Exile

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  “We should celebrate,” he told her, and she smiled at him, then laughed as he swung her naked body up into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  After he’d thoroughly adored his wife’s body, they lay in bed together, each of them gasping for breath, hearts racing. A light sheen of perspiration covered Shannen’s skin, making her nearly glow in the low light from the small lamp across the room. Her hair was a tangled, unruly mess, and he remembered the way he’d used her hair to position her the way he wanted her. It never failed to surprise him how much she liked that. The more demanding he was with her, the more pleasure she seemed to take from him.

  And he was fine with being demanding with her. He smiled to himself as Shannen rolled over and rested her hand on his chest. He covered it with his own. She was quiet, and he turned his head so he could look at her. She was watching him closely, as if looking for some kind of answer.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Wife,” he said. “We have made promises to one another. And I know you well enough to recognize that that expression on your face means you have something on your mind. What is it?”

  She shook her head, and he was about to press further when there was a loud, insistent knock on their door. “Daarik!” Janara shouted, and her tone had both he and Shannen leaping from the bed. Shannen quickly pulled her gown on over her naked body, and he pulled on a pair of pants as he went to the door.

  Daarik pulled the door open to find Janara there, the kind of look on her face that could only mean something terrible had happened. “What is it?” he asked. Shannen was beside him in an instant, taking his hand in hers.

  Janara shook her head, and it took her a moment to realize she was crying. “Come,” she gasped. “Bring your sword.” This last was said angrily, savagely, and he grabbed his sword in one hand and his wife in the other and practically ran behind Janara to keep up with her.

  The corridors of the palace were as quiet as a tomb, and that was the first sign, other than Janara’s clearly agitated state, that something was very wrong. As they neared the door to the courtyard, he could hear raised voices, shouts, screams, and keening wails. He sped up, keeping Shannen with him, but held a bit behind his body.

  “Daarik,” Janara said, as if trying to warn him, but when he opened the large wooden doors, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes.

  His father’s, his brother’s lifeless bodies lay, as if dumped unceremoniously, in the courtyard. Faerlah knelt, crying in anguish, beside Elrek. Other than her wails and screams, the rest of the Maarlai stood around in stunned silence. Daarik tore his eyes away after numbly noting that they had both been beheaded. He couldn’t get his breath. He knew that his hands were shaking, and it was only Shannen’s tight grip on his hand that kept him from visibly trembling. He could hear her breath, ragged, as if she fought back sobs of her own.

  He could feel himself losing it. His gaze went to their bodies again, and he roared, making the kind of sound the humans expected the Maarlai to make; a wild, lost, rage-filled roar that echoed into the night.

  “Who did this?” he roared, striding forward after handing his wife off to Janara’s care. “Face me!” he ordered, looking around.

  There was nothing but silence, but he noted one very telling absence: Jarvik.

  He also noticed that several warriors were missing.

  “Where is he?” he growled, looking at the assembled Maarlai in turn. Most of them looked helpless and lost.

  “I’m right here. Where were you, prince of nothing?” Jarvik called. The Maarlai standing between where Daarik was and where Jarvik stood stepped aside. “This is why you never deserved leadership. Your focus has always been elsewhere. Even more so now.”

  Any other time, Daarik would have discussed. He would have debated. He would have reasoned and tried to understand. Now, though, with the coppery scent of his father and brother’s blood in the air, with the image of their lifeless bodies burned into his memory, all he could do was let out another animalistic roar and charge at Jarvik and his men.

  As soon as Daarik moved, the other assembled Maarlai seemed to come to life too, and within moments, the night was full of the sounds of screams and shouts, blade meeting blade, and bodies falling to soil that ran red with the blood of his people.

  Janara shoved Shannen back into the palace, then slammed and bolted the door behind them.

  “To your rooms. Now,” she said, and Shannen nodded. They ran up the stairs and barricaded themselves in the room she and Daarik had departed so recently that she swore the scent of their bodies still hung in the air.

  “Thank you for not arguing with me,” Janara said. She pulled the broadsword off of her back and stood, holding it, facing the door as if someone would try to break through at any moment.

  “I know when I am in over my head,” Shannen said.

  “And surely you’re smart enough to know that more than a few out there now feel validated in killing you on sight,” Janara said.

  “Will he regain control?” Shannen asked. She stood well back from the window, but it was still close enough to see the outer edges of the battle, to hear the sounds of Maarlai killing Maarlai.

  “I don’t know,” Janara said softly. “Many of them seem to be sitting it out, waiting to see which side will prevail.”

  Shannen heard the words Janara did not say. “They would not be sitting out if he did not have a human wife,” she said.

  Janara glanced at her in surprise. And then, she nodded. “Yes. They are fools.”

  Shannen looked down at the battle again. “Maybe so. But Daarik needs every single one of them.

  Janara stayed with her through the long night, tirelessly guarding the door and trying to keep her spirits up. All Shannen could do was wonder if he was still alive, if he was wounded… if he had already ended up the way his brother and father had.

  “I can’t stand this,” she finally said as she paced across the room for what felt like the millionth time. “I can’t stand not knowing.”

  Janara glanced at her. She had relaxed a bit, but not entirely. She now at least sat in a chair facing the door, her sword across her lap. “If he was dead or captured, you would know.”

  “How?”

  “Do you really think they would let it happen quietly?” Janara asked her. “No. There would have been cheering, or screams, or something. And they would have come for you already.”

  It dragged on that way for three days, until, finally, they heard a knock at the door. Both of them jumped, glancing at each other in alarm.

  “Shannen, it’s me,” she heard Daarik call, and she nearly fell over in relief. Janara opened the door and hugged Daarik, and Shannen heard him say a few quiet words to her. Janara nodded, then left and closed the door behind her. Shannen ran to Daarik and fell into his arms. He held her tightly, neither of them paying any attention to the gore on his armor.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” she murmured to him as she held him as close as she possibly could. “I was worried.”

  He just held her tighter. “My brother,” he said after a moment.

  “He was a noble warrior,” Shannen said, and Daarik’s knees seemed to buckle, no doubt under the weight of loss and exhaustion. She went down with him, and they knelt on the floor together. She could tell that he was trying to contain his emotions, trying to be strong. “It is all right. I’m here. You have nothing to hide from me.”

  Daarik held her tighter and pressed his face against the side of her neck. She felt hot tears on her flesh, even though he remained silent, and she wept with him. She said meaningless words, hoping that at least some of them would soothe him. They stayed that way for a long time, and he finally slumped in exhaustion. She pulled at him.

  “Come on. Get some rest while you can,” she told him.

  “I should get back out there,” he said. “As soon as this insane heat lets up, it will all start again.”


  She didn’t want to ask, but she had to know. “How is it going for our side?”

  He gave her a look that told her all she needed to know. He was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head. “We will manage. We’ve been in shock for much of it. They’ve lost more warriors than we have, but we’ve been a smaller group from the beginning.”

  “And many warriors are not fighting at all,” she said, and, after a moment, he nodded his assent.

  She hated what she was about to do to him. Hated that, on top of everything else he was going through, he would have to deal with this as well. “I need to tell you something,” she said quietly. She had begun unbuckling his armor, but he captured her hands and held them still.

  “What is it?”

  She met his eyes for a moment, and then she started talking. She told him what Janara had found about her stolen throne, about what Miyan and Janara had said about those who refused to support him because of his wife. He tried to argue, but quieted when she begged him to hear her out. She told him, then, what she wanted to do.

  “I want to raise an army. An army of those humans who have been left behind by my uncle and his policies, who hope for something better. Who have no love for Edwell, but likely have some fondness for me because I was so much trouble to him. I know it will not be easy,” she said when she could tell that he wanted to speak. “I know. And yet, this needs to happen, now. We cannot wait for Edwell to die off, and, even then, one of his daughter’s sons will take the throne and they are just as isolationist and negligent as he is. My people need a leader who can see beyond her own nose,” she finished, aware that he was staring at the wall beyond where she sat. “And you need this too. With me gone, those who are unsure of you because of me will fight for you.”

  “What difference does it make if you’re here or there? You’re still my wife.”

  Shannen took a breath. She knew he was humoring her. She also knew that this part would be the hardest to convince him of. “You must renounce me.”

  He stood up and stalked away, then turned to glare at her. “Renounce you? Have you lost your mind?”

  “No. And if you put your feelings aside for two seconds—”

  “No, I will not put my feelings aside. I made a vow to you. A vow for forever. A vow to protect you. And more than that, I can’t put my feelings aside as if they don’t exist, I can’t renounce you and send you out there — alone! — to try to gather an army and then… gods. And then you want to start a war against your uncle, when you’ve never fought a battle in your entire life. Do you have any idea how insane this sounds?”

  “And yet, it is our only chance. The humans need leadership that both cares for them and understands the importance of truly working with the Maarlai. They need a just, but firm leader. That throne is rightfully mine. How else do you suggest I get it. And do not suggest waiting until you can help. I can’t fight him with a Maarlai army at my back. Just as most of your people won’t accept me, my people will not see me as someone who truly has their interests in mind if I conquer them with a Maarlai army.”

  Daarik did not answer, staring at the wall again with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “I’ve lost nearly everyone else. And now you want to leave me, too.”

  The pain in his voice was almost enough to make her rescind her words. Almost. Instead, she went to him and put her hands on the sides of his face. “I do this because I want what is best for you, and for me. And for our people.”

  “You renounce me?” he asked quietly, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

  “I renounce you,” she whispered.

  He leaned toward her, and she held her ground. “You don’t get to renounce me,” he growled.

  “And yet, I do,” she answered. “Publicly, and to anyone who will listen, human and Maarlai alike. I renounce you,” she repeated.

  He pulled her close, his huge body dwarfing hers.

  “And you will do the same. You renounce me as well. Your wife, who ran off on you in your time of need, probably to aid the humans when you are weak and divided. You renounce me for the sin of breaking a vow that I swore I would honor.”

  He was silent for several long moments, his eyes not leaving hers. “I renounce you,” he finally said. “Is that what you want?”

  “For now,” Shannen said.

  “For now?”

  “I renounce you, husband. But someday, when all of this is over, when our two kingdoms manage some kind of peace, I will be back here. And when I return, I will claim what is mine.”

  His eyes searched hers. So much loss. He was so lost. An idea occurred to Shannen, and she fought down her fear.

  “Is your grandmother well?” she asked.

  He looked at her in confusion. ‘Yes. I told her to rest earlier. She is in her room here in the palace.”

  “Do you think she would be willing to do a little work tonight?”

  “What kind of work?”

  “You do not believe I am coming back,” she said quietly. After a moment, he nodded. “What we have… whatever this mess is that we have, it is forever for me. The miles can divide us. War can keep us apart. But the promises we made to one another are for eternity.”

  “Yes,” he said in a low voice, his gaze locked onto hers.

  “I am ready for my mating mark,” she said, and she was proud that she managed to keep her voice strong.

  “Shannen?” he asked, though she could hear his heart start thumping in excitement. She’d known that it meant something to him. She just hadn’t had any idea how much.

  “Do you think she will do it? Tonight?”

  Daarik nodded.

  “And then, you will renounce me. And you will let me go,” she said.

  He tore his eyes away from her and, after a few moments, gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Shall we send for Faerlah, then?” she asked. He stood up wordlessly, went to the door, and spoke to someone outside. When he came back, he pulled her down onto his lap and she let herself curl into him, relishing his strength, his warmth, how solid he felt, always. They said nothing, just held on, and that was how Faerlah and Janara found them when they arrived.

  “What happens now stays in this room. Understand?” Daarik asked, and both Janara and Faerlah nodded. He recounted the plan, and both females looked at turns unsure, afraid, appalled, and respectful. In the end, all they could do was promise to help in any way they could.

  “We want our mating marks before she leaves me,” Daarik said. “It will help both of us cope, I think.”

  Faerlah studied Shannen’s face, and Shannen nodded.

  “This process is not one for the faint of heart,” the older Maarlai said.

  “I know. I want it,” Shannen said. Faerlah sent Janara back to her suite for her supplies, and a few minutes later, Janara had returned and Faerlah was setting out her instruments. Metal tools heated over the fire, and Shannen watched as Faerlah removed small rods of a silver-looking metal from her bag.

  “We brought a cache of this from our homeworld,” Faerlah said. “It has the ability to sort of meld with flesh. The body does not reject it, the skin does not grow over it. It is perfect for this, the unbreakable metal a symbol of the vow between mates,” she said as she turned some of the metal rods. They were beginning to melt, and drops of molten metal dripped into a small syringe-looking tool below. Everything was precise, and that made Shannen feel a little better.

  “The process, however, is difficult. The flesh is carved away, then filled with the molten metalstone,” Faerlah said. “It is very painful. The pain of the procedure is meant to be a pair’s first real trial together. They are supposed to comfort and relax one another. You two, however, have already been through your share of trials together,” she said sadly.

  “Will anyone think less of me if I pass out?” Shannen asked, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

  “Not me. And promise not to think less of me if I happen to pass out instead, wife,” Daarik said.


  “I promise,” she said.

  “Very well. If you’re sure?” Faerlah asked. They both nodded, and held hands. The mating marks would go on their right arms, just below the elbow, on the soft flesh just beneath the joint. Faerlah went to work on Daarik first, carving Shannen’s name in a series of Maarlai letters. Daarik held Shannen’s hands tightly, and trembled every once in a while. Janara wiped away the blood as Faerlah carved.

  Shannen tried not to be utterly terrified by it all. She reminded herself that the Maarlai had been doing this for centuries, and maybe longer. However, when Faerlah began to fill the carved letters with the molten metalstone, and Daarik smothered an excruciating howl of pain against her throat, Shannen nearly lost her nerve.

  When Daarik was finished, Janara gently bandaged his arm.

  “It will take a week or so to heal. Once it does, remove the bandage. Hurts like anything, doesn’t it?” Faerlah asked, and Daarik nodded, still a bit breathless from his ordeal. But when he looked at Shannen, the light in his eyes told her that this had meant the world to him.

  It meant the world to her, too.

  “Here. Sit back against me,” Daarik said, and Shannen scooted in front of him on the floor. He pulled her into his arms, her back resting against his chest, and held her tightly.

  “Don’t look,” he said in her ear. “Tell me. Tell me about your plans. How will you do it? Where will you go first?”

  She made herself start talking, anything to distract herself from the sensation of being carved like a piece of marble. She talked, and talked, and relied on Daarik’s arms around her to keep her upright.

  “You’re doing so well,” he murmured to her. “You are so strong. You amaze me, at every turn.”

  She nodded, and then she felt the molten metal hit her arm, and in her agony, she quickly lost consciousness.

  She woke later, tucked into bed beside Daarik, her arm throbbing and swathed in white bandages.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, and she knew then that he had not slept.