A Heart of Blood and Ashes

by Milla Vane

  “I thought to be content. We would have children. I would look to them for love and affection. And they would be strong, because you are.” Her laughter slowly faded as she spoke, but her breaths still shuddered through her slim form as if in the aftermath of sobbing. “But now I know that the first time they ride into battle will also be their last—because if they inherit their father’s strength, they will only have stamina enough for one thrust of their sword before they falter. Our poor doomed children,” she ended on a heavy sigh.

  He stared at her in awe. Such a sharp tongue she had. If Maddek had not already been gutted by his own shame, she would have eviscerated him.

  Instead he leaned nearer and told her with unmistakable resolution, “This is not the battle we will fight on this bed, Yvenne. And after we sleep, you will have no doubt of my stamina.”

  Her glittering eyes narrowed. He heard the pain that lay at the sharpened edge of her voice as she demanded, “You want to sleep next to a queenkiller?”

  “I do.” He cared not what had occurred. He only cared that Queen Vyssen’s death had hurt her, and that he knew not how to breach the walls she’d erected and soothe her pain.

  “But I do not wish to share a bed with someone who views me as you do.” Her lips trembled, and she turned away, presenting him with only her frail shoulders and back. “When your cock rises again, you may return to ease your need upon me—but do not bother to wake me for it.”

  Once more she caught him with that blade of a tongue. Though it was sharp, however, hers was not a poisonous one. She left nothing in him that was not already there. No anger toward her was in him as he said harshly, “I will return and keep my promises to you.”

  “As you say.” Her breath hitched. “But go now.”

  So that she might be alone to cry. Everything in Maddek rebelled at the thought of leaving her in this way. Yet she did not want him here.

  With aching chest, he strode to the stairs leading out of the chamber. Yvenne did not cry where there were eyes to see. She also did not cry when there were ears to hear.

  Yet Maddek did hear. As if the sob broke from her before he left the chamber because she couldn’t contain it anymore—though she tried. That sob she quickly muffled. But still he heard, and the sound was sharper than any word that ever came from her tongue.

  As if it wore claws, one quiet sob tore out Maddek’s heart. Yet even that ragged and bleeding wound was not as painful as knowing he was the cause, or as painful as not knowing the remedy.

  So many promises he’d made and not fulfilled this night. Not only to Yvenne, but to himself. For he might have protected Yvenne from her brother, but he hadn’t protected her from himself. And he’d not truly had her.

  And now he might have lost her.

  CHAPTER 29

  MADDEK

  Swift wind blew into Maddek’s face as he stepped onto the deck. Unfurled, the white sails were at full billow, and the ship skimmed across low, rolling waves.

  Laughter and voices coming from quarters near the tail led Maddek to his warriors. A long night they’d also had, and more than a full turn of hard riding since leaving the Lave. Fatigued they must be, yet much had occurred since their last waking, and much to discuss and celebrate. For a tennight they’d spent every moment in expectation of soldiers coming upon them and the battle that would follow, and when Yvenne had told them those soldiers’ numbers, each warrior had likely felt Rani coming from behind them. Yet that battle they’d won with little bloodshed and no injuries to their own. And the goddess Vela herself had recognized each, showing favor that must swell the heart and pride of any warrior—even Parsatheans who rarely prayed to any gods.

  On his approach, Maddek heard them turning over that favor and examining it, suggesting possible meanings for Vela’s claim that Toric would fly far on a dragon’s wings and no longer be himself on his return. Many meanings they would likely find, and of none could they be certain. Except for silent Mother Temra and truthful silver-fingered Rani, gods were the most sly-tongued of all beings.

  The chambers were not sleeping quarters but similar to the prince’s solar, with a table surrounded by low cushions and sofas, with more scattered about the room. No longer wearing their armor, the Dragon sprawled around the table loaded down with fruits and meats and drink.

  As Maddek came in, Kelir looked up from cleaning the blood from his spaulders. The warrior’s wet hair hung heavily around his scarred face, and he wore only a smallcloth around his waist.

  At a glimpse of Maddek’s expression, his own became dismay. “Did you not reach her before moonset?”

  “I did. She is no longer a virgin.”

  With a smirk, Ardyl eyed the shredded silks hanging from his belt. “You must have been in a rush to get to her. I trust that blood is not all hers?”

  Nor his, though his heart had been torn away. Chest hollow, Maddek shook his head, then looked to Fassad. “Will you send the wolves to guard her door?”

  The warrior tossed them each a bison joint to chew on and sent them off.

  Kelir surged up to his feet, collecting two flagons of mead. “I will show you where the wash bucket is, because a bath will only leave you sitting in a bloodied pool. Then you can return to her.”

  He could not. Maddek took the mead Kelir pushed into his hand but did not drink as he walked with the other warrior past the ship’s wings. There attendants filled buckets from the warm sea. Five dousings it took, removing armor and belt with each bucket tipped over his head, bloodied water running over the side of the deck and returned to the waves below. The shredded silks he gave to the attendants, not caring if ever he saw them again, and received a fine white robe in return. He tied it around his hips. His red linens were rolled up with his furs and those were in the chamber with Yvenne.

  Where she sobbed, devastated by hurt and disappointment.

  As if numb, Maddek returned to the solar, and there Banek gestured to a platter. “Best you take that back to her.”

  Because his bride was always hungry. “I will not disturb her yet.”

  Surprise crossed Toric’s expression. “Does she already sleep? Such a night it has been, I will not sleep for years.”

  Maddek shook his head. “She does not yet sleep.”

  “And you do not return to her?” With a grunt, Kelir threw himself back down to his sofa. “With a woman such as Yvenne in my bed, I would spread her thighs and—”

  “Do not speak of her such,” Maddek warned him in a dangerous tone.

  “And there is a bit of fire,” his friend laughed, though his eyes were keen on Maddek’s face. “The burning heart of our Dragon seemed doused, but I do not think it was the buckets that did it. Do you seek counsel? As Rani breathed into her dragon’s heart to reignite its spark, so we will respark yours.”

  Counsel. That was not what he needed. He needed Yvenne.

  But he might not have her again.

  Throat raw, Maddek told them, “It is not counsel I seek from you all, but help.”

  “You will have it,” Fassad said.

  “Vela did not give favor to me, but a warning that if I do not have the heart of a king, I will not be able to protect Yvenne. And that I will lose her. If that occurs . . .” Hard he had to swallow before continuing. “If that occurs, I beg that you protect her.”

  “So we will,” Ardyl said with a slight frown, leaning forward. “Now tell us what demon has possessed you, that you are not raging against Vela’s words and denying it will ever happen?”

  “I have done that,” Maddek said thickly. “Now my bride does not welcome me back to her bed. And I have lost her.”

  “I do not think you will lose her so easily.” Faint amusement lit Banek’s eyes. “Sit with us, Ran Maddek.”

  Maddek did, for he had nowhere else to go.

  Fassad asked quietly, “What is it she said?”

 
“That I have a twisted view of her. That I see her as a queenkiller.”

  Kelir frowned, his drink halfway to his lips. “You did not believe what that snake-swiving sly-tongue said about Queen Vyssen?”

  “I did not,” Maddek replied, rubbing his tired eyes. “But Yvenne claims it is true. She killed her mother.”

  Stunned faces looked back at him. Then slowly shaking heads, as they all denied it—as Maddek had.

  “What does Yvenne say occurred?” That from Toric, who seemed in a daze.

  “She will not tell me. Instead she builds high walls between us. I have tried to—”

  “Conquer her walls? Defeat them?” That was Toric again. “As Vela said you did.”

  “It is truth. I have battered myself against them, tried to go over them, lured her out and received invitation . . .” His throat closed. No invitation did he have now. “Always she rebuilds them.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Her walls,” Kelir echoed, then looked to Ardyl. “Our friend sees walls, yet she told him what they are to her. ‘What are walls but armor for a city?’”

  “Or armor for a heart?” she said.

  “Or armor over a wound.” Fassad tore off a soft chunk of bread. “A borrowfly once tried to carry away one of my brother’s pups, and in the fight Steel’s shoulder was stung. Not deep, but it became infected—and so painful that he growled and snapped at me if I attempted to touch it. More than any other, that wolf trusts me. Loves me. Yet he could not bear for me to tend to that injury without striking at me with his fangs.”

  A painful injury as her mother’s death must be. Yet it was not only her mother’s death. For he’d first seen those walls the morning after he’d pulled at her tongue. The morning after he’d told her not to look to him for affection or love.

  The morning after he’d betrayed her trust by telling her that he would not hurt her—and then doing so. She had said he made weapons when she revealed herself to him. He had not understood then. But now he did. They were not walls at all, but protection for her heart. Just as she’d armored her open wounds. And Maddek had been battering his way through to prod them.

  Watching Maddek’s face, Kelir declared smugly, “So he finally sees.”

  “What do you see?” Danoh asked, frowning at Maddek. “A queenkiller? Someone who is no more than her father’s daughter?”

  Maddek shook his head.

  Banek’s eyes narrowed. “You do not still believe she played any part in your mother’s death, except to send that letter in hope of escaping Zhalen?”

  “I do not.” And that was truth, Maddek realized. Full truth. Not just accepting her word but still harboring doubts. No doubts did he have. “But that is the view her brother would have had me believe—that Yvenne had repeated a murder.”

  “Yet she admitted to it?”

  “After I told her what I thought it meant. That only in defense of her own life would she have ever harmed her mother. If Vyssen had been possessed by a demon or gone on a rampage. Blameless Yvenne would be then.”

  “So she would,” Ardyl said. “Yet still you assume she would have done it with deliberation and intent. Did you not suppose she might have been tricked?”

  “Tricked?” So clever and careful was she, Maddek had not thought of such a thing. “By Zhalen?”

  “Perhaps with a poison,” Toric agreed. “If she had fed the queen without knowing it was there, your bride might feel that she’d killed her mother. And we have seen how much care she takes with food and drink when her family is near.”

  Banek nodded. “That would be a killing with no intention—and an accusation would cut ever deeper for it. Especially if she did not perceive the trick. She would blame herself.”

  So she would. And that Maddek could also easily perceive . . . now. “An unintentional killing is more likely,” he acknowledged. “I did not even see.”

  Kelir frowned at him. “You are not usually so blind.”

  “With her, I seem to be.”

  “As made sense when you first knew her,” Banek said. “We were all suspicious. But now how do you see her?”

  “As a queen who is clever and vicious and cunning, who would destroy her father and brothers, but who would never betray or abandon anyone she is loyal to or responsible for—including all of her people.”

  Toric said, “We will be her people.”

  Maddek nodded. “If I am named Ran, no finer queen could we ask for.”

  “So you say, but still this view of her you have?” Banek frowned. “Has she ever spoken to you with sly tongue?”

  “Twice,” he said. “But she will not again. And even when she did, there was no malicious intent.”

  “Has she lied?”

  Maddek struggled with his answer. He did not want them to know that she had. He did not want to say that truth. Because a Parsathean queen should never lie.

  Yet truth must be said. “She has.”

  All expressions darkened. Worry and dismay filled the many glances the warriors exchanged between them, as if weighing each other’s reactions before Kelir slowly asked, “What was the lie?”

  “That my mother chose her to be my bride.”

  “But she doesn’t wear Ran Ashev’s crest,” his friend said, frowning. “Has she made mention of it?”

  “No.” And if his mother had truly approved of her, in that approval Ran Ashev would have told Yvenne what it meant to give that crest. But even if the crest could not be given, if it had been stolen by Zhalen, a message his mother would have given her instead to explain why the crest was absent.

  Which meant Yvenne had no knowledge of it. Yet if Ran Ashev had approved of her, she would.

  Again, they all struggled. Conflicted as Maddek had been.

  “Perhaps Ran Ashev would have approved of her,” Ardyl said slowly. “As we have come to do. But to give that approval after Ran Marek was murdered and while she was held imprisoned and raped . . . ?”

  So she said what Maddek had thought. As the others did, too.

  That troubling knowledge lined Banek’s face. “When did she speak this lie?”

  “At the very first. As she tried to persuade me to marry her. I told her I knew it for a lie then, so she persuaded me with the promise of killing her father.”

  Now they were frowning at him. “You knew she’d spoken a lie and yet agreed to marry?”

  No excuse had he. “I meant to have my vengeance by any means.” And how torn he’d been then at the thought of marrying a lying woman who might have murdered his parents. No longer was he torn. “But my vengeance is only secondary now. Protecting her is the greater purpose.”

  No censure did he see in them for that—admitting that avenging their queen and king had fallen behind in importance. Such shame he’d felt before, yet none did he feel now. Vengeance was still necessary. Yet that vengeance was not foremost in his heart.

  Nor was it foremost for his Dragon. Yet they were not unconflicted—as he was not.

  “That lie still disturbs you?” Fassad asked.

  “It does,” he admitted.

  “Because if you take her to wife, you might not be named Ran?”

  “No.” Painful though it would be, if he must choose between leading Parsathe and Yvenne . . . he would choose Yvenne. “Because it is a lie. And though we have become allies, still she insists on its truth.”

  “Does the lie make you reconsider your marriage to her?”

  Nothing could. He shook his head.

  “Are you conflicted because Ran Ashev did not approve of her?”

  “No.” That he was certain of. “I would have no other. Even if her lie means that I am never Ran.”

  “You say she spoke it at the first?” Banek asked now, his gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “When you had your claws in her throat?”

  “It
was.”

  Satisfaction filled the older warrior’s voice. “And she spoke it while persuading you to marry her—to save her own life and in hope of freeing her people?”

  Brightening, Toric sat forward. “Even Ran Antyl lied to save her children.”

  That was truth. And it was as if a pressure upon Maddek eased. When spoken against an enemy and to save a life, lies were justified and forgiven. Yvenne had been an enemy to him in that moment—and he had been to her. Yet he had viewed the lie as if it came from an ally.

  All of his warriors felt the same ease, he saw. Relief passed through them like a knot loosening.

  “And it was only that one lie?” Kelir pressed.

  “It was. Except that she lied again to insist she has always told me the truth.”

  “But that is likely the same purpose and reason,” Ardyl said. “Though you no longer have claws in her throat, still she must feel the weight of all the Syssian lives upon her shoulders. And she is alone among Parsatheans who have warned her never to lie. Her mother may have watched us, but Yvenne does not fully understand our ways—she had to ask Banek whether even a jest must always be true. So she is still a stranger among us and might believe that admitting to a lie now will destroy every hope she has of marriage, or of freeing her people. She might believe you would abandon her for that lie—especially if she knows that her lie might cause issue when it comes time to vote for our new Ran.”

  Such ease and relief filled him. As if her lie had been festering in a wound that was even deeper than he knew. Yet his warriors spoke sense and truth.

  “This does give me a different view of her.” Gratitude swelled through him . . . and eagerness to return to his bride. Gaining his feet, he scanned the platters of food. Yvenne’s favorites were the meats, but many of the fruits and berries would be new to her, and she would enjoy trying them.

  “A different view you might have,” Danoh said, pulling his gaze from the table. “But you must overcome habit first.”

  He frowned, not understanding. “Habit?”

  “The habit of viewing her as you did. Of responding to her as you did. Even though I better understand my mother, still I always yell at her. Still I am easily angered by her. It is habit. So your view might not so quickly change . . . but you will be better at recognizing how those old habits twist it. And you will have to relearn how to see her.”