Tae wondered if the bloodline alone might do so. Béarn had a long history of naive, simple-minded kings. He wisely kept the thought to himself.
“Being the bard, Darris serves as the king’s bodyguard and most trusted adviser, not to mention my beloved.” Matrinka shrugged, a slight smile tugging at her features as she gazed lovingly at the baby. Nothing further needed saying.
“I came here because I heard King Griff announcing the birth of his daughter from the balcony. Darris was with him, of course. Neither one mentioned the deception.”
“It’s not really a deception,” Matrinka insisted. “Béarnian law defines parentage by marriage at the time of birth, not by blood.” She hugged the baby closer, as if to remind herself of its reality. “It’s not exactly a secret. A few people know, and she will, too, of course.” Matrinka glanced at Tae. “I’d rather you didn’t speak of it. It’s really Marisole’s decision who to tell.”
“Marisole,” Tae repeated, believing nothing could reassure more than changing the subject. The arrangement pleased him, and he would never have believed Griff capable of such cleverness. “Is that her name?”
Matrinka nodded. “It will be.”
“Worthy of a princess.” They both knew Tae meant as opposed to “Griff.” Born to the exiled, youngest son of King Kohleran, Griff had never been expected to sit upon the throne.
The comment begged no answer, so Tae continued, still working to dispel the awkwardness that followed his discovery with conversation. He lowered his center of balance. “My children will have to be called ‘something’ Kahn.”
“Kahn? Like Tae Kahn?”
“Not Tae Kahn, no. That would get confusing.” He grinned to show he was joking.
“Why ‘something’ Kahn?” Matrinka settled into a gentle rocking motion. She shifted on the bed, supporting her back against the headboard. Childbirth had tired her.
“It’s a family thing, though not a long-standing one. My father started it. My grandfather gave him two names: Weile and Kahn.” Tae’s wiry shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t know why. Maybe he couldn’t agree with my grandmother. Anyway, it’s considered disrespectful to shorten a person’s name in the East, so my mother deliberately gave me a one syllable name. Who could shorten that? My father thought it too brief, so he added the Kahn and claimed it as tradition. It’s worked out well. Since it’s a whole separate name, people can drop it without offending.”
Matrinka yawned, then added sleepily. “I don’t know how well ‘Kahn’ will fit with a Renshai name. Assuming the Renshai accept him, of course.”
Her words made no sense to Tae. “Accept who?”
“Accept . . .” Matrinka trailed off, stiffening. “You don’t know, do you?”
“What don’t I know?” A clump of hair slid across Tae’s forehead. No matter how often he promised himself he’d attend to the soft locks, they always wound up in a snarl and in his eyes. His thoughts raced. Twice he had slept with their Renshai companion, Kevral, whom he loved; yet their friend, Ra-khir, had captured her heart as well. She had promised to choose between them once Griff took his throne, but circumstances had delayed that decision. Now, if he read Matrinka rightly, Kevral had borne him a child. His heart rate quickened to wild thumping, and he leaned forward in the chair. “Matrinka, you have to tell me.”
“I’m sorry I said anything.” Matrinka reached for Mior, and the cat wriggled under her free hand. “I made a mistake.”
“Matrinka,” Tae fairly pleaded. “You can’t leave me hanging after an announcement like that.”
“I’m sorry.” Matrinka’s tone revealed the sincerity of the words. “I really am. I made a mistake.”
“Matrinka—”
“I’m sorry. It’s not for me to say more. You’ll have to talk to Kevral.”
Restlessness assailed Tae, and he sprang from the chair. “Is he—is he—?”
“Tae, I can’t tell you anything. I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least tell me where to find Kevral?” Tae paced toward the window.
“Fourth floor. Same wing. And, Tae . . .”
Tae slid out before Matrinka could finish the sentence, the words chasing after him.
“. . . use the door.”
Tae refused to waste even the few moments it would take to negotiate the hallways, let alone explain his sudden presence to the guards. He scrambled down the granite without bothering with his gauntlets, preferring the risk of death to delay. It seemed he had a son, Kevral’s son, and surely the hand of his lady as well. His father had made many mistakes raising him that he would never repeat. Tae’s son would have the perfect upbringing. Whatever he wished to become, his father would not be the cause of any failure, would support any endeavor the child chose.
The first few windows granted Tae glimpses of empty libraries that left him mad with impatience. As he gazed into the third, he discovered shelves covered with toys and two bassinets. Anticipation shivered through his chest, and his throat suddenly felt engorged. Planting both hands firmly on the sill, he eased through without a sound. The faint snores of a congested infant touched his ears. He crept around the tiny cribs. The noise emanated from the first, a chubby baby with sparse red-blond hair and tiny pink lips pursed in sleep. Tae turned his attention to the other: smaller, lighter, its skin nearly as swarthy as his own. Raven hair draped over its forehead, and dark eyes rolled toward his face. Though Easterners and Béarnides looked similar, the thinness of the hair and the slightness of build suggested the former. Tae stared, unable to move, certain he looked upon his own child.
I’m a father? The thought failed to register. Tae tried again. I’m a father! Nothing. He hefted the infant, its weight meager in his arms. “I’m your papa,” he whispered, worried he might awaken the other occupant of the nursery.
The baby thrust a hand into Tae’s face, clumsily grabbing the hair flopping over his eyes.
“Hey!” At that moment, a rush of understanding hit Tae low in the stomach. Love seemed to pour forth like water through a broken dam. Nearly overcome, he tightened his hold on the baby and reveled in the tears filling his eyes. “My son,” he said, hoping he spoke truth. Nothing had ever seemed more significant, and he hoped he had not hopelessly and eternally bonded with a stranger’s child.
Tae had to know immediately. Pausing only long enough to bind the baby to his chest with one of its blankets, he again slid out the window. Even as he did so, he cursed his impulsiveness. That’s right, stupid. Demonstrate your love by getting both of you killed. Hand over hand, he worked his way to the next window, acutely conscious of the additional warm weight against his chest. A peek through the opening revealed a bedroom, and he recognized Kevral’s boyish figure seated on a bench beside Ra-khir’s massive form. Not bothering with more details, Tae shoved aside the curtain and sprang inside.
Desperate instinct seized Tae. He glanced up, catching the blur of a descending sword. He dove into the room, rolling, curling his body protectively around the baby. The blade skimmed his shoulder, painless, the warm trickle of blood his only warning of injury. The additional weight threw off his usually graceful timing. The baby wailed.
Tae rose to a low crouch, one arm raised to block, the other supporting the infant. “Kevral, stop!” he managed, skittering from the path of a second attack. “It’s Tae.” He had barely dodged the Renshai’s awful speed in the past. Now, it seemed hopeless.
“Kevral, no!” Ra-khir’s strong voice boomed, too late.
Tae cringed, anticipating a third strike he could never avoid. He looked up into Kevral’s calm blue eyes and Northern-pale face. The year had added touches of femininity to her sinewy figure. Approaching seventeen, she had finally developed breasts, and a hint of hip flared her warrior tunic. The blonde locks remained functionally short and feathered away from her face, so as not to interfere with battle. Though she refused to wear her own hair long, she had expressed appreciation for Tae’s own wild locks, the main reason he had allowed them to grow during his
months of travel from the Eastlands to Pudar.
No longer menaced, Tae turned his attention to their companion. Dressed in the formal attire of the Knights of Erythane, Ra-khir wore a tunic displaying Béarn’s tan bear on a blue background. On the back, Tae knew, he would find Erythane’s symbol, a black sword thrust through an orange circle. As always, Ra-khir appeared immaculate, from the shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair to his unwrinkled garb, to his regal bearing. His features defined the male ideal, though he seemed not to notice. As he had so many times in the past, Tae marveled at the idea that he could compete for Kevral’s affection with this paragon.
“What in Hel are you doing?” Kevral slammed her sword into its sheath. “You could have killed him!”
The baby’s howls ended, and it snuggled against Tae, its breaths post-cry snorts and sobs.
Tae hugged the infant, trying to dispel the tension with humor. “As usual, a rousing welcome.” His quiet entrances had nearly earned him death at her hands before, though every other instance had occurred in battle. He had not anticipated violence in her own chambers.
Kevral’s features bunched tighter, and her mouth thinned to an angry line.
“You’re right,” Tae said in honest apology. “I shouldn’t have carried him through the window. I won’t do it again.” He could not help adding, “But you’re the one who almost cut us both in half.”
“I’m sorry.” Rage disappeared from Kevral’s demeanor and she hesitated, as if uncertain whether to hug Tae or retreat to give him air.
Tae made the decision for her, standing and embracing her with a caution that did not menace the baby.
Kevral glanced at Ra-khir before clamping her hands around Tae’s shoulders. She jerked back immediately, blood smeared across her right palm. “Oh, Tae.”
The baby went silent, quietly watching.
The sight of the blood brought an abrupt rush of pain that excitement had previously held at bay. “Just a scratch.” Tae managed to keep his voice steady and hoped his eyes did not betray him.
“We’re going to need a bucket to collect the blood from that so-called scratch.” Ra-khir jerked a handkerchief from his pocket, clamping it to the wound with a firm suddenness that doubled the pain. He led Tae to a chair.
Kevral slipped the baby from Tae’s makeshift pouch, cradling the child in her arms. “You’re all right, little one.” He wiped tears from the tiny eyes.
“Tell him his father is an idiot,” Ra-khir said from behind Tae.
“Ahh,” Tae quipped. “So he is my son.”
“Yes,” Ra-khir admitted. “But we’re hoping he’ll inherit his mother’s survival instinct.” He continued pointedly, “And his mother’s Renshai.” He sounded amazingly good-spirited for a man who had, apparently, lost the competition for his beloved. Surely, Kevral would see the need to marry her baby’s father. “We’re glad you’re back, of course, Tae. But you should know better than to surprise a Renshai, especially when there’re more lives than just yours at stake.”
It was a point well-taken. Renshai became warriors the day their baby fists could close around a sword, and their lessons began as soon as they could walk. Dedicated wholly to dying in the glory of battle, their training included instant, violent reaction to threat. “So this wasn’t punishment enough?” Tae waved in the general direction of the injury, swiveling his head to see Ra-khir behind him. “I have to suffer through a lecture as well?”
“A lecture?” Ra-khir snorted. “Come to a ceremony led by knights sometime. A man hasn’t been born who can sit through one of them without fidgeting. Except the knights themselves, of course. It’s part of the training.”
“I think I could forgo that punishment and still consider my life complete.”
Baby tucked into the crook of her left arm, Kevral made a broad gesture with the right. “How’s it look?”
Removing the handkerchief, Ra-khir examined the wound. “Not all that bad. The bleeding’s stopped. We’ll have a healer take a look at it in a bit. Right now, you have much to talk about, and I’d like to excuse myself if neither of you minds.” The humor disappeared too quickly, leaving tension in its wake.
Tae nodded stiffly, and Kevral waved in dismissal. Ra-khir headed from the room. The door clicked closed behind him.
Still clutching the baby, Kevral turned away. “How did you find out?”
Tae refused to implicate Matrinka. “It doesn’t matter. You should have told me.”
“When?” Kevral turned back to face Tae. She walked to the chair. “This is the first chance I had.”
“What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have one yet.” Kevral studied the baby, watching his eyes droop shut and his breathing settle to the slow rhythm of sleep. “The Renshai have to interview you to decide whether or not to accept him into the tribe. If they do, he’ll undergo the training and be granted the name of a warrior who died in glory. One who will watch down on him from Valhalla.”
“Oh,” Tae said, other matters more pertinent at the moment. “Well. This may seem a bit late, but circumstances being what they are . . .” He slipped from the chair to his knees. “Will you marry me?”
Kevral winced.
Tae would have preferred almost any other response. “I thought you might want to marry the father of your baby.”
“I did marry the father of my baby.” Kevral placed the infant on the bed.
Tae’s heart froze in his chest. His mouth refused to function, but his thoughts raced back to words Matrinka had spoken: Béarnian law defines parentage by marriage at the time of birth, not blood. “Oh, no.” Tears filled Tae’s eyes, and now he looked away. “Oh, no.” He could still feel the impression of the baby against his skin. I’ve lost Kevral and my child. He wondered if his presence could have saved that bond, cursed the day he had decided to return to the East and make peace with his own father. For the second time in less than an hour, he discovered only irony. The price for finding a father turned out to be losing a son.
Kevral’s free hand circled around his. It felt hot compared with the chill that numbed him. “Didn’t you notice two babies. Tae? They’re twins. Boys. The other one is Ra-khir’s.”
“Twins?” Confusion partially displaced grief. “With different fathers? That’s impossible.”
“Everyone says that. Including me, at first. It’s rare but not impossible.”
Realization became more important than arguing. “You married Ra-khir?” Tae found himself incapable of looking at Kevral. He had never doubted she would do so, but the reality struck harder than he expected, especially after he had become so certain that he had won her hand.
“I’m sorry, Tae. It was a difficult choice. Almost impossible. Had things happened differently, I might have married you. I love you.”
At the moment, the words consoled little. “But not enough to parent my own child.”
Kevral’s hands tightened around Tae’s. “Of course, enough for that.”
Tae jerked his fingers free and finally looked directly at Kevral, eyes glaring and jaw fiercely clenched. “Don’t toy with me. I know the law.”
Kevral met his gaze with innocent bewilderment. “What law?”
“Béarnian law. The one that defines a baby’s father by marriage prior to its birth.”
Kevral’s lips twitched. “First, I’m Renshai. I’m not constrained by Béarn’s social order. If I were, the babies would have no fathers at all. We only married a few weeks ago. The twins are three months old.”
Tae blinked, uncertain where Kevral was headed, and thus unable to concentrate on a single emotion. Grief and anger trickled away but did not disappear. The wrong words could spark either to a bonfire.
Kevral placed an arm around Tae’s shoulders and led him back to the chair. She pulled up another beside him. Only now, he noticed the furnishings, plain compared to Matrinka’s yet clearly Béarnian. Bears predominated in the carvings, the dressers, chairs, and bed sturdily constructed. “Ra-khir’s mother and fa
ther parted ways when he was little. She quickly remarried and attempted to convince Ra-khir his stepfather was really his father. When he discovered the truth, his mother told terrible lies about his father.” She shook her head, though whether at the foolishness of Ra-khir’s mother or the idea that anyone could believe ill of Knight-Captain Kedrin, he did not know. “Eventually, she forced Ra-khir to choose to associate with either her or Kedrin, not both.”
Tae nodded. He knew much of the story from conversations he and the young Knight of Erythane had shared alone. The hatred Ra-khir still harbored for mother and stepfather seemed the only chink in an otherwise flawless sense of honor.
Kevral studied Tae as if her next words should seem obvious. When he only waited for more, she finally continued. “He’s not about to steal your son.”
My son. Tae found himself smiling. He rose and took the baby, who awakened at the jostling. For second place, he had done as well as he could ever have hoped, his life permanently entwined with the woman he adored, their son a living testament of their love. He studied the darkening eyes that still held a hint of their birth blue. Thin, black hair trickled over the forehead, so like his own. The facial shape, narrow in the forehead, softly rounded cheekbones, and gentle chin resembled neither himself nor Kevral but, Tae realized suddenly, his own father.
Tae did not know how long he sat in silent discovery, but he abruptly became aware of a prolonged hush and that he rocked the baby without realizing he did so. The small lids drifted closed again, and Tae could not suppress a proud, admiring smile. However, the words he had to speak quickly banished the grin. Prolonging the question would not change the situation. “What happens now?”
Kevral’s gaze drifted to the baby, and a softness crossed her usually too-somber features. “We need to present you and Ra-khir to the Renshai’s current leaders. They have to decide if they think your bloodlines add enough to the tribe to admit one or both of the boys.”
The Children of Wrath Page 2