Heir to the Sun

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  “It is true,” Sibeal proclaimed. “Ehkron burst into our lands not two moons past, intent upon erecting more of his foul dojas. My sister would not suffer him his life and tracked him—through the underworld she tracked him!—to the mortal realm. She fell, but not before she killed the mordeth-gall.”

  Sibeal’s words silenced the throng; Elvasla was a kind and just ruler and would be mourned by many.

  “And now, Sibeal, you take up your sister’s mantle as Lady of Thurnda,” Lormac proclaimed. “I trust you will lead your people well.”

  “I will,” Sibeal affirmed.

  “If Ehkron is dead,” called out a soldier from Rael, “why do we need to war?”

  “Ehkron’s death did not end Sahlgren’s plot with demons,” Lormac answered. “The dojas are still in operation. Do you think the mordeths overseeing them care if their overlord has fallen? Do you think Sahlgren will abandon his plans to raise an army and conquer us all?” Lormac paused as his lords talked amongst themselves. He surveyed the room of elfin nobility, wondering how much more convincing they would need, when Aish’inn stepped forward once again.

  “My honor and my blood to you, my king.” Aish’inn knelt, reciting the ancient elfin oath of fealty. One by one the rest swore their aid. The last was Sibeal; she retained that honor due to Thurnda being the largest of the elfin lands. As soon as Sibeal pledged her loyalty there was a low, angry grumble.

  “I not swear,” rumbled Grelk. “Fight belong to fae and elf, not troll. We in ground, forge and furnace far below your war. Why should troll die? I say no.”

  Lormac rose to his full height, taller than any elf or fae, and towered over the troll king. “If you refuse aid, I’ll use the power of my birthright to close up every troll hole within my borders. Every furnace will be extinguished; every den will be filled with earth. You’ll use my lands no longer, Grelk!”

  Grelk shifted on his feet, for while he claimed independence of both elf and fae, the trolls needed them not only for trade, but defense. “Meaningless threat!” Grelk accused. “Your power not so great!”

  “Isn’t it?” Lormac asked. The hall fell silent as all, even young Leran, awaited Grelk’s response.

  “Fine,” Grelk shouted at length. “Aid you have, but only weapons! Lormac know I no leave my dens,” he added.

  “We can make do with just the weapons,” Lormac said as the corner of his mouth quirked. He’d only wanted the fine blades trolls were known for throughout the nine realms. The image of trolls lumbering across the battlefield was certainly amusing, as long as they were on the side of his opponent. Lormac descended from the dais, Leran still clinging to his shoulder, and approached the troll king.

  “I am grateful for your acquiescence,” Lormac said to Grelk, “we would likely not prevail without you, friend.”

  Grelk grumbled about elves being lost without the trolls in general. Lormac pretended not to notice the troll’s complaints as he moved to stand in the midst of the hall, surrounded by his nobles and peers.

  “Whether our blood is of elf or fae or troll, we have united to rid our lands of this evil,” Lormac proclaimed, extending his arms as if to hold them all in his sheltering embrace. “As an elf, the urge to protect is strong in my veins. We were conceived by the Earth herself, to protect our mother from those that would ravage her. Now, we ride forth not only in her defense, but to strengthen the bonds of all races that tread upon her soil!” He looked to find Asherah and found her standing next to his throne, radiating confidence as she met his gaze. We can win! he thought, and she smiled as if she’d heard him.

  Her.

  “Today, we begin our preparations. Soon, we ride to war,” Lormac declared to the cheering throng. Elves were true warriors; the thrill of battle coursed through their veins. As Asherah held Lormac’s eyes above the cheering mass he felt—no, he knew—that she was warrior born as well.

  Her!

  Lormac winced, but the Sala kept up the pressure in his mind, the insistence that Asherah be his. And, Lormac no longer wanted to resist.

  Intent on a new purpose, Lormac navigated his subjects as one would walk among waves crashing against the rocky coast. Once he reached the dais, he sank to his knees before Asherah, and as Leran climbed down from his father’s back Lormac held out the Sala before him.

  “My queen,” he said, gazing up at her. The cheers died away, and the hall fell silent as every set of eyes fixed on Asherah. Lormac suddenly wished he had not chosen this moment to publicly declare her as his mate. He knew how she hated the weight of others’ stares, but it was too late to take back his action.

  Nor did Lormac want to; all his days he had wanted a woman like Asherah, beautiful as the night sky, her fierceness with a sword adding an edge to her lovely features. It had been many generations since Tingu had had a proper queen, and one as fearless and sharp-minded as she was the ideal woman to help lead his land of warriors. Lormac fantasized about their life together, riding off to battle side by side, the strong sons whom he would teach to wield both sword and spear…

  However, none of that was likely to happen as Asherah remained rigid, uttering not a sound, her eyes locked upon the Sala. He heard the whispers of his people, wondering if this strange fae woman had the audacity to refuse Lormac, why they should go to war when one lone wench couldn’t accept the great honor bestowed upon her.

  Please don’t refuse me. Just this once, please do as I ask.

  Slowly, cautiously, Asherah reached out and ran a finger along the edge of the Sala; Lormac thought it odd, for she had already worn it for some days. Her fingertips lingered over the heart stone, tracing its edge for long moments until she returned Lormac’s gaze. Asherah brushed her hand over his jaw as she spoke.

  “My honor and my blood to you, my king,” she declared, but it might well have been a whisper for the cheers that drowned out her words. Lormac solemnly placed the Sala on Asherah’s forearm, then let out a whooping cry of his own as he swept her into his arms and swung her about.

  “My people, I present your queen,” Lormac proclaimed, his eyes never leaving the faerie in his arms. He loosened his hold only enough for Asherah to slide down to his eye level, and Lormac kissed her passionately enough to prompt a second, much louder cheer.

  “My star,” he murmured, “you will be our greatest queen.”

  Asherah speaks…

  The preparations for our march to Teg’urnan moved swiftly, though not swiftly enough for Lormac’s liking. Grelk attended upon him as though he was Tingu’s most loyal subject, always agreeing and nodding to whatever Lormac said. The troll king took Lormac’s threat quite seriously, and after a few weeks of his constant prostrations, I asked Lormac if he really could have closed up the troll dens. Lormac had laughed heartily, and claimed that he didn’t even know where most of the dens were located, much less how to fill them in, and he imagined that the troll’s network was so vast it would take the whole of the World’s Spine to close them off.

  Despite Grelk’s desire to please Lormac (and keep his dens open), the production of our weaponry crawled along like so many turtles in a race. The sluggish pace irritated Lormac, his irritation growing whenever he brought up this lack of progress to Grelk’s attention. The troll king had asserted that all would be completed within five days. Five became ten, then fifteen, and Lormac had stopped asking for fear of murdering Grelk in a fit of rage. In the event of the troll king’s death, we would likely get no weapons at all.

  So Lormac had tasked Sibeal with overseeing the troll’s progress, and she either incited them to work or put the fear of death behind them, for after she began her daily discussions with Grelk the piles of swords and spears grew more quickly. They even managed to turn out a shield or two.

  One morning Lormac took advantage of a lull in the preparations (by lull I mean Grelk’s painfully slow progress with our weaponry) to take Leran and me on a short ride from the Seat. Leran was thrilled (it seemed that he hated being cooped up as much as I) and he squirmed exci
tedly as he sat on his father’s saddle. When we came upon a quiet, sun-drenched pond, the boy insisted we go swimming.

  “Isn’t it a little cold for a swim?” I asked as we dismounted.

  “Perhaps for a faerie, but we elves are made of stronger stock,” Lormac teased. With that, he and Leran stripped down to nothing.

  “You haven’t a shred of modesty, have you?” I asked as I sat upon the grassy bank. While I had no intention of going about naked, I certainly enjoyed looking at Lormac.

  “Not a bit,” he replied as he stretched in the sun. He called after Leran to stay near the shore, and then knelt before me. “All my life I’ve been surrounded by attendants at every moment, helping me to bathe, dress, do anything they can think of to assist Tingu’s scion. The first time I lay with a woman a council of seven observed me.” Reading my shocked expression, he explained, “An elfin custom, in case I’d gotten her with child.”

  “You elves and your customs.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be quite alone,” he said, then he kissed me. Sitting there in the warm sunlight with Lormac naked beside me was…exhilarating. “Will you join us, my star?”

  “I-I don’t think so,” I murmured. Lormac didn’t press the matter, but then he didn’t have to since Leran, soaking wet and wearing only mud, ran up to us.

  “Aren’t you coming?” he asked, seeing me fully clothed.

  “Asherah doesn’t want to,” Lormac replied.

  “Why?” he asked, his wide, innocent gray eyes staring at me. “You don’t want to be naked?”

  My cheeks went hot at Leran’s candor while Lormac chuckled. “Um, no,” I answered as I shot his father a withering glare.

  “Then just wear your shift,” Leran said matter-of-factly. “It’s what Lukka does when she takes me swimming.” I looked to Lormac and he shrugged, so I stripped down to my shift and soon enough the three of us were laughing and splashing away.

  After a time, I dragged myself back to the shore, exhausted by our games, and lay flat on the grass to let the suns dry my soaked shift; wearing it was pointless, the water having made it nearly transparent, but I needed that layer between myself and the world. Lormac crawled up the shore and lay next to me.

  “Where’s Leran?” I asked.

  “Trying to catch a fish,” he responded, jerking his head toward the water.

  I propped myself up on my elbows and saw Leran flailing about in the mud, trying to leap upon the fish unawares. “I think he’s scaring them away.”

  Lormac said nothing and a quick glance told me why; he was staring at my scars through the thin, damp fabric. I tried distracting him with my babbling speech, but fell silent when he touched me.

  “This is why you won’t let me look at you,” he murmured.

  “Mostly. Somewhat.”

  Lormac’s gaze followed the trail of one, then another. “Why are some raised?”

  “That’s where the mordeth bled into me,” I said softly. Lormac pushed up my skirt and examined the scars on my thighs. I made no attempt to stop him; thanks to my soaked shift I was practically naked, anyway. Lormac rose and went to the shore, returning with a handful of mud. He knelt between my legs and positioned my thigh so the scarred inner skin was facing him.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he spread the mud across my thigh.

  “You’ll see,” he murmured. Lormac placed one hand over the Sala while the other massaged the mud into my skin. Then he withdrew his hands and the mud moved of its own accord, shifting and bubbling until black, oily spots appeared. Lormac tore off a piece of my shift and soaked it in the pond, then used it to wipe the mud from my flesh; the sensation of the cold water on my hot skin was amazing. As he revealed my skin I saw something else amazing: while my scars were still there, they were no longer raised, red cords against my flesh. They were flat, and silvery and…well, they looked like scars. Ordinary scars.

  “How did you do that?” I asked. “The Sala gives you the power to heal?”

  “It’s not a healing,” he replied, pressing a kiss onto my newly smooth skin. “The Earth took the demon blood, because it doesn’t belong.” Lormac retrieved another handful of mud, then he resumed his place between my knees and pushed my skirt up farther (without asking, mind you!) as he plastered more of the cold, wet earth against me.

  “Please, wait,” I whispered.

  “Is it too cold?” When I remained silent he glanced at my face; whatever he saw there made him drop his handful of mud. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you do anything you’d rather not.” He set his hands on his knees and stared at the ground. “Ever since the doja, all I’ve wanted is to take those memories from you. All my power as king, yet I can’t make my mate feel safe…”

  He shook his head, then he took my hands. “This, fixing your scars, this is something I can do. Please, let me help in my small way?”

  I gazed at him, the king who’d covered himself in mud, all for me. “You wish to help me so much?”

  He kissed my knuckles. “More than anything.”

  “Well, I suppose,” I said. Lormac grinned, then he scooped up more mud and went to work between my legs.

  “They seem to have avoided your womb,” he said calmly, as if it were perfectly normal for me to be sprawled in front of him with my skirt hiked up to my waist.

  “They wanted that intact,” I said bitterly. Once the black blood had bubbled to the mud’s surface Lormac soaked the cloth again, this time wringing it out to rinse away the mud. I gasped when the icy water splashed over me, and again when he pulled me to a sitting position and yanked my shift over my head.

  “Lormac!” I warned.

  “How else am I supposed to help the scars on your breast?” he asked.

  I glared at him as I leaned back on my elbows, then looked away so as not to let him know how much I enjoyed his hands upon me. He worked slowly and methodically, being sure to massage even the areas without scars.

  “I wish you’d told me.” He cleaned away the last of the mud.

  “I didn’t know you could help,” I said simply. Lormac’s gaze was heavy upon me, and I turned from him as I reached for my shift. “I…I need it,” I mumbled when he stayed my hand.

  “No, you don’t.” When I dared to look up his gray eyes gazed lovingly into mine. “You’re safe. Those that hurt you are dead, and I’ll never let anything harm you again. My star, do you believe me?”

  “I do,” I said, then I leaned my forehead against his shoulder. “Gods, Lormac, how did you fall in with my wretchedness? You deserve a beautiful mate, not one like me.”

  “Another thing,” he said. “I don’t want you to think of yourself as anything other than beautiful.”

  “I look a lot better now, thanks to you.”

  He cupped my chin in his hand and drew my face close to his. “You were always beautiful.” He kissed me. “Now, you’re just a little less lumpy.”

  I laughed along with him, and as I leaned my cheek against his shoulder I realized how comfortable I had become with Lormac, despite that we were naked. I let the torn and muddy shift fall from my hand because Lormac was right, I didn’t need it. He saw it drop but said nothing as he kissed me again, one hand tangling in my hair while the other made my breath catch in my throat.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped.

  “Making sure I got to all of the scars.”

  “You said there weren’t any there.”

  “So I did,” he murmured as he nudged me to the ground. My breath came quicker as his mouth moved to my neck, then the colors of the sky began to swirl together as I arched my back and…

  “Asherah!”

  And Leran ran up to us with a squirmy, smelly creature in his hands. “I caught you a fish!” he cried as it flopped down onto my belly.

  “T-Thank you, Leran,” I said raggedly. What else was I supposed to say?

  We didn’t stay at the pond much longer, and once we had washed away the majority of the mud, we returned to the Seat. Leran ins
isted upon riding with me, snuggled before me on my saddle. Lormac smiled every time he looked at us.

  I went to Lormac’s chamber that evening as I always did, only this time I felt an air of trepidation, for I worried that he would want to continue where we left off at the pond. While I had enjoyed myself (immensely!), I was still nervous. My anxiety must have been plain to see, since Lormac commented upon it as soon as I entered his chamber.

  “Little star, do you really think I’d do anything to hurt you?” he asked, seeming somewhat hurt himself.

  “No,” I replied as I fell into his arms. “But you could have asked at the pond.”

  “Forgive me?” he asked with that smile that could melt all the ice caps atop the World’s Spine.

  “Forgiven,” I replied. We kissed then, long and hard, and Lormac began asking me something, and once again the Seat’s tiniest resident interrupted us. I felt a tug at my hair and looked down to see a sleepy-eyed Leran at my feet. An exhausted Lukka hurried after him.

  “It’s fine, Lukka,” Lormac said when she apologized. “Leran knows he’s always welcome in my rooms.” As Lukka returned to the nursery, Lormac asked Leran what was so pressing he needed to tell us in the middle of the night.

  “Can I sleep with you?” he asked me, his eyes hopeful. I was about to tell him that I actually didn’t see a bed while in his father’s rooms, when he added, “I used to sleep with my mama, but then she left.” He held out his arms and I picked him up, loving how he clung to me.

  “Of course you can stay with us,” I said, then I followed Lormac into his bedchamber for the first time. The walls and floor were the same green stone of the rest of the palace, but the ceiling was covered in iridescent crystals, much like the larger crystals that populated the Seat, emitting a soft glow. The king’s enormous bed was piled high with silk cushions and surrounded by purple velvet curtains edged in gold thread. We nestled Leran between us, then Lormac cupped my chin in his hand.

  “I finally have you in my bed,” he quipped. For once, his joking manner didn’t make me uncomfortable and I leaned over to kiss him, only to be interrupted by a giggling Leran.