The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Is that what’s bothering him? Matrinka studied the damage, doubting the thought as it arose. Tae had gotten hurt many times in his life, often without anyone to tend him. He knew such a wound would eventually heal, even without the assistance of healers. “Captain says neither El-brinith nor Chan’rék’ril have much healing ability.” Actually, Captain had claimed they lacked the fine finesse of the best elfin healers, though they could perform the gross necessities in life-threatening situations. She doubted such specifics would interest Tae, however, especially now. She ran gentle fingers along his scratches. At least the elf’s magic had initiated the healing process, making the wounds appear several days old. She had not done as thorough a job on Tae’s nose, probably flustered when the eye changes occurred.

  “Perfect,” Tae said bitterly. “No healers at all.”

  “I know about Perlia.” Matrinka set to work with a soothing balm that would take away the sting and ward against infection. She could do little for Tae’s nose, but she believed Captain’s or Tem’aree’ay’s magic might prove more useful, if she could convince Tae to allow their ministrations. “The real Perlia showed up shortly after you left. I’m not sure why the girl impersonated her, but there’s not much we can do about it now.”

  Tae muttered something that Matrinka felt certain she would feel better never deciphering. He added, more directly, “Anyone here had better guard their gold. If Rascal gets any, she’s gone and the mission ruined.”

  “Tae!” Matrinka reprimanded. “That’s not nice.”

  “It’s true.” Tae finally rolled his dark gaze to Matrinka. “You’d best make damn certain she doesn’t leave the castle between tasks.”

  “Tae . . .” Matrinka started again.

  “I’m not kidding.”

  Finished with the salve, Matrinka replaced it with a damp bandage. She started cleaning the dried blood from his nose with subtle pressure so as not to hurt him more than necessary. Now that she had him talking, the time seemed right. “What happened, Tae?”

  “Had a run-in with a demon.”

  Matrinka’s head jerked up. “Really?”

  “No,” Tae said. “Not really. At least not in the way you think I mean.”

  “So what do you mean?”

  Tae sighed, barely wincing, hiding the pain. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  The words were insult. “This is Matrinka you’re talking to.”

  Tae closed his eyes, clearly fighting the need to pull away from her hands. “You wouldn’t understand. Just leave it at that.”

  For the moment, Matrinka did. Wadding up a bandage smeared with old blood, she sat on her haunches. “I can’t do much more there, though Captain might. Any other injuries?”

  Tae rolled up his sleeve to reveal a circular bruise, darker at the periphery. There, too, the skin lay broken in several places, ridged with clotted blood.

  Matrinka studied it, recognizing it as a human bite. She turned Tae a measuring gaze. “What makes you so sure I wouldn’t understand?” She rooted through the pack for the anti-infection salve and a fresh bandage.

  Tae watched Matrinka’s every movement. “It involves street mentality. Stubbornness. Stupidity. Frustration.”

  “Three out of four,” Matrinka returned. “Give me a chance.” She scrubbed at the injury.

  Tae tensed, barely stopping himself from jerking free. “You wouldn’t understand.” His tone turned sullen. “You’ve never known disappointment.”

  Matrinka froze. Slowly, her gaze swept along Tae’s arm, to his shoulder, then across his ruined face to his eyes. “Excuse me?”

  Tae loosed a wordless noise of frustration. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You don’t know what it’s like to have nothing, to steal what you need, and to have to fight to keep what little you gain. You don’t know what it’s like to want something desperately and know you’ll never have it.”

  “Don’t I?” Matrinka caught a trickle of blood from a reopened wound with the bandage. Human bites notoriously became infected, and she would have to open and clean out each healing area. “Is that really what you think?”

  “Well . . .” Tae started. “You were always a princess.”

  “So you think I got everything, and it was slathered in silver and accompanied by fanfares?”

  Tae’s silence spoke louder than an answer.

  Matrinka stopped working to emphasize her point. “You know, Tae, for someone who worries that I can’t understand his outlook, you sure don’t notice mine.”

  Tae scrambled for diplomacy. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to say there’s anything wrong with being born royal. Hel, I’d have done it if I could have.”

  “I’m going to assume irritation has blunted your ability to think.” Matrinka set back to work, ignoring the pain she caused Tae. “You’ve got a country to satisfy, knowing that doing or saying the wrong thing could spark a war that sees thousands killed. You’ve got a son whose childhood you can’t enjoy because you spend every moment examining every action or utterance to make certain you’re doing everything right—and you spend more time beating yourself up for making mistakes. You’re trapped, forever tied to a woman you want but can’t ever have. You’re torn in ten million directions, and in the need to handle others, you’ve lost yourself.” Matrinka stared fiercely. “Has your life really gotten that much simpler since you’ve become royalty?”

  “Infinitely more complicated,” Tae admitted, appearing clearly impressed with Matrinka’s ability to read his situation.

  “I wanted to be queen,” Matrinka said softly, mind returning to the staff-test. Sometimes, late at night, she could still feel doubts hemming her and the condemnation of a god-mediated test that had deemed her unworthy.

  “You are queen,” Tae reminded.

  “Not the way I wanted to be.” Matrinka scrubbed at the bite. “I wanted to earn the title on my own merits, to feel comfortable knowing that my decisions, my very morality, would benefit Béarn and the world.”

  Tae’s opposite hand drifted toward the bite, though he did not interfere with Matrinka’s work. “You’re still upset about the staff-test?”

  “Tae, think about what happened to the others who failed it.” Matrinka’s thoughts went immediately to her cousin Xyxthris who had betrayed Béarn to the svartalf, was imprisoned, then hanged himself in the cell with his own twisted clothing. Other cousins had suicided, murdered one another, or became hopelessly dependent on mind-numbing medicines or alcohol. “Do you think I’m different?”

  “Clearly,” Tae said carefully, “you are.”

  “It didn’t come without a struggle every bit as difficult and life-threatening as weathering winter nights in makeshift shelters.” Matrinka cracked another scabbing hole. “And my own demons still haunt me late at night or whenever Griff leaves a decision to me.”

  Tae nodded.

  Matrinka continued, “Look, I’m not belittling starvation, exposure, or getting raped and brutally murdered by predators on the street.”

  Tae looked at Matrinka as if he never expected her to know the details of a street orphan’s life.

  “I’m just saying that different lifestyles come with different troubles. Having gold doesn’t make a person happy.” Matrinka turned Tae a lopsided grin. “In fact, having a single gold piece could make a street thief ecstatic where a roomful might not budge the mood of a lonely king.” Bittersweet memories indulged the smile. “I would trade my title and all my wealth to have married Darris.”

  Tae whirled toward Matrinka, arm jerking from her grip and splashing blood on the coverlet. “I’ve never understood why you didn’t.”

  That being her early point, Matrinka raised her brows. Tae’s origin would never allow him to comprehend the pain she would have caused her grandfather and family by renouncing her blood ties. That they had died did not matter; she could not dishonor the memory of those she loved, not even for one she loved as much. And the populace had made their wishes as well. To rescue the diminishing blood
line, the only one that spawned the innocent neutral kings that the high position required, they had insisted upon her marriage to Griff. It went against both of their wishes, yet they could have done nothing else. The lowest born will never know how little joy, how little freedom that wealth and status confer. How many of them would choose to buy such imprisonment if they truly understood the details. “Tae, let’s agree that neither of us will ever wholly understand the other, but that all people share the same emotions. And assist one another so far as that weakness allows.”

  The angry lines disappeared from around Tae’s mouth, though he did not smile. “All right,” he agreed.

  “The problem?” Matrinka reminded.

  “It’s that little street thief. Rascal.”

  Matrinka could have guessed that easily enough. “She’s the one who caused this?” She indicated the bite and the facial injuries with a single gesture.

  “Yeah.” Tae lowered his head but not before Matrinka thought she detected a hint of smile.

  Matrinka worked on another break in his skin. “I had thought you beyond worrying about getting the best of every battle.”

  “I got hammered by a little girl.”

  “Tae,” Matrinka let a tinge of reproach slip into her tone. “You won that battle by staying cool and resisting the urge to hurt her as badly as she hurt you. Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Needed,” Tae corrected. “And it remains to be seen.”

  Matrinka put the pieces together easily. “So, you’re upset because you—” Wild scratching at the door interrupted Matrinka’s question. “Mior.” She glanced at Tae. “Do you mind if I let her in?”

  Tae waved toward the door, indicating Matrinka should do as she requested. He and the cat had always managed a close relationship, though they could not communicate.

  Matrinka opened the door, and the calico squeezed through the smallest crack. Mior complained even as she rubbed across Matrinka’s calves. *Why did you leave me?*

  *I didn’t leave you,* Matrinka reminded fruitlessly. *You wanted to nap with Marisole. Remember?*

  *You said you were going to do boring kingdom stuff. You didn’t mention Tae.*

  *I didn’t realize he needed me then.*

  *You should have come got me.*

  Knowing Mior would never drop the matter, and Tae waited while they conversed, Matrinka made no reply. Mior would insist on the last word anyway. The queen moved back into position to work on Tae’s arm. She searched for the thread of the conversation, only to get struck with sudden worry. *Who’s with Marisole?*

  *Her papa. They’re having a great time. Same mental level.*

  *Mior!*

  Dropping the sidetrack, Mior returned to the original matter, *Tae needs me, too. You know, petting cats has healing properties.*

  *Uh-huh.*

  “You’re right,” Tae said. “I’m not really upset about the fight. It’s Rascal.”

  *It does,* Mior insisted. *It makes people feel better. And that makes them heal better.*

  *It makes them feel better? Or you?*

  *What’s wrong with mutual benefit?* Mior hopped into Tae’s lap.

  Tae ran his good hand over the colorful patches of fur. “Are you listening to me? Or to Mior?”

  “Both,” Matrinka admitted, giving the cat a warning glare. “But Mior is going to shut up now so I can give you my full attention.”

  *Only for Tae,* Mior returned, implying not only that she would not do so in other situations, but also that she did not quiet for her mistress.

  “If not the . . . cosmetic changes . . . what about Rascal is troubling you?” Matrinka seized the conversation to prove she had not let the animal fully distract her.

  “I can’t get through to her.” Tae threw up his free hand. “She’s on the fast track to misery and death, and nothing of reason works.”

  “Well,” Matrinka said, emphasizing each word. “I couldn’t possibly understand what it feels like to try to get through to a stubborn, irritating street thief too stupid to realize where his actions and attitude are leading him.”

  “Touché.” Tae chuckled. “So give me some advice. How did you get through to me?”

  Matrinka considered. “Time, Tae. And seizing teaching opportunities when they arose.” Finished, she tied a bandage to the wound and released his arm. “Mostly, I didn’t have to do anything. Your underlying goodness shone through all the bluster the streets taught you. You still hide behind it sometimes, but less and less often.”

  Tae started to speak, then stopped. He opened his mouth again, then closed it. A long hush followed, during which Mior’s loud purring filled the air and the cat sent a nonverbal message glorifying her own patience. Finally, Tae spoke, displaying the disillusioned weakness he had repressed until that moment. “But what if the other person doesn’t have any underlying goodness?” He cringed, lids gliding over his dark eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Matrinka ignored the chance to preach. She had come to help Tae, not to force her opinions upon him.

  “Dumb question. You’re just going to say there’s good in everyone.”

  Matrinka stepped back, placing her hands on her hips. “Give me some credit.”

  *You were going to say that,* Mior accused.

  Mior had a point Matrinka could not deny, so she ignored the cat. The queen’s healing studies had progressed to the workings of the mind, probably Mior’s basis for the ‘mental levels’ crack; and her tutor had discussed a situation just that morning that had definite applications to this situation.

  “I’m sorry,” Tae examined the bandage on his arm. “I shouldn’t assume.”

  Matrinka forced a smile. “Mior pointed out with her usual eloquence that I might have done exactly as you accused. There is good in everyone, though it’s buried deeper in some.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Tae?”

  He looked at her.

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  Tae shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head again. “I really don’t.”

  Matrinka believed she did. Tae saw the girl as his project, perhaps his way to pay the others back for teaching him to trust and care. His every success and failure had become bound to his self-worth.

  “Maybe if you spent some time with her,” Tae said with uncharacteristic meekness. “You’re good at this. You could get through to her.”

  Now, Matrinka shook her head. “The stress of the mission, the life-and-death situations you might face, these provide the background for teaching. I would have no luck at all trying to train her here, even if Captain’s magic could spare her.”

  *Besides,* Mior added, *she’s his project, not yours.*

  Mior’s insight never ceased to amaze Matrinka. *I just hope there’s a chance.*

  *Meaning?* Mior’s tail twitched wildly.

  *Tutor says there’s evidence that children whose basic needs aren’t met by someone in the first few years of life never learn to trust. They can’t ever fathom how others feel, so they hurt people without guilt.*

  Tae sucked in a huge mouthful of air, releasing it slowly. “Then I’ll have to do the best I can.”

  *Tell him what you told me.*

  Matrinka suffered her own twinge of guilt. *No.*

  Mior circled agitatedly. *He needs to know he has no chance for success.*

  *There’s always a chance. We don’t know Rascal’s early history. If I give Tae a reason to give up on her, he will. And no one else can or will help her.*

  *Who’s more important, Tae or a stranger?*

  Matrinka saw the point, knew a disastrous finish could devastate Tae, yet the thought of the girl losing her only opportunity for salvation ached, the stronger burden. If Tae triumphed, it would work wonders on his spirit. Tae, you don’t know how much I wish I could take this obligation onto myself. Keeping the thought to herself, she told Mior, *We learn as much from our failures as our successes.* Hard thoughts of her own struggle against the aftereffec
ts of the staff-test surfaced, and she cast them aside. She addressed her final words to Tae. “The best you can, indeed.” She turned him a solemn and affirming expression. “No one could do more.”

  * * *

  Dismissing the guards, the king and queen of Béarn took audience with Kevral and Ra-khir in only the presences of Mior and the sage’s recording servant. It would have pleased Matrinka more to send the page away as well, but Béarnian law commanded his attendance as well as forbade him speaking the details to anyone but his master. Through history, no page had ever violated that sacred trust.

  The moment the last inner guardsmen filed from the court and the door swung shut, Griff clambered from his throne to sit on the edge of the dais. He gestured for the others to join him.

  Matrinka took a seat beside him, Mior curling up on the soft cushion of the queen’s chair. The queen pitied the poor servant who had to brush cat hairs from the red velvet.

  Dressed in her customary linens and leathers, a sword at each hip, Kevral approached with the wariness that defined Renshai. She barely curtsied to the king and not at all to the queen, who appreciated the lack of formality. Ra-khir, in contrast, wore the entire knight uniform: the blue-and-gold Béarnian tabard with its rearing bear over a wrinkle-free, black silk shirt. The wide belt held a broad sword at the properly raked angle. As he walked toward the dais, he swept the hat from his head, sending its feather bobbing in a gentle dance and spilling groomed and perfumed red locks.

  Ra-khir bowed fully to each of them in turn, a graceful flourish accompanying every movement. He ended in a kneeling position, head low and hat over his heart.

  Certain nothing else would suffice, Griff reverted to protocol. “Rise, Sir Ra-khir, and at ease. This is important, but informal.”

  Ra-khir stood, revealing the breathtaking features that kept him the focus of female attention even long after his marriage. Women throughout Béarn studied him surreptitiously, but Matrinka had witnessed only an occasional wary flirtation since the wedding. Most feared Kevral too much to incur her wrath.

  *You’re staring.* Mior teased.

  Matrinka jerked her eyes away, suddenly self-conscious. *He’s just a friend,* she reminded. *And another friend’s husband, at that.*