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  Mara winced, wishing to be elsewhere.

  Arillia lifted a brow. “Am I to have no say on the running of my household?”

  ““Be reasonable, then. Would you have me put my own flesh and blood out with nowhere to go?”

  “I suppose you would rather I take to the road.”

  “Arillia!” Her father spoke in shocked tones. “What’s come over you?”

  “Even lying in the tomb…” Arillia stopped to take several breaths with tears standing in her eyes. “…Aewen gives you what I cannot.”

  “Stop this!” He reached for her, but she twisted away and ran from the room.

  Scowling, he began to pace.

  “I’m sorry.” Mara tried not to let the rejection hurt, but it did. She had only just escaped Brynn’s dislike, only to fall prey to Arillia’s. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” her father assured her.

  “I gave no thought to what my sudden appearance at Torindan might bring.”

  “Nor should you have.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “These matters lie between Arillia and me.”

  “Perhaps you should follow her,” Mara suggested.

  “Like a cur brought to heel? No thank you.” He strode from the chamber.

  Mara wrapped her arms about herself, chilled despite the fire’s warmth. Remaining at Torindan would only stir more trouble. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned blindly to leave.

  “Lof Raena.” Her maid’s gentle hand cupped her elbow.

  “Take me to the chapel.”

  “Chapel?” Traelein’s forehead creased.

  “Surely Torindan has a place of prayer.”

  “Oh.” Her maid’s expression cleared. “You speak of the allerstaed. I will show you the way.” Traelein led her along a corridor to a carved door standing open beneath an archway.

  The beauty of Torindan’s place of prayer made Mara catch her breath. Carved columns marched the length of the chamber on both sides with passages running behind them. The ceiling vaulted into shadow. Light filtered through rows of high clerestory windows set with stained glass to strew colors across the strongwood floor. At the far end of the nave, steps rose to a prayer rail at the edge of the dais that raised the altar.

  Mara left her maid waiting inside the archway and, with steps echoing, crossed the allerstaed. She climbed to the prayer rail, where she knelt and bowed her head. A peaceful tide flowed over her, and she closed her eyes. Time spun away, and she no longer marked its passage…

  Footsteps rang out, and she lifted her head.

  Kai looked up at her from below the dais. “May I join you?”

  She would rather be alone but simple courtesy prompted her response. “Please.”

  He climbed the steps and lowered to his knees beside her.

  “Why did you come?” She regretted her question at once for it brought sadness into his face.

  “I’m here to wrestle with Lof Yuel.”

  “I’m sorry,” she hastened to say. “I shouldn’t have asked something so personal.”

  “And you?”

  Her face heated, but she could hardly withhold her answer after he’d given his. “To yield myself to him.”

  He turned eyes more gray than silver on her. “You have the greater task.”

  

  Elcon leaned his forehead against his wife’s door and groaned. Nothing he said or did seemed capable of convincing Arillia of his love, and now she refused to emerge from her locked chambers even when commanded. This difficulty with his wife had reached the point of humiliation. It fostered uncomfortable questions. Anders had overheard servant’s gossip asking how a Lof Shraen who couldn’t unite his own household could bring together a divided kingdom.

  He strode to his chambers, careful not to slam the door lest his behavior incite more whisperings. In a huff as he entered, he did not at first see Arillia seated at the fireside in his outer chamber. She had changed into his least favorite gown of brown wool and wore her hair coiled on either side of her head beneath a golden net. She, of course, knew he preferred it down.

  “How did you come here?” He had watched over her door most of the day, and she had failed to emerge.

  She lifted her chin with a proud tilt to her head. “The Lof Shraen of Faeraven commands my presence and then asks why I give it.”

  “Do you mock me?” At first sight of her swollen eyes, he’d almost given in to sympathy for her, but now he hardened his heart.

  “And if I did, would you punish me?” Her voice escalated in pitch and volume. “Have me whipped? Thrown in the dungeon? Deprived of food?”

  “Pray calm yourself.”

  His words acted as a spark to tinder. Nostrils flared, she rose from her chair. “How dare you speak to me in that tone when you are the cause of my ills!”

  “You bring these ills upon yourself,” he bit out, past restraint.

  The fire went out of her, and she collapsed into a huddle in the oversized chair. “I believed that myself. I even came to your chambers to beg your forgiveness until I saw how little you care about my feelings.”

  His patience snapped. “I fail to understand. You are well fed and clothed, hold a position of envy, and have a husband who would lay his life down for you. And yet, you believe yourself disadvantaged. Your behavior shames us both.”

  “I won’t inflict myself on you further.” She stood up with tears shining in her eyes. “I leave tomorrow for my father’s hold in Chaeradon.”

  “I forbid you to go.”

  “I…will obey.” She lowered her head in defeat, which was not what he’d expected her to do. He restrained the ridiculous urge to kiss away the tears bathing her cheeks. She would not welcome his touch. Besides, after the way she had spoken to him, he shouldn’t yield to tender feelings too soon. He tried again to understand. “Tell me what troubles you.”

  “Can you not see the wretched thing you ask me to do? How can I accept the child Aewen gave you when I have borne you none?”

  “Take heart, Arillia. Lof Yuel may have brought her to us for your sake as well as mine. This fixation on Aewen poisons your mind. You must release yourself from it.” That had been the wrong thing to say, he could tell by the speed with which she looked up.

  “Will you ask me to do something you cannot?”

  He hated the anguish in her voice. “Mara is my daughter. Can you not accept her for my sake?”

  She sighed and dashed her tears away. “As you wish. I will bear her for your sake.”

  “Thank you.” He caught her hand and kissed it. “I hope you will find her less of a burden in time.”

  Pulling free, she stood with quiet dignity. “You have what you want of me, Lof Shraen. Am I now dismissed?”

  He bit back his sharp reply. She had yielded, at least.

  13

  REJECTION

  A marsh bird sobbed from the reaches of Weithen Faen, the lonely lament resonating within Rand. The tide lapped the edges of the road at his feet as if seeking to consume it. In the bruised sky above Pilaer, clouds filtered the dying light while shadows swept across the faen. The beauty of his surroundings held its dangers, for it could lull the unwary into taking a careless step. Beneath the water’s silken surface, quickmud waited, a small peril compared to others he could face. Worse among them were specters ready to drive him mad with his own regrets.

  If only he had understood about his father sooner, his mother might not now suffer. He should have rescued her instead of trying to placate her tormenter. And he should never have plotted to harm Mara. At the thought of her, a sweet longing pierced him, nearly bringing him to his knees. He would embrace the love that caused this pain, for it would help deliver him from the evil that throbbed within the black heart of Pilaer.

  The road that cut across the faen brought him to the stronghold as shadows lengthened into night. Voices rang and boots thumped from behind the wall‒the guardians of Pilaer tromping toward the great hall for the evening repast.<
br />
  Rand waited until the voices echoed within the hall before skirting the outer wall with careful steps. He stole past the gatehouse toward the moonlit postern gate at the rear of the inner bailey. He would bide his time until the chatter within the hall gave way to raucous laughter. Then the corridors of Pilaer would be empty.

  He’d barely rested on his journey, either in body or soul, for shielding his mind from his father’s touch required constant vigilance. With exhaustion tugging at him, he settled against the wall and tipped his head back. The moon shone above the horizon and stars burned from the sky, so bright he shut his eyelids. A fresh breeze caressed his face like a mother’s hand, removing the stench of sour mud that emanated from the faen at low tide. Crickets chirruped and marshfrogs thrummed…

  A mosquito droned in his ear. Jerking awake, he batted the parasite away. The moon sailed high, cast adrift in a silent sea. Night creatures called from the faen, but otherwise, silence reigned.

  He’d waited too long. The one he had come to kill would already slumber in the safety of his chambers. He’d have to wait until the next night to carry out his plan. Meanwhile, he needed somewhere to hide, and the best place for that lay within Pilaer itself.

  The wind off the faen buffeted his face as he groped along the wall. A small stone, still warm from the day’s heat, gave beneath his hand. He pried it out and reached into the cubbyhole, groping for the hidden lever that opened the postern gate. He’d found it in his early days and had afterwards returned from exploring Weithen Faen by this means. His fingers closed on the lever, and he gave it a pull. It held fast.

  He used more strength with the same results. The lever must have rusted in place. Gritting his teeth, he made a last effort.

  Had it yielded?

  He pushed again, putting his shoulder into the task. The lever screeched as it echoed through the faen, loud in the night. An owl burst into the air from the arch above the gate and passed overhead in a flurry. Heart pounding, he watched the bird cross the faen on wings silvered by moonlight. Beyond the gaping postern gate, a cobbled path led to the ruined allerstaed. He longed for its refuge but crouched in shadow at the base of the wall, straining to hear. After the ruckus the owl had set up, the watchguard might come to investigate.

  This night must not end in his captivity. He knew his surroundings well but scanned them anyway, planning an escape route. On three sides of Pilaer, tidal flats stretched into blackness. Mud soft enough to swallow him whole offered no way out if he went that direction. He pressed against the wall, tensed to flee.

  Only the wind stirred. The guard must slumber. He sidled through the opening, pulling the gate shut behind him. The cobblestone path passed beneath his feet, then he climbed the crumbling steps to Pilaer’s place of prayer. The grime of ages obscured the few panes still guarding window openings set high in the walls. From those devoid of glass, owls watched him with luminous eyes.

  The strongwood door groaned from long disuse as he slipped into the dark building. He could wait out the daylight in this forgotten sanctuary. He’d hidden from Draeg’s cruelty within these walls, vanishing for days at a time. His mother had known where to find him. When not blinded by her own miseries, she’d brought him food and water. Sooner or later, she’d coaxed him to take up the raveled threads of his life at Pilaer again.

  Sorrow at what she must now endure twisted like a knife in his gut. He must save her, even if it meant losing his own life.

  

  “Why do I find you in bed, Lof Raena?” Traelein’s voice penetrated to Mara beneath the counterpane. “Kai waits to escort you to the great hall.”

  Mara sat up in bed and held her pillow before her like a shield. “Tell him I am ill and do not wish to take food. And please, call me Mara.” She could not get used to being called a princess.

  Traelein pressed her lips together in obvious disapproval but went away. She’d left the door ajar, but Mara couldn’t pick out words from the murmuring in her outer chamber.

  Traelein returned with a frown marring her brow. “Kai asks if you are certain. He says that this night the Lof Shraen plans to present you to the Lof Raelein in the proper manner.”

  In other words, her father wished to pretend his wife didn’t detest the sight of her. “I am definitely unwell.” She spoke the truth, after a manner of speaking. Her stomach really did churn.

  Traelein’s eyes glinted. She opened her mouth to speak but shut it again.

  “Do you have something to say?” Mara couldn’t resist the question, although uncertain she wanted an answer.

  Traelein shook her head. “I should keep my opinions to myself...”

  “As you wish—“

  “…but I don’t like seeing you in bed all day when you do not seem sick.”

  “Some ailments remain hidden.” Mara clutched her pillow more tightly as sobs wrenched from her.

  “Lof Raena!” Traelein stepped toward her. “I did not mean to make you cry.”

  Mara drew a shuddering breath. “It’s that I ache to go home.”

  “You have only just arrived. Give yourself time, and I’m sure you will come to think of Torindan as home.”

  “How can that happen when my step-mother rejects me?”

  Traelein’s brow puckered again. “Lof Raelein Arillia is not by nature unkind. She also needs time.”

  Fitting in at Torindan had become impossible, but Mara felt too weary to argue the point.

  

  Rand’s boots made little sound on the cobbled path. The keep’s western side door opened beneath his hand. He peered inside. Most of the torches had burned out, casting the corridor into darkness pushed back here and there by the fitful light from those still guttering. He latched the door with the merest click, although the bawdy shouts and laughter from the hall would cover any sound he made. Carnal or blood lust, possibly both, would find fulfillment this night among the warriors of Pilaer. His mother’s influence had saved him from this much. He didn’t need to imagine the night’s entertainment, having been subjected to it during his father’s attempts to make him a real warrior. He’d hidden his revulsion until his father and Draeg sank deeply into their cups, and then escaped into the fresh air.

  Avoiding the light, he slipped from shadow to shadow. Chill air settled like a fog in his lungs. Grey shapes formed in his side vision. Rather than running at him as they always had done, the wraiths of Pilaer coursed alongside him, mouths open on silent howls. Perhaps the darkness of his purpose summoned them. He’d known since his early days that the wraiths fed on hatred and fear, jealousy and lust, and on every other black emotion ravenous to consume him. Avoiding the wraiths had turned him away from impurity. He’d called upon Lof Yuel to shield his mind, a tactic that had served him often and well. Using it now would end his dark errand, but at a cost he was unwilling to pay.

  Frear’s voice echoed down the corridor, singing a ballad Rand knew.

  “Iewald fought and won the day

  By wit, by speed, by might,

  But death came, perfumed and gay,

  In beauty leading him astray,

  And Pilaer lost the night.”

  Why did “Iewald’s Betrayal,” which told how treachery born of lust had destroyed a friendship and a kingdom, have to be his song? Rand had always thought his father’s voice beautiful, even when he slurred his words, as tonight. The old yearning came rushing in a flood that threatened to drown him. His throat swelled, and he swallowed the taste of regret.

  The wraiths, having grown in number, rushed in and plucked at him. Evading them had never been harder. He jerked away from one then another, but finally summoned the strength of mind to look beyond them. He had discovered long ago that there was room to hide in the alcove behind the statue of Freaer. It had been easier in his early days, but he could still wedge himself into the space. Mother had told him that a statue of Kunrat, whose sacrifice had imprisoned the Contender within the Well of Light, had stood here until his father melted it and used the gold
to cast an image of himself. Across the corridor in a twin alcove, the likeness of Rivenn, first ruler of the Kindren, raised his scepter as if in disapproval.

  ”What then of mortal might?

  What then of faithful art?

  Meriwen whispered of delight

  And Iewald fell without a fight,

  Overcome by his own heart.'

  His father came into view in the torchlight, staggering a little beside Urwan, the garn assigned to protect him. Rand’s breath caught. Only an instant more…

  He forced himself to wait until the pair drew even with him.

  Now!

  He shoved the statue in front of him.

  “Lof Shraen!” Urwan’s warning rang out as he stepped in front of his master.

  The statue teetered on the brink of toppling but rocked back into its base with a thud. The wraiths howled.

  Rand braced against the wall and pushed with his feet.

  The statue crashed, and the floor vibrated as cracks radiated through the marble. A golden arm rolled away.

  His father peered from behind his protector. The garn unsheathed a sword that nearly matched Rand in height and slashed the air.Rand sidestepped.

  Urwan advanced, drove him to the wall, and thrust again. Rand flung himself sideways, touched by sparks as the sword pingedthe stone wall. He backed, more from instinct than plan.

  The garn followed.

  Outpaced, Rand stopped retreating and stood ready.

  Shifting to the right, Urwan brought his sword around.

  Rand dove to the floor and rolled into his opponent’s legs.

  Going down with a roar, the garn crashed into the broken statue.

  Rand scrambled to his feet while the garn moaned and clutched his back. The injury probably wouldn’t stop him for long, but it bought a little time. Jerking the dagger from his boot, he started toward his father, who had not moved. Rand could slash his throat in an instant.

  The tension around his father’s mouth belied his casual posture. He flicked a glance from Rand’s face to his dagger. “You…surprise me.”

  The stench of spirits wafted to Rand, and he fought the urge to vomit. “How so?”