SoJourner Page 13

  “It’s plain that something preys upon your mind.”

  Her father’s voice brought her back to him. She shook her head. “T’is not a matter that can be helped.”

  “I suppose you yearn for the inn.” He gusted a sigh. “You must adjust to Torindan.”

  “Why must I?” At the look of pain that crossed his face, she longed to take the words back, especially since the answer she suspected terrified her almost as much as the monster in her dream.

  “Syl Marinda.” He tilted his head as if testing the sound. “Your mother named you snow maiden. Do you know the story of your birth?”

  “Kai hinted at it on the journey from Norwood.” She moved closer, drawn by curiosity. “Will you tell it to me?”

  “I am told Aewen named you that because your life had its beginning on a snow bank along the wayside.” His fingertips pressed his temples. “I’m not proud that my lack of faith in Lof Yuel caused my child to be born alongside the road. Kai took you and your mother to the inn at the White Feather. There she died, while you lived.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. “My poor mother! Why did she travel so near her time?” Her face warmed at discussing such a delicate subject.

  “The fault is mine.” He flung himself from the throne to pace. “I tried too hard to protect her. With Torindan under siege, I sent her away, thinking to keep her safe. Had I allowed her to remain with me as she’d wished, she would still live.” He stopped before her. “Can you forgive me for taking your mother from you?”

  Sympathy washed through her in a warm tide. “You couldn’t know she would die. How can I hold anything against you?”

  He blinked and looked away, but not before she caught the sheen of tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Father?” She waited for him to recover his composure. “Tell me of my mother.”

  He smiled, but his eyes held sorrow. “You have only to glance in the mirror glass to see her. You are much the same, except for the color of your eyes. Hers were the blue of a summer sky.”

  “Am I like her?”

  “In many ways. She loved simple things, caring nothing for wealth. You are like her in this.”

  “You see me more clearly than I knew.”

  “I see you.” He smiled and caressed her hair with the lightest of touches. “Your mother cared for the poor and helped the priests give alms. She dedicated her life to doing good.”

  Mara blinked away tears. “I’m sure I would have loved her.”

  “As she did you.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  “It’s the truth. Now that you are restored to me, perhaps Aewen can rest in peace.”

  “Surely my mother does not…walk.”

  “Only in my memory.” He covered her hand. “I will honor you as I failed to honor her. My mind is made up to acknowledge you as my heir.”

  The breath caught in her throat. “How can you think I want such a promise? You said yourself I am happiest leading a simple life.”

  He frowned. “You must set aside your wishes and ascend to the high throne of Faeraven for the good of all.”

  She stared at him. “But you occupy the high throne.”

  “At present, but that will change, and possibly sooner than later.” He went back to pacing. “Time runs out even now. Yesterday a messenger brought the news from Enric of Graelinn that Freaer marches with his armies.”

  Could that have been the evil she’d sensed? “Who is this Freaer? I like nothing I hear of him.”

  He glanced at her. “Do you know about the Contender?”

  “Not well.”

  “Ancient prophecy speaks of one who would smite the Kindren with fell powers. Only by sacrifice could this Contender be bound within the viadril burning within Lohen Keil.”

  “Please! I don’t understand what you are talking about.”

  “I’ve forgotten you don’t know our place names. Lohen Keil is the Well of Light at the rotting heart of Mount Despair. I can tell by your expression you’ve heard of it.”

  “Who has not heard of the place where the welkes roost in the east? But I’ve never heard of a Well of Light or a vi—vi….”

  “The flames of virtue rise from a holy fire set by Lof Yuel to cleanse impurity and imprison evil. Our ancestor, Kunrat, gave his life to trap the Contendor within its flames. Peace followed but did not last, for the virtue of the House of Rivenn waned, causing the flames to burn less brightly. The Contender broke free and remained hidden while striving to divide Elderland. He revealed himself at my coronation in an upheaval that nearly cost my life.” He shook his head. “I ought to have hunted him down then rather than letting him regain power.”

  “Can anything be done to stop him?” Mara asked in alarm. “Shae of Whellein sang her own death song at Lohen Keil. She gave another kind of sacrifice that allowed the DawnKing to enter Elderland.”

  Even as far away as Norwood, Mara had heard of the DawnSinger and of the miracles wrought by her song. She frowned. “But then, why hasn’t this DawnKing saved Torindan?”

  “Ah, but I have not found it a simple matter to let him.”

  Mara blinked. “Is he guided by your permission?”

  “No, but Emmerich does not intrude.”

  “Emmerich, did you say?”

  “Yes, Emmerich. I gather you have met.”

  “I’ve never known anyone like him.” Mara searched for words. “He startled me at first, but then I hated to part from him, afraid I’d never see him again.”

  “Oh, Emmerich may be found, but he comes and goes like a wind. I’ve sent a messenger to seek him. We can hope I haven’t left it until too late.”

  Long after Mara took leave of her father, his words stayed with her. After returning to her chambers, she questioned her maid. “Did you hear what my father said?”

  Traelein sniffed. “Milady, I couldn’t help but hear.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not accusing you of eavesdropping.” Mara perched on a bench beside the cold hearth. “But, what am I to do? My father making me his heir could be as much a mistake as his marrying my mother. Shouldn’t I spare him the shame of naming a half-blood his heir?”

  “With all respect, it isn’t proper for a maid to advise a Lof Raena on such a matter.”

  Mara stared at her, dumbstruck. Whatever else Traelein did, she always seemed to be giving her advice. “You will recall that I was first a kitchen maid.”

  “To be brought from so low a position to one so high—I can’t imagine it.”

  “Have you wondered how you might feel in my place?”

  “Lof Raena—“

  “Would you not be frightened and lonely?”

  “I would be terrified.”

  “Then you do understand. Tell me, if I needed to leave Torindan, would you help me find a way?”

  Traelein stepped backward. “My duty lies with the Lof Shraen.”

  “And what if that duty called for you to save him grief?”

  Traelein bowed her head. “In that case, I would perform it.”

  

  Rand raised his bloody arms in a victor’s stance, although he had never felt more defeated. The applause did not reach the same level of enthusiasm as the day before. Having dispatched each small animal with a minimum of suffering and gore, he’d disappointed the crowd and brought a scowl to Draeg’s face.

  He didn’t care.

  As he lowered his hands, the mob rushed in and snatched the dead animals at his feet for their cooking pots. His shoulders sagged, and he started toward his prison tower ahead of his guard.

  A shove to his back sent him sprawling. He caught himself with his hands, wincing as pain flared in his wrists. He’d prevented himself from crying out, a thing that would prompt cruelty from his half-brother.

  Draeg stood over him, nostril’s flaring. “Rise!”

  He pushed to his feet. Draeg’s spittle struck his eyes. “You’ll never be a true warrior. Listen to the crowd calling for your blood. I have half a min
d to give it to them.”

  Rand waited in hopeless resignation for his half-brother’s decision.

  “Father wants you kept alive, or I would.” Draeg shouted to the guards, who advanced with clubs swinging. Blows thudded, and someone screamed. A fight broke out as the mob turned its bloodlust on itself.

  Urwan thrust Rand in the direction of the path. He lurched off ahead of the garn while Draeg kept pace.

  A final push propelled him into his prison cell. He fetched against the wall and shrank against it like an animal at bay.

  Draeg stood in the doorway, a sneer on his face. “Tomorrow you’ll bear witness to the execution of a Kindren. After that, you’ll wield the claws of death yourself.”

  Rand did his best to keep his expression neutral, but Draeg gave a soft laugh. “Sleep well, Misbegotten.” He nodded to Urwan and moved off.

  The door slammed shut, and the crossbar scraped into place.

  Rand stared at his blood-stained hands with helpless sorrow. With no water to wash them, he could only scrub at them with a strip torn from the rag that passed for bedding. They were raw and stinging before he forced himself to stop. Tears prickled behind his eyes, but he couldn’t release them. Beyond the barred window, the aching beauty of Weithan Faen mocked him. He would never explore it again.

  The dreary chamber’s stone walls bowed away from the window to meet at either end of a wood-and-iron partition with a battered door at its center. Light from the window fell without relief into the chamber, painting stripes across the bed suspended by ropes. The stained tick stuffed with straw that topped the narrow frame offered little comfort but at least elevated him off the filthy floor. A broken stand held a cracked water pitcher that his guard might or might not refill. The tower room laid claim to no other furnishings

  He lowered himself onto the cot and closed his eyes to shut out the cobweb-infested ceiling. The aches in his body reproached him, but he needed no reminder of the use he’d put it to. He could still see the wild eyes of the frightened creatures and hear their bones cracking beneath his hands. Strange that after the first couple of deaths, killing became easier.

  The thought brought a shudder. He had already lost the scant freedom he’d cherished. Must he also lose his soul?

  No! The tick’s straw crunched beneath his thrashing head. He should never have killed to entertain the blood lust of others, not even animals marked for the cooking pot. Cooperating had only postponed his fate. He’d never pass the next trial.

  That’s what he’d told himself yesterday.

  

  Arillia twisted around, ignoring the pain as her hair jerked out of her maid’s hands, half-plaited. “Tell me you do not speak the truth!”

  Lyneth sent her a startled glance, then bowed her head. “Forgive me, Lof Raelein. I should not have repeated servant’s gossip.”

  “Who told you of Freaer’s approach?”

  “I beg of you, don’t ask me to betray a friend.“

  Arillia drew a sharp breath but kept her patience. “I promise that whoever you name will not suffer for it. Now tell me.”

  “Traelein gave me the news. She had it from her mistress. Don’t blame her, Lof Raelein. She was too upset to keep such terrible news to herself.”

  “I can well imagine. Do you know how the Lof Raena knew this?”

  “She carried the word from her father.”

  Arillia hid her reaction behind a mask of composure. “Finish plaiting my hair so that I may join my husband in the hall.” She turned her back to her maid.

  “Yes, Lof Raelein.” Lyneth’s surprise was evident from her tone, but she made no comment as she took up the task with gentle fingers.

  Arillia allowed no other to braid her hair. Tears gathered in her eyes now that had nothing to do with the tenderness of her scalp. It would seem that Elcon now ignored his wife and confided in his daughter‒one more sign of how distant her husband had become. Although he treated her with kindness when they met in public, he’d stopped coming to her chambers. She bit her lip. She’d driven him away, but why had he gone?

  19

  GUILT AND FORGIVENESS

  Mara stared down at the trencher of elk stew with greenings before her, one of her favorite dishes. Its aroma had at first made her mouth water but now turned her stomach. Arillia sat at the table beside her, but with her shoulder turned. Her step-mother had begun to welcome her. Why had her affections changed?

  After talking with her father in the presence chamber, Mara had made every effort to fit in at Torindan and with the Lof Raelein. Obviously, she had failed.

  What was the use? No matter what she did it could never be enough. She was no lof raena, whatever the Kindren called her. How could she ever hope to become one? She’d been raised to serve, not lead. Her father would simply have to understand why she couldn’t accept the scepter of Faeraven.

  She stopped pretending to eat altogether.

  Arillia kept her father busy talking, but once or twice his glance paused on Mara. She knew enough about the soul touch by now to recognize her father’s gentle nudge. Kai, the only other Kindren who semed to really notice her, sat frowning. A pang of sympathy went through her. Whatever his troubles, she wished them more fleeting than her own.

  During a lull in the music from the minstrel’s gallery, she murmured her excuses and started toward the dais steps.

  “Syl Marinda!” her father called.

  Having only just reached the end of the table, she could hardly pretend to be out of earshot. She turned around. “Yes?”

  “Stay a little longer, my daughter, and I think you’ll be pleased.” His hand pressed her step-mother’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you agree, Arillia?”

  Her step-mother lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Stay…if you will.”

  Trapped by the hope written on her father’s face, Mara set aside the urge to escape. She returned to her chair, resigned to endure a long evening.

  Servants carried away the last remnants of the repast and removed the trestle tables below the dais. In the gallery, one of the minstrels stood forth to sing a lively ballad. Excitement pulsed in the very air, and the crowd lining the edges of the chamber watched the central archway with increasing interest.

  Acrobats garbed in bright jerkins and tight leggings ran in on slippered feet. They performed one feat after another. Mara watched in bemusement, never having seen the like. The acrobats piled on top of one another to form a living tower. She held her breath lest any fall. The tower broke apart as they all went tumbling. She gasped with everyone else. The acrobats sprang to their feet and raised joined hands. Laughing, the crowd applauded and called for more. Mara felt her father’s gaze on her and returned his smile, grateful that he’d kept her from missing this performance.

  Arillia continued to ignore her presence.

  Anxious to retreat to her chambers, Mara went down the side steps leading from the dais and slipped into the crowd.

  A group of traveling minstrels marched in to a brisk melody. These minstrels did not play as well as Torindan’s minstrels but dressed with more color and brought dancers with veils twirling.

  The crowd pressed forward, cutting off Mara’s escape route. “Who, pray, is that?” A serving maid was staring at a brawny minstrel beating a timpani.

  “What do you want with a son of Ellendia?” A Kindren clad in the green and gold of a guardian of Rivenn asked from beside her.

  “He’s handsome enough to turn any maiden’s heart.” The serving maid retorted. “But I’ve no taste for a half-blood.” She turned away with a final, lingering look at the minstrel.

  The son of Ellendia had long eyes like a Kindren but the darker hair and sturdier build of an Elder. Mara’s own eyes were round enough to be mistaken for those of an Elder, one reason she’d blended in among them. Unlike her, this minstrel could never hide his mixed blood.

  Mara stared at the son of Ellendia in fascination, having long ago heard the story of the Elder huntress who fell in love with a Kindre
n. Ellendia and her Kindren husband Maeric settled in the wilderness of Dyloc Syldra, but not before strife caused by their union divided one of the Kindren kingdoms.

  How could her father believe his people would welcome a half-blood Lof Raelein?

  

  “Why have you brought me here?” Arillia’s voice quavered. In times past she wouldn’t have had to ask her husband why he desired her company. The thought weighted her footsteps as she followed Elcon into his outer chamber. He banged the door shut behind them, the angry sound making her jump. Anders would normally have opened and closed the door, but Elcon must have dismissed him. Arillia folded her arms and waited for her husband’s answer.

  “Have you really no idea why I would want a word with you?” His nostrils flared as he spoke.

  She tossed her head, not caring if her attitude roused further anger in him. “Why should I know anything? I am kept in the dark by my husband.” There. She had named her grievance. His brow puckered, and satisfaction washed through her. She had drawn first blood in tonight’s battle of wills. If, as she suspected, he meant to reproach her for slighting his daughter, she would make certain he knew how he had wronged his wife.

  “Arillia, I’m not sure what you mean, but if you have a complaint, pray give it.”

  “Well, then.” She squared her shoulders. “A wife should not have to learn from servants matters her husband confides to his daughter.”

  His eyes widened. “Have you taken to gossiping with servants now?”

  “Don’t chide me for a chance discovery.”

  “And am I to understand you are jealous of Syl Marinda?”

  “No!” She waited until her breathing quieted. “Well, perhaps a little.”

  He turned away, shaking his head. “What is it that you want from me?”

  “You no longer seek my chambers or send for me to come to yours.” Her face flamed with heat.

  He swung back to her in sudden passion, his eyes stormy. “Will you reproach me for that? I grew tired of cooling my heels outside your door.”