Rivenn, in tales she’d heard as a child, had seemed an enchanted place filled with sparkling waterfalls and towering mountains. What would it be like to live among the peaks, as they did at Torindan? Despite its forested hillsides, Westerland boasted no real mountains. The blued peaks that shone in the sun rendered her speechless, even at a distance.
Did she dream? How else could she explain the joy that sprang to life within her as Elcon’s intended wife? It had seemed impossible. She would cherish her happiness all the more because it came at great cost. Did not the sweetest roses guard their scent with thorns?
She might never return to Westerland or receive her parents as visitors to Torindan. They had only sanctioned her marriage so that others would know she’d not lost her virtue to Elcon without gaining its benefits. They’d chosen a higher course for her despite the disgrace she’d brought to them.
****
Torindan caught the sun until its walls and turrets glowed with pinkish light. The green, rose, and gilt flag of Rivenn flapped with lazy abandon from the south and north towers. The flag of Faeraven, ten white diamonds against a background of red and black, adorned the towers to east and west. Each diamond represented one of the ten existing ravens that together made up the alliance of Faeraven. Or at least they once had done so. He might need to have the flag amended to show only seven diamonds. He hoped it would not lose more. He would wait to revise the flag, however, for he still hoped to restore Glindenn, Selfred, and Morgorad, the three ravens under the shraens Veraedel, Taelerat, and Lenhardt, traitors all.
He eased his jaw, which had tightened as memories intruded—memories of his coronation day and the attempt by Freaer to assassinate him. The presence chamber ran with blood that day. He’d escaped with his life, as had Freaer and the three traitorous shraens.
Aewen nestled against him, her touch recalling him, and he smiled to himself. As he carried home his future bride, he should not reflect on things that worried him. He contemplated instead their wedding night when he would comfort her shyness and show her both gentleness and passion. But they would wed before Lof Yuel first. He would make certain of that.
The waters of Weild Aenor swelled their banks below. Autumn rains must have visited in his absence. The river’s familiar sweet and tangy scent filled his senses. He breathed deep, giving himself to the pleasure of homecoming. When Aewen’s arms tightened around him, he caught one of her hands and warmed it in his own.
They approached on the side by the river, going past the water gate with its hewn steps and defensible platforms. Raeld dipped and leveled alongside Torindan’s middle ward, the balding grass strip outside the inner curtain wall and above the wall retaining the motte upon which Torindan rested. Two guardians kept watch at a bastian. Manning the bastians was a new precaution. Freaer would return, without doubt. Even now the guardians marshaled their defenses in preparation for another siege.
Raeld
rounded the side of the castle and spiraled to land before the drawbridge that led to the barbican with its tall, wide towers and twin turrets. Water lapped against the moat’s sides and sent wavy light upward. Fletch and Mystael stirred the air with the batting of wings as they came to rest on either side of Elcon. “Lof Shraen!” A voice rang from battlements above the gatehouse.
Metal screeched as the portcullis raised and the drawbridge lowered. Craelin moved into the lead and Kai dropped behind Elcon as they rode into the shadowy interior of the barbican and, emerging, crossed the second drawbridge. They dismounted inside an archway giving onto the outer bailey from the inner gatehouse. Elcon stretched to ease his stiffness, and then took Aewen’s slight weight into his arms. He steadied them both before assisting her to stand on her own.
Aewen looked about her. “This is much larger than the guardhouse at Cobbleford, but then Torindan is altogether larger.”
“You’ll grow used to Torindan.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
Murial drew near to her mistress in silent support.
“I’ll find the grooms.” Craelin offered.
Elcon smiled. “You and Kai shall dine in my chambers as a reward for your diligence.”
Aewen smiled at him, and he felt a twinge of conscience for what he left unsaid. In truth, he balked from presenting his future bride before the Kindren in the great hall. He did not know the reaction Aewen at his side would bring. Craelin emerged from the stables with several grooms, and Elcon turned to Aewen. “Come.”
He walked beside her but did not take her hand as they followed the fieldstone path crossing the outer bailey. Murial trailed after her mistress while Kai and Craelin fell into step behind. At sight of the inner garden and its fountain, both Aewen and Murial exclaimed with delight, but Elcon did not let them linger, urging them away from the garden with a promise to return. He wanted only rest within the quiet safety of his chambers.
When they reached the keep Aewen exclaimed with delight, but he hurried her toward his chambers without giving her time to admire its fine architecture.
As they reached his outer chamber, Aewen touched his arm. “Elcon, what troubles you?”
He evaded her eyes. “I’m only weary. Can I not show you the wonders of Torindan on the morrow?”
She put her hands on either side of his head and gazed into his eyes. “Do you deceive me, my betrothed?”
Heat rose into his face. “I—I’m sorry, Aewen. I’m uncertain of—well, I…”
A knowing expression came over her face. “Do you fear my reception here?”
The door to Ander’s room opened, and Elcon’s servant stepped into the outer chamber. He stared first at Aewen, then Murial. He appeared to have forgotten his bow. Perhaps Anders had never seen Elder women before.
Elcon took a breath. “Well, Anders, what greeting have you for my intended bride?”
Anders’ eyes widened. His mouth opened as if to speak but then closed. He tried again, only to squeak something unintelligible. At least, when he closed his mouth at last he remembered his bow.
“You will treat her with all the respect due your future
Lof Raelein,
for I intend to make her High Queen.”
Anders seemed to master himself. He pulled his gaze from Aewen and Murial. “Yes, Lof Shraen, of course I will.” He bowed to Aewen. “Welcome to Torindan.”
The small victory warmed Elcon and gave him courage.
“Anders, this is Murial, Aewen’s maid. She and her mistress will require the guest room closest to my chambers.”
“Very well, Lof Shraen.”
Elcon gave Aewen a reassuring smile. “There, that’s settled. I will have the Lof Raelein’s chambers prepared for you and your maid soon. But until then, it is best that you stay close to me. Don’t be alarmed, but I plan to post a guard outside your door.”
“If you think you must.”
“I do, but only for a time. I would have you safe.”
“Anders, we will wash away the dust of travel and then take food and drink in my meeting room.”
Anders bowed and went to the outer chamber door just as the steward Benisch gained admittance. Dressed in blue silk trimmed with gold, Benisch made a fine figure. He gave a deep bow. “Lof Shraen
.
”
Elcon inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Benisch, I’m afraid you catch us at an inopportune time. You may return on the morrow.”
Benisch glanced at Murial and then ran a watery blue gaze over Aewen. He frowned and clamped his lips together, but then executed another bow before Elcon. The jingling of bells accompanied him from the chamber.
Aewen dimpled and her eyes danced with laughter. “Who, pray, was that?”
Elcon laughed. “That, my flower, was someone overly concerned with my affairs.”
At thought of his meeting with Benisch tomorrow, he sobered. From the look on the steward’s face, he did not welcome Elcon’s decision to marry an Elder princess.
Early the next morning Benisch requested an audience. Elcon strode into his meeting chamber, shut the door with a thud, and rounded on his steward. The day was much too early for a disagreeable discussion, but Elcon would not sidestep. Benisch peered at him out of watery eyes and gave his head with its wreath of sandy hair a shake. “I doubt you’ll survive the reaction to your new concubine, Lof Shraen.”
Elcon’s jaw tightened. “I must warn you, Steward Benisch, never to use that term for my betrothed again.”
Benisch’s jaw dropped, but he recovered himself in swiftness. “Many will use harsher terms to refer to a Lof Raelein of Elder blood.”
The urge to cast Benisch from the room and from his service seized Elcon. He had not faced the wrath of the Prince of Darksea and the fury of the king and queen of Westerland in order to be chastised by a servant, no matter how highly-placed. His hands curled into fists at his side, but he held onto his temper by a thread. Benisch meant well. “We will marry as soon as possible.”
“You make a fool’s choice.”
Elcon moved toward the door. “I’ve satisfied your curiosity. Should you happen to make this known, also state that I’ll exact punishment against any who oppose my choice of bride. Please show yourself out.”
With that, Elcon left the chamber and the annoyance of Benisch’s presence. The encounter had stiffened his spine. He would allow none to tell him he could not have Aewen as his wife. He loved her and would not abandon her. He would follow their marriage ceremony by crowning her Lof Raelein of Faeraven. That should still most of the whispers. Thereafter, if any tongue wagged against Aewen, the speaker would be named a traitor to the throne.
****
Anointed and bejeweled, Aewen gazed at Elcon through a wedding veil. For now, it didn’t matter that the crowd should be greater. Certain shraens and their raeleins had refused to sanction Elcon’s wedding to an Elder, despite her nobility, and rumors circulated that several shraens meant to withdraw from the Alliance of Faeraven. Aewen let herself look away from such concerns and into the sea green eyes of the husband who loved her. Light poured into the allerstaed from its high windows and flooded over her as she received Elcon’s pledge and gave hers in turn. They knelt, and the black-garbed priest thrice rang the bells of unity above their joined hands and bowed heads. The priest blessed them and offered supplications on their behalf. They arose together, and Elcon removed the veil from her face to warm her lips in a lingering kiss. He grinned and faced the crowd. With a deep breath, Aewen did the same.
“Good Kindren all, receive Elcon, Shraen of Rivenn, and his wedded wife, Aewen of Westerland.” The priest’s voice gave way to cheers.
She smiled her relief. Not all despised her union with Elcon, it seemed. Elcon took her hand with a smile. She wanted to cling to his hand but turned and knelt before the priest alone. Above her head the priest held a bejeweled circlet similar to the larger Circlet of Rivenn Elcon wore. “Aewen of Westerland, daughter of Euryon, son of Garadrel, son of Amberoft, son of Mercedon, son of Rhys, begotten of the Ancient Kings of Elderland, receive the Coronet of Rivenn.”
As the priest helped her to her feet, the weight of the crown pressed against the head she held high.
“A new raelein rises over Rivenn.” A tumult from the crowd, still joyous but quieter, overrode the priest’s declaration.
Elcon’s hand at her elbow steadied her. A second priest emerged from a small archway behind the chancel. He bore a gleaming scepter of beaten gold, its jewel-embedded staff crowned by a rampant gryphon with a star sapphire orb suspended in its claws—the Scepter of Faeraven. Elcon took the scepter, kissed it, and held it toward her. Enmeshed in his sea green gaze, she joined her hands with his upon the staff. “Aewen, Raelein of Rivenn, receive with me the Scepter of Faeraven.”
They turned together and held the scepter aloft. The crowd murmured in tones of wonder at its beauty.
The priest made his final proclamation. “Good Kindren all, receive Aewen, Lof Raelein of Faeraven.”
The crowd hesitated, but then broke into restrained cheering. Aewen understood. She would have to prove herself.
They surrendered the scepter to the priests and submitted to a final prayer.
Elcon escorted her from the allerstaed by means of a vaulted corridor to the foyer of the great hall, where they greeted all who entered the wedding feast. The clang of dishware punctuated bright melodies. As the chattering crowd issued from the presence chamber to press around them, the fragrance of food reminded her she’d been too excited to eat earlier.
Many long eyes sent Aewen inquisitive glances. She must seem as exotic to the Kindren as they did to her. She ignored her jangling nerves and greeted those she met with warmth and kindness, no matter how much they stared. She must not once allow her composure to falter or she would shame Elcon. Had she done him a disservice in wedding him? Would they both have been better off if she’d taken a vow of chastity? Brother Robb would probably have granted her request if she’d asked again, under the circumstances. She might rather have given Elcon a broken heart than a broken kingdom.
She pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind. Beside her, a golden-haired maiden held Elcon’s hand and gazed at him in a way that struck Aewen to the heart. The tilt of Elcon’s head conveyed its own story.
Elcon turned to her with an unreadable expression. “Aewen, I present to you Raena Arillia of Chaeradon, a dear friend since my early days.”
Aewen took the delicate hand extended to her and smiled into gray eyes that shone with unshed tears. “I am happy to meet you.” Aewen spoke a lie. She felt no happiness at meeting the beautiful Kindren princess whose pleased expression belied the sorrow in her eyes.
Arillia’s parents, Shraen Ferran and Raelein Annora, greeted Aewen with cool politeness. She responded with equal courtesy. Later, she would ask Elcon the details of his association with Raena Arillia of Chaeradon. Or did she prefer not to know?
Her throat felt parched, and her stomach cramped with hunger by the time Elcon took her hand and guided her into the great hall. The crowd parted and applauded with restraint as they made their way to the dais to join the nobles waiting there. The other guests jostled one another at trestle tables below the dais. The guardians
,
ever present throughout the ceremony, filed to their own trestle tables nearest the dais.