Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set)

by L. M. Roth

  Kyrene in turn grew genuinely fond of the cultured couple and their intelligent conversation, and privately wondered how they had begotten a daughter as prone to idle amusement as Fanchon. Upon closer acquaintance with them, she noted how quickly they gave in to their daughter’s every whim, their only desire to bring a smile to her lips and a spring of joy to her step. It was clear that they indulged her beyond the bounds of reason, she thought.

  Still, Kyrene found Fanchon’s occasional silliness amusing and wisely kept her opinion to herself. And Gaudereaux itself was a land that prided itself on living for pleasure; Fanchon was merely typical of the populace, as Kyrene would come to know.

  Fanchon had settled with remarkable ease back into her native habitat. She prattled of her adventures to her parents; related the trek through the blazing Desert of Dubar, and how she had surprised one of the bandits who attacked them in the dead of night, recounted the eventful stay at the luxurious palace of the Ashkani and her narrow escape as an addition to his harem, and rhapsodized over the elegant cloths and wares of the fabled city of Lycenium. She mentioned their meeting with Kyrene at the Temple of Lopponios in the legendary Isles of Solone. Yet not once did she speak of Trekur Lende, the rugged homeland of her betrothed, nor of Xenon and her conversion as an Alexandrian.

  Marcus found the omissions puzzling as they had been surely the most important part of their journey. Still, perhaps Fanchon merely preferred to discuss these matters in private, due to the solemnity of their nature. If such was the case it would be the first sign of discretion Marcus had ever seen in the flighty girl.

  But tonight they were to be the guests of honor at a banquet. Pascal had declared that their safe return called for a festive celebration, and he had invited all of the family’s friends to a fete.

  Marcus was pleased to see that Governor Urbanus and his lady Renata were among the guests. The Governor exchanged salutes with the young Valerians and was seated across table from Marcus and Felix, a prospect that gave them both pleasure. How good it was to see their own countrymen again! They had made good friends on their journey, but Marcus had to admit that he was more than a little homesick for his own land and his own people.

  “Welcome, my friends!” Urbanus enthused. “So good to see your fresh young faces again! You had success with your mission, I trust? You both seem lighter of countenance since last I saw you, for you both appeared rather burdened by the gravity of your task.”

  At this observation neither Marcus nor Felix could think of a suitable rejoinder. Possibly Felix seemed lighter now that the guilt of his betrayal had been confessed and forgiven. But Marcus still carried the burden of the knowledge that the object of his quest did not exist, and therefore he could not appease the Empress Aurora for the release of his parents. Yet Marcus felt in spite of such sobering circumstances that Dominio reigned in every instance of his life, and that this too would be resolved according to His will.

  For now, he must answer Urbanus’ inquiry.

  “Yes, I suppose you might say that our mission was successful,” Marcus mused as he cocked an eyebrow at Felix, who smiled and glanced down at his plate. “You might say that much was resolved, for our companions as well as our original task.”

  The eyes of Urbanus suddenly gleamed with an alert curiosity.

  “Yes, well that is good!” he exulted. “And I see you have acquired a new companion,” he gestured with a nod of his head in Kyrene’s direction. “Lovely! She is perhaps a special friend of yours?”

  Urbanus smiled at Felix, with a knowing look in his eyes.

  Felix caught the inference and choked on the water he had just sipped. He put his napkin to his lips and quickly recovered, although a crimson stain flushed his lean, narrow face.

  “No! I mean, yes, well, what I mean to say is, is…she is as dear to me as a sister. So perhaps she is a special friend, in that sense,” Felix fumbled to explain, clearly flustered by the insinuation of Urbanus’ question.

  “Urbanus, you know you should not ask such questions,” Renata gently remonstrated with her husband.

  “My apologies,” Urbanus chuckled. “I meant no harm. I simply enjoy the sight of young love in bloom, eh? But no matter, we can exchange news. I see that our little Fanchon is still enamored of her wild man. What an odd match they are, yes? And you, young Marcus, is there a special lady in your life?”

  Marcus flinched. He heartily wished that Urbanus would change the subject of his discourse. Did he have no other conversation?

  “No,” he answered shortly. “I am free of any fancy.”

  “Well, we must see if we can change that during your stay,” Urbanus replied. “There is nothing we rejoice in more in Gaudereaux than love. It is our reason for living, you might say, as well as enjoying life itself. And though I hail from Valerium, I quickly adapted to the customs of this country. After all, is anything really more important than love?”

  Marcus and Felix both pondered the question. Marcus disdained to answer it, considering that Urbanus had invaded his privacy enough for one evening. But Felix surprised him by responding to the inquiry.

  “I see what you mean,” he replied. “I think I must agree with that philosophy, yet not in the way that you understand in Gaudereaux. For there are more facets to love than just a romantic attachment between a man and a woman. That is undoubtedly the one we all strive to attain, but are not our reasons for doing so perhaps reflective of a love of self?

  “For every man desires to be brave for his lady, but is that perhaps out of a need for assurance that he, in fact, possesses such a quality? And young ladies go to great lengths to achieve beauty for their beloved, but is that really an aspect of vanity, to see her image reflected in the mirror of his admiring gaze?”

  Felix paused for breath, and a startled Urbanus pondered the question posed to him by the young Valerian. Marcus was stunned by the argument his friend presented. Did they seek love for selfish reasons, and not out of purer motives?

  Urbanus fixed his eyes on Felix and ventured his answer.

  “My pardon again, young friend, but such an argument seems rather cynical. Surely we love beautiful ladies, and young maidens admire brave heroes?”

  “Yes, yes,” Felix shook his head in frustration, as he wrinkled his long, pointed nose and tightened his narrow lips. “But do we ever really see the object of our love for what they truly are? And if we do, is our love strong enough to endure?

  “There are many kinds of love, sir: the sacrificial love of a parent for a child, the trusting love of a child for a parent, the love between siblings who share a sense of kinship, and that of friends who love because of an empathy with one another. Of all of them I venture to say that the parental love is truly the deepest and most lasting, for it believes and hopes for the best in all circumstances, whereas all of the other loves are subject to change if one of the partners does. In that sense, one might say that parental love carries a spark of the divine.”

  Urbanus appeared to be dazzled by the reasoning of Felix. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed heartily.

  “Truly, your intellect is dizzying!” he exclaimed. “You will get no argument from me!”

  Marcus could only marvel at Felix and his insight into the question of love. True, Felix had always been intelligent, but he had gained a new wisdom since he had committed his life to Dominio. That it was born out of his relationship with Dominio Marcus was well aware. Felix spent many hours poring over the written account of Alexandros’ teachings that Xenon had presented to them, and gave the first hour of his day to prayer and contemplation. The result was admirable, Marcus reflected.

  Urbanus chuckled and waved his hands in the air.

  “Enough of such heavy contemplation!” he laughed. “Tell me what news you have brought with you; for I am ever eager to hear what goes on in the world.”

  So Felix entertained the Governor with a colorful account of Koohyaram and the magnificence of the Imperial Palace. He spoke of the beauty of the Isles of S
olone, and the sadness at seeing a once great civilization brought low by its own folly. Felix then mentioned their all too brief stay in Lycenium and the stimulating excitement of that vital city where East and West meet.

  “Ah, Lycenium!”

  The eyes of Urbanus lit up with an incandescent glow.

  “Indeed, one of my favorite cities in all of the Empire. Yes, Lycenium,” he repeated with some apparent distraction.

  He paused a moment, staring into space, and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together on one hand.

  “Oh yes, I recall now!” he beamed as he snapped his fingers. “I too have news of Lycenium that you may find of interest. Do you know the son of the Governor of Lycenium, young Decimus Hadrianus? Well, the talk in Lycenium is that he is all but betrothed to the daughter of old Tullios Octavius!”

  Urbanus shone a triumphant smile on the young men, pleased at the successful recall of his news.

  “Not,” Marcus could barely say the word, “not Tullia?”

  “Yes, that is the name! Thank you; it had escaped my memory. And you may expect an announcement soon, for if I know her mother as I think I do, Drusilla Octavius will move heaven and earth to secure that match! She has ever been known to climb above her station, and…”

  Here his wife reprimanded him.

  “Gossip, my dear Urbanus,” Renata softly murmured. “It is yet but a rumor, mere speculation. The young lady has been a frequent guest in the family villa, but no betrothal has been made.”

  “No betrothal yet, my dear,” an undeterred Urbanus added. “But old Gerontius is as keen on his son making the match as Drusilla is her daughter. The families are old friends, and Gerontius and Tullios served in the army together. Count on it; the match will be made.”

  Marcus pushed his plate away from him. Truly, he had no appetite for food. How quickly Tullia had forgotten him, then! And just how long had she been courted by Decimus? Was it of him she thought of in sweet reverie as she twirled the rose Marcus had given her?

  He glanced across the table and caught the look of commiseration from Felix. He alone at this table understood the pain Marcus felt at this moment. Was it possible that Tullia had once toyed with Felix before she met Marcus? And had she loved Marcus only to drop him in favor of Decimus and his more auspicious prospects for the future? Did she merely chase one lover only to desert him to pursue another?

  And yet, the vision he had of her in the cave sprang unbidden to his mind. Quicksand, she had been struggling in quicksand, crying for someone to rescue her. Marcus suddenly knew that Tullia was indeed struggling in quicksand: she was caught fast and in danger of being engulfed by the things of the world and her love for it. Had she not implied such when she rejected his proposal?

  She did not deny that she loved him, he realized. She said he had no home to offer her and his prospects of doing so were unlikely. Either she did love him but could not live a life of faith, or the heart was not an issue that greatly concerned her. Marcus puzzled over this and paid no heed to the conversation at the table. He sat with his musings, oblivious to all around him.

  It was a commotion at the other end of the table that finally captured his attention. Fanchon had evidently indulged too freely of the wine that flowed at the table. Marcus had drunk none, and Felix drank only enough to wash down his food. Kyrene and Dag, he observed, had also abstained or drank sparingly. But Fanchon had drunk immoderately and now the giddy girl had risen from her seat and weaved unsteadily on her feet.

  Dag quietly urged her to be seated, but she impatiently shook off his restraining hand.

  “Let me be!” she pouted in a voice shrill with drunkenness. “I want to dance! Come, let the pipes play! Let the lyres be plucked! Let us dance!”

  And she whirled around and laughed, and with a toss of her golden head she led those who would in a dance of merriment. The pipes played, the lyres strummed, and the guests made merry as they followed the giggling, spinning girl.

  Dag remained seated and shook his head as if in pain. Cort sat stiffly and lowered his eyes to his plate. Kyrene tried to catch Fanchon’s attention by softly calling her name. But Fanchon ignored her and danced out the door.

  Felix sighed wearily and rolled his eyes, but Marcus decided to follow and perhaps stem Fanchon from any further folly. It was clear to him that the guests saw nothing untoward in her behavior, but Marcus felt that as an Alexandrian Fanchon should not indulge in drunkenness. And to make a public display of herself was even more deplorable.

  Marcus went outside and saw Fanchon and the dancers romping on the well-tended lawn. The moon had risen and illuminated the carousers in a silvery gleam, but the effect to Marcus was chilling and surreal. Like pagan creatures out of myth they appeared; the ladies’ hair tumbled wildly about their shoulders, flying free, and the men leering at the ladies like satyrs intent on ravishing, while the pipes played some primitive music that made the blood pound in the veins even as the wine rushed to the head.

  A movement at the edge of the woods caught Marcus’ eye. Was there a shape down there, watching the dancers in smug satisfaction? Yes, there was. It appeared to have the body of a goat with the head of a man, much as the satyrs of fiction. And it gloated triumphantly at the drunken dancers with a glee that to Marcus seemed purely demonic. Anger filled him at the creature’s smile, and he started to the woods to confront it.

  But just as he took the first step it suddenly vanished, and the woods were empty.

  Chapter XXIII

  Goodbye

  The dancers continued, unheeding, as the night came on. The grass looked gray in the moonlight, and the dancers cast eerie shadows on the lawn.

  Fanchon whirled and twirled, and leaped and spun around, then caught her foot in her robe and fell to the ground. Marcus rushed to her side, but she sat upright where she fell and looked about in a stupor, giggling at nothing. Fanchon was drunk.

  Marcus plopped down beside her, but said not a word. He plucked a blade of grass and twirled it idly between his fingers. Fanchon at last became aware of his presence.

  “Hello, Marcus! Why are you not dancing? I love to whirl and twirl, just whirl and twirl…”

  “Yes, I see that,” he barked. “You also seem overly fond of wine and do not know when to stop imbibing.”

  “Oh, but that is what we do in Gaudereaux, Marcus. It is the land of the grape and the vine. What better way to celebrate than to partake of it, no?”

  “Partaking in moderation is one thing, Fanchon, but you have imbibed to the point of drunkenness. Such a display is a disgrace to an Alexandrian. How could you do this thing?” Marcus reprimanded.

  For the first time since she left the banquet hall Fanchon seemed to be able to focus her eyes. And they narrowed at Marcus with a hostility that shocked and saddened him.

  “How could I, Marcus? Easily! Because I like to enjoy myself, not spend hours in prayer and study as Kyrene does! How dull, no? You do not know how I have missed Gaudereaux and my own people. And dancing! Ah, to dance is the joy of my life! How I have missed it!”

  For once Marcus did not cut off her speech. It was too enlightening to cut short. Was it possible that Fanchon had not changed as the rest of them had?

  He posed a question to her.

  “Fanchon, you made a commitment to serve Dominio alone and to spread His Kingdom. Did that mean nothing to you? Have you so quickly forgotten Him?”

  Fanchon sighed and shook her head. Her golden hair was lit by a silvery halo in the light of the moon. She looked more than ever like some enchanted creature out of a fable, Marcus thought.

  “I did make a commitment, yes. And I have not forgotten! But I did not expect that following Alexandros would make my intended a man hunted by his own people! A man who must never set foot in his own country again on pain of death. This was not the Cause I pledged myself to; fleeing from those who hunt us that they may rejoice in our deaths. I cannot live that way, Marcus. And I will not.”

  This last was uttered with such fierce d
etermination that Marcus was startled. Always he had seen Fanchon laughing and gay. Her present serious demeanor bore evidence to him that she meant what she said. But what then, of Dag, and their approaching marriage?

  “But, Fanchon,” Marcus reasoned, “you don’t have to live that way. Dag agreed with you to live in Gaudereaux and make your home here. You will not be hunted after all.”

  A shadow crossed the girl’s face. Her lips narrowed in a line of bitterness. Then she spoke.

  “The manner in which Dag wants to live in Gaudereaux and the way I wish to live is not the same. Can you believe it; he wants to take work as a common laborer, and my father is willing to settle an allowance on us, as he says I should not lack for anything I desire. Yet Dag refuses it. That is madness, no?”

  “Well,” Marcus hesitated, “it is a matter of pride. Dag does not wish to take what he has not earned. It is a point of honor with him.”

  “Pride?” Fanchon exclaimed. “What of my pride? Do you think I wish my husband to be a common laborer when my father owns one of the finest estates in the land? Our vineyards produce wine that merchants buy throughout the Empire! Why should Dag want to abase himself so and shame me? I will not allow it!”

  And Fanchon abruptly rose from the grass and stalked into the house.

  The time had come to leave Gaudereaux. They had not lingered long this time, as they had in the spring: the sooner they left the better for all, Marcus felt.

  Fanchon would not be joining them. She chose to stay behind in Gaudereaux and resume her old status as the daughter of the house where she would pick up her former life. She had given Dag the choice of renouncing his pledge to Dominio to remain with her, or leaving her to serve Dominio if he refused to comply with her wishes. Dag was immovable, and now the two were no longer betrothed.