Forget Me Not, (6 page)

Balthaar had no doubt from
the behavior of the malevolent gardener as well from the glowering
of the green-skinned Elsyrian, that his identity of general was
well-known. They had him in their city, at their mercy, so why
continue the charade? Every time she called him Viceroy, his heart
beat harder. Each time she came close to tumbling over the edge, he
had to clench his hands to keep from reaching out for her hand. The
words of the blue-skinned man, Hortham taunted him. Had the Bashai
taken her? Were they the cause of her madness?

The gardener's glower cut
into Balthaar’s back, clearly conveying his near outrage at the
general’s presence. Balthaar wasn't defenseless, even without a
sword at his side, but the feeling that he walked into a certain
trap left his skin tight and heart thumping rapidly.

He could not doubt that it
was Hatia, the young ambassador he'd known so long before, known
and foolishly thought he'd loved. The years hadn't been kind to
either one of them. He’d expected to feel satisfied to see her in
this state, that her betrayal of him, of them, would have led to
madness, but he felt nothing but sorrow and responsibility. If the
Bashai had done this…

She'd needed his
protection. Balthaar should have kept her safe, whether she'd
wanted him to or not. He shouldn't have listened to her words, when
she'd written him that she’d found an Elven lord who would suit her
far more than a Barbarian.

___

He could feel the
parchment in his hand, smell the delicate floral scent on the sheet
that bore the swirls of her handwriting. The blue ink reminded him
of her skin. For a moment he’d simply held the parchment, feeling
the force of her presence in the message. When he’d begun to read,
the words had swam before his eyes, confusing and bewildering
him.

He didn’t believe she
would leave so suddenly, not after the last evening, when they’d
stood on the balcony in the moonlight, hands finger-width apart.
He’d felt something then, something he’d never forget, something
whole and bright and perfect, something that eclipsed every
thought, every emotion and experience leaving only her in his
heart. He’d whispered his name to her, a name engraved in his skin
that only she and the Emperor would know. She’d gazed at him with
her luminous eyes and seemed to understand the weight of his
gift.

He’d left his room
searching for her, taking the steps from his home on the edge of
the palace to her place of residence on the opposite side, past the
soldier’s garrison while the sun beat down, hot and heavy on
Balthaar’s dark hair as he ran across the red stone.

___

He blinked back the dark
garden. None of that mattered. Time, almost a hundred years, had
passed while Balthaar destroyed her kind, brought them to the end
of his sword at the Emperor's bidding. There he stood, in the
luminously lit darkness, high above the earth on a stone bridge for
the Emperor. If his guide fell over the side from her madness, that
left one fewer Elsyrian for him to destroy, for the Emperor's army
to decimate.

His duty, his
responsibility would never be sworn again to an Elven Lady who
pranced with unearthly grace in bare feet over the stones however
his heart ached and his hands trembled from the effort to keep them
away from her ethereal form. His hands wanted to protect her from
the precipice, from the soldiers bearing swords, from the gardener
who Balthaar knew bore no good will towards himself or his
mistress, the Wind Spinner. He knew why they called her that, the
way she spun in the wind like a cloud, a fallen leaf, without
self-awareness or will to direct herself.

Balthaar closed his eyes,
lips tightly pressed together as he held back his own
curse.

Chapter 12

They walked up the wide
steps while flowers cascaded overhead filling the air with heavenly
scent that couldn’t quite cover the smell of decay that was bone
deep in the city. Lady Perr didn’t mind the decay; it was
appropriate. It matched her hat.

Inside she didn’t pause at
the door to gaze in awe at the beautiful scene that must have
stunned the Barbarian. She glanced over at him, but he looked back
dully, the same unimpressed expression on his face. She glanced at
the intricately carved pillared pink colored room where the very
air was clouded in pink. The ladies, all equally beautiful, danced
with the men, stately, impeccable movement designed to promote
order and peace.

The musicians took up the
space to the left of the Precept's dais. Lady Perr edged along the
curved, pink wall in their direction instead of walking through the
dancers. The words of the gardener came back to her, the warning
he’d given. The Barbarian was the enemy, but he was also her guest,
a guest the Head Precept had pressed upon her most
forcefully.

A couple swayed near her
and the male, the moss wearing Elsyrian hissed at the sight of the
Viceroy. When Lady Perr halted abruptly the Barbarian stepped on
the back of her Great Aunt's dress forcing her to lose her balance
as too much weight fell on her recently wounded ankle.

The sound of the rip was
far too loud as she stumbled. The Barbarian gripped her waist,
keeping her from falling on her face at the feet of the
disapproving man, a distant cousin who'd always expressed his
disdain for her family's political views.

The viceroy’s rough hands
pulled her upright while he stepped to her side in a classic
pas-de-bough, turning her away from the offensive couple and into
the dizzily whirling dance. He kept his hand on her waist as they
moved until he took the more traditional quartre-fore position in
front of her. His grace in the dance was surprising for someone who
ripped people's dresses.

“
What are you doing?” Lady
Perr asked, staring at him bewildered.

“
Dancing.” He spun her
under his arm in a rush that had her stumbling towards him when she
came out of it until her hands rested on his shoulders. She meant
to push against him, but his hands were promptly on her waist in a
firm grasp that made her think she wasn’t going anywhere.
Barbarians were so firm once they had you in their grip.

“
You said you weren’t
interested in dancing.” Her heart pounded so loudly.

“
I’d rather dance with the
shroud than with one of those creatures. Those teeth are positively
frightening.”

Lady Perr sniffed and
leaned away from him, but he only used her opposition as
counterweight while they spun around dizzyingly.

“
I believe I mentioned
that I don’t participate in the dancing,” Lady Perr
murmured.

“
I cannot believe that
after your display on the trip. If you do not dance, I’m sure
that’s simply for lack of partners. If I’m willing to humor you, I
don’t see why you shouldn’t show your gratitude,” he said with an
aloof nod that had lady Perr’s mouth dropping open.

She tripped over his foot,
sending a twinge through her ankle. She was glad to see his smile
flicker. “I do beg your pardon, sir. I’m not accustomed to
being
humored
.”

“
Excuse me,” the
gardener’s voice broke in. “Head Precept would like you to
introduce the viceroy to the court.”

She looked up at the
fierce and furious creature and felt a slight tightening of the
Barbarians arms around her before he withdrew and nodded with
polite boredom. There was something she should remember, something
important, but the memory vanished beneath an awareness of her
awkward place beside the Barbarian.

Chapter 13

Balthaar shouldn't have
danced with her, even if she were the only person who didn't wish
to kill him. The other Elsyrians showed more than disdain for her.
When they saw her, they veered away as though she had a disease
they did not wish to catch.

Her gown and veil were not
the end of her eccentricity. When the gardener interrupted their
dance, Balthaar felt a slight shock when he realized that the two
of them had taken over the ballroom, completely ignoring any and
all other dancers as they performed a dance from a century
before.

 “
Of course,” Hatia
had said then led them like a small parade trailing through the
staring dancers. She seemed to slow the closer they got to the dais
that seemed suspended on strands of dew from the concave
ceiling.

Balthaar knew that he
treaded through enemy territory, but he felt strangely at ease as
he stalked after his mad host through the ranks of vicious
Elsyrians.

"Perhaps..." Lady Perr
murmured as she held back. Had she only just realized the danger of
their situation? If Balthaar were an Elsyrian, he would have
mentioned the energy in the room, the wild excitement someone
powerful struggled to dampen. Would the Precept behead the
Barbarian right in the middle of the celebration? It would be a
peculiar climax to the war Balthaar had waged.

“
Lady Perr,” the High
Precept said cheerfully coming forward with hands outstretched.
Balthaar recognized him from the face imprinted in their coinage.
Not gold, but stone. Elves had other uses for gold. “What a
charming hat. I’m certain it will cause waves in the fashion
world.”

A female on the dais in a
gown that reminded Balthaar of whipped mint chiffon tittered at the
Precept's words. Apparently the preferred fashion leaned towards
pastry more than beekeeping. Pity.

“
A Tsunami,” she
whispered, the sort of court whisper that could be heard throughout
the whole room. Her pearly smile triggered an emotion that Balthaar
did not have time for. All the same, he bared his own teeth at her
and spoke out of turn.  

“
As a Barbarian,” he said
using the derogatory term he’d heard whispered by the Elsyrians, “I
appreciate Lady Perr’s efforts to adopt the customs of my people in
order to make me feel more at home.”

You could have heard a pin
drop as everyone stared at ‘the Barbarian’ while he tried to keep
his gaze firmly on the High Precept.

“
Quite,” High Precept said
as though there were nothing odd in Balthaar’s words. The High
Precept nodded to the musicians at the side to resume their
playing. “Lady Perr is noted for her ability to make people feel at
home.”

The mint pouf choked on
her laughter, lifting her drink to camouflage her flagrant
disrespect.

“
How do you like High
City?” High Precept asked gesturing beside him for Balthaar to sit,
waving for someone to bring them food and drink, while the two
Rasha hovered close behind.

Lady Perr stood at the
edge of the dancers who'd resumed their graceful cavorting with
most of their attention clearly towards the dais. Balthaar could
have killed the High Precept with his hands, but he immediately
dismissed the idea. Elves were not Barbarians. If the Emperor were
killed, Barabbas would fall into civil war as the Viceroys
struggled for position as the next Emperor. If the High Precept
died, Elsyria would continue indefinitely until they got around to
electing a new one to the position. At any rate, Balthaar hadn't
been directed to do anything other than spy out the lay of the
land. He would continue in his pretend role even though he’d been
hand-fed to the lions, with their well-polished teeth.

Chapter 14

Lady Perr felt awkward,
standing at attention while her ankle throbbed. The fog of earlier
had faded leaving her with stark awareness of her position as host
to the ambassador who had to be the same Balthaar from her youth, a
man who should be resting beneath the earth with his ancestors, not
sitting beside the High Precept who gestured with overlarge
movements while his voice keyed up in barely checked excitement.
 

“
How’s your ankle,” the
gardener asked, leaning close. She fought to maintain her position
instead of shrinking away from him. She could feel his concern,
read it in his eyes, his intent, but it seemed her mind clouded the
closer he leaned towards her.

“
What interest does a
gardener have in a Convotion?” she asked, stepping away from
him.

He smiled at her
passively. “I wasn’t always a gardener, but isn’t any citizen of
Elsyria welcome at any public functions?”

Lady Perr shrugged and
turned away from him, dissatisfied with his answer. She focused on
the conversation on the dais, trying to block out the
Elsyrian.

The Barbarian spoke in
smooth High Elsyrian with barely a trace of accent. “High City is
as beautiful as it was fabled to be, which I hadn’t thought
possible. I haven’t had the chance to foray much, but as far as I
can tell, there isn’t more beautiful architecture populated by a
lovelier people.” He kept a smile on his mouth as he spoke. Lady
Perr had expected more grunting.

“
I admit that it has a
certain grandeur, which is to be expected when the rich heritage of
our people spans millennia, but of course, it lacks charm of
simplicity, as well as the wonder of modern architectural feats.
From what I hear the Emperor has changed the face of his city
dramatically.”

The Viceroy shrugged. “I
haven’t been to the Emperor’s city for years. From what I hear the
improvements have made it one of the most hygienic cities known to
man.”

“
Very good. How do you
like the wine?”