Duality (31 page)

“Pepper,” Verdeen whispered.

“What?”

“You can shed just so many tears. Pepper reddens the eyes to complete the look of mourning.”

Dara’s jaw dropped. “You mean she
cheats
?”

“Aye. Theirs was no love match.”

Sirona too had shaved her eyebrows. “I am glad you are better. Thank you for being here.” She nodded toward Cedric. “It means a lot to him.”

Dara felt like a hypocrite. She regretted Loren’s and his family’s loss, and the kingdom losing their heir, but she couldn’t fake a personal sorrow. Deane had been a boor, arrogant with little to be arrogant about.

But Loren’s guilt was a crushing weight she sensed across the room. She was here for him, not his brother. Even though protocol, as Verdeen had explained, did not permit her approaching the Lady’s champion, she caught his eye.

He nodded, flanked by his grandparents and the high priestess Aletha.
Later
, his eyes seemed to say. It was enough for now.

The windows, the infernal paintings, even the railings in the palace were draped in black crepe. The guards were caparisoned in black velvet with a gold rising sun embossed on their chests. Obsidian blades gleamed in their ritual weaponry.

The cloying scents of thousands of cut flowers and too much incense made Dara’s head ache. She sneezed. The incessant heartbeat of dozens of drums, combined with the oppressive atmosphere in the palace, threatened to suffocate.

Loren was the sole brightness in his full ceremonial garb as Lady’s champion. He rode Hani`ena, escorting the funerary cart bearing Deane’s sarcophagus to the royal family crypt.

Priests and priestesses led the parade, waving burning incense censers on silver chains. Then came Loren on Hani`ena, holding Justice aloft. Pulled by two all-black draft mares led, not driven, by Deane’s groom, the cart carried Deane’s sarcophagus through the city streets from the central palace to the eastern temple. Torgon, in full parade gear, was tied to the back of the cart. An honor guard of six mounted rangers armed with obsidian spears flanked the cart.

Next followed a second smaller cart bearing trunks of Deane’s clothing, weapons and jewelry. The royal family followed the two carts, with Dara and Pahn betwixt them and the professional mourners, then the palace servants and lastly the general population.

Once at the temple, the choir sang a solemn funeral dirge as formal bearers bore Deane’s body into the antechamber itself. The priests and priestesses led the way below into the catacombs beneath, where the royal family’s burial crypts were. Betwixt Ayala and Markale was Deane’s own chamber. The bearers placed Deane’s sarcophagus so he stood upright facing eastward.

Each family member carried a trunk of Deane’s personal belongings. His personal effects were placed about the chamber, along with gold and silver coins, a loaf of bread, a cask of wine, several minute gold horses and dozens of carved figurines for servants,
sensuri
and bodyguards. Then the family was left alone to bid their final farewells afore exiting for the last time. Dara and Pahn waited in the corridor, having naught to say to the former heir.

As the priests sealed the chamber door, a hundred white doves were released from the temple rooftop to carry Deane’s soul eastward to the Hall of Fallen Heroes.

Dara doubted his fitness to reside there.

The servants returned to the palace to serve dinner to the family, ministers, mages and nobles gathered to pay their respects. Dara barely noticed them. She moved immediately to Loren’s side. Cianan and Brannan moved off at her approach, acknowledging her right to be there. Ignoring the stares and murmured comments, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I felt the dwarf mage heal you,” he told her. “You are yourself again. The clear golden aura that was Dara, when we first met, is back. And I rejoice for you.”

Tears stung her eyes. After all he’d gone through, he spared a thought for her? “How are you?” she asked. “I missed you last night.”

“I am…managing.” His eyes were dark with regret. “I apologize for —”

She laid her fingers against his lips. “Don’t. ’Twas family only. I understand.”

“Nay, you do not.” Loren slid his hand through her hair to cradle her head. “You are family, dear to me as any kin. Do you not feel the bond, the separation when we are apart, the relief when we are together?”

Dara froze. “What are you talking about?”

“You know.” His eyes burned into hers. “You feel it now, as do I. The completeness when we are together. You have been wondering, wanting to ask questions. And I swear, we shall speak of this. We need to speak of this, of our future.”

They had no future beyond deposing Jalad and restoring Hengist. Tonight he would be crowned heir to the throne, future king of the elves. He moved ever farther away from her. “Later,” she evaded.

***

Bile rose in Loren’s throat as he stood in the wings of Justice Hall that evening. The family and ministry awaited him, the next surviving son. His granna would place the crown of Cymry on his unwilling head. He was right hand, Lady’s champion, a man of action, not words. He had demons to slay. He could not be torn betwixt the world of elves and the world of men. Not now…

He was not going to declare war on the goblin nation on the ministry’s say-so.

“Jalad first
,
”
Hani`ena agreed.

Hani`ena’s warmth lingered in the back of Loren’s mind. A second warm presence slid up behind him, and a pair of arms encircled his waist. The miracle of Dara’s clear golden aura. “I am glad you are better.” The words themselves seemed woefully inadequate. He placed his hands over hers, willed her to grasp the emotion behind the words.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this. You don’t want this, I know you don’t.”

He closed his eyes and just let her hold him for a moment. “Nay, but there is no one else. They need someone to lead them in the days ahead, to speak for the world of men. Who better than one who has been there? At least I shall be in a position to decide and lead, and not just ask and hope.”

“Whom do you seek to convince, me or yourself? I think you’ll make a great king. You’ll be good for the kingdom.” She leaned against his back. “I just don’t know if the kingdom will be good for you.”

A true guardian—always concerned for the welfare of others. Loren turned in her arms and held her close. Dara. Fierce. Beautiful. Caring. His. It boggled the mind. “I am glad you are here.”

“I am here for you, you know that.” Her eyes searched his. “You look very…princy.”

His lips twitched. And then there was Dara herself. What would become of her? Were he crowned king, would they honor his commitment to her? There had never been a queen of the elves who was not an elf. He did not know if there was law against it, but tradition was. And the ministry was a strong proponent of tradition.

They would not drive Dara off when Jalad was gone. He would not marry Alani just because a bunch of old men told him to, either.

Loren opened the door and Dara followed him into the back of the hall. Cedric sat on his throne, flanked by his parents. Sirona and Falak stood in the center front row with Paulette and Brannan. The ministers occupied the right-hand chairs, the mages the left. Pahn sat with the mages, aside Gwendolyn.

Aletha appeared from behind Cedric’s throne. “Who petitions for the crown of the heir?”

“Last chance,” Dara whispered.

He glared down at her and took a deep breath at all the eyes on him. “I do.”

“Who art thou, petitioner?” Aletha asked.

“Loren ta Cedric ta Pari ta Lir, prince of the realm, warrior and Lady’s champion.”

“Who stands with thee?” the priestess demanded.

High priest Everett came from the shadows in the opposite back corner of the hall to stand at Loren’s right side. “I, Everett, high priest of the Lady of Light, do so stand with Prince Loren. I uphold his claim as Lady’s champion.”

Cianan strode up as well. “I am Cianan ta Daneal from the academy. I uphold his claim as warrior, chosen by Hani`ena and trained by Lord Elio himself.”

“Doth Lord Elio support this claim?”

“Wholeheartedly,” the Minister of Defense declared.

Cianan grinned.

Aletha smiled. “Then let the petitioner come forward.”

Loren stared at the white runner leading him straight to the last place he’d ever pictured himself—the throne of Cymry. His eye caught Brannan’s. “
Trade
?”

Brannan looked horrified and shook his head.

There is none else. So be it
. Loren squared his shoulders, locked eyes with his father and started down the endless, too-short walk with Everett and Cianan. Cianan, his best friend, who had been by his side through every major and minor event in his life.

“Welcome, Loren ta Cedric ta Pari ta Lir,” Aletha said as he stopped afore her. She turned to Cedric, who rose to his feet. “Sire, dost thou acknowledge thy heir?”

“Thou art my son, and now my heir,” Cedric decreed. He turned to Pari, who handed him the heir’s crown. “With this symbol, the crown of Cymry stands at the end of thy path. Three powers doth the crown grant thee—justice, mercy and truth. In fact and deed, thou hast borne thy sword Justice with honor and mercy already, for many years. Empathy thou hast as well, since birth, a gift from thy mother.

“But truth begets true wisdom, and so, with this symbol, one last power I grant thee as my son and heir. With this crown, accept the gift of truth. Never again shalt thou hear or tell a falsehood, as long as thou live. Dost thou accept this symbol of thy rank and responsibility, and all that goes with it?”

Loren had known truth was the true power of the crown, but the wording shook him. “
Never again shalt thou hear or tell a falsehood, as long as thou live
.” What about omissions? Could he hold silent, or would he always be cursed with blurting what he thought at any given moment? Why had he not asked afore now?

Could he call a recess in the middle of a swearing?

His grandparents stared at him. Cedric knew, Loren saw the look on his face. But the king would wait him out. Loren must answer unprompted. Unhindered.

“If not you, then who?”
Hani`ena asked.

Loren straightened. “I, Loren ta Cedric ta Pari ta Lir, prince of the realm, warrior and Lady’s champion, do hereby swear to accept and uphold the position of heir to the throne of Cymry. I accept the responsibilities of justice, mercy and truth with honor and due vigilance…until my last breath.”

The irony of
that
statement was not lost on him.

“I, Cedric ta Pari ta Lir ta Karel, high king of the realm of the dawn, do accept my son Loren as my heir, afore this company and with the Lady of Light as my witness. Come forward, my son.”

Loren climbed the dais steps and knelt at his father’s feet. Cedric lowered the crown, and as it encircled his head he heard his father say, “With this symbol of office, I bind my heir to my kingdom.” The words settled into Loren’s soul with the weight of finality. He looked up into his father’s face as the king helped him back to his feet.

“Turn and greet thy subjects,” Cedric instructed.

His subjects? Lord and Lady, he wanted a drink. Loren turned. The first face he saw was Cianan’s, who grinned at him as he took a knee to his future king.

“He needs a drink
,” Cianan thought.

“About time we got the right son on the throne.”
Lord Elio bowed low.

Thoughts. He was hearing actual thoughts. Loren shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. The words and thoughts swirled around him like a chaotic chorus.

Pari gripped his upper arm to get his attention. “Shields, lad. Thou canst block the thoughts if not the intent. Thou need hear thoughts but deliberately.”

Loren focused, and the thoughts dropped to a barely audible buzzing. His relief was immediate. “Thank you.”

His granther patted his shoulder. “I figured this would help. But one thing thou cannot do is speak a lie. Try. How old am I?”

“Two hund…” Loren’s face twisted as he sighed. “Three thousand one hundred sixty-two.” His eyes widened.

Pari nodded. “Omit if thou must. Only the truth shalt come out if thou opens thy mouth.”

Dara met them at the door. Her eyes searched Loren’s. “How do you feel?”

“Like I lost three straight rounds with Lord Elio.” He winced. “Forget the reception, I should like to go straight to bed.” Truth, indeed. Hopefully he did not talk in his sleep.

“Take him up, lass,” Pari stated. “Thou need rest. I shalt make thy apologies to this assembly. Go.”

Dara and Loren walked arm-in-arm up to their suites. Loren turned to her at the door and dropped his shielding, just a little. Waves of sorrow emanated from her. She thought she was losing him, that she, a common mortal, had no future with a king of the elves. Royalty. An immortal.

His jaw tightened. He had not asked for this. Mentally he drew a line betwixt himself, Dara and the Destiny Hand.
No more. I have chosen what is mine and I shall not give her up to You
.