“Vara has been a rebel her whole life,” came the measured response. “First she fought against the various social customs I expected her to observe; then she bucked the traditions regarding training of magic users by running off to the Holy Brethren at age fourteen; and then she went completely mad and joined a guild rather than use her abilities to serve her king and country.” Chirenya’s face was lit in the glow of a nearby lamp, serious and stern. “Then she brought home her fiancé—a human, shirking all expectations once more. Worse, an adventurer—an egomaniacal, power-hungry bastard that ended up stabbing her in the back, almost causing us to lose her—” her eyes blazed—“the last hope of our people.
“So you see,” Chirenya said, her calm restored, “I have my reasons for being displeased with both adventurers and humans that come home with my daughter.” Her smile returned, polite. “I have no desire to see her tread the same path again.”
“I’m not Archenous Derregnault,” Cyrus said. “To confuse me with him would be a grave mistake in addition to being one of the most insulting things you could say to me. I would...NEVER...hurt Vara. And why do you keep going back to the romance argument? She and I are not together.”
“You deny that you have feelings for my daughter?” Chirenya’s hands cupped one another. “Because you should understand...” She lowered her voice, so low that Cyrus could barely hear her. “I had a fling with a human once—it lasted about forty years, and while immensely satisfying on a physical level, at least at the start, I got to watch him die in the end.” The elven woman’s face was grim. “For me it lasted the equivalent of six months to your race, and he had lived a lifetime. Elves have a concept—covekan. Have you heard of it?”
Cyrus felt an unexpected tightening in his chest. “Yes. It’s the idea of a long-developed emotional bond between your people.”
“Even if I were to ignore Vara’s responsibilities as shelas’akur, my desire for her to embrace a less deadly career path and assume that you’re a decent—nay, perhaps even wonderful—man, humans cannot become covekan.” She drew herself up to her full height so that she could look down at him, a calm resignation upon her. “You would love her all your life and you would be nothing but a passing memory in hers, something that would wreck her heart and spirit for a hundred years or more.
“Suppose you should give her children?” She smiled, but it was a fake one, one that didn’t even come close to touching her eyes. “You would wound her doubly; half-elves have less than a quarter of the lifespan of a pure-blood elf. You would bless her with children that she would outlive by several thousand years.
“Perhaps you think me cruel. I assure you, I am not; I am her mother, and I want what is best for her.” Chirenya turned to leave, but looked back once more over her shoulder. “Protect her, Cyrus Davidon, protect her from harm. But remember this: the physical harm that will befall her would be nothing compared to the emotional harm of life with you. I don’t hate you,” she said with conviction as her hand slipped onto the banister and she began to climb the stairs. “But I love my daughter—both of them. And I, too, would do anything to protect them from harm.”
Chapter 25
Cyrus staggered out of the house, still exhausted, beckoning to Thad once he reached the street. The warrior trotted up to him, Longwell and a few others lurking nearby. “I’m going to get some sleep. Go up to the second floor of the house and wait there.” He walked past them, then stopped as a malicious thought crossed his mind. “Sit on the furniture, relax, and keep an eye on things.”
“Sit on the furniture?” Thad looked at Longwell with a guarded skepticism. “That sounds like something Vara’s mother won’t like.”
“If she says anything to you, let her know I told you to do it.”
Leaving Thad shaking his head, he opened the door to the Sanctuary safehouse. J’anda greeted him with a nod. “Come to rest? There’s a bed in a room on the top floor that’s unoccupied.”
“How is that?” Cyrus shook his head, trying to clear it from the fog of sleep and the spinning caused by his argument with Chirenya. “We’ve got a ton of people here.”
“Yeah,” J’anda said, “but most of them sleep during the day, when we’re least likely to be attacked by the order of shadowy assassins, and we moved about half our number over to the house on the other side, taking over for Endeavor. They had to reshuffle people after their losses in the attack.”
Cyrus sighed, a long, deep breath of tiredness leaving his body. “You’d think with as many people as Endeavor has, they’d be able to move more in to replace their losses.”
The door squeaked behind him, and Isabelle stood framed in it, hands on her hips, causing her robe to cling to her frame, hinting at curves that weren’t usually apparent through the white cloth. “Unfortunately, we’ll be moving considerably more out.” Her voice was laced with irritation. “I’ve been wondering when it would happen, and it has.”
“What?” Cyrus looked at her with curiosity.
“The dark elves have moved two armies into position to hammer the Confederation lines around Reikonos,” Isabelle began. “The humans are taking heavy losses south of the city, and the Council of Twelve has invoked Endeavor’s Homestead clause.” Her pretty face was filled with a putrid expression. “I’ve got to leave, and take every one of my guildmates. We’re to report along with the rest of Endeavor for assignment at the front within forty-eight hours.” She held up an envelope. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take up the defense here yourselves.”
Cyrus felt his stomach drop at Isabelle’s words. Reikonos, he thought. They’ve finally started moving on my city. No matter that it had been years since he had lived there, no matter that there were more terrible memories there than pleasant ones, the human capital was still home to Cyrus. It hung there, in his mind, and always felt as though it were a warm blanket of comfort, waiting for him on the day he should need it.
He looked to J’anda; the dark elf was startled, even through the dwarven illusion he wore, but nodded. “I’ll send one of our druids to Alaric and see what he can spare, in addition to that...” He looked at Cyrus. “...other request I already forwarded.”
“Sorry to spring this on you.” Isabelle’s voice fell, along with her eyes. “I’m only one of our council and we have no guildmaster, unlike you. The others have been generous in assisting, and would doubtless have offered more, but this is an order we cannot refuse lest we be ejected from Reikonos.”
“How would they eject one of the most powerful guilds from the city?” Cyrus spoke out of pure curiosity. “Your guild could destroy every city guard they have.”
“They have a way, I assure you,” Isabelle said with a shudder. “It was almost used once before when the Big Three made some defiant decisions and became somewhat intractable in our dealings. Regardless, you need to make preparations to defend Mother, Father and Vara.” She raised her head, her chin jutted at Cyrus. “I would like a word with you in private.”
“We can step out on the street...” he began after a moment’s hesitation.
“No.” She shook her head. “In private. I heard him—” she jerked her head toward J’anda—“say that there was a room available on the third floor.”
“As good as elvish hearing is,” Cyrus said, “I wonder if we might have to travel halfway to Prehorta to have a private conversation.”
“And run into the dark elven host that’s wrecking the human territories?” Her dark smile of amusement lasted only a moment before returning to seriousness.
He led her up the steps past a sitting room on the second floor filled with members of Sanctuary, and then to a small bedroom on the third floor in the back of the house.
“I heard your conversation with Mother,” Isabelle began after shutting the door. “I wanted to caution you not to take anything she says to heart.”
Cyrus felt a small laugh leave him before he could stop it. “Which part should I not take to heart? The part where she told me I was a selfish thief
or the bit about how I’d stab Vara in the back like Archenous—or all the remarks about sex—because it never gets old, being taunted about the sex I’m not having—”
“With the woman you’re in love with?” Isabelle cut him off, staring at his cheeks as they turned scarlet. “Yes, I know. It’s obvious to those of us who have been around a few centuries, which is why Mother continues to bring it up even though she knows you’ve yet to do so much as touch Vara in an ‘inappropriate’ way.”
“As if your sister would allow anyone to touch her inappropriately—”
“She would.” Isabelle’s eyes bored deep into his. “She would let you; not quite yet, but soon enough. That has Mother worried enough to try and drive you away.”
He stood, his mouth agape. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about—I mean, your sister—”
“Whom I have known much longer than you,” she said. “She is vulnerable right now, but am I wrong in guessing she had grown more...pleasant toward you before this assassin business broke loose?”
He felt a curious stir of hope inside at her words. “Perhaps a little.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes, a gesture that made her look more than a little like her sister. “For Vara, that’s tantamount to crawling into your bed at night; but I believe she would have become perhaps more aggressive as time went on, less inhibited about her feelings for you.”
“I have a hard time believing she has any feelings for me.”
“I assure you, she does,” Isabelle said. “While she is under considerable pressure and more distressed than ever I have seen her, you have been her stalwart, and she has turned to you more than anyone else besides myself and Mother.”
Cyrus took a deep breath, uncertainty swirling, making him feel as if he were spinning. “Why are you telling me this?”
She took a step closer, cutting the distance between them, and raised a hand to his cheek. Her palm was warm, and smooth, and she smelled of flowers as she touched him. “Mother will try and drive a wedge between you. My sister is susceptible to her words, no matter how much she protests that she is not. Yet I see a possibility for her to be happier with you than any time previously.” Her hand dropped to her side.
“But your mother was right. I will die long before Vara does.” He felt the numbness prick at his heart, displacing the warm flutter of hope with cold reality.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “I would think that this assassin business would have convinced you of the foolishness of that. She could die any day, at any time. You are adventurers and should embrace happiness where you find it.”
“I don’t know how much longer she’ll be an adventurer. She told me she’s weary of the battles.”
“She’s not pleased about having her family thrust into this,” Isabelle said. “Vara is a fighter and has been her whole life, even when she shouldn’t have been.” Isabelle laughed. “There is no one as ornery and combative as my sister, and so long as she draws a breath, she’ll fight. She’s low now, from the personal battles, just as she was when Archenous betrayed her, but if you see her through this, she’ll rise again, stronger than ever.” Isabelle’s eyes glistened. “And she would make a most excellent consort—and wife—to you.”
A ghost of a smile creased his lips. “You say that because you know that I’m the only one that can match her stubbornness.”
Isabelle nodded, her hair rolling off her shoulder, her face in a near-smirk. “There are some very good reasons that you two are drawn to one another.” She reached out again, this time grasping his hand, gauntleted as it was, and squeezed against the metal. “See her through this crisis, Cyrus Davidon, and hold to your hope; Vara could yet be yours.”
Chapter 26
She left him alone after that. He spoke with J’anda about the things that needed to be done and all the while his head spun with alternating thoughts of Reikonos and Vara, Vara and Reikonos. I should be there, he thought. But always, another would counterbalance it: I cannot leave Vara right now. If anything happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.
But if Reikonos falls to the dark elves, I wonder if I’d be able to forgive myself either.
He awoke the next day after a fitful sleep to find the sitting room full downstairs, packed with both new arrivals and older defenders that Cyrus had seen day after day—Martaina, Thad, Longwell, Andren, Vaste and J’anda were there, as was Nyad and Ryin Ayend, whom Cyrus hadn’t seen since the day he arrived, as well as Aisling, who greeted him with a more than friendly smile, and a smaller dark elf who slapped the helm off his head from behind as he entered.
“Nice to see you too, Erith,” he said, stooping to retrieve it.
“You disappear in the dead of night after an assassination, not telling anyone, and tromp off to the Elven Kingdom?” The dark elven cleric’s irises seemed to glow red in the morning light. “I’m not impressed, General Davidon.” Erith Frostmoor glared at him with an icy intensity that fit her surname perfectly.
“That’s not true,” he said, pushing his helm back onto his head. “I told Thad.”
“Like I said, you didn’t tell anyone.”
“Hey!” Thad interjected. “I am not no one!”
“What’s the matter, Erith?” Cy kept his expression neutral. “Did I worry you?”
“Hell no. I was bored. Without you around, there’s no one worthy to make fun of.”
“Good to see you all,” Cyrus said with a nod to each of them. “I take it Alaric sent us the reinforcements we asked for.”
“Over protest from some of the Council,” Ryin Ayend said with a hint of displeasure.
“What idiot would protest that?” Vaste’s green skin turned a degree darker. “Not even Terian is soulless enough to deny Vara assistance in her hour of need.”
Ryin Ayend flushed, as did Nyad at his side. “If you must know, it was me.”
“You’re not on the Council,” Vaste said with an air of disbelief. “Sanctuary is not so poorly run.”
“In your absence,” Erith said, “additional officers were elected—you know, to help run things.” She shrugged. “Alaric said you were planning to expand the Council, so he held elections and the members voted.”
“They elected you?” Vaste pointed at Ryin Ayend. “Were there no bloodsucking leeches available for candidacy? No man-eating griffons?”
“They also elected Nyad and I,” Erith said. “And Longwell.”
“I say again, no leeches?” Vaste frowned. “The Realm of Fire is surely frosting over as we speak.” He turned to Longwell. “No offense.”
The dragoon shrugged, unconcerned. “First I’ve heard of it. Thanks...I think.”
The front door swung open with a click, and Vara entered the room, now clad in a different dress than she had worn previously. This one was a deep green, and left her knees and the bottom of her thighs exposed. The neckline was cut lower than anything Cyrus had ever seen her wear before, revealing a surprising amount of cleavage. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to stare openmouthed at the change in the usually reserved paladin.
There was a stunned silence that filled the room at the sight of her clad in such attire, finally broken by Vaste’s deadpan. “Somewhere in the distance, I’m certain I hear molten magma freezing and fire being turned to steam.”
Vara’s eyes narrowed. “I need no sarcasm from you, troll.” She looked around the assemblage. “I heard shouting. What’s going on?”
“Ryin, Nyad, Longwell and Erith have all been advanced to officer status in our absence,” Andren said, a mug of ale in his hand. “Apparently, Ryin was not in favor of sending additional forces to help out here.” He took a swig and then positioned his hands as if he were setting two sides against each other. “Now...fight.”
“There is no need to fight,” Vara said, inclining her head toward Ryin, who was stonefaced, and Nyad, who looked stricken. “It would be inappropriate to ask for guild assistance in this matter; it is a personal problem.”
“
It’s not that,” Nyad said, her high voice cracking. “I voted against it too, but not for that reason. We’re more than happy to help you in a personal emergency, which this is, or in a matter of defending yourself and your family—which, again—”
“Fine,” Vara said, interrupting the elven princess, her disdain for the wizard cutting through the facade of politeness she had displayed only a moment before. “Then what was your rationale?”
“Yes,” Erith said, voice dripping with anticipation. “Tell them. I can’t wait for the reaction to this.”
Vara frowned at the dark elf. “I assure you that I can keep my composure, regardless of what they have to say.”
Erith smiled with unrestrained glee. “It’s not your reaction I’m referring to.” She looked back to Nyad. “Please, do tell. The rest of you,” she gestured around her, “sit back and enjoy.”
Nyad was frozen in place, but Ryin Ayend spoke up. “In the two weeks since your flight after the assassination attempt, we’ve suffered a downturn in our activity, and it’s adversely affecting the guild and morale.”
Andren sat in his seat, his cup of ale extended only a few inches from his lips, expression frozen in befuddlement. “What?”
“What he means,” Cyrus said, his voice filling the room with ice, “is that since I’ve left, there’s no general to run our expeditions, so the Army of Sanctuary is sitting idle in the Plains of Perdamun rather than continuing our string of victories that has expanded our power and influence.” He glared at Ryin Ayend and Nyad, but the druid didn’t flinch away. Nyad did. “What’s wrong? Afraid to lead an expedition yourself?”
“I’m not the general,” the human said. “Until recently, I wasn’t even an officer, so it wasn’t my place to do so. You have a higher responsibility to the guild and a duty to fulfill—”
“You’re going to have a hell of a time lecturing me about duty with my hands wrapped around your throat—”
Ayend emitted a disgusted noise. “Just like a warrior to move past civil conversation and straight to threats of violence—”
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 03 - Champion Page 19