Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  Tee-Ri’s eyes were wide, as though she were shocked by the enormity of her evil deed.

  “It’s too late,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”

  Waeh-Loh leapt to her feet, crossed the room in a single stride, and slapped her mother across the face. “He’s not dead! Save him!”

  Tears streamed down Tee-Ri’s face.

  “They would have killed us, Waeh-Loh. If I hadn’t stopped him, they would have killed us all.” She pointed at Waeh-Loh’s belly. “They would have killed your baby. Don’t you see? I had to stop him?”

  Tee-Ri crawled towards her daughter, then raised her hands in entreaty.

  “You understand, don’t you, Waeh-Loh? You understand that I had to stop him. Don’t you, Waeh-Loh?” A light seemed to shine in Tee-Ri’s face, and she added: “Don’t you, Baera-Ni?”

  “Don’t you call me that!” Waeh-Loh shouted. “Don’t you ever call me that, you murderer!”

  She couldn’t take any more. She felt so swollen with grief, rage, and despair that if her mother uttered but a single syllable more, she felt she’d die.

  “I hate you!” Waeh-Loh shouted, and then ran from the room, tracking her father’s blood behind her.

  Chapter 91

  Tamlevar was losing. He was bleeding pieces of his consciousness into the sea that was Willow’s mind. Meanwhile, all around him, her psyche writhed as she relived the death of her father as though seeing it for the first time. And Tamlevar was powerless to ease her pain.

  Her anguish was his, and her suffering was his, too.

  But now the time had come for him to act. He had been conserving what strength and identity he had left for this moment. He had two things to do and then he was done.

  First, he accelerated things for her. She had suffered enough, and there was little to be gained by having her relive every moment from the death of her father up to the day she left Ignis Fatuus. At least he could spare her the interim suffering. At least he could spare her that.

  Tamlevar watched as the young Waeh-Loh fled the scene of her father’s death. He watched the inquest into the murder. Oh, the Warlord’s rage was unbounded then: to him, King Kral-Sus had been a piece of property, and an extremely important one at that. The King had been the most visceral souvenir of the Warlord’s conquest of Ignis Fatuus, and Tee-Ri had robbed him of it.

  But the unlikeliest person saved Tee-Ri: her daughter. Waeh-Loh’s announcement of her pregnancy was cause enough for celebration that the Warlord granted amnesty to Tee-Ri. After all, there were very few elven women in the household, and Waeh-Loh would need expert advice as her date of delivery approached. Already, Waeh-Loh was debating who should be her midwife: her mother or Mar-Ra, her former tutor.

  Which was worse: to freeze to death or to starve to death? That was the kind of choice she was going to have to make.

  Tamlevar sped things up further. Months flew by. Waeh-Loh’s belly grew huge, and her attachment to her unborn child grew with it. She had already chosen names for her baby.

  If it were a girl, Waeh-Loh would name her Baera-Ni.

  If it were a boy, Waeh-Loh would call him Kral-Sus.

  The Warlord Rackal waited with giddy anticipation for the birth of his son. (He refused to accept the possibility that it might be a girl.) The vile man was almost likeable in his doting on the expectant mother, his wife.

  That was one benefit.

  The other benefit was that while pregnant, Waeh-Loh was no longer expected to fulfill her odious marital duties.

  Fortunately for the Warlord, Tee-Ri was more than happy to volunteer for the job. And although she frequently complained about his abusive treatment of her, still she went back to his bedchamber every night …

  The critical moment approached. Time slowed down again, resumed its normal pace. Willow’s consciousness returned to her own story, already in progress.

  Chapter 92

  “We’re going to make your bed extra soft,” Waeh-Loh cooed, throwing on additional down-filled pads. The baby’s bed was so soft and padded already that as soon as it was born, it would no doubt feel right at home in its comfortable womb of a bed.

  After hours of cleaning, the floor in the baby’s room was spotless. Waeh-Loh’s knees and back ached from the ordeal, but her belly was so large that the child could come any week now … or perhaps even in a matter of days!

  “You’re going to be so happy here,” Waeh-Loh said. “And I won’t let the Warlord touch you. No, not ever.”

  Grinning foolishly, Waeh-Loh flicked the colorful mobile that hung over the bed, and it spun into a rainbow of patchwork colors.

  “What are you doing, Mother?”

  Waeh-Loh gasped and clutched at her chest. She spun around to see young Fazzle standing in the doorway. As he grew older, he was allowed to travel unescorted more frequently, but still it was quite a surprise to see him there.

  “I asked you what are you doing.”

  Her heart began to pound, and she combed her brain for something innocuous to tell him. Something non-threatening. Something that wouldn’t get her beaten.

  “Cleaning, Exalted One,” she said.

  Fazzle gaped stupidly for a moment, then stuck his finger in his mouth and began to chew.

  “Before he left, the Warlord said you’re supposed to be in bed,” Fazzle said around his finger. “You’re not supposed to dis… dis… disobey him.” Waeh-Loh could see his mind churning for a moment before he added, “I’m the warlord of the castle while he is away.”

  “I rested as I was instructed,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered. The Warlord and his son loved it when she kept her eyes lowered, and she loved it because it helped to diffuse their tempers. “And then I got a burst of energy, and I thought your father would want me to get some exercise so that his son would be born safely.”

  Fazzle stared at her for a while, then seemed to lose interest. Without a word, he walked off down the hallway, leaving Waeh-Loh alone in the baby’s room.

  Another cramp hit her, and she balled her hands into fists. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, and after a few moments, it passed.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and kept preparing the baby’s room. She had hoped that the cramps she had experienced this morning would be gone by noon. Instead, they just seemed to be coming with increasing frequency …

  * * *

  “Dammit, stop moving your feet!” It was Mar-Ra’s voice, and it didn’t so much as cut through Waeh-Loh’s haze as it seeped through it.

  “Wha?” she said, the world dancing around her.

  “I said stop moving your feet. It’s going to be hard enough delivering your baby as it is, you being so ridiculously young. Why do you have to make it any more difficult.”

  “My baby?” Waeh-Loh said, and tried to reach for her belly. Tried, but failed, since she found her wrists were bound behind her head. “You’re gonna … deliver … my baby?”

  Mar-Ra let out a theatrical sigh. “Why do you think I’ve been wasting my time with you these past few hours? Do you think I enjoy staring at your crotch? Because I assure you, I do not!”

  “Be patient with her,” Tee-Ri said from somewhere behind Waeh-Loh. “Waeh-Loh’s never been too bright. I’m sure the drug isn’t helping.”

  “Drug? Whazzit? What drug?”

  “Honestly, child. You were the one who asked for the drug. For your pain? Remember?”

  “But I feel great!” Waeh-Loh said, a huge smile on her face.

  “Oh! What am I going to do with this nitwit?”

  “Don’t you call me a nitwit. I’ll tell my father you called me that.”

  “Your father’s dead. Lucky thing for you. If he knew what a …”

  * * *

  “… can you hear me?”

  Waeh-Loh fought her way from the haze. The dim light of the room burned at the back of her eyes. Sweat was streaming from her body, had drenched her gown.

  They had let go of her legs.

  “Is … is he born?�
��

  “You’re done, Waeh-Loh,” Mar-Ra said, not making eye contact. “The delivery’s over.”

  “Pity about the child, though,” Tee-Ri said. “But that’s what happens when the mother is so woefully young.”

  “Your Majesty,” hissed Mar-Ra. “Please!”

  “Wha…?” Waeh-Loh grabbed at the meanings of the words as they floated around her. “The child? The child’s all right?”

  Tee-Ri zoomed into view. She indicated Mar-Ra with her thumb. “Ask her.”

  “Enlightened One,” Waeh-Loh beseeched. “Is my baby healthy?”

  Mar-Ra threw a baleful glance at Tee-Ri and then nodded. “Yes, one of your children is doing just fine. A healthy boy.” Mar-Ra smiled, but it was a pathetic smile. “Looks a lot like your father.”

  “My father ….? wha…? But you said one of my children. There’s more?”

  Mar-Ra’s lips tightened.

  “Twins,” she said.

  Waeh-Loh laughed, delighted. She tried to get out of her bed, but Mar-Ra pushed her back.

  “Twins!” Waeh-Loh said, laying back. “That’s wonderful! Another boy?”

  “A girl,” Mar-Ra said, her voice filled with despair. “Would you like to see your son?”

  “Yes! I want to see my babies!”

  * * *

  Kral-Sus was a lovely baby. Pure white as snow, with clever and slender hands. His ears rose gently to a definitive elven point. Yes, a lot like his grandfather. Waeh-Loh cradled the baby in her arms and cooed to him.

  “He’s beautiful,” Waeh-Loh said. “He’s perfect.”

  Mar-Ra smiled despite her evident attempt at resisting. “Yes, Waeh-Loh. A very beautiful boy. The Warlord will be pleased.”

  Waeh-Loh’s expression darkened at the mention of her husband.

  “I’d almost forgotten,” she said, stroking the gurgling perfection she held in her arms.

  There was a painful silence.

  Kral-Sus. Such a perfect little boy, just as her father had been the perfect man.

  “When can I see Baera-Ni?” she said. “When can I see my daughter?”

  “Go on,” Tee-Ri said to Mar-Ra. “Tell her.”

  Tee-Ri left the room. Mar-Ra gazed hatefully after her.

  “Tell me what?” Waeh-Loh’s heart began to thud in her chest. “Where’s my baby girl?”

  Mar-Ra’s eyes were damp with what looked like genuine compassion. “There’s no other way to tell you this: she was stillborn.”

  “Stillb—No, that’s impossible.” Waeh-Loh shook her head. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m sorry, Waeh-Loh. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fa—”

  “Stop it! Stop lying!” Kral-Sus began to cry in Waeh-Loh’s arms, so she gently covered his ears with the corners of his blanket. “Bring me my daughter, you jealous hag. Bring me my daughter, or when the Warlord gets back, I’ll have him kill you!”

  “Waeh-Loh, please …”

  “Shut up! I don’t want to hear it! Bring me my daughter or else. Bring me my darling baby girl or I swear I’ll make you suffer!”

  Chapter 93

  Melancholia. What a stupidly inadequate word to describe the depths of despair Waeh-Loh felt. Twins! She had had twins. Not one mother in a million had twins. It would have been a double miracle: an early pregnancy followed by two perfect children; a boy and a girl.

  Waeh-Loh wanted to roll onto her belly, to hide her face, but she lacked the energy. She lacked the energy to move her limbs, chew her food, or even blink her eyes more than absolutely necessary.

  All she wanted to do was sleep. For weeks, she slept all day, all night, and took naps in between. Only when food was placed between her lips did she emerge from the miasma of hopelessness in which she found herself. She even slept through baby Kral-Sus’s feedings most of the time, though the sensation gave her some modicum of comfort in the twisted, convoluted dreams she experienced through most of the days and nights.

  Waeh-Loh remembered Mar-Ra saying something about this sadness being a natural occurrence, but that seemed highly unlikely. Surely, nobody had ever had such a feeling of loss. To have lost one’s home, one’s father, and then a baby almost within a year of each other. To have been beaten, abused, and handed around like a sexual tray of appetizers by the man who was the father of your surviving child. To have seen your own mother murder your father before your very eyes …

  No. Melancholia wasn’t the word for it. It didn’t begin to describe it.

  “Time for little Kral-Sus’s feeding,” Mar-Ra said, entering the room with an enormous show of cheer. “Ah, you’re awake. That’s wonderful!”

  Waeh-Loh reached out for Kral-Sus, and it was as if her arms were made of lead. They flopped to her side.

  “Here, let me.” Mar-Ra undid Waeh-Loh’s top with one hand, and then handed Kral-Sus to her. Kral-Sus blinked for a few moments and then began to feed.

  Waeh-Loh stroked his hair.

  “He’s so perfect.” She looked up. “He is perfect, right? There’s nothing wrong with him?”

  Mar-Ra smiled. “Nothing is wrong with him.”

  “I didn’t make him sick? I’m so tired …”

  Mar-Ra sat down next to Waeh-Loh on the bed. “I know it’s difficult for you to understand, child, but you’re as strong as ever. You’re just tired in your mind because of … well, because you know.”

  Sobs bubbled up in Waeh-Loh’s chest, but she fought them away.

  Be strong. Save yourself. Save us all.

  I’m trying, Father. I really am. Look at your grandson! I named him after you.

  “My father would have liked his namesake, wouldn’t he?”

  “Oh yes, Waeh-Loh. He would have loved—”

  “Waeh-Loh!” The Warlord’s voice shattered the stillness of the castle. “Waeh-Loh! Where are you? Is it true? Has my son been born?”

  Almost instinctively, Waeh-Loh half-covered Kral-Sus with her blanket, as though she could somehow protect him from his father. Stupid, of course. Having a son was the only thing the Warlord ever talked to her about. It was the only thing that kept him from beating her.

  “Waeh-Loh!” She heard his footsteps running up the staircase. She exchanged a look of terror with Mar-Ra.

  “It’s his child, too,” Mar-Ra said, though whether it was to reassure her or admonish her, Waeh-Loh couldn’t tell.

  Now the footsteps ran down the hall. Kral-Sus whimpered once against her nipple and then returned to his feeding.

  “Waeh-Loh!” The Warlord Rackal stopped before the door to the room, his blonde hair dripping with sweat, his eyes blazing. “My child! Let me see my child!”

  Fazzle toddled into view behind his father and peered into the room. “Is that my brother?”

  “Yes,” the Warlord Rackal said, his eyes glued to the bundle at Waeh-Loh’s breast. “Your brother Farrir.”

  “I thought I’d name him …” Willow started to say, but she let her voice trail off as the Warlord glared at her. Quickly, she stared at the ceiling and said, “I thought I’d name him …” Then she began to mumble.

  The Warlord glared at Mar-Ra. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Mar-Ra fumbled a moment, then said, “The drugs, exalted one. For the pain.”

  He nodded.

  “You may leave,” he said. “Fazzle, go with her.”

  Mar-Ra left with Fazzle in tow. Waeh-Loh clutched the baby to her, stroking his head.

  “Let me see my son.”

  She could feel the Warlord’s eyes burning into her brain, compelling her to look up, to meet his gaze. She fought for what seemed hours, then broke. She looked at him, and then unwrapped the child at her bosom.

  Her hands shook.

  The Warlord Rackal’s face split into a huge smile. He grabbed the screaming infant from her breast and held him aloft.

  “My son!” he shouted, triumphant. “You have made me a son!”

  The Warlord laughed, delighted and lowered Kral-Sus to eye level. “What a han
dsome child. Oh, he has my eyes! And he has—”

  The Warlord stopped speaking. He was staring at the child’s ears.

  “Oh,” he said, crestfallen.

  “What?” Waeh-Loh said, forgetting Rule Number Two.

  The Warlord Rackal shot her an annoyed look, but did not punish her. He got to his feet.

  Kral-Sus began to cry. Waeh-Loh extended her arms for him.

  “We’ll just have to try again,” the Warlord said. “We can start in a few minutes.”

  “What?” Waeh-Loh said, her trepidation overriding her instinct for self-preservation. “Please, can I hold him again now?”

  The Warlord shook his head sadly. Kral-Sus was screaming for his mother’s breast.

  “I don’t blame you, of course,” the Warlord said. “It’s not your fault. These things happen.”

  “What things? Please, may I hold my … our child?”

  The Warlord Rackal was still shaking his head, his pale blue eyes looking gentle. It was obscene.

  “You have to understand,” he said. “I can’t have a child with pointed ears. I would be laughed at, and that is something I can not permit.”

  “What? Just give him to me. We’ll say … we’ll say … we’ll say we found him.” Kral-Sus’s screams were ripping at her heart. She reached her arms out for him. “Please, let me have my baby.”

  The Warlord did not reply. He walked from the room, carrying Kral-Sus in his arms. She leapt from the bed, shrieking, her body somehow filled with energy. “Give me back my baby!”

  She had reached the doorway but suddenly the Warlord was there, and his fist crunched into her nose. She staggered back into the room. She could hear Kral-Sus screaming outside.

  “Give me back my baby!” Tears streamed down her face, mixed with the blood from her nose, dropped to the floor, to her gown. “PLEASE!”

  She heard Kral-Sus screaming, and then there was a heavy thud against the stone wall. There was some weak gurgling for a few moments and then there was another thud.

  Waeh-Loh’s heart seemed to stop. Her eyes were so wide that it seemed they might just roll out of her sockets.