glow akin to Jhinani's khi yet different, brighter, more powerful than any he had experienced. From this presence came a flood of warmth, happiness, gratitude.

  Greetings, and my thanks to you, Mother and Father.

  The voice rang through his being like music and sunlight together. Was this what the mindspeakers felt? If so, he could understand the impossibility of resisting the gift.

  Luruthin opened his eyes and gazed at Jhinani, dropped an unsteady kiss onto her lips, and was rewarded by her smile. They had gone from near strangers to a bond that would never be broken, for now they were three.

  Eliani and Turisan awoke as one, roused by sunlight striking the Star Tower. During the night they had closed all the tapestries, trapping the fires' ebbing heat within the chamber, but now the daylight passed in through the tower's latticework crown, throwing soft tree-branch shadows across the draperies of the bed.

  Turisan closed his eyes, shutting out the confusion of two vantages, reveling in his awareness of Eliani, still deeply intimate as he watched the growing dawn through her eyes. He knew that he was himself, and that he was on the verge of being her as well, and this pleased him.

  They were profoundly rested in a way he never could have put into words. Just as their passion had multiplied, so their repose deepened with their union. He cherished every moment, dreading the coming separation.

  She responded by clasping him more tightly. Despite this, their minds drew apart as each remembered tasks that must be completed before Eliani's departure. The world and their duties in it intruded on their thoughts, and soon would intrude on their privacy.

  Sighing in unison, they released each other, though they clung together in thought, finding a level of closeness just short of confusion. He gazed at her, wanting to kiss her and knowing it would throw them back into heated passion. She smiled and slid to the edge of the bed, finding violet silk and twining it haphazardly about herself before drawing aside the bed's drapery.

  Newly built fires crackled softly, defying the dawn's chill. Wraps had been laid out for them. Eliani reached for one, let her silk fall, and put it on. Turisan felt its soft thickness.

  He got up and donned the other, and together they moved to sit before one of the hearths. Muted light, blue and crossed with the shadows of carved stone branches, filtered down to quarrel with the golden-orange glow of the fire.

  Turisan took her hand, their beribboned arms lying together, sparkling in their awareness like the prickling of blood returning to a chilled limb. He formed a wordless thought—that Heléri had made a more powerful bond than he had imagined possible—and Eliani silently agreed. They remained sitting thus until they heard the cautious opening of the door below and the tread of their attendants on the stair.

  “Good morrow, my lord and lady.”

  Misani's gentle voice struck them as a stone shattering glass. With a gasp they dropped hands and hastily drew apart in thought—regretfully, but both knew it was necessary if they were to interact with others.

  Eliani managed a smile for Misani, who brought forward a tray with two steaming cups and a plate of sweet bread and cured meat. Behind her Pheran emerged from the stair with his arms full of clothes. Eliani saw her own blue riding leathers among them and felt a sharp pang of sadness. She hid it from the attendants but could not hide it from Turisan, who had felt it as strongly as she.

  That her feelings could hurt him had not occurred to her, and she turned a look of silent apology toward him. He smiled, shaking it away, and held out a piece of bread.

  Eat. You will need your strength.

  She had eaten little the previous day and, finding that she was now ravenous, attacked the meal with gusto. Turisan ate more sparingly, watching her with an amused smile. He guarded her from his deeper feeling, not wishing to cause her grief with the heartache that was growing in him. Sharing that pain would serve neither of them.

  When the meal was eaten, there was no more to do but allow the attendants to dress them. Pheran had brought a formal robe for Turisan but had been wise enough to choose a plain one of pale sage with only a narrow border of silver leaves.

  “Yes, that will do.” Turisan found it strange to be speaking aloud.

  When Pheran offered the state coronet, he shook his head, and the youth set the ornament aside without further comment than a small, resigned smile. Instead he picked up a cloak—again, the simplest choice available in Turisan's wardrobe, his Southfæld guardian's cloak—and held it up for him.

  Turisan gazed at the garment for a moment, then took it from Pheran's hands, nodding his thanks. He carried it across the chamber to where Heléri's attendant was close-braiding Eliani's hair to keep it out of her eyes, it being too short for an effective hunter's braid.

  The Stonereach attendant glanced up at Turisan, finished the braid, and moved away. Eliani turned to him, dressed in riding leathers over soft tunic and breeches, much as he first had seen her, though not so dusty. The memory drew a smile from him.

  He laid the cloak around her shoulders. It was heavy-woven for warmth and mage-blessed for protection, sage green with a silvery lining and a clasp of silver falcons' heads that he fastened at her throat. He felt her surprise as she looked down at the garment.

  My new colors.

  He glanced up and saw that the attendants had withdrawn, so he drew her to him and held her tightly, wrapping his love around her along with the cloak. He kissed her long and gently, then drew back.

  There were no more words. Words would only carry pain. Each knew what was in the other's heart. The gift that had united them so deeply would best serve their people through their separation.

  Turisan had not fully realized the bitter irony of this until now. He rejected the thought and offered Eliani his arm. She laid hers upon it, and together they descended from the tower to embrace their fate.

  “Shall I ask to be excused from the Fireshore expedition?”

  Luruthin gazed at Jhinani in the soft haven of her bed. Their bodies had remained joined for most of the night, but as dawn had crept around the tapestries at her window, they had separated. Her khi still tingled through him, along with a faint sense of their child's presence.

  She smiled and stroked his hair. “That is kind, but no need. What could you do besides bear me company?”

  “Oh … pamper you into a state of insensible bliss?”

  Jhinani laughed. “There are plenty here who will wish to do that.” Her hand found his, and her expression grew thoughtful. “I think your cousin will have greater need of you. And you will not be away for long.”

  “Sixty days at the very least.”

  “That is less than a season.” She smiled at him. “Nothing important will happen in that time. I often serve in the healing hall, and you may believe that my colleagues there will take exquisite care of me.”

  Luruthin felt warmth fill his heart. Jhinani was so generous. She gave so freely, without ostentation or demand, out of sheer kindness as far as he knew. He could grow to love her deeply, he was ce
rtain. Most likely he would, for he intended to share their child's upbringing as much as possible.

  “I should have known you were a healer. You have healed me.”

  She smiled and moved into his embrace. He kissed her, then froze at a sound in the outer chamber of her suite.

  Jhinani raised her head, listening, then turned to him with a gesture for silence and softly kissed him before leaving the bed. He watched her don a silvery silken wrap that flowed like water over the curves of her body as she walked out of the room. With a sigh he lay back, listening to the murmur of voices from the other room.

  In a few moments Jhinani returned, carrying a small tray of tea and fruit. “It was Suliri, my attendant. I have sent her away, but I fear you must not stay. The Council is gathering to bid you and Eliani farewell.”

  Luruthin sat up, letting the silken bedclothes fall away as he realized with a start that he had made no preparations for his journey northward. Jhinani sat on the edge of the bed, offering the tray to him.

  “Here, have some of this. There is only one cup, I fear.”

  He glanced up at her, laughing softly as he reached for the tea. “One cup is all we need for a bonding.”

  Her head turned sharply toward him. “Do you wish to cup-bond?”

  He paused with the tea halfway to his mouth, caught off guard by the intensity of her tone. “It was a jest—”

  “I know it was, but …”

  She looked away. Luruthin watched her for a moment, then put the tea back on the tray and gently took it from her, setting it aside before gathering her hands into his.

  “What were you going to say?”

  Jhinani shook her head. “A foolish thought. Never mind.”

  He leaned forward, laid his cheek against hers, and whispered into her ear. “Do you wish to cup-bond?”

  Merely speaking the words set his heart racing. He knew at once that it was his wish whether or not it was hers. He had no lover back in Alpinon, so to make such a pledge would be no hardship. Indeed, he wanted to claim Jhinani, he realized with sudden fierceness. He wanted her to be his alone for the year of a cup-bond—the year that would end in the birth of their child—if not for longer.