Days Of Light And Shadow (34 page)

Chapter Fifty Two.

“Lady.” Sophelia heard her maid knocking at the door, and called for her to enter. There was no point in her standing outside with her breakfast after all, even if she was not in her usual bedchamber. Besides Iros was gone, the physicians had come, treated his wounds, poured the tea down his throat, dressed him, and carried him off for his day’s duties. There was nothing for the girl to see.

“Put the tray down there Rial.” She indicated the small writing desk by the window. There was no table in the bedchamber so it would have to do.

“Yes Sophelia.” Rial did as she was instructed, just as she always did, and for a moment it was almost like being home again. Just for a heartbeat. But she wasn’t home, and she never would be again. Never again would she waken in her own bed, to the sound of her sisters laughing as they played. Never again would she greet the sun streaming in through her window with a smile before heading downstairs to share breakfast with her family. That was gone.

Now she had to waken in a strange bed. One that was far too hard and covered in heavy blankets and heavier furs. She had to open her eyes to see cold stone walls, heavy furniture, and a far more distant sun shining through a barred window. Instead of warm, living wood under her feet, there was more cold stone that chilled her toes. And the sounds she heard were the heavy treads of the endless servants going about their business as they ran the castle, and the harsh bangs and clanks of the soldiers out in the front courtyard, practicing with their weapons.

“Shall I run you a bath?” Sophelia nodded as she sat down to her breakfast. A bath would be welcome. If nothing else the hot water would help to drive away the ever-present chill of the stone. And this was summer. What would the castle be like in the depths of winter? She shuddered a little at the thought.

At least she had a bath. It wasn’t something she’d expected when she’d come to Greenlands. She’d thought in terms of bathing with basins of water or down in the rivers. But the castle was more civilised than she’d imagined, and it seemed all of the bedchambers, or at least the two she’d seen, had indoor plumbing and their own baths.

Besides who was she to complain? She thought on that as she watched Rial going about her duties, lighting the fire to heat the water. At least she was the lady of the castle. The servants even addressed her as Lady Sophelia. A strange title for her to hear from humans, but still a sign of respect. How much harder was it for her two maids in this place?

They had no titles, no respect to be paid to them. They were far from their families, and with no prospect of returning to them, and little of even hearing from them any time soon. Pigeons were expensive, and traders slow and unreliable. And what hope did they have of ever marrying? Rial was of House Pirial, a respectable if modest house. Wheelwrights as she recalled. She worked as a maid to earn gold to send back to her family, and in time she had surely had hopes of being wed. But that couldn’t happen here. There were few other elves of proper houses in Greenlands, and none of her family. None to make the arrangements.

In accompanying her here, she had surely destined herself to a life alone. And yet she had done it without a word of complaint, simply because it was her duty. Bria was the same. Of House Feniselle she came from a long line of farmers, and had taken up service to her because it was expected. House Feniselle and House Vora were old allies, and it was considered good for a daughter of House Feniselle to spend some years in service to them. It was expected that in doing so the daughters would learn something of the ways of the high born and so become more desirable as potential wives. But there were no husbands in Greenlands.

Duty. Such a terrible word, though she had never before thought of it as such. Not until the elder had ordered her to carry out her marital duties. Then she had considered it a punishment.

But compared to her husband? It was nothing. She had made her bed beside him for the first time the previous night in fear. But fear had turned to horror when she saw the underworld his life had become. He burned. By the Mother how could a man burn so hot? How could he dwell in such pain? Crying out all the night in his sleep? If you could call it such. What had been done to him was a crime beyond all decency.

Yet in the morning he arose, bathed, with the help of the physicians, dressed and went about his duties when any normal man should be falling down with pain. If it was her duty to lie beside him at night and tend to him as a wife should, it was a small thing compared with what he endured for the sake of his duty.

Besides, he had scarcely even noticed that she was there through the night. When the blood filled his eyes as he lay there, she suspected he became blind. Just as her brother had said he would. In the darkness he knew only pain.

If the elder’s tea worked, and despite Trekor’s confidence she wasn’t so sure, it might still be too late for Iros.

“Your bath is ready Sophelia.”

Rial’s words brought her quickly back to the world, and to the price that too many had paid.

“Thank you Rial. Now I want you to find Bria and both of you to go back to your quarters and start writing letters to your families. In an hour I’ll be with you and we’ll go to the markets and find a trader to carry them home.”

Duty, she decided, should be rewarded. Besides it was time to leave the castle grounds. Time to greet Greenlands. Time to become the Lady Sophelia.

Chapter Fifty Three.

A bird called out somewhere in the darkness, perhaps seeking its mate, and for some reason it woke Iros. He wasn’t sure why. But the lingering echoes of its cry resonated within his thoughts, refusing to go away.

“Are you hurting?” Sophelia asked the question from the other side of the bed, catching him by surprise, again. She had been in his bed now for five long nights, and he still didn’t understand why. And yet sometimes it was nice to wake as he did and hear her beside him. Especially now that some little health was finally returning to his body. Even some strength. Whatever strange and bitter ingredients were in the witch’s tea, it was working. The night fevers were easing. His eyes no longer bled. The pain in his bones was less. Even his wounds were finally starting to heal over.

Koran wasn’t completely happy about that, he considered it an embarrassment. And the physician kept claiming that it was Phyllis’ blessing finally working after months of failure. But Iros didn’t really care who was responsible. It was enough to simply see some light ahead once more. And maybe a little humility would be a good thing for the physician to discover in turn. Not that he would mention that to him.

“Hush. I’m fine woman. Go back to sleep.” She wouldn’t though, He knew that. For whatever reason it was that she had decided to make his bed hers, she took her wifely duties seriously. She would tend to him, help him with his wounds and his bandages, bring him water as he needed, and dampen his brow when he burned. It still seemed very strange to him, but not altogether unpleasant. And maybe that was a part of why his health was returning. Enough that he felt strong enough to throw back the covers, stand for the first time on his own, and hobble his way over to the window so that he could look over his home. It might not be as pretty as Leafshade, but to his mind it was the more beautiful because of it.

The elves built pretty dreams. Their artistry was everywhere in their cities. The touch of the Mother so they claimed. But there was something to be said for strength as well. Greenlands was real in a way that Leafshade simply wasn’t. With its clean straight lines and raw stone it was solid. Maybe that was something of the Father’s will in action. Which reminded him that he still had to give some thought to the advocate’s proposal to the building of an archive in the town. Though they claimed that they weren’t priests and it wasn’t a temple of any sort, he still tended to think of it in the same way.

“You are far from fine my husband, and you will not become so if you do not get your rest. Now stop speaking foolishness and return to bed.” Why did she sound like a mother speaking to a small child? He didn’t fully understand, but it was still a tone that she had used often with him these past nights. And that he knew she would use again.

“I’m not tired.” And he actually wasn’t. He had been exhausted for so long, but suddenly no longer.

“Then you can tell me what is keeping you awake, but you will do it from our bed.” Her tone brooked no argument, something he was slowly learning to expect of her. She might look like a pretty elf, small and demure and far too polite, but underneath lay a sharp mind and a will of iron. And when she got out of the bed, pulled back the covers for him and indicated that he should get in he knew he had little choice. She would not let up until he had done as she demanded.

Reluctantly, like a small boy being put to bed by his mother, he climbed back into the bed and let her drape the blankets back over him. Then she crawled in beside him, and wrapped her arms around him, bringing him comfort. Such a strange thing for a grown man to feel, but not unwelcome.

“Now my husband, what is it that furrows your brow?”

“Your cousin and the black blood. If the elder is right…” He let his words trail off not wanting to let them go where they must. To war and to the Reaver. Those were not good places.

“Then you will have to be ready. We all will be. But there is nothing to be done about it now. And in the morning you will be stronger.”

“I’m stronger now.”

“But no one else is. And do you really want to wake poor Juna in the middle of the night? An old man needs his rest.” She had the right of it. Juna had turned far whiter than he had remembered from before. It wouldn’t be right to disturb his sleep for no reason.

“Fine.” He did his best to relax back into the cushions. “But I’m not tired.”

“Then you can tell me a story as you rest. Something of Greenlands perhaps. Or something of you. You have been my husband these last months, and yet I know nothing of you. The servants know more of you than I.” And lying there, sharing his bed as his wife, maybe she had the right to ask.

“What would you like to know?”

“Of how it is that can you be so strong of will? So singular of purpose? Any man, every man must take some time away from their duties. They would spend a little coin on the idle fancies that took their thoughts. Perhaps drink a little wine. Engage in games of chance or athletic prowess. Even converse with friends. But you do none of these things.” She sounded genuinely confused by it, as if there was some great mystery. Everyone in Greenlands knew his sorry tale. But she wasn’t from Greenlands as he slowly remembered. And she had the right to know, even if he didn’t truly want to retell his shameful past.

“But I did once. I did all of those things, and many more. I was that very man.” And in his heart he still was. It was just that he couldn’t spare himself that luxury any longer. Not for many long years had he been able to return to his joy. And especially not now. Yet even if he could no longer be the child he had been, it was good to be able to speak of it. To remember happier times.

“As I child I grew up wild as the priests would say. Too wild. Too free. I was the lord’s son. I could have anything I wanted, and as children do, I wanted everything.”

“So together with my friends from the castle I used to run through the town and the markets barefoot, making a nuisance of myself. Hunting rabbits in the fields and frogs in the creeks. Playing endless games of tag and poor jokes on unsuspecting people. Stealing sweets from the vendors. No one could stop me, because in the end I knew that everything would be paid for. I ignored my tutors, disobeyed my parents, and made a hippogriff’s rear end of myself, and I knew that there would be no consequences. I had been blessed with the wealth of the divine Crad himself and the sense of the Mist Maiden.”

“At thirteen I discovered ale and the inns. For months at a time I never left them willingly. My father had to send the guards to collect me each evening, and half the time they had to carry me home. And each morning that followed I would get yet another long speech about responsibility from him, before I ran off and did it all over again.”

“At fourteen I discovered wine and wenches. I sang badly in the hostels, annoying the minstrels and the other patrons. I drank everything in sight and paid for nothing. And I kept getting into fights. Shameful drunken brawls, that landed me in the town gaol many nights.”

“It was after one of them that my father, my mother standing beside him with tears in her eyes, decided that I could no longer continue as I was. I had too much freedom. There was too much leniency. And my studies were too far behind. I needed discipline.”

“So they sent me to the Royal Academy in Tendarin, with instructions that I was to be given no leniency. That I was to be made a man.”

“I spent five years in the Academy. Locked within its walls day and night. Five long years learning everything that was expected of a lord’s son. Learning history, tongues and mathematics. Learning the swords and bows and strategy. Learning etiquette and diplomacy. And maybe during that time, taking the first steps to becoming a man.”

“Then I spent five more years in the Royal Dragoons, riding the realm, and seeing for myself that life was not the land of plenty for everyone that it had been for me. Those were difficult years, learning the life of a soldier, learning to take orders, but good years. They taught me truly of responsibility and the meaning of nobility. I would not decry those years to anyone.”

“After that it was the court, where my father weighed on his old friend the King to find me duties as an envoy. He knew that I was not yet grown. He knew that I needed more time to keep from sliding back into old and unfortunate ways.”

“So I spent several more years assisting envoys in many lands, until finally I was accorded the honour of becoming the King’s envoy to Leafshade. That I think was the first day that my father could truly be proud of me.” He hoped so at least. It was hard to be certain when all they had shared were letters for so long.

“But even now, with all that has passed, there is not a day that passes by that I don’t yearn to take off my shoes, run barefoot through the markets with my friends, or drink myself silly in the inns as the bards play.” Or, though he wouldn’t say it to her, to go to sleep in the arms of a bar maid, his head nestled between her breasts. It was the plain truth, although he could have done without the fighting.

“Then maybe you will. When the threat of war is gone and the town is rebuilt. Maybe then you can return to your youth.” Startled, Iros felt the touch of her hand on his other shoulder, even through the bandages and he realised that she’d got up and was tucking him in to the bed again. Why? She should have stayed in bed where it was warm. She shouldn’t even have been there. He looked up at her.

“Sophelia, there is no need for you to be here. You can stay in your quarters with your attendants.”

“You are my husband and these are my quarters. This is my bedchamber. Your bed is mine.” By the divines he wished she wouldn’t have said the last. Not when by the light of the moon streaming through the window he could see her female form outlined through the thin linen of her night dress. And she was no stick as he had once considered her people. She had curves. Unfortunately she saw where his eyes wandered.

“You like?” She smiled at him and he knew she wasn’t asking a question. Or at least not that question. His throat went suddenly dry and that was all the answer she needed.

“Good. A husband should like his wife.” She bent low over him and kissed him firmly on the lips catching him completely by surprise. Yet as unexpected as it was, his arm still reached out, found her and pulled her down on top of him. Almost as if it had a life of its own. She didn’t pull away he noticed. Just lay there on top of him and let her lips explore his. And soon her hands found his head and her fingers started running through his hair while her tongue began exploring his mouth. Her breath was impossibly sweet in his and for a while he wondered if he was dreaming. But he wasn’t. The pain of his wounds told him that as he reached a little too far for her and he yelped in surprise.

“I’m sorry. I should not have provoked you so.” Why was she sorry he wondered? The only thing he was sorry for was that she’d stopped.

“But -.”

“Rest.” Sophelia unwrapped her arms from him and then stood up to return to her side of the bed. All while he lay there staring, wishing that she wouldn’t. But then when she crawled back in under the covers and wrapped her arms around him, it was almost as good.

Almost.