by R. J. Larson
Naor had met Akabe? Intrigued now, Kien listened as the man continued, “E’en so, these kids know nothin’ of our ways—we’ll have to teach ’em that much.”
“They’re more than capable of learning.” With a trace of humor, Bryce said, “Actually, Lord Aeyrievale stole his wife away from her family on their wedding day.”
“Huh! Did they fight for her—knives ’n all?”
“They were too shocked.”
“Prob’ly glad to be rid of her,” Lissy snipped. “I hear prophets are naught but trouble. An’ who knows if she’s true! All prattle, I’d say.”
Kien bit his lip. Hard. Laughter would give away their presence. Ela’s grip loosened from his waist, making him look down at her.
She glared toward the balcony and huffed beneath her breath. “Oh!”
Clearly choosing a decorous retreat rather than beating Lissy with the branch, Ela flitted up the stairs once more. Kien followed slowly, trying desperately to keep quiet. Being caught eavesdropping on the locals wouldn’t enhance his boyish reputation.
By now Ela was leaning against the highest balcony’s decorative rail, clutching the branch tight. Probably praying for patience with Lissy.
Just as Kien climbed the last steps, an enormous shadow swept over them, and a huge golden beast flew down at Ela like a hawk stooping toward prey, its big talons extended.
Ela turned, screeched, and lashed out with the branch as the creature struck, lifting and knocking her over the rail. “Infinite!”
Amid a burst of light and gilded feathers, Ela dropped as Kien screamed her name.
16
Helpless, unable to scream, Ela glimpsed a giant form gusting past her toward the courtyard below. Was her beast-assailant turning for another attack? Impossible—the ground seemed to speed toward her. Ela shut her eyes. Oh, Infinite . . . !
“Unh!” All breath vanished from her lungs as she landed against something reasonably soft. And warm. With huge golden wings and gleaming fur-like down. An aeryon!
Surrounded by plumage, Ela fought for air to scream. Infinite? Help me!
Her Creator’s voice whispered, Look.
Daring frantic glances from side to side, Ela realized the aeryon was sprawled lifeless beneath her, half-hawk, half-feline, its upper talons and lower paws outstretched, incapable of clawing her again. If only she could breathe, she’d run! On the stairs above her, Kien screamed her name, but she couldn’t catch air to call him. Her lungs and throat refused to work.
“Lady!” Bryce came running from his small office. “Remain still. I’ve sent Naor’s wife for Prill!”
Remain still? Excepting her eyes, she couldn’t move in the least. Tears streaked her face as she fought pain and the horrible breathlessness. Just as her eyesight began to darken and dim, she finally managed to suck in a whisper of air, clearing her sight and thoughts.
Infinite? Thank You!
She didn’t regret the prayer, but the breath—ugh! This dead beast stank worse than the taste of Bannulk cheese, with overtones of scorched feathers.
Ela squirmed and willed her throat and lungs to pull in more air.
Kien reached her now, touching her face and staring her in the eyes. “Infinite, bless You! Ela, hold still! Bryce, how did the beast catch us unawares? Not a sound! No warning—where did it come from?”
If ever a man sounded penitent, Bryce did now, and his thin face looked so pained, so earnest, that Ela longed to console him as he apologized. “My lord, my lady, forgive me. I should have inspected the abandoned towers. It’s likely a pair of aeryons are nesting above. They are viciously protective of their territories.”
Kien scowled as he smoothed his hands over Ela’s face and head, and along her neck. “Well, now that Aeyrievale has reclaimed its revenues, those towers will be manned from this day onward! If a nest is found, remove it—relocate it! I don’t care what you do or spend, just protect our household and the village from further attacks.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Behind Kien, Naor said, “I’d say ’twas th’ same beast scarin’ my Lissy last week. Hates women! Dunno why.”
Veils fluttering, Prill scurried toward them now, accompanied by the gawping Mallissa. Prill gasped, “Ela! What happened!”
Wasn’t it obvious? Ela squirmed again, catching another breath, and glimpsing the huge stark-dead aeryon. The creature lay ingloriously on its back, spread-winged, its crested head oddly turned, the long beak open, and those cruel, curving talons out as if forever attempting to reach for prey.
“Ela,” Kien scolded tenderly, “hold still and let me finish checking you for injuries.”
She looked up at him and finally managed to speak. “I’ll live.”
He sighed and kissed her. “You must!”
By now, Prill, Mallissa, and Naor were staring down at her, all horrified, intensifying her longing to escape. And from far away, Ela heard shouts, whistles, and destroyer-calls. Pet and Flame were undoubtedly trying to reach her despite their chains, the gates, and mighty walls of stone. Kien, however, ignored everything but her. Cautiously, he pressed her hands and arms. “Tell me if this causes pain, love.”
As Prill began to check Ela’s feet and legs, Naor complained to Mallissa and Bryce, “I’m smellin’ burnt feathers ’n flesh.”
The three inspected the dead aeryon’s talons, flanks, and feline rump and paws. Lissy gasped. Bryce coughed. “Lady Aeyrievale, you struck this beast with the prophet’s branch, am I right?”
“Yes, I—” Ela managed to force some strength into her words. “I was trying to defend myself.” The branch. Where was the branch?
By now, Naor was nudging Lissy, who giggled. Bryce actually chuckled. Ela feared to ask why. But Kien scowled while checking Ela’s ribs. “What are you three snickering about?”
“Well, my lord . . .” Bryce coughed again. “Lady Aeyrievale roasted the aeryon’s hindquarters mid-flight.”
“I didn’t!” Diverted from her concern over the missing branch, Ela grabbed Kien’s arms and struggled to sit up.
Naor whooped, obviously unable to contain his laughter. “Ha-ha! Beware the lady’s cookin’!”
As Ela turned to see the damage she’d inflicted on the aeryon, Kien stopped her. Prill shrieked and whipped off her veiling. “Oh my! Ela, hold still.”
“Why? I don’t feel anything—it can’t be as awful as my scaln scratches.” Even as she spoke, a trickle along her shoulder blade hinted at a bloodied injury. All right. Now she felt a stinging and the myriad pains of emerging bruises. She froze, allowing Kien and Prill to wad the veiling against her shoulder.
Obviously trying to be optimistic, Kien murmured, “You’ve got a gouge where the aeryon hit you. We’ll clean it thoroughly, love—but I fear you’ll have quite a scar.”
“Another one?”
Naor sobered, his voice doubtful. “Did you say scaln scratches?”
As Kien supported Ela and pressed a fabric pad tight against the oozing wound, Prill pointed to the rippled scars along Ela’s ankles and shins, briefly allowing the gawking couple to inspect the pink-purple striations before she smoothed Ela’s robes, covering the marks.
Naor stuttered an incoherent protest. “How . . .” Clearly flabbergasted, he tried again. “How’d you survive? Scaln venom ’n all.”
Did she hear a bit of respect in the man’s voice? Mallissa was leaning forward, obviously straining to catch Ela’s reply. “The Infinite healed me, though I didn’t deserve it. Just as He protected me today.”
“Yes,” Kien smiled, some of the tension fading from his face. “Praise the Infinite, and pray my wife behaves while healing.”
Ela widened her eyes at him, indignant. Kien grinned and kissed her. “If you intend to appear threatening, love, that look won’t succeed.” He drew back slightly, imitating fear. “I suppose I ought to be afraid of you—roasting aeryons alive!”
“Searing the aeryon wasn’t my idea.”
“Whatever you say, Prophet.”
> Infinite? Did the aeryon have to be roasted? She’d never—for as long or short as she lived—be able to suppress this story and the jokes about her cooking. But she’d had nothing to say in the matter. The branch had seared that—
“The branch!” Ela looked around. “Infinite? Where is it?” She closed her eyes and prayed.
Light flashed between her fingers and solidified into her precious insignia. Ela cradled the branch, exhaling her gratitude. “Thank You.”
Kien recoiled a bit, startled. “Don’t toast me!”
“I’ll want to if you’re forever teasing me about this!”
“I’m glad you have the strength to threaten me. Now I’m going to carry you inside.” Gently, Kien scooped her into his arms and stood. “Tell me if I’m causing you more pain.”
Aware of the silence surrounding them, Ela glanced at her companions. Having seen the branch materialize from nothingness before, Bryce and Prill were reasonably composed. But Naor and Lissy lifted their mutual gazes from the sacred emblem to her, visibly terrified.
Fearing they might run away in fear, Ela said, “Don’t worry. You’re not in the least danger.”
Mallissa looked and sounded faint. “Indeed . . . lady?”
Naor braced his wife as he spoke to Kien and Ela. “M’lord. M’lady. We’ll drag th’ aeryon from here ’n save its feathers ’n down for you. Just tell us whatever else needs doin’. It’ll be done.”
Kien nodded, admirably solemn. “Thank you both.” Ela managed a smile. A victory. Painfully won, but a victory nonetheless. Even so, she hurt everywhere now. And . . .
Infinite, she didn’t want to be remembered as the Lady Aeyrievale who roasted aeryons!
Too miserable to complain, Ela drooped against Kien as he carried her inside the manor. While Bryce and Prill marched ahead of them, opening doors—with Bryce calling orders to the servants and Prill requesting bandages and ointments—Kien whispered to Ela, “If anything happens to you, love, I will not recover!” His every inflection conveying fear, he breathed, “You must live, or let me die before you! Do not leave me alone in Siphra!”
She stared up at him, unable to offer the reassurance he needed.
Loathing his formal robes and the necessity of this process, Akabe released a silent breath of prayer as his guards led the Thaenfall cousin into Siphra’s throne room. The man was clean, but gaunt, sallow, and so hostile he was snarling as the guards forced him to kneel before Akabe. Amazing energy for a man who’d half-starved himself during the three weeks he’d been questioned and investigated.
Nearby, Caitria—pale in her crimson-and-gold tunic—shifted slightly on her cushioned bench. Her movement, faint as it was, drew Akabe’s attention.
And her cousin’s attention.
The man’s gaze narrowed, condemning Caitria. “Majesty. You’re no Thaenfall if you do nothing while your people are being robbed of their freedoms!”
Akabe fought to keep himself from reacting. Was the man trying to goad Caitria into rebellion?
“What are you saying, sir?” Caitria lifted her chin, a furious blush tingeing her face. Akabe watched, captivated while she continued. “Have the Thaenfalls concerned themselves with me, ever? No! And now, though I’ve honored my family, I’m here, abandoned!”
The Thaenfall cousin smiled, distinctly unsympathetic. “Abandoned? Yes. And condemned. After all, you and your lord-father are both traitors . . . selling him that land. How long will you survive me, cousin, eh? You should have resisted—”
“Stop!” Akabe leaned forward, furious. “You will not threaten the queen. She was unable to prevent the sale and should not be condemned for it!”
“Tell that to your enemies—I’m finished!” the man snapped. He gazed past Akabe, his gaunt face now a hollowed mask. And he refused to say another word despite requests from his own legal advisor.
The public ordeal continued. The royal guards and the king’s surgeon, Riddig Tyne, testified that this Thaenfall relative was the same man who’d attacked the king three weeks past. Sickened, Akabe declined to pass a sentence.
The royal council, seated below his throne to the right, condemned the Thaenfall assassin to death.
Convicted, the man shot a final accusing glare at the silent Caitria before the guards led him away to his execution. Though she didn’t move, unshed tears glittered in Caitria’s eyes.
As Akabe clasped his wife’s cold hand and led her from Siphra’s throne room, she whispered shakily, “By all I’ve read, sir, a hated queen is never forgiven, and you have enough troubles. You should set me aside.”
Were her fears for him as much as for herself? Akabe prayed it was the truth. For all her stubbornness, Caitria wasn’t the one to be blamed for her situation.
He was.
Could he protect her from vengeful Ateans if he set her aside?
Aware of his courtiers all staring at them, doubtless trying to read their faces and lips, Akabe murmured, “Lady, you’ve read the wrong books. And you’ve been queen for two months—too soon for anyone to pass judgments. I won’t discuss setting you aside.”
Even as he spoke, Akabe’s thoughts sped through his plans. He’d been so zealous to acquire those temple lands that one thing hadn’t occurred to him: The instant he’d married Caitria, she and her family had become traitors to the Ateans for bringing the sacred land into his control. He’d made her a target for death. Which brought up another thought. “Have you heard from your lord-father?”
For an instant, she hesitated, as if unable to speak. Then she said, “I wrote to him one month ago, asking for my books . . . my other belongings. My message was returned last week. The servants said that after our wedding, my lord-father and Cyril paid their debts, then left on an extended journey and refused to divulge their destination. But I believe they’re hiding, because of the temple.”
Hiding? Akabe hoped so. Otherwise, after such a long absence, Caitria’s father and brother must be dead, executed by Ateans for enabling the temple to be rebuilt.
“You should have told me about your lord-father.”
Toneless, she said, “Perhaps it’s best he remain hidden.”
As she should be hidden.
Infinite? Akabe eyed his wife as they walked. How could he save her?
Barth scampered toward Akabe from where he’d been standing with his mannerly father. Lord Siymont offered gracious obeisance as his small son trotted behind Akabe to follow him. “Majesties,” Siymont murmured.
Caitria’s somber face lit with a smile, beautiful to see. Understandably she was fonder of Barth than anyone else in this marble prison of a palace. Akabe suspected she would be a doting mother . . . if they survived to become parents.
Yet a child would surely present another battleground, a realm of emotional conflict, pitting the royal council against the queen and her Atean family.
Sickening thought. Not the sort of life he’d ever imagined for his wife and children.
Infinite, let my plan work! Save us and let my enemies be confounded.
Let my wife turn to You. . . .
He must implement his plan and send for Kien and Ela.
Now.
As her smile faded, Caitria nearly stumbled, bringing herself to reality once more.
Today, one of her cousins would die a traitor.
Today, she’d faced a silent, unseen court of enemies while her father and brother had fled unseen, abandoning her like cowards. Had they joined Atean conspirators? Swallowing, she forced herself to accept the truth. Her own relatives might kill her.
And she could do nothing but continue to walk beside the man who’d unintentionally fomented this lethal tidal wave of hatred that would claim both their lives.
But why must Akabe die? He was very nearly perfect, except that he believed in that ancient, antiquated Infinite. And he persisted in building that horrid temple!
Caitria paused. Oh . . . Had she—like some naïve little fool from an epic poem—fallen in love with her husband despite t
heir differences?
Even as Caitria faltered over the realization, Akabe squeezed her cold hand, warming it within his own. When she looked up at him, Akabe smiled, his golden brown eyes and those dimples encouraging her to pretend that they might survive the coming maelstrom of Atean conspiracies.
17
Heedless of her wild hair and her randomly snatched tunic and robes, Ela ran through the dawn-lit courtyard toward the huge arched stone gate. Wonderful, after four weeks, to finally rush around without pain! Unless, of course, she stepped on a jagged rock and gouged her foot.
Behind her, still descending the stairs, Kien yelled, “Slow down, Ela! You’ll trip and hurt yourself again.”
She turned and waited, folding her arms to express her impatience. “My lord, you sound like some old married man! And you’re walking too slowly.”
Though he was certainly worth waiting for.
Infinite? Wasn’t a month of marriage supposed to cure her of infatuation?
Kien’s reply was obliterated by a low, vibrant destroyer-call. Remembering her reason for standing barefoot and rumpled in the courtyard before breakfast, Ela tugged her husband’s sleeve. “Pet’s calling, and Flame is waiting!”
“Which is why you don’t need to run. And his name is Scythe.” Kien wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, provoking a jab of pain.
“Ow! The shoulder . . . careful of the shoulder.”
He winced in sympathy, sliding his hand to her waist. “Sorry. You’ve seemed so perfectly healed that I forgot.”
They hurried through the highest gate, nodding to the grinning guard before descending into the huge stable arena. Pet leaned over a stone barrier, whickering invitingly. Ela kissed the destroyer’s big face and smoothed his neck. “Will she allow us to see your baby?”
But even as Ela asked, Flame beckoned her from the wide, stone-sheltered pen adjacent to Pet’s. Ela crooned, “Ooo, there’s the beautiful mama!”