by V. S. Holmes
“Lyne’alea, what are you doing here?” Elai’s face was calm, her eyes almost compassionate. It made it difficult to hate her, and Alea realized she should not, actually, hate the woman.
“I was curious.” The road between hate and respect, however, was a long one. “You’ve come to bind me?”
Behind her, Elle sucked in a sharp breath. “Lyne’alea.”
She ignored her mother, eyes narrowing on Elai. She believes violating my soul is what’s best. “Well?”
“You are dangerous, Lyne’alea. They sooner we mend you, the sooner you can recover and begin to learn properly.”
Alea scoffed. “You want to know why I am here, standing on these stairs, unsurprised by this misunderstanding, this betrayal? Beneath our feet is a ball of battered, bleeding souls. Souls Lynelle trapped there in her desperate attempt to save you. She had little time so she panicked. I’m here to remedy what she has done. Beneath our feet there lies an answer, a fact, a task that only I can complete. And yet you wish to cripple me.”
“You must not use your emotions as a conduit. They are unpredictable. Your mother only felt the barest emotions for your father, and look at the mess it created.”
Alea felt the tense grimace on her face melt into a manic smile. “Exactly! Look at the mess! She bore a powerful son who defied Azirik himself and a daughter that can defeat gods and bind the world together. That’s a damn foul mess! I can control my power and I’ll die before I let one more person play gods with my life. I am Creation and Destruction.” The shadow stalked forward, blotting out every last bit of serenity from the past few hours.
She stepped down from the hall, her grin broadening as the Laen back away. Hands raised, her icy power hit the sky. “I am the Dhoah’ Laen. You cannot separate one from the other.” She ripped the lightning from the sky, pulling it into herself until she glowed through the black tendrils that writhed across her skin. The energy tingled, sizzled along her nerves. The lightning radiated from her, sparking off stones and buildings and scorching the grass beneath her. “You will not bind me. I am the Dhoah’ Laen. This is not a piece of me!”
With the final sentence, she let the lightning crackle back through her body and into the clouds. The black curls retreated from her skin and the glow faded from her eyes. Power retreated until she once more looked like herself. She would never be simply Alea again. She read raw terror on the faces before her. Underneath the fear, however, was respect, and utter faith. “If you plan on fighting the gods, ready yourselves, because I am going to war.”
Without another word she climbed towards the hills, the Laen parting like waves before the prow of a ship. Elle caught up with her at the slate slab. Alea looked over. “I’m sorry for what I did, but there was no choice.”
Elle reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Alea’s ear. “They will thank you one day.”
Alea laughed humorlessly. “Then you and I have different ideas of how this will end.”
“They will need time to prepare.”
“They have it. There are a few things I’ll need to do before I confront the gods. Thankfully there is only their Crown left.” Her battered fingers rubbed one temple absently.
Elle winced. “I’m afraid not. We had ours decades ago—centuries even—but it wound up in Claimiirn. The story of how that happened changes with each telling I’m afraid.”
“Claimiirn?” Alea frowned. Where have I heard that name before? She remembered a different voice, gravelly with fatigue and lilting over the double “i” like a brook over stones in spring. “That’s the old Athrolani capital, correct? I thought it fell before the House of Xain rose to power.”
“It did. An’thoriend’s brother sacked the place. Said it did no good having men so close to their lands. Not a pleasant man, Edrodene.”
“You’re telling me no one has bothered to find the damn thing before now?” She shook her head. “When I’m done, I’ll find it myself.”
Elle’s eyes sparkled. “Seems the only way to get anything done with us, eh?”
Alea paused, looking up at her mother a moment. There was a tone there that she had not heard before. There was a fire, a rebellious edge that she recognized from her own rants to the Laen. She grinned abruptly, a real grin that would have fit better on her face a year ago. “Thank you.”
“Stay safe—you and Brentemir.”
Alea looked down. “Remember this day. Remember the faith you have right now.” She stepped back on the stone slab and met Elle’s eyes. “Soon it will be sorely tested.” The air crackled as it swallowed her whole.
THE COLD AND QUIET ACHE OF DUTY
Chapter EIGHT
The 31st Day of Lineme, 1252
The City of Mirik
ODDLY, MEETING WITH HELONIN seemed less important to Bren. He rapped on the mariner’s doorframe, peering into the room. Helonin regarded his tea dispassionately. “Enter.”
Bren stepped in and gestured to the chair across the desk. “Good morning, sir. Might I sit?”
“Ah, Barrackborn. Of course.” He sat back, fixing Bren with a frown. “I thought you were going with the men to work on the temple district.”
“That is why I came to talk to you, actually. No further work is to be done on the palace. I will need access to the treasury documents as well as its funds.”
“Excuse me?” The frown turned into anger and impatience.
Bren knew Helonin had little opinion of him. To the mariner, Bren was only a hard worker and occasionally insubordinate. The latter scarcely applied when Bren’s true superiors were the enemy.
“What grounds do you have to halt building? This is Her Majesty’s outpost. Barring her word—”
“With all due respect, sir, Mirik is my home, not an outpost.” He rested a hand on the desk, allowing the signet ring to knock against the wood. “The word of her acting king should suffice.” It was barely an admittance, but when he met the mariner’s eyes, he saw it was enough.
Helonin’s expression softened. Puzzlement furrowed his brow now. “You said ‘acting’ king. Care to explain?”
“I am Mirik’s Military Commissioner. Given this is a time of war, I am acting king until the threat passes, at which time I will rule with equal power as the other Lord Commissioners.”
“And they are?”
“When we’ve determined that, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Bren grinned wearily.
Helonin laughed, shaking his head. “I do not envy you. What more do you need of me, my lord?”
“I’ll take passage on a ship to Athrolan next week. I think Her Majesty will want an explanation in person.”
“Wise man. Perhaps this little land is not doomed after all. I’ll have the treasury documents sent to your room, and I’ll draw up the orders to cease work.” He tossed a heavy bag onto the desk from a drawer. “This is what we’ve been using for the work, and comes from your funds.” After a moment he met Bren’s eyes and held out his arm. “I wish you luck, my lord. You will need it.”
Bren ducked out of the man’s office, lightheaded as the knots in his stomach unraveled. He was halfway to the bell tower when the squire burst from the woods. The boy almost tripped in his haste as he dashed into the courtyard. Bren’s eyes narrowed. He watched the boy pant out his message to Helonin, who pointed to the tower.
Bren turned back, reaching the open area by the harbor at the same time as the boy and raised a hand. “What is it?”
“She’s back, sir.”
Bren’s eyes widened and he glanced at the woods. He did not need to ask which woman was in question. “When?” His heart pounded.
“She’ll be here in an hour. Kit from the green sent word.”
By the time the words were out of the boy’s mouth, Bren was already running. He called a hasty thanks over his shoulder as he bolted toward the trees. She’s home. She’s back. How much his world had changed in just a year would always amaze him. He reached the hill after half an hour of steady jogging. The old muscles that kn
ew how to march for days were slow to wake, but they remembered their task well.
He finally caught sight of her as he crested the hill. He had thought he would embrace her, laugh his relief for her return, babble about the change of his role and Mirik’s future. Instead he stopped. The damp loam was quiet under his heavy boots. She was not the person who left a few months ago. She had been a girl, excited and impatient and angry. He barely recognized that girl’s features in this woman’s face. “Alea?”
She glanced up, a smile lighting her tired eyes. “Bren.”
“You’re home.” He did not even dare to shift weight from one foot to another.
“I’m home.” The ache and darkness in her eyes was fathomless. She swallowed slowly, as if past the lump of everything she had yet to do. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Somewhere along the path we became siblings, it seems.”
She broke into a run and collided with him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his body. “I missed a lot.”
He held her for several minutes, chin resting on the top of her head. Cold control radiated from her, drawing gooseflesh from his skin. She’s done it. “War, then?”
“War.”
“Come on. Let’s get you settled.” He pulled away and moved down the path toward Mirik.
She laughed. “I’m certainly not attacking the gods on an empty stomach.” She fell into step beside him. “How fairs Mirik? Last I heard you were upset with the queen’s treatment of her.”
Bren grinned. “A lot has changed, sistermine. I couldn’t face Mirik falling any further, but neither could I really accept the role of king. I’m a fair reader, and one of the more interesting tomes I encountered is called Rauld’s Tales for an Officer. He had a great mind for strategy, and after retiring from the army, became a philosopher. Do you know of him?”
Alea nodded. “He wrote To Give the Poor Man a Crown. It was an essay my foster-father loved.”
“I don’t know of that one, but I’ll have to find a copy. He developed a proposal for a government without a king, ruled by a few men.”
“An oligarchy.”
He glanced at her curiously. “You are better versed in government than I expected.”
She shrugged. “I enjoyed it more than history.” She grinned suddenly, and he saw more of Azirik in her than before. “Shall I guess? You’ve made Mirik’s government into one.”
“I did.” The initial numbness had faded into both terror and excitement. He turned them onto the worn cobbled road that led down to the city and barracks. “For now, I am acting king. This is a time of war, and I am the current Military Commissioner. Perhaps, when things have settled, I will step down.”
“No you won’t.”
He glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
“They love you. You may not be king, but doing away with the crown does not erase the feeling that you are their monarch.” She squeezed his hand as they approached the barracks’ gate. “But what you have done, I think, will be greater than any harm Azirik caused.”
Bren snorted. “Your optimism is frustrating.”
“Why, because you think we’ll all die?”
“No, because you have faith in people, and I can’t see why. Yet, half the time, you’re right.” He paused at the gate, catching sight of Helonin waiting. “Alea, this is—”
Alea brushed aside the introduction and stepped forward. “I am Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.”
The mariner bowed over her hand. “Welcome. I am Mariner Helonin. I can prepare a room for you. Will you be staying long?”
“I’m afraid not. A room would be lovely, but please excuse me, there are things I must discuss.” She offered him a fleeting nod and moved past. Stunned silence filled her wake.
Bren’s incredulous laugh bubbled free when they entered the hall to his room. “You just dismissed a mariner of Athrolan’s navy. Without a thought. What, by Toar, did they teach you in Le’yan?” He unlocked his room quickly, letting her in before closing the door.
A smile flickered over her mouth. “Little, other than history, and exactly how impatient I can be. Their choices forced me to learn much, even if it was not the intention.” She sank onto his bed with a sigh. “I’ve rested little, but I’m too full of adrenaline to sleep.”
Bren leaned back in his chair, frowning. “Did you argue? I didn’t expect you back yet.”
“Our opinions differed.” She picked at the skin around her fingers, luminous eyes narrowed. “They thought my power should be split from my soulblood.”
Bren scoffed. “See, I knew I disliked them for a reason.” He adopted a high-pitched voice. “There is a chance we could win. Let’s make a mess of it!”
Alea smiled at the mimic. “They’re single-visioned, that’s all. I had to resort to fear to make them listen, which was unpleasant.” She glanced out the window. “Have you gone to Athrolan to talk to Her Majesty about your new government?”
“No. I have yet to even write her.”
Alea’s brows rose. “You’ve dismantled her control and reformed Mirik’s government without even notifying her? Surely Helonin said something.”
“He didn’t know until today.” He drew the letter Tzatia had sent and tossed it to his sister. “This is what forced my hand. She called me out.”
Alea scanned the letter. “Perhaps when I go to Athrolan you could join me, do some of your reforming there.”
Bren nodded. “I was thinking of it, but I want to meet her from a point of strength, and I’m not sure I have it yet.”
“Will you ever think you do?” Alea smiled at him. “For one so capable, brothermine, you have little confidence.” She masked a yawn and rose. “As much as I said I couldn’t sleep, I’ve had quite the few days and ought to at least try. Who knows when our next respite will come?”
He led her further down the hall to the finer rooms. Sure enough, one of the doors was propped open, the bed inside neatly made and a pitcher of fresh water waiting on the nightstand. Alea turned back to him. “I’m glad to be home.”
He embraced her again, the tingle of power crawling up his arms from where they touched. “I’m glad you’re back. Rest well. I might be working or in the mess when you wake, but the men will know where to find me.”
Once she bid him a quick goodnight and closed the door, he returned to his room. A new letter waited on his desk. There was no sender’s name on the envelope, only his new title and full name. He unfolded it curiously.
Barrackborn,
Much has changed since I last spoke with you—for us both, it seems. I heard you speak the other day, in the Kit’s hall. Quite the pair you’ve got, reforming Azirik’s government while he still wears the crown. You’re a better man than I expected.
I hoped that sometime this evening we might speak. Send a response via Oland. He knows where to find me.
Until then,
An’thoriend Domariigo
Bren stared at the letter for a moment then burst out laughing. Alea’s home, I’m acting king, Arman is developing power, and now the legend himself crawls from hiding. He shook his head and rose to find some ale. Writing a response needed drink as much as their cause needed legends. It’s only fitting heroes emerge before battle. Toar knows we’ll need them before the end.
Φ
The 31st Day of Lineme, 1252
The City of Ceir Athrolan
Arman had yet to leave his room during normal hours. Late in the evening he escaped to the library, when he was certain Kal and Sousa were safely in a bar. Hasian had lived, though it was a week before the man could return to his soldier’s duties. He could only see shadows through his left eye and his shoulder was too greatly injurred for him to lift his arm higher than his chest. Arman had yet to hear from the queen or the general about any consequences, but he was smart enough to know he was far from safe.
Most assumed it was shame that kept him closeted in his room. He let them assume. His anger had not subsided. For a week it raged, his skin slow
ly peeling back to expose the marble-like plates. He paced his room now, eyes flicking from the window to his desk, to the door. A small stack of papers sat on the desk, but he was in little mood to read missives. Spotting a stained envelope, he tugged it free. Bren’s greeting was as carefree as ever.
Arman,
I miss the taverns already, though my head does not miss the morning ale-sick. I hope your studies are going well. I feel like we’ve been holding our breath and are about to dive. Maybe I’m just tired of waiting. I’m a soldier, not a mason.
It’s good that Alea’s learning more, even if she feels it’s not what she should be studying.
Arman frowned at that, and peered closer to the letter.
This waiting business is certainly helped by hearing from her every so often, even if her mind connections are faint and the conversations short. I suppose she talks to you more than me. Has she said anything about coming home?
Until then,
Bren
Arman’s fist clenched until the paper crumpled. He did not notice the edges smoldering in his hand until the black ashes drifted to the ground. She goes to him and not me? It was not that she spoke to Bren. The prejudice toward one another was all but gone. It was the fact that she confided in someone else. Who protected her? Anger welled in him. Who died for her? His breath shuddered. He had never been this angry. He grabbed his cloak and strode out of the palace before he destroyed something. You think you can run off and leave me, without a word, and expect me to forget you?
His steps were certain on the cobbled street leading to the loudest bar the soldiers frequented. Kal and Sousa were among the crowd at the back. He averted his eyes and found a secluded seat. He did not want conversation. He wanted to forget. A distant voice reminded him that it was not really Alea that angered him, but his own cowardice. He hated that he had yet to be honest with her, hated that he had treated her like a child. And apparently, too little, too late. He finished his first mug of fire ale.
Kal perched on a stool across from Arman after a few moments. “Wasn’t sure it was you, at first. Glad to see you out.” He frowned. “You look ticked.”