Gella’s eyes grew wide, and she stopped struggling. “You are a sorceress!” she said.
“What do you know of sorcery?” asked Laera.
“My mother was a witch,” the girl replied. “They killed her for it.”
Laera released her hand and pushed back Gella’s thick, dark hair, revealing a slightly pointed ear. “A half-elf!” she said with surprise.
“I never would have guessed. But now I can see it.”
“What do you want with me?” asked Gella.
“I need you to serve me,” Laera replied. “You shall be my personal body servant. I was the one who saved your life. It is now mine to command and do with as I please. Serve me well and faithfully, and you shall be well taken care of and rewarded. Play me false, and you shall suffer torments such as you cannot imagine, so that you will plead with me to take your life. Do you understand?”
Gella moistened her lips nervously “I do, Lady.”
“Very good,” said Laera. “Then understand this, also. No one knows that I possess knowledge of sorcery save you. Not even my husband suspects. You seem to know something of the mystic arts, so perhaps you realize you are now bound to me for as long as both of us shall live.”
She took Gella’s bloodsoaked lock of hair and placed it in a small gold locket like the one containing Derwyn’s, closed it, then slipped the chain around her neck. “You belong to me now. And by this token of your lock of hair, I can reach out for you, no matter where you go.
Remember that.”
“You want me to do something terrible,” said Gella.
“That is why you had me brought here. You have no need of a body servant. You require a criminal.”
“The only law you need to fear is mine,” said Laera. “And if you do precisely as I say, you will not
be caught, and I shall make it worth your while.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“Learn, for starters. I will have you instructed in how to be a proper servant. And when the emperor arrives at Seaharrow for Summer Court, I shall have you assigned to serve the new empress.” She went over to her jewelry box and opened a hidden drawer in it, from which she removed a small glass vial stoppered with a cork. “A few drops of this special preparation in her wine each week will prevent her from conceiving a child.” Laera smiled. “It has no taste or odor and dissolves without leaving any residue behind. She will never know that she is drinking it.”
Gella’s eyes grew wide as Laera spoke, and she swallowed hard when she heard her final words.
“Your task shall be to administer the dose.”
The journey from Anuire to Seaharrow for Summer Court took about a week of travel at the sedate pace the emperor’s train maintained. They traveled with wagons bearing tents and supplies, a complement of infantry detached from the Army of Anuire, the mounted house guard, and all the lords and ladies of the Imperial Court. They averaged about twenty-five miles a day, with a rest period at midday, and they pitched camp at sundown.
For Michael, this type of travel was ennervating.
He much preferred the faster pace he was accustomed to setting with his troops, and he felt restless on the journey, but Faelina’s presence acted as a curb on his natural impatience. She had been looking forward to
this journey, for she had never been to Seaharrow, and she kept Michael occupied throughout the trip, describing the countryside around Seasedge and telling her of his adventures in Tuarhievel.
Aedan regarded the journey with mixed feelings.
It was a welcome relief to get away from the Imperial Cairn and have a change of climate and scenery. It was also pleasant to take a leisurely ride through the country without feeling concern about being attacked by enemy troops or fighting a battle at journey’s end. And it was a much desired respite from his duties in the capital. On the other hand, Boeruine did not hold pleasant memories for him. And he would once again be seeing Laera.
Things had come full circle, in a way, and somehow it seemed a bad omen.
He just couldn’t shake the feeling that making this trip had been a bad idea all around. Still, having forgiven Derwyn for the part he’d played in his father’s rebellion and elevated him to the dukedom, to say nothing of giving him his sister for a wife, Michael couldn’t snub him now by canceling the Summer Court. It was something a great many people had looked forward to, both at the Court of Anuire and Boeruine, and symbolically it underlined the reunification of the empire. Politically, Summer Court simply could not be avoided.
Nevertheless, Aedan was filled with apprehension. He had not seen Laera since she had departed for Boeruine with her new husband, and relations between them had been strained for a long time. Perhaps her marriage to Derwyn would finally allow her to leave the past in the past, but Aedan doubted it. He knew Derwyn, and he knew Laera would walk all over him. Derwyn lacked his father’s strength of personality.
He was not a weakling, but he was too good-hearted, too eager to avoid conflict by accommodation. And Laera needed a firm hand on the reins.
Perhaps she’d changed, but Aedan had learned that people never really changed unless they wanted to and made a diligent effort. Judging by the rumors he had heard about Laera’s behavior right up until her marriage, Laera hadn’t changed at all. She had been very careful and had avoided scandal, but few things remained secret for long at the Imperial Court, and there were whispers concerning her libertine behavior. No one had ever said anything out loud, of course, nor were any accusations made, but Aedan had his sources-he could not properly fulfill his duties unless he knew what went on in the castle-and what he’d heard had given him no cause to believe Laera might have changed her ways.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
He wondered, sometimes, if he might in some way be responsible for the way she had turned out.
If he had not broken their affair off as he did, perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps it was anger and bitterness over the way he had treated her that led her to abandon all sense of morals and propriety. But then again, it was she who had seduced him and not the other way around.
And he’d had no choice but to break off their affair.
To continue it would have meant disaster for them both. And Laera seemed bent on flirting with disaster. It excited her.
She had never loved him. The words had never passed her lips. But Aedan could not blame her for
that. He had not loved her, either. What they had between them was a hunger, a hunger that was obsessive, consuming, and unhealthy. There was something wrong with feelings like that, no matter how exciting and compelling they were. At times, Aedan found making love with Laera an incredible experience, but he had only been fooling himself. They had not been making love. They were merely having sex. It had been thrilling, passionate, and intoxicating, but it wasn’t until that night he had spent with Sylvanna that he truly realized what making love was really all about.
One night. That was all they had. And he had never been able to forget it. He had been drunk, but not so drunk that he couldn’t function or remember, just drunk enough to lose his inhibitions. In that one night, something had changed in him forever.
They had known each other for close to a decade, and in that time, their friendship had grown and solidified until it became something much more profound. That one night, he later realized, had merely been the climax of a process that had been taking place for a long time.
When he was with Ariel, he never thought of Laera. But on occasion, while they were making love, he found himself thinking of Sylvanna. He had never told Ariel about that because he knew it would hurt her. And if she suspected, she never said a thing. He always felt a sharp stab of guilt whenever it occurred, for he had grown to love Ariel very much, but it wasn’t something he could control. He did not love Ariel any less for thinking of Sylvanna, but it seemed if he truly loved her, he should not think of any other woman. And yet, he did. He knew no matter what happened, Sylvanna would always be a
part of him. Love was much more complicated than the bards made it out to be.
He was enjoying their journey, but he was not looking forward to reaching their destination. Ariel knew about Laera, knew about their affair when it had gone on and had watched its effects afterward.
“I never loved her, Ariel,” he had explained. “It was wrong. And what makes it worse is I knew it was wrong, but went ahead with it just the same. I was weak, I guess. I just could not resist her. But that is no excuse.”
“It happened,” Ariel replied. “There is no point in self-recriminations. You cannot change the past. You can only let it go. But I do not think Laera will ever let go. Be careful of her, Aedan. She hates you. I can see it in her eyes.”
“She’s hurt and angry,” Aedan said. “Perhaps, in time, she will get over it.”
“Angry, yes, but not hurt,” Ariel replied. “She would have had to care for you in order to be hurt.
What you did when you broke it off with her was even worse for someone like Laera. You stung her pride. You held a mirror up to her and showed her what she truly was. She will never forgive you for that.
Never. But if she ever tries to hurt you, I swear I’ll kill her.”
“Don’t talk like that,” said Aedan. “She is married now and out of our lives.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Derwyn is not his father,” Aedan said. “She will doubtless have him at her beck and call, but he knows better than to make trouble. He lacks Arwyn’s unscrupulous ambition and lust for power.”
“Do not underestimate a woman’s power to change a man,” said Ariel.
“Ah,” said Aedan with a smile. “I see. Is that what you have done to me?”
“Well, what do you think?”
He paused a moment, considering. “Yes, I think you have. And for the better.”
“I am pleased you think so,” Ariel replied, “but remember that you are much stronger than Derwyn.
And if she can, Laera will change him for the worse.”
On the second day of their journey to Seaharrow, they passed the battlefield where Arwyn had met his defeat, roughly midway between the cities of Dalton and Anuire. In the distance, they could see the Seamist Mountains, where the Army of Anuire had fought the ogres during their failed campaign to find a portal through the Shadow World to Boeruine. Just to the south of the mountain range, still invisible at this distance, was the line of fortifications where Arwyn had established his garrisons to protect the borders of Brosengae. And a bit farther east were the Anuirean garrisons that had been overrun by Arwyn’s army on their way to the battlefield where the war had ended.
Famous battles were usually given names, most often after the place where they had occurred. This one was different. Though the fortifications in the distance and the nearby mountains could have leant their names to the battle, they did not. Michael himself had named this place, this killing ground that was simply a vast and grassy plain-grassy no
longer, for it had been brutally churned up by the two armies that had fought here. When the rains came in late summer, the field would become somewhat more leveled as the gullies overflowed and water pooled and streamed in rivulets across it. The winter snows would cover it, too, and freeze the ground, further changing its appearance.
Eventually, after snowmelt, new shoots of grass would appear next spring. Still, it would be years before all traces of the battle disappeared, wiped out by nature. And even then, the place would bear the name Michael had given it to commemorate those who had died here because of one man’s driving ambition: Sorrow Field.
As they passed the battlefield, the traces of the struggle that had taken place here were still very much in evidence. The mounds where the dead had been buried where they fell dotted the torn-up landscape, and a hush fell over the royal caravan as they passed. Here and there, flowers had been planted on the mounds by relatives who had made the journey to the battle site.
As many of the graves as possible were marked, and some of the families of the soldiers who had fallen had replaced the crude little wooden markers with tombstones carved by the city’s stonemasons.
In many cases, however, it had been impossible to identify the corpses, and there were families who knew only that their loved ones had fallen here, somewhere. For them, Michael had commissioned the carving of a large memorial stone that identified the battlefield and bore a legend telling what had happened here. This memorial, too, was covered with flowers by those who had come out to say their last good-byes to loved ones who lay in unmarked graves.
This was the side of war that was anything but glorious, thought Aedan.
There was glory in winning, heightened by emotions engendered by the act of survival, but glory was always fleeting. Death was permanent.
No one spoke as they went past the battlefield.
And no one spoke for a long time thereafter.
They made camp that night near the abandoned fortifications on the border between Brosengae and Avanil. After the tents had been pitched and everyone had eaten, Aedan went in search of Michael. He found him a short distance from the camp, standing on a wall of an abandoned fort. A detachment of the house guard had accompanied him, for the emperor was not supposed to be left unguarded, but they maintained a discreet distance, giving him some privacy with his thoughts.
As Aedan came up behind him, Michael was staring out into the distance, toward the plains of Brosengae. The sun was setting in the west. It had almost completely disappeared, leaving a fading red-gold light illuminating the evening sky. Michael turned as he heard Aedan coming up behind him.
He looked troubled.
“Is anything wrong, Sire?” Aedan asked him.
“No, I was just thinking,” Michael replied. “About other journeys like this, in the past. Summer Courts of days gone by. One summer in particular.”
“The last one before the war,” said Aedan.
Michael nodded. He smiled suddenly. “I recall I said once that when I became emperor, I would do away with all this business of ‘Your Highness this’
and ‘Your Highness that.” It irritated me that no one ever used my name.”
Aedan smiled. “I remember.”
“Well, I am hereby issuing a long overdue imperial decree. Henceforth, Lord Chancellor, whenever we find ourselves in private moments such as this, you will address me by my name. Not ‘Sire,’ and not I my lord,’
and most definitely not ‘Your Highness.”
But Michael. Simply Michael. I know you can do it, stuffy as you are.
You did it at least once before, in battle on Sorrow Field.”
“Yes, I recall you had given me that special dispensation, though I confess I had not thought about it at the time. The reaction was purely instinctive.”
“Did you feel it, when we rode past the battlefield?”
“I felt many things,” said Aedan. “Not all of which are easily put into words.”
Michael nodded. “I meant the silence. Not our silence as we went by, but the silence of the place itself. The silence of the dead.” He paused. “So very still. Not even the birds singing. The sort of silence that reaches out and envelops everything around it.”
“They say a battlefield where a great struggle has been fought always feels different, no matter how many years pass,” said Aedan. “There is always something about a place where many have given their lives in combat.”
“I feel it here as well,” said Michael. “They stood here, behind this very wall, watching Arwyn’s entire army coming at them in the big push.
Vastly outnumbered, knowing they would be overrun, yet still they stood.
They stood for me.”
“They stood for the empire,” Aedan said.
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“You imply I have hubris?” Michael said. “Well, be that as it may, I am the empire. It was my decision that put them here, and even if it was not for me that they stood, they still stood because of me. As a consequence of my actions. As
the dead upon that battlefield fell as a consequence of my actions.”
“Not just yours,” said Aedan. “It was Arwyn who rebelled. It was Arwyn who made the war, not you.
It was his army that was marching on Anuire, and that was why those brave men fell on Sorrow Field.
They fell to stop them. Taking all the guilt upon yourself is not only unjust, but it detracts from their nobility of purpose. They fought and died for their wives and for their children and for their fellow countrymen. And for you. But not for you alone.”
Michael sighed heavily. “Do you think I love war, Aedan? Tell me the truth. I shall not hold it against you.
“I have always told you the truth,” Aedan replied.
He paused. “And yes, I think you do.”
Michael nodded. “Perhaps I did once,” he said.
“As a boy, I dreamed of leading troops in battle.”
“I know.” Aedan smiled. “We acted out those dreams often enough.”
“How you must have hated it,” said Michael with a grin, “having to play at war with children. All those times I made you ‘die’ over and over again because you did not do it dramatically enough.”
Aedan chuckled. “I must admit, it tried my patience.”
“A virtue you have cultivated well,” said Michael.
“I should benefit from your example. Perhaps I did love war. I don’t know. I know I loved how it made me feel. It made all my senses sharper than the finest
blade. It made the blood pound in my veins. It made me feel alive.”
Aedan experienced a sudden epiphany. “The risk,” he said, thinking of Laera. He had always been convinced that Michael had no fear, that he was incapable of it. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps, like Laera, Michael simply found the fear, the risk, intoxicating.
Michael nodded. “You felt it, too?”
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