by V. Holmes
It was an expression Arman was far too familiar with. “Evening, Mistress Farrow.”
She blinked at him, then recognition flitted across her face. “Arman, gracious I didn't even recognize you.” She ushered him inside, her face falling back into darkness. “Can I take your cloak?”
“Thank you, but no. I can't stay long.” The clean, lively house he remembered from boyhood was dim and cluttered.
She drifted into her kitchen. “Forgive the state of the house. I can't seem to find the energy, not after Meckil....” She shuddered. “He was such a good boy, I can't understand what happened.”
Dread rooted itself in Arman's stomach. Farrow's dead. He didn't want the survivors here and now he's dead. Even with strong denial, Arman knew the truth. “I was horrified to hear the news.”
She glanced over at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “Certainly. You two were close as boys. Not as much recently, but he always spoke highly of your family.” She gave him a weak smile.
“I'm actually here to see his brother. Is he in?”
She nodded. “He's taken it hard, but he's a strong boy.” She leaned up the stairs. “Hiram? Arman Wardyn is here to see you.”
There was a long pause, then a door opened softly upstairs. Hiram was the image of his older brother. The shadows on his face matched his mother's. He gave Arman a smile that did not reach his tired eyes. “Hey, Wardyn.”
“Hey.” Arman held out the note he had hastily written before knocking. “I'm sorry about your brother. He was a good man.”
“What's this?” Hiram peered at the paper but did not open it to read.
“"You're interested in the smithy, and we could use some help. Bring this to Wes and he'll find you some work." Arman shifted awkwardly and heaved a sigh. "Very well, I should be going." He paused at the door. "I'm so sorry, Mistress Farrow. Really, I wish there was something .... I'm so sorry."
Φ
The knock on his door startled Arman. He contemplated pretending to sleep. He was not ready to face his friends again, let alone Veredy, and his mother's compassion would break his tentative composure.
"Arman, are you there?" Alea's voice was gentle.
He opened the door, leaning on the doorframe. He knew he looked a mess. "Are you feeling any better?"
She frowned. "I'm doing well. You look like something the vulture's pecked over."
He glared at her with mock anger. "That's a new insult."
Her smile was more open than he'd yet seen. "Do you need to rest, or may I come in?"
He opened the door wider and ushered her in before flopping back onto his bed. "I'm sorry I'm not a better host right now." He watched her take a seat. "This is an interesting reversal—you checking on me while I lie depressed in bed."
"I had just lived through a massacre, Arman, what is your excuse?" Her eyes glittered with wry humor.
He realized at some point she had changed into breeches and a short dress. The look suited her. "I went looking for something to help you. What I found was unexpected, but pieces fit where there were only questions before." He held the roughly repaired book of tales out to her. "What do you know of the Rakos?"
She took it, but only looked at the cover. Her gaze was suddenly reserved and thoughtful. "They're dead, I thought. That is why the Laen... my people... have struggled so much lately."
"Well the man in that painting there is Keirman Wardyn. He lived in Vielrona when it was still a Rakos garrison. I hoped I could wake him, or call him somehow. In a way I did. You need a guard, Lyne'alea, and I am it."
"Arman, your loyalty is astounding, but this is a great weight to bear and it's not yours." Her words stopped when he drew something else from under his pillow. It was a hammered gold crown. Green, veined agates and ivory studded the side. Its beauty, like Vielrona's, was in its simplicity and strength.
"It's our weight, together. I'm not choosing to act as your guard. I am your guard. My blood is bound to yours. This is the Crown of this world and it is mine to bear."
The fear and pity in her eyes burned. "Are you all right?"
"I don't know. I feel powerful and whole. And a bit odd. My damned teeth hurt and I feel fevered." He sighed. "I'd imagine you understand. I still feel a bit lost, though my path is fairly clear."
"Trust your instincts, Arman. At least hear me— I trust them." She held the book up. "Mind if I borrow this? I'd like to learn more about the strange creature protecting me." Her smile was gentle as she left, but her words echoed ominously in his mind. Am I a creature now? Is it possible to be only partly Rakos, or does the chaos consume you?
Φ
The 40th Day of Valemord, 1251
The Village of Marl Mere, Athrolan
The road ahead was overshadowed with clouds. An'thor had spent so many years traveling, both as hunter and hunted, that he did not know how to stop. Albi'giran had disappeared a week before and being left alone with his thoughts was worse. Now there was only one place left he could think of to go. The lights of the town ahead glittered in the dusk, a speck of warmth in the cold landscape. It had been a decade since he had last ridden this way, but the gravel sounded the same under Theriim's hooves.
Marl Mere was half the size of Marl Kess, but nestled in the mountains south of Athrolan, it was far less exposed. He supposed this was why Elle had chosen it. Her house was on the edge of the village. It was closer to a hovel than a house, he supposed, but home was home. He dismounted under the overhang that served as a stable and woodshed. As he removed Theriim's tack he began to whistle King's Wrongdoing. The silence inside the hut sharpened. "Aye, it's me, girl."
She was waiting in the doorway when he went around the front. He offered her a tired smile. "It's been a while. Missed me?"
Her hair was more silver than black now, and her eyes haunted, but her smile was bright. "An'thoriend Domariigo, I thought only the end of the world would bring you back to my doorstep."
His expression darkened. "You weren't wrong."
Grief flitted across her face, but she did not look surprised. "I suppose you should come in. Supper is almost ready." She locked the door behind him and helped him out of his cloak. "I don't suppose you'll want to exchange small talk and put the serious topics off until after we've eaten."
He laughed humorlessly. "You know me too well." He went to the fireplace and put the kettle on before rummaging through the cabinets for tealeaves.
"Please, make yourself at home." She smiled wryly and handed him two mugs. "And pour me some while you're at it." She sat back in the chair. "Really, you keep catering to me and I'll begin to wonder why I never married."
"Your son's father was a genocidal maniac who declared war on your race," he reminded her mildly. "Really, I'm amazed you keep forgetting."
She threw a narrow glance at him. "So why are you here? What's this about the end of the world?" Her face grew serious again.
An'thor paused in his tea making, but did not turn around. He had only said it the once, and was not prepared to do so again. "Elle, I need you to return to Le'yan. For good."
"I most certainly will not." Her tone had the old rebellion in it and he almost grinned. "They don't even know I'm alive. This is as much of a home as anywhere else, and I'm happy here." She looked away. "At least, happier than before."
"This is different, Elle." He set the cups out and poured the water before taking the chair opposite her. "I wasn't lying about everything ending. The other Laen found her. She was a little bit of a thing. The Miriken found us in Marl Kess. We made it to the edge of the Hartland, but they shot her. I tried, I swear, but she's dead." He glanced up at her. "Elle, the Dhoah' Laen is dead."
Her expression was carefully neutral when she met his eyes. "With all due respect, An'thor, you are wrong."
"Elle, her life's blood drenched my hands—I'm fairly certain I would know!"
"Surely that girl is dead, and it is a pity, but she was not the Dhoah' Laen."
"She was the youngest Laen left, and her p
ower was different. She had Liane convinced."
"The true Dhoah' Laen was not raised among our people, An'thor. No one knows about her."
"How do you know then?"
"Because she is my daughter." Elle's silver eyes were luminous in the dark hut. "Because I was the one that hid her. "
An'thor realized he was leaning forward, clinging to Elle's words with desperation. "If you're lying, if you're just hoping, I swear my heart will not recover this time." He steadied himself with a slow breath. "And when did you bear a daughter?"
"Bren was six when his father was crowned. I was only a few weeks pregnant, but I knew this child was different. I could feel her. I had kept up the ruse of being human well enough, but I was scared for her. Azirik's paranoia was growing worse by the day. It was only a matter of time before he discovered me. I traveled south to deliver her, and found my way to Cehn."
An'thor stared at her, incredulous. "That is where Liane stopped two months ago. She thought it was a sanctuary."
Elle's brow quirked. "And why do you think they thought that?"
"You said they didn't know about the girl."
She shrugged. "They knew Cehn sheltered me. They did not know that when I returned north, I left something behind." Power lit her expression. It was easy to forget, in her little house, what she was. It was easy to chalk her dark hair and pale skin up to Athrolani blood. There was no questioning her race now.
"Fates, Elle, when were you going to tell me?" Her vast patience was incredible. She had kept the world's greatest secret for decades. He put his head in his hands. "Cehn was razed to the ground two months ago, Elle. There were barely a dozen survivors and they're scattered in Vielrona."
Her eyes blazed with cold and a smile twitched on her lips. "Then perhaps you should go back. I believe you forgot something."
Φ
The 41st Day of Valemord, 1251
The City-state of Vielrona
Snow decorated the wall along the river. It was a rare dusting, and Arman thought it a pity to brush it away. Still, he was not fond of wet breeches. He sat cross-legged and watched the water curl and burble under the thin ice. After a moment he heard low conversation and two figures approached from the market. When Wes and Kam drew up to him they fell silent.
Wes held up a folded piece of parchment between two fingers. "Got your note. When did you start sending message boys?"
Arman sighed. This is already off to a brilliant start. Wes is ticked and Kam is silent. "You wanted his help."
"I also didn't need to learn you murdered his brother from him."
"That's what I wanted to explain, Wes. To both of you. You said you wanted the truth. Do you?"
Kam's eyes narrowed. "Why couldn't you tell us before now?"
"I needed to understand some things, and now I do." He brushed snow off the wall. "Will you sit?"
Wes's face was hard. "You want us to freeze our bollocks off?"
"I want to be sure you are the only two that hear this. Now sit, or leave." When they had both settled, he cleared his throat. "I killed one of those men. Only one."
"You said that blood was yours."
"It was. Another got me in the chest. I was down, bleeding out in the gutter. She took care of the rest."
"Arman, I took care of those bodies. You telling me I was protecting her?" Wes looked betrayed. "You've taught her, but not that much. Those men looked like they just died, of their own will."
"I could barely stand. She held her hands up and they died. When they fell she came to me and pressed her hand to my wound. By the time we got home only a scar was left." And teeth that don't belong. "Do you know what that means?"
"I thought the last of them left months ago."
"So did I. So did she. This is as new to her as it is to me." He met Wes' eyes. "She is exactly what they've been searching for."
"This will bring them down upon us!" Kam spat.
"I know. That's why we're leaving."
Silence grew between them, and Wes shook his head angrily. Arman could see the smith steeling himself to speak. "She saved you, fine. I'm glad of it. You cannot repay all you're given or revenge all you have gotten."
"You have a life here, Arman. And a good woman, which is more than any of us could hope for. Why are you suddenly begging after this girl? You did not know she existed two months ago."
"I made that promise to Veredy when we were fifteen. As much as I want it, it isn't to be right now. Something inside me answers Alea. Heat takes over." He rolled his eyes at Kam's lewd gesture. "It's not lust. I know lust, I understand it well. This is different. Something has always been there, inside me. Something that belongs to her." His skin itched just thinking about it. "I thought it was because the Laen were in the Cockerel. I thought it was because she was near me, but it is more complicated than that. It is a part of me."
"I won't let you throw your life away, I won't let you go after her." Wes' words were bitter.
Arman knew if there was an argument, he had won. He rose. "I'll come home. When this is over, I'll come home." He drew his cloak tighter around himself and trudged away. He had not had a choice, not exactly. So why do I feel like I just chose Alea over my friends? Though discretion was important, he knew there were some conversations that simply had to occur over tea. Explaining everything to Veredy was one of them. The glow in her windows was a relief as much as he dreaded what he was about to tell her.
She opened the door before he even knocked. "I recognize your boot falls on my stairs." She opened the door wider. "You might as well come in. Kettle's just boiled."
He folded his cloak over the back of a chair, but was too nervous to sit. "How've you been?"
"You sound like we've not spoken in weeks." She caught his gaze and held it. "Kam said you were going to speak to them today."
"Just came from them." He picked a splinter from her table. "I'm sorry with how I left things."
"When you were about to ask to marry me, or afterwards when we dragged you bloody from the gutter?" Though the words were harsh, her voice was quiet.
"I can't help this, Ver. All my pretty words are used up and the most I can offer now is honesty." His shoulders sagged and exhaustion swept over him. "This is too hard."
"You have work, a good family. I enjoy our nights together. You would make a fine husband. We were going to wed when the time came. It would have been good, it would have been easy." She turned away, but he heard the catch in her voice. "Explain to me what changed. Explain to me why I'm suddenly not the woman in your future."
"Ver, it is infinitely more complicated than that." He closed his eyes tightly. "When I was 12, I saw this girl, a few years older than I. I don't even remember who she was, now. But my head whirled, my heart pounded, my thoughts were blurred. I was sick and couldn't sleep—when I did I was plagued with dreams of her. And yet, somehow, I was happy. It was bliss and terror. My world was suddenly controlled by someone else and she didn't even know it." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "It isn't what you think, but that's what I feel with Alea, but worse."
"I would have loved you."
"You still can, Ver, when I come back, I swear."
She whirled, confusion and pain stark on her soft features. "What in the world does that mean? You're leaving?"
He met her eyes. "I'm guarding her until she finds her people. It's my duty."
"Your duty? Damn, Arman, what are you, a soldier? And her people are dead!"
"Most of them are, yes. Some are waiting for her in Le'yan."
Veredy's hand flew to her mouth and she looked like she might be sick. "Fates, she's Laen?"
"I told you it was more complicated. I don't love her, Veredy, but part of me is bound to her." He risked a step closer and reached out a hand.
She eyed his hand for a moment, then took it. She moved close enough to embrace him, but made no move to do so. Her gaze inched over his features.
"What do you know of our city's founding."
"The Rakos?" Her ha
nd grazed his cheek, her thumb pausing at his lips. "Your teeth." When he nodded she closed her eyes. "No. Don't say that. Please, just once more be Arman. Only Arman. The man I was going to marry."
He cupped her cheek in one rough hand. "I can be that for you." His kiss was careful and more painful a goodbye than anything. "And someday I will be again."
"I've watched you change since she arrived. You fit here perfectly before that, but it's no longer true."
"I'm not certain of that yet."
"I am." She pulled away and squeezed his hand. "Luck and love."
He would have stayed, he would have spent one more night with her, but he knew that pain would be too much. He gathered his things wordlessly and began the slow walk home. His eyes were fixed on his boots as they scuffed the paving stones.
Φ
The 44th Day of Valemord, 1251
The frozen ground on the city's edge crunched under Alea's boots. Her gloved hands gripped a small pouch. The grass was brown and frost rimmed each leaf. She knelt and shaped the dirt into a makeshift bowl. She drew a knobby brown candle and tinderbox from her pocket and wedged the former into the ground. Her hands trembled as she lit the wick.
The throaty Sunamen words were both familiar and strange on her tongue. "I know this is not a proper burial, or how you deserve to be put to rest. This is all I can do. You were the best family I could have asked for. Ihal, how I miss your guidance, and Ahren, your kindness. Merahn, your strength and happiness were a balm to me." She drew a breath. "Ahme'reahn ira Suna, murdered on the 11th of Lumord. Ahren ira Suna, murdered on the 11th of Lumord. Merahn ir Hirah, murdered on the 11th of Lumord." She continued, naming each of her family as the candle melted. She began to weep in earnest. "These I name are innocent and have done no wrong. May their greatness in life live on in tales and their actions not be in vain. May the gods rest their souls and those of the ones they loved. With these words I let you pass into peace." She placed the tatters of the jahi she had worn during the attack against the candle. The fabric lit. It still held a faint spicy scent. She stared at the candle for a silent moment. "Henceforth I am Dhoah' Lyne'alea of Le'yan. Lyne'alea ir Suna is dead."