by Brian Fuller
“Yes. He was killed by the Uyumaak.”
“What? How strange! Why would they kill him?”
The Chalaine shook her head, realizing how torturous her encounter with Fenna would be. “There are many mysteries yet to solve, Fenna. I don’t believe Gen intended to harm me at all.”
“Well, we’re all glad you’re rid of him,” Fenna said firmly. “And do you think you will have Eldaloth send you to your husband in Erelinda, or will you, um, turn your affections elsewhere for a while? I couldn’t help but notice that a certain eligible young man still follows you around. . .”
Inwardly the Chalaine groaned. “I will stay upon Ki’Hal. I must work to free my mother. I have no other object in view now.” Except Gen.
“Your mother! What happened?”
The Chalaine invented a story about how Athan arrested her for treason for harboring and favoring Gen, a story the Chalaine fully expected to have come true.
Fenna gasped. “How awful! But Athan will set her free. Gen deceived all of us, the scoundrel!”
“Fenna,” the Chalaine said, trying to sound friendly. “I am dreadfully tired. Would you mind if I bathed now and slept for a while? It was a long march through rough country, and if I am to enjoy this excellent celebration, it would be nice to be fresh.”
“But of course!” Fenna agreed, giving the Chalaine’s hair another stroke with the brush. “But there is so much news and gossip to tell you! I have been so happy. Chertanne was a bit rough, but I thank him for having the wisdom to pair me with Geoff. He must have seen what kindred spirits we were, after all.”
With a little more prodding from the Chalaine, Fenna finally saw to the servants bringing in a large basin and warm water. After assuring the Lady of Blackshire that she needed no help bathing, she stripped her frayed and torn clothing away and soaked, the warmth lulling her eyes closed. When she did dream, Gen appeared in every scene, some of them as scandalous as the ones she had envisioned in her long days in Ironkeep. When she woke, the longing reflected in those dreams sparked a glow in her heart rather than the crushing guilt they had inspired before.
Fenna returned before dinner and brought her a gorgeous plum-colored dress trimmed in gold. “It will be a bit tight on you,” Fenna warned, “though you’ve thinned a bit from your wandering about the woods, I see. Anyway, I’ve had my maid stitch together a veil for you. It’s not as fancy as those you once wore, but certainly better than the awful thing you were wearing when you arrived. You know, my maid is just a little tiresome. All she wants to talk about is this boy and that and how she can’t do without them. Just one of the trials of nobility. I suppose it’s my duty to sober her up.”
After buttoning the dress and declaring her ravishing, Fenna left with a tease to Dason about how wonderful the Chalaine looked. The Chalaine admired herself in the mirror. The dusty, exhausted refugee was gone, and before her was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a dress to rival those her mother had worn in her attempts to drive Gen mad with passion. She smiled and hoped that Amos the woodsman was not above flirting with widows.
Affixing her veil, she opened the door and found an appreciative Dason who, despite all his propriety, couldn’t help but glance over her, even if quickly.
“Tonight will be a night to remember, Chalaine,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. She took his proffered arm, sick at the expectation in Dason’s handsome, smiling face. He had found an opportunity to bathe as well, his uniform stitched and laundered back to something more presentable. He led her to the dining room, and everyone stood as she entered. Lord Kildan, the Dark Guard, and Ethris were there, but the Chalaine was disappointed to find Gen missing, Maewen sitting alone at a side table. Fenna and two other Lords and Ladies she didn’t recognize were present as well.
Geoff thrust his glass into the air.
“To the Chalaine, who has courageously led us to this new era of peace and prosperity under the rule of Eldaloth!”
The agreement to keep their knowledge of Mikkik’s fraud a secret kept the ebullience of the toast to a minimum, the Chalaine feeling sick at the deception. They drank anyway, but before the Chalaine sat, she called for attention.
“I thank you, Lord Blackshire, for your kind words, though I hardly feel I deserve them. But it is at this time that I wish to invoke a long-standing custom of the Chalaines. At the birth of their first child, every Chalaine has relinquished the title and taken upon her a new name for the remainder of her life. The name I have chosen comes from the ancient language. My name is Alumira’rei Se Ellenwei, or Alumira for short.”
Maewen perked up. “Do you know what it means?”
The Chalaine remembered her conversation with Gen outside of her chamber so long ago. He had given her the name just after the demon attack when she had treated him crossly. “I think it means ‘someone who picks fights.’”
The assemblage laughed, excepting Maewen, who shook her head. “No! That’s not what it means at all.”
“Then tell us,” Dason prompted. “It certainly sounds as lovely as she is.”
“The name means, ‘My way out of darkness.’”
The Chalaine exhaled and gripped the table, trying to keep the tears out of her eyes. The name was Gen’s tribute to her, his gratitude for saving him from Mikkik’s poison. She remembered when she had told him never to call her that name again. There could be no more waiting. I must find him tonight, she thought. He must know my heart.
“Where did you get the name?” Dason prompted.
The Chalaine stifled the blooming of love in her heart, wanting to savor the private emotion away from the expectant faces. She swallowed hard, but her voice quavered as she said, “A dear friend.”
Maewen nodded, the barest grin on her lips. The rest pressed her to be more forthcoming, but she refused, returning to her seat, mind drifting inward. Dinner was served. The conversation and blather in the room, whether meaningful or pointless, passed over and around her. Dason kept snaking his hand under the table to try to grasp hers, but she would snatch it away. He would grin, thinking she was playing coy. She fought the urge to stab him with a fork.
Thankfully, dinner ended, and they entered a modest assembly hall where they were joined by other members of Blackshire society and officers from the regiment stationed there. The people crowded suffocatingly around her, congratulating and thanking her for her grand part in the prophecy. They asked her when she would join her husband in Erelinda, and every time they did, Dason would wink meaningfully at her.
Once the dancing began, she reclaimed a little breathing room, save from her Protector, who stood uncomfortably close, rubbing against her arm or shoulder whenever he could get the chance. The Chalaine thought Gen might have decided to absent himself from the party entirely, but after a lively dance with Dason, she noticed him standing near a doorway with Maewen watching.
Like a bowshot she threaded her way to the door, Gen disappearing before she arrived. Dason, surprised by the sudden movement, was slow to catch up.
“Is Amos not to join us?” the Chalaine asked.
Maewen smiled that peculiar smile again. “He said he is need of some fresh air and went to one of the upstairs balconies. In truth, he may just need to rest. I have discovered that our young friend has a bad habit of not sleeping.”
The Chalaine grinned. “I’ve heard that about him.”
“I promised I would watch you for him,” Maewen continued. “But it looks like a certain pair of eyes can hardly bear to be off you as it is.”
“Milady!” Dason exclaimed as he arrived. “You departed most hastily.”
“I’m sorry, Dason,” she said. “Please feel free to dance with other ladies. I wanted to speak with Maewen for a bit.”
“How could any other woman satisfy me?” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.
She gritted her teeth. I refuse to spend the evening with a man I wouldn’t marry in a millennium while the man I would marry in a moment is upstairs! T
he Chalaine bit her lip, her mind trying to grind out some way to be rid of her constant companion. Then the hard, reclusive Maewen unexpectedly intervened.
“Have you ever danced with an elf, Dason?”
“Of course not.”
“Then come, and perhaps you shall learn how to do it properly.”
Dason stammered as Maewen led him toward the floor, Maewen exciting a bit of comment, not just because of her race, but because she was a woman wearing pants in a room full of fashionable, expensive dresses. Dason glanced back at the Chalaine a couple of times, shrugging as Maewen led him away.
When he was fully occupied, the Chalaine dove out of the door and into the entryway where several people loitered. The hunt took a little longer than she liked, and she feared Dason would come traipsing after her at any moment. But after a frantic search around the second floor, she found Gen.
The second story balcony at the back of the house looked over the Chapel garden. Gen sat in a simple wooden chair, leaning it back against the side wall with his feet on the balustrade. His wide-brimmed hat he had yanked down over his face, and without a weapon had crossed his arms over his chest as if he were carrying one anyway. He was fast asleep.
The sounds and smells of the celebration and the fragrant garden below filled her with the same feelings of freedom and freshness as they had that morning, and her heart felt freed. She tiptoed to him and removed her veil. For several moments she just stared at him, unsure of how to proceed. His strong hands rose and fell slowly with his chest, and she wondered if he ever dreamed of her as she dreamed of him. She hoped so.
She wanted to see his face, to find what felt so different about it, but the obscuring hat covered everything but his bearded chin. That was it. That was where to start. With a grin and the flick of her hand, she yanked his hat off. He startled from sleep. With the speed of an adder he grabbed her hand before she could retract it and shot to standing, eyes roving over her in confusion. He finally let go. The Chalaine blushed as his gaze drank her in, eyes lingering just where she hoped they would before finding hers.
“Your Ladyship!” he stammered. “I. . .”
With all the energy of pent up desire and stifled affection finally let loose, she pressed into him and put her lips on his, kissing him deeply with every ounce of longing she had. It took him a moment to respond, but she didn’t let up until his hands found her hips and then his arms enveloped her, pulling her against him. Only then did she put her head on his shoulder, tears of joy falling like rain in the sunshine. He held her, the Chalaine relishing his tenderness and his touch.
At length she pulled back, kissing him again and grabbing his face in her hands. “I have missed you so badly! You could never understand. I have so many things to tell you that you must know,” she said.
“It appears you already know more than is good for you,” Gen replied. “It is dangerous for you to know who I am, Chalaine.”
“I have taken the name Alumira’rei Se Ellenwei now,” she said, and kissed him again. “And, as of tonight, I know what it really means. I have a heart full of things to say to you. Please listen.”
“Let me find another chair,” he offered.
“No, you sit down,” she said. “I think pacing might help me get through it. But. . .” and she pulled his head in for another long pull at his lips, “you have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that!”
She shoved him down in the chair and stood in front of him. Where to begin?! He stared up at her patiently, and she rejoiced to see the tender affection there that she always hoped he felt for her. “Oh, Gen, how can I explain all this?”
Footsteps squeaking the boards inside the house startled her, and she cast about for the veil she had discarded.
“Your Ladyship?”
Dason! She dared not turn around without her veil. Gen said a strange word, and Dason collapsed, face impacting painfully with the balustrade on the way down.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Gen said, and the Chalaine laughed. “But I find that it is a bit crowded here all of a sudden. Collect your veil, and we’ll find somewhere with fewer unconscious people to bother us.”
While he dragged Dason over to the chair and propped him up in it, she picked her veil off the floor.
Once he finished arranging Dason, Gen took her hand. “Hold on.” He incanted again and she suddenly felt as light as air. With ease they drifted over the balustrade and down into the garden where their weight returned.
“You’ve learned a few more tricks,” she said appreciatively.
“I use them to impress the ladies,” he joked. “Come, the Chapel looks abandoned.”
She took his hand and wrapped it around her waist as they walked through the garden and up the short stone stairs. The large wooden door swung open ponderously and they slipped inside, the building completely dark. Using his magic, Gen created a globe of light to guide them through the row of benches until they took a seat in the middle. Gen sat and she sat on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He let the light fade and drew her in, and they kissed, relishing one another’s closeness.
“I believe you wanted to tell me something,” Gen said. “But if you want to do this a while longer, I won’t complain.”
The Chalaine snuggled into him as deeply as she could and told him everything, her lies about not loving him, the guilt she felt for loving him, and her utter despair at seeing him killed at Butchers gap. She told him of her months of wedded loneliness serving Chertanne in his infirmity. She told him of the passion that had seared her soul with so much guilt before, a passion that now filled that same space with hope and joy. She told him how his touch had healed her that night on the ridge.
“I would ask if you still loved me, too, but I know,” she said. “It’s the only thing I know anymore.”
“You are easy to love,” he said. “I just never imagined I could have you.”
“You have me, Gen,” she assured him. “You’ve had me for longer than you know. Every part. And I will not have another.”
“Dason’s not going to be pleased,” Gen said.
“Hang Dason! You have no idea what mortification I’ve been through with that man since I was healed on the ridge. How I ever became infatuated with him, I will never know.”
Gen chuckled. “It’s not even two years since we first met, and I feel like we were all silly children back then. I have felt so weighed down for so long. The kisses helped, so thank you.”
She administered another dose to ensure he remained light of heart.
“You never seemed like a child to me, Gen. You were so severe and so intimidating when I first knew you! It took Fenna to soften you up a bit.”
“No, Alumira. It was finding a purpose, finding you.”
“And I’m glad you did. Fenna’s lucky Chertanne forced her to wed Geoff. My mother probably would have assassinated her before she let you two get within a hundred yards of a Church.”
Gen reached out and stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the soothing sensation. “Have you learned any way to stop the passing of time?” she said after a long while.
“I’m afraid not, or I would do it.”
She exhaled and shifted off his lap, taking his hand and sitting next to him.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Gen, I would never leave your side, but I’m afraid I must ask you leave mine one more time.”
“Mirelle.”
“I cannot leave her in Athan’s hands. I’m terrified at what he will do when he discovers our ruse. In his eyes, she knowingly aided the Ilch and almost caused the second death of Eldaloth. When he knows he’s been tricked, I fear he will be brutal. Cadaen wants to be gone already. Will you go with him for me?”
“I will,” said Gen, “but please stay close to Ethris. The Dark Guard will do little good against the kind of magic that Athan and the Council of Padras wield.”
“Do whatever it takes, Gen,” she ordered, face sober
, squeezing his hand to drive home the point.
“You know I will.”
“If they have hurt her, let your wrath be poured out enough for the both of us.”
“If they have hurt her, there will not be enough room for any wrath but my own.”
A chill ran down her spine at the edge in his voice, and she pitied Athan if he had behaved in the way her imagination thought he might. She leaned against Gen’s shoulder and they sat in silence for some time. How long would it take before someone realized that she was missing? Hours, if she were lucky.
“Now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark,” Gen said, “I can see that you are an exceptionally beautiful woman.”
She laughed quietly.
“Thank you for noticing. As for you, to be honest, I think I miss those scars of yours, and I’m not sure about this beard.” She gave it a tug. “And that ridiculous hat should be burned.”
“I don’t know what to do about my identity. The world thinks me a villain, and—although I look different—it isn’t different enough to fool anyone for long. Then there’s Maewen, who wants me to rise up as a leader. All I want to do is keep you safe, but Mikkik must be dealt with. I just don’t know how. What will you do when you get to Mikmir?”
“I think the truth has to start with me,” she said. “Once I am safe within the castle there, I can publish my version of the events and at least help people start to doubt. What Mikkik intends to do with his usurped position, I cannot guess. What is his purpose?”
Gen thought for a moment. “He has always sought the eradication of all good creatures on Ki’Hal, but if he starts ordering people killed, then he would lose his control.” He leaned back and ran his fingers through his long hair. “If he is patient, it may take time for him to reveal his scheme. We have to think and plan carefully.”
“My mother would be better at that,” the Chalaine said, feeling anxiety reasserting itself. “Can we go back to the kissing? I think I like that better, though just because I’m so willing to be affectionate, don’t think that you can just take advantage of me.”