Duty (Book 2) (39 page)

But he wasn’t powerless anymore. The training tortured into him ran through a hundred ways to escape safely with the Chalaine. He wouldn’t even have to kill Chertanne to do it, though his reasons for not killing him fell in clumps like the bricks of a mortared wall hit with a battering ram. Only Dason and Jaron would know the direction he took the Chalaine, and he wondered if they would keep silent on the matter.

An intense wave of nausea and pain weakened his legs, and he stumbled, the effort exerted to avoid falling tiring him. His planning fled as he fought for control of his agony. Fenna stared at him sadly.

Simple, soft Fenna
, he thought. He could not leave her. If the power came to him as it did Chertanne, then he had to stay, had to use what time he had to work Trysmagic upon his friends against Chertanne’s folly.

Upon reaching the dais, Gen stood behind the Chalaine, Mirelle and Fenna flanking him. Opposite, Captain Drockley and two other Aughmerian guards surrounded Chertanne. The Pontiff smiled weakly at Chertanne and the Chalaine, instructing them to hold hands. Padra Athan, eying Gen askance, lay a purple ribbon over their wrists, and the Pontiff spoke, voice grainy.

“Chalaine, Chertanne, as Eldaloth’s hand and voice, it is my greatest joy to perform as almost my last act in the body your union in the sacred bonds of matrimony. A long time the world has waited, and it waits no longer. Tonight is the beginning of Incarnation, the return of Him whom evil slew to spite every good thing and bring all into subjection. Blessed are all of us who see this day, and more blessed are those who have fought, bled, and died to bring it about.

“But I am weak and must not multiply my words lest they fail me completely. I, Pontiff Beliarmus the Third, having received authority through long lines of succession back to Pontiff Alabain, who received his authority in vision from a Ministrant of Eldaloth, pronounce the fulfillment and sealing of the betrothal that took place in the fall of the year past and pronounce binding all covenants you made one with another in that ceremony. You, Chertanne, and you Chalaine, are hereby pronounced man and wife. It is also under my authority, Chertanne Khairn, to proclaim you King of Nations, three now one under your rule, the Chalaine as your Queen. Present yourselves to the assembly.”

The Pontiff slumped back onto his litter as Chertanne presented the Chalaine to those gathered. Gen couldn’t sort his feelings out. He watched the Chalaine as Chertanne led her off the dais and through the congratulatory crowd, noting her stiffness and the slight tremble of her hand. As they passed under the oval window he saw it; the eclipsing circle over Trys slipped ever so slightly to the left, revealing a slender crescent of Trys’s bright circle.

The ground shook for just a moment as the new light broke into the sky, and immediately a power and a joy suffused him, his whole being coming alive and temporarily free of pain. Chertanne exclaimed out loud, releasing the Chalaine’s hand and dancing about with his arms raised in the air to an audience of questioning faces.

“Don’t you feel it?” Chertanne exclaimed to everyone. “It has come to me! Come! Watch!”

Chertanne bent down and retrieved the marriage ribbon that had fallen when he let go of his bride’s hand. Crumpling it so it would fit in his extended palm, he concentrated and the ribbon evaporated into black smoke. Even this simple task tired Chertanne, his breath laboring. Hoping he would fare better, Gen thought he’d best be about his own work, for the pain was returning and he needed his entire concentration.

Reaching within him, Gen pulled forth the power, and running over his mind the spell for protection, he cast it upon the Chalaine, who stood just in front of him. It took time to properly ward someone against transmutation, and Chertanne, fortunately, was too enthralled with himself to bother moving the procession forward. With the last drop of the energy he could find within him, Gen activated the ward, teaching the very elements of her body to reject change. The Chalaine paused as if surprised, and Gen fell, strength gone.

The Chalaine crouched by him, feeling his forehead. Fenna knelt and took his hand.

“Chertanne!” the Chalaine shouted, voice the sharpest Gen had ever heard it. Chertanne, who was about to convert a button into smoke, stopped. “Chertanne, he cannot go on! We must let him rest. Jaron is rested and ready to watch, as is Dason. That is protection enough.”

Chertanne slipped the button into his pocket and walked over, face amused. “What say you to that, Gen?” he mocked, hunching over. “A bit too tired to keep watch?”

Summoning all his strength, Gen stood, ignoring the protests and the restraining hands of the women caring for him. Both steadied him, and Gen was thankful for the Chalaine’s touch, for it took away the pain and allowed him to stand at all.

“I will watch,” Gen said.

“Very good, indeed. Cormith used to be the one to guard me while I was abed. Since you killed him, it is only proper that you take his place. And you should know, Gen, that I kept my part and did as your challenge required. She is my wife now, and nothing you say is, or ever will be, binding on me again. I am filled with power and am the King of all nations. Tonight, I command you to watch, but little will be required of you thereafter. Come away, Chalaine. We’ll let Dason help him to the marriage chamber if he needs it. Miss Fairedale, Lady Mirelle, you will stay here with the rest of the assembly. I will return anon.”

Fenna released Gen’s arm and kissed his cheek, and he smiled at her as convincingly as he could, assuring her he would be all right. Mirelle’s mouth was turned down with concern, and Gen remembered her warning. Now that he knew the cost in strength to protect someone, he wondered how long it would take before he had the energy to perform it again.

All of Chertanne’s remaining personal guards followed the anxious, long-striding King out of the Hall of Three Moons. He hummed a catchy tune and danced about in an air of jubilee, oblivious to the somber mood of the train behind him. Gen walked behind the Chalaine, proud to see her unwilted, shoulders up and head high, walking slowly as if to show she were the Queen, to lay claim to what power and dignity were hers by title. Gen thanked Eldaloth that he could at least cast the ward upon her, though he doubted Chertanne would hurt her, at least not until the Child was born.

The temporary relief that the infusion of power had given him was nearly spent, the fever rising and aches returning. He surveyed the situation quickly, noting the seven guards around him. Killing them would be difficult in his condition, but in the surprise he thought he could cut down at least half before they managed any kind of defense. He could take the Chalaine and run. But her resolution and determined walk—her dedication to duty—put these thoughts out of his mind as he opened his heart and let an unspeakable loss enter in.

He watched her only, trying to capture her as she was, pure, innocent, and beautiful, imagining her as he saw her in the canyon, unveiled and happy. As they approached the building outfitted as a wedding chamber, he felt he should bid her farewell, for the woman he knew would change, would enter that room and emerge a new creature. He hoped she would find the strange strength of the truly great who grow even more beautiful in a poor spot of ground. Leaning forward, he put his hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“Do not let him change you.” She did not acknowledge the comment, and Gen did not press to talk with her further. She kept silent and dignified, disappearing into the firefly-lit building as Chertanne held the improvised curtain over the door aside.

“Gentlemen,” he said, smiling grandly, “I want Captain Drockley, Dason, and Gen by the door. The rest of you fan out around the building. Captain Drockley, should Gen make a move to enter, kill him immediately. Well, I had best not keep the lady waiting!”

After Chertanne entered, Gen crouched and ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he was anywhere else. The fever returned full force, sweat running down his face despite the cool breeze. He felt unsteady and in pain, but his thoughts centered on the Chalaine and on the brand that linked her to him.

An exclamation of surprise and delight signaled that Chertanne, at last, had laid eyes on his unveiled bride. From that point on Gen did what he could to disconnect himself from everything, trying to drown himself in his own pain, his own sorrow, and his own discomfort. He tried to forget the Chalaine, throwing his memory back as far as he could, to times when he did not know her heart or her face, when she was someone distant and inconceivable. But her pain, her sorrow, and her discomfort drew him back like a lodestone that would not let him or his thoughts escape from Elde Luri Mora.

Drawing his knife from his boot, he rolled up his sleeve and cut shallow incisions in the underside of his arm, trying desperately to distract himself from the Chalaine’s agony. But Torbrand Khairn had trained him too well. His mind effortlessly and unconsciously pushed aside every pain he felt, every pain but hers.

“What are you doing?” Dason hissed, and in a heartbeat Gen found himself hauled up pinned to the building wall, Dason’s forearm in his chest and face close. Captain Drockley watched the entire affair, face bemused and mocking. Gen hadn’t the will to resist as Dason stripped him of the bloody knife and threw it to the ground. Dason’s sympathetic eyes bored into his.

“Listen to me, Gen! Listen!” Dason whispered fiercely. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but you are important now. I didn’t like losing the Protectorship, but you did the right thing that night and I did not. The First Mother did the right thing, too. You are the better man, Gen. That you feel for her so now does you credit. But harm yourself no more!”

Dason suffered, too, and for all the distance between them, Gen found comfort in a companion who sorrowed with him. Somewhere Jaron experienced the same. They three were the solemn, personal witnesses to the beginnings of the Incarnation and the shame and condescension that it necessitated. Gen nodded his understanding to Dason, and Dason released him, returning to his post. Gen retrieved his bloody knife from the ground, cleaning it on his pants before returning it to his boot. Seeking discipline, he stood straight and attuned his senses to the night.

“Unbelievable, gentlemen!” Chertanne announced as he emerged from the tent some time later, arms above his head in a gesture of victory. “I truly feel sorry for you all. For me to have such beauty in my possession is an undeniable sign of favor from Eldaloth. Well, I won’t make you all jealous with the particulars. There are many tidbits of business I must attend to in the Hall. Gen, bring the Chalaine when she is ready. Dason and Captain Drockley, come with me.”

Chertanne waddled off, tucking his shirt back into his pants, Dason in tow. Gen took up position at the threshold of the door, standing with his hands clasped behind him and the curtain at his back. The Chalaine stirred inside, and after a moment her footsteps approached, and he reached out to move the curtain aside for her.

“Keep it closed, Gen. I am not ready to leave yet.” Her voice was resigned, but firm. “Guardsman!”

An Aughmerian guard emerged from the shadows. “Yes, Milady?”

“You and your men will leave and return to Lord Khairn. Inform him I shall come within the hour.”

“As you wish.” In moments, the guards trailed off into the darkness toward the Hall of Three Moons.

“How do you feel, Gen?” the Chalaine asked quietly.

“I should ask you, Lady Khairn.”

Hearing her title momentarily silenced her. “Put your hand inside the curtain.”

“I am well, Milady. There is no need.”

“Do as I say, Gen! Please. I am your Queen now, and you are honor bound to obey me.” Gen acquiesced, leaning against the entryway and putting his arm behind the curtain.

“Your sleeve is soaked with blood! What have you done to yourself?” The Chalaine took his hand and the pain ignored in the back of his mind faded and the sickness Elde Luri Mora put within him ceased. He didn’t answer the question, and he waited as the Chalaine undid his sleeve and inspected his arm. Only dried blood remained after the healing.

“How do you tell the fireflies to leave?” the Chalaine asked, still holding his hand. “I want it dark.”

“Emebrí!” Gen commanded.

A stream of the glowing insects flew under the curtain and away into the woods and buildings. The Chalaine held his hand in silence for the better part of an hour. Gen used the gift of a clear mind and strong body to reach within himself and work Trysmagic to protect himself against transmutation. He expected the effort to drain him, but when he finished, he felt undiminished in his power, crediting it to the strength he felt as the Chalaine suppressed the sickness.

“What will you do, Gen?” the Chalaine asked.

“Do about what?”

“Chertanne is going to dismiss you or kill you. I know you know it.”

“He hasn’t the power to do either,” Gen stated firmly. “I can kill his entire guard, and I don’t believe the Rhugothians will move against me, though bound to obey him.”

“It isn’t as simple as that, Gen. He will hurt those around you to manipulate you into doing what he wants. You need to leave to protect them.”

Gen shook his head. “No, Lady Khairn, I will not abandon you. I will not tuck my tail and crawl out of Elde Luri Mora like a coward.”

The Chalaine squeezed his hand. “I command you to go, Gen. I am your Queen, and you were sworn to obey me even before I bore the title. Leave me now. Flee into the wilderness and hide!”

“No.”

“This is treason,” the Chalaine accused him, anger rising.

Gen laughed quietly to himself.

“Excellent, Milday,” he returned. “You and Lord Khairn at last agree on something. It is good to start your marriage on common ground.”

The Chalaine released his hand and punched him in the back. “You listen to me, you bastard,” she ordered, voice desperate. “You will go!”

“Learned a few words from your mother, did you?” Gen replied flatly, noticing someone approaching from the dark. “Coincidentally, she is coming. Perhaps she can teach you some better curses. People have called me bastard my entire life and I no longer feel the sting of it.”

Gen concentrated on blocking the pain that the loss of the Chalaine’s touch brought upon him. Mirelle came quickly, half jogging. Cadaen followed behind, but as they reached the door, she commanded her faithful guard to find Jaron and Maewen. Gen thought Mirelle’s face the most enraged he had ever seen it, including the night she reprimanded him for his venture with the half-elf ranger.

“Let me by, Gen,” she ordered. She entered, and Gen strained to hear what she told her daughter. They conversed in whispers, and he could only make out the Chalaine’s horrified reactions to what her mother told her. After Mirelle left—commanding him to keep the Chalaine there until she returned—the new Queen sobbed for several minutes, desperately trying to do so silently, before collecting herself.

“Give me your hand, Gen,” she commanded again, and her tone induced him obey without putting up a fight. She brought it to her cheek. “Oh, Gen. I am so sorry. It would have been better that Torbrand Khairn killed you than you ever fell into my company. I will hate Chertanne forever. I will hate him.”

“What, Chalaine?” Gen asked, heart sinking. “What has he done?”

“You will find out soon enough. But I must tell you something. You have to know the truth. I know who you are, Gen, what you are.”

“And who am I?”

“The Ilch, Gen. That is why this place hurts you so. Do not startle! Those who turned you from that path revealed it to me. The Ilch is dead as far as I am concerned. I have told no one else. But there is more, I have not been as truthful with you or as just as I should have been. I have not shouldered what blame is mine. When we were. . .”

“Your conduct has been impeccable, as always, your Grace,” Gen interrupted. “You have nothing to explain and no blame in anything, especially when it concerns me. I was at fault and faltered in my duty. It will not happen again.”

“No. Let me speak, Gen, and do not interrupt.”

Gen turned toward the curtain. “We have no time for this, Milady. You must tell me what has happened so I can be prepared. Is Fenna all right?”

“She is safe, that’s all I have the heart to say.”

An unreasoning fear for Fenna choked his heart, ignorance of her fate stirring his imagination. Every scenario he could think of sparked rage within him, and he fought to control the impulses that called for violence. Mirelle’s return distracted him from his thoughts.

“Already your mother returns,” he said, “with Jaron and Maewen now.”

As the trio approached, Gen worked Trysmagic to protect them all, each showing momentary surprise at the sensation the protective transmutation caused. Casting the protections did not weary him this time, and he hoped his ability to use Trysmagic was increasing already. The Chalaine released his hand as Mirelle stopped in front of him, Jaron and Maewen on either side.

“I suppose,” Gen began, fighting the resurgent pain, “that you are here to convince me to leave. Your daughter already tried and you will not succeed where she has failed.”

Mirelle said, “She is more than my daughter or the Chalaine, now, Gen. She is your Queen, and mine. You swore to obey her. You swore it, and it is your duty to obey.”

Gen clenched his fists. “He’s made her one of his concubines, hasn’t he? He’s made Fenna one of his harem.”

“No. It’s not that, Gen,” Mirelle soothed. “You must leave before you are killed.”

“I won’t leave. I swore to protect the Chalaine, and I will not leave her no matter what anyone says, even her. Anyone who wants my post will have to take it from me, and I am not easily moved.”

Mirelle stared at him earnestly for a moment and then stepped toward him abruptly. Gen noticed her intake of breath, remembering how the Chalaine had forced him to sleep. He stepped aside quickly to avoid Mirelle's spell. Jaron reached out and clamped his arms around Gen’s shoulders, but with some well-placed elbows and boot heels, Gen managed to slip free and out of the circle they formed around him. The Chalaine, wearing her black traveling dress and veil, stepped out from behind the curtain.