SoJourner Page 14

  She shook her head as if the gesture might clear her confusion. Elcon had wronged her, but why did his words make so much sense? She pulled in a painful breath. “What have I done?”

  “You have treated your husband like a stranger—no, as worse than a stranger—like an enemy, and now blame his withdrawal on a lack of caring. Can you understand how frustrated that makes me? No matter what I do, I can’t make you believe I love you.”

  She’d never considered that doubting her husband’s love could imprison him, but the agony on Elcon’s face testified to the truth. He’d said all this before, but somehow she hadn’t really heard him until now. “I’m sorry, Elcon, for being the wretched creature you describe.” Irony laced her words. He deserved a better apology, but she couldn’t muster one. “Still, you should have told me of Torindan’s peril before I heard it from servants.”

  “But I’ve worked hard to keep the news from you.”

  Stepping closer, she laid her hand on his arm. “Dearest husband. keeping me in ignorance only makes the truth, when it comes, strike harder.”

  He covered her hand with his. “I wanted to spare you.”

  Tendrils of sorrow twined about her, making breathing difficult. “Then you must protect me from heartache by remaining alive.”

  “Dear, Arillia.” The corners of his lips tilted in a gentle smile. “I will obey your wish if I can. But whether or not I live, I must ensure your safety.”

  She pulled her hand out of his grasp. “You mean to send me away.”

  “Only if Torindan seems ready to fall. I’ve arranged for you and Syl Marinda to escape by the tunnel within the allerstaed.”

  She had no need to ask if he meant to go with her. The set of his jaw gave her answer enough. “I would rather remain near you.”

  “That would not be wise. You could be trapped and unable to flee with none to save you. And if Freaer found you…well, I won’t let that happen.”

  She clutched her throat. “Let us hope it will not come to such measures.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair, a haggard look on his face. “I don’t want to send you away at all. That is how I lost Aewen. Torindan survived the battle I tried to protect her from, which became the final irony.”

  “I have heard this story from you many times, Elcon. If only I could expunge it from your mind, I would.”

  “My heart is given over to you, Arillia, but memories haunt my thoughts.”

  “I am selfish enough to want all of you.”

  “Perhaps, if I confess the shame I bear, I can be free of it.”

  “What shame?”

  “I sent Aewen away to save her, it’s true, but also to have her gone.” He heaved a breath. “I’m not proud of this, Arillia, but I wanted to return Aewen to her parents to appease the Kindren who stood against her. Forcing a Lof Raelein of Elder blood on my people with no time to accept her was a mistake I’ll forever regret.”

  Compassion tightened her chest. Had she thought more of her husband and less of herself, might he have unburdened himself before this? She pushed the suspicion away. If she let her own guilt overcome her, she’d be useless to help her husband with his. She enfolded him in her arms until his sobs stopped, then drew back a little. “Thank you for telling me, Elcon.”

  He touched her cheek. “Do you think me horrible?”

  “I remember that time of turmoil. You ascended to the high throne so young. It’s not surprising that you made mistakes.” The realization fostered in Arillia a little more forgiveness for the way Elcon had jilted her. She’d accepted his apology long ago, but her wounds healed slowly. “A husband should not forsake his wife.”

  “That is not what you did, I am positive.”

  Elcon’s eyes brimmed with sorrow. “She begged to remain with me.”

  She shook her head. “You had the babe to consider, too.”

  “And look how events turned out for her.”

  “Enough.” She put a finger to his lips. “Your decision might as easily have saved them both.”

  “Thank you.” He looked at her in a way that reminded her of the Elcon who had captured her heart in his youth. His gaze traveled over her face and settled hungrily on her mouth. He lowered his head, and she tilted her face to accept his kiss. His lips caressed hers in a gentle embrace. He cradled her against him, and for a time she heard only the beat of his heart. The warmth of his gaze touched her, sparking an answering heat within her. She parted her lips in invitation. Crushing her to him in swift abandon, he explored her mouth with his own. She melted into him, lost in waves of desire.

  They broke apart, panting, and Arillia touched her blazing cheeks.

  “As I recall, wife, you wanted proof of my love.” Elcon caught one of her hands and nibbled her fingertips, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I am only too happy to give it.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but his kiss swallowed her words, and as he swung her into his arms, she forgot them entirely.

  

  Rand had never witnessed so brutal a murder. He swayed on his feet while Draeg pranced before his kill and the mob roared approval. The carved welke extended its wings with its head back as if crowing in victory. Lashed to the sacrificial pole, the victim thrashed in the final throws of death.

  Rand ran a hand over his sweating brow. The events of the day clung to his mind in such vivid detail he might never shake free of their horror. He’d not thought his half-brother a monster until now.

  Draeg let out a war cry, an uncanny ululation that, when taken up by the mob, raised the hair on the back of Rand’s neck. The crowd surged forward. A guard went down, screaming, while the others broke and ran. The mob lifted Draeg, cheering as he waved the bloodied claws of death. They picked up Rand, too, and passed him from hand to hand. From this vantage point, he could see far too well, for the crowd descended on the body with knives. The victim’s flesh would fill pots and roast on spits tonight.

  Rand retched, a painful event since he had no food and little water in his stomach. A sensation of unreality crept over him, but he pulled his mind back. Now, more than ever, he needed his wits about him. Tomorrow, he would choose between life and death.

  20

  NIGHTMARE

  Mara woke. Sweat bathed her brow. Her breaths rasped, loud in the night. Fear twined about her like a sea dragon’s tail around a sailing ship. The bad dream had been so real it gripped her yet. She summoned the courage to sit up. Clasping her knees, she huddled in the darkness.

  A tap came at the door. “Lof Raena?” Traelein sounded comforting and normal.

  “Come in!” Mara’s pulled aside the bed hangings with a shaking hand.

  Traelein burst into the chamber wearing a linen shift, her hair bound in long plaits on either side of her head,. Her face swam strangely in and out of the flickering light of the candle she held. “You cried out, Lof Raena. Are you unwell?”

  Mara hugged her knees. “’Twas a nightmare.”

  Taelein shrank back. “It’s the evil you summoned, seeking you out.”

  She should never have confided in her maid. “The exertion of last’s night entertainment brought it on, more likely. The traveling bards made me think of distant shores and the sea.”

  “Did you visit such places in your sleep?”

  “I did.” Mara offered no details that might foster superstitions in her servant’s active imagination. How strange to dream of riding a ship upon the waves when she’d only ever glimpsed the sea from a wingabeast’s back. Of course, the painting of the dragon and the ship in the presence chamber had played into her nightmare.

  Traelein gave a delicate shudder. “Did you chance upon sea dragons or finfolk?”

  “I’ve not heard of finfolk before.” Mara avoided a direct answer.

  “May you never be taken by a finman and carried away to the hidden isles, Lof Raena.” Traelein glanced about, as if finfolk might lurk in the shadows. “I’ll watch over you.”

  “Thank you, but you may return to yo
ur bed.”

  “I’ll be glad of its comfort, although slumber will not return this night.” With this dark pronouncement, Traelein withdrew.

  Mara lay down again, but slumber remained as hidden from her as the finfolk’s isles.

  The possibility of being carried off by a finman did not frighten her more than the dangers of the coming siege. Would Freaer’s armies hurt Rand if they discovered him on the road? Propelled by the disquieting thought, she reached for him with her mind. Such thick shadows covered his soul that she almost didn’t find him.

  She gasped. The stench of death clung to him. Fighting the urge to pull away, she encircled him instead. She could not endure long and let go with tears gathering.

  He barely seemed alive.

  

  Mara’s touch drove away the smothering darkness and stirred memories for Rand‒the morning sun breaking over the faen, his mother’s rare laughter, the curve of Mara’s cheek. When her touch faded, the night seemed blacker than before but new life stirred within him.

  The sliver of sky at the window lightened. He found little joy in the sight, for it marked the beginning of the day he would die.

  The crossbar grated, and the door scraped open. Urwan waited in the entrance, a silent angel of doom. Rand walked before him to the outer bailey. The whistle of a whip sliced the air behind him and lashed his ankle, searing his skin. The thong tugged backward, and he fell on the stone path.

  “Not that way, Misbegotten! Father summons you.”

  Rand rolled over to face his tormenter. Draeg, in a blood red surcoat emblazoned with a rampant golden dragon, gathered the whip he had used.

  Behind him, Urwan spread his thick lips in a malicious smile.

  Hiding his surprise, Rand skirted around Draeg. The hair on the back of his neck bristled, but his half-brother let him go by unmolested. Rand turned his steps toward his father’s chambers. He didn’t look back, but from the sound of footsteps behind him, both Draeg and his guard followed.

  The golden statues of Freaer and Rivenn contemplated one another across the corridor outside his father’s chambers. Urwan rapped at the carved and gilded door.

  A warrior dressed like Draeg in assassin’s red, opened it to reveal his father, garbed in robes of scarlet and ermine, lounging in his high-backed throne.

  The warrior stepped aside while Draeg swept into the chamber. Urwan shoved Rand after his half-brother.

  Draeg bowed to his father, but Rand held back.

  “Bow to your Lof Shraen!” Draeg’s voice and the whip snapped out at the same time.

  Rand fell to his knees, strangling as the leather thong cut off his wind. Blackness pressed in on him, but it loosened, and he clawed free.

  Draeg marked him with a glittering glance, and then gave his attention to his father. “I have delivered the prisoner at your bidding, Lof Shraen.”

  A cold gaze flicked over Rand. “Rise.”

  Gagging and grasping his throat, he stumbled to his feet.

  His father pushed out of his chair and circled him.

  Rand glared at him.

  His father laughed. “There’s a dangerous light in his eyes not present before. I’d not turn my back on him now. I’m pleased, Draegmor. Here stands a fledgling warrior in place of the coward I gave you. I’ll warrant you’ve trained him without mercy.” His voice held a wry note.

  Draeg smirked. “I’m always glad to do my duty.”

  “I have no doubt of that. On this final day of Rand’s warrior training, I’ve decided to grant him a special contest.”

  Rand hid his surprise and dismay. Draeg twitched but did not otherwise betray any emotion. A special contest, being a fight to the death with a heavier opponent, would ensure Rand became a member of the assassins with a rank equal to his half-brother’s—if he survived. It was all he had once wanted, but now he swallowed a sour taste at the prospect.

  His father smiled. “You will fight to the death against Urwan.”

  

  Arillia’s sigh stirred the hair at her husband’s temple as he slept beside her in his bed.

  His eyelids twitched.

  She smiled and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

  He turned and pulled her into his warmth.

  She went willingly, rejoicing in his love. If only he didn’t have to leave her to discuss Torindan’s defenses with Craelin and Weilton. The intrusion of war chilled her, and she returned to her chambers for a warm bath. Afterwards, dressed in scarlet wool, she summoned Elcon’s daughter.

  Lyneth opened the door when Mara and her maid arrived. The wary look on her step-daughter’s face pierced Arillia to the heart. Without doubt, she had placed it there.

  “Lof Raelein.” Mara curtsied. “You summoned me?”

  Arillia gestured to the chairs grouped around the marble hearth “Pray, sit down.”

  Mara cast an anxious glance at her before settling into one of the chairs.

  “You may leave us.” Arillia dismissed the two maids and seated herself across from her step-daughter. “I treated you ill last night. Can you forgive me?”

  Mara’s eyes, so like her father’s, widened. “I—yes, of course.”

  “Thank you.” Arillia released her breath.

  “Lof Raelein…” Mara bit her lip. “My coming to Torindan hasn’t been easy for you.”

  “I’ll admit that your resemblance to your mother came as a shock.”

  “Your reaction was only natural.”

  Arillia examined her hands, folded in her lap, but then looked into Mara’s eyes, green like her father’s. “I hope we can begin anew.”

  Mara smiled. “I’d like that, Lof Raelein.”

  “Call me Arillia.”

  

  Rand’s mouth went dry. Blood pounded in his ears. Sweat beaded his forehead. He’d kept company with the idea of his own death for a long time, but as a thing walking beside him, not staring him in the face as now. Urwan, twice his size and half again as tall, strutted with scarce-constrained eagerness across the outer bailey. Guards at the edges of the roped-off area held back the jockeying crowd, the better to watch the carnage to come.

  Rand’s father occupied an elaborately carved chair elevated on a dais beside the fighting area. His hair shone in the sun, giving him an angelic appearance. Beside him, Draeg leaned forward as if eager for the fight to begin. A fleeting sadness touched Rand for this brother who had never been a brother. He’d once idolized Dreag and longed for his approval, but that sentiment stirred him no more. Now their only ties were forged by hate.

  Clad in heavy armor, Urwan raised a giant shield and massive sword. His roar prickled the skin on Rand’s arms.

  The crowd raised an answering howl.

  Rand lifted his own shield and the slender sword that, although made of steel, would prove a paltry weapon against the garn. Beneath a surcoat in the blue and gold of the garrison, he wore chain mail that would not stand up against Urwan’s blade. Narrowing his eyes, he sized up his opponent. He’d never match a garn for brawn, but the agility his brother had unknowingly taught him while growing up might serve him now.

  He probably wouldn’t escape this contest with his life. However, if he could win today, he would do it for Mara, who had comforted him in the darkness of his soul, and for his mother, who shouldn’t have to die. He no longer cared to become a guardian of Pilaer or fight his father’s battles. How ironic that his father’s approval mattered less than nothing to him anymore. A surge of panic stole Rand’s breath. He resisted its pull. Draeg’s attacks had taught him nothing if not clarity under stress.

  Urwan sounded off again, playing to the crowd.

  Gritting his teeth, Rand charged.

  Urwan raised his sword and swerved to face Rand on his right side.

  Rand dashed in to jab Urwan’s hand where it gripped the shield boss. Metal pinged as his sword tip met Urwan’s hand guard.

  Urwan bellowed and his shield struck the ground. The impact must have bruised his hand. H
is face went red.

  Rand leaped away in time to avoid being sliced in two.

  Before Urwan could recover his balance, Rand rolled toward him and hooked his feet.

  Urwan went down with his armor clanking.

  Rand caught up Urwan’s shield and tossed it outside the fighting area. A squabble broke out over the fallen shield. The crowd cheered and hissed at the combatants. Rand snapped his attention back to his opponent.

  Urwan was regaining his feet. He glared at Rand, his face contorted with rage not unlike Draeg’s when bested. The garn unleashed a battle cry that the crowd took up.

  Rand held himself steady.

  Urwan charged.

  At the last possible instant, Rand sprang to the right.

  The garn followed.

  Darting left, Rand struck at his opponent’s unguarded side, but he had no time to aim the blow. It fell short. Already the garn faced him. Their swords clashed, sparking.

  Rand bit back a cry as his shoulder took the impact. He’d never last against such strength, but he couldn’t seem to break away. Urwan drove him backwards. The rope pressed into his back. The mob crowed. Harnds reached for him across the roped aisle. Fear leant Rand a burst of energy, and he sidestepped away from the edge. The tip of Urwan’s blade sliced his shoulder, and sticky warmth oozed down his arm. He ground his teeth against the pain and moved out of reach. Sweat stung his eyes, and he shook his head with droplets spattering. Stepping on his shield, he brought its edge up to his hand. He shifted to escape another thrust of the broad sword.

  Urwan pursued, closing in with fury, his ugly face contorted in an inhuman grin. Their swords clashed and caught in a test of strength until, with a bellow, the garn flung him backwards.

  Rand slammed to the ground, losing both sword and shield, but rolled in time to miss being impaled by Urwan’s blade. He took up his sword in a desperate rush.

  With a mocking smile, Urwan held up Rand’s shield. It looked pathetically small before the garn. Urwan tossed the shield outside the fighting area, and another brawl erupted. The garn lifted his blade into the air and gave a war whoop, much to the crowd’s delight.

  Acting on instinct, Rand dashed beneath Urwan’s raised arm, and embedded his sword beneath the garn’s arm pit.