Zandru's Forge (30 page)

Carolin was three-quarters drunk by the time the dancing was over and a group of his friends, Orain among them, carried him on their shoulders to the bridal chamber. A little while earlier, a similar group of women, giggling and blushing at the ribald songs of the men, had taken Alianora away. They would sing their own songs of the sorrows and delights of the wedding bed, dress her in a scandalously revealing nightgown, and leave her to anticipate the coming of her husband.

Carolin remembered this suite of rooms from his visits to Hali when he was a boy. They had been his father’s; his mother had her own. He had thought nothing of it at the time, nor of his mother’s preference for the country estate at Blue Lake. His parents had always been pleasant to one another and affectionate to him. Now, standing in the antechamber which led on one side to a spacious, elegantly proportioned sitting room and on the other to the bedchamber, he realized he knew very little about these two people and how they had shared their lives. The thought struck him with sadness.

That they had loved him, each in their own way, was beyond doubt. They had left him with images of kindness, honor, loyalty, merriment, duty. But they had not taught him anything of how a man and a woman ceased to be strangers. Perhaps they had been more successful in living their separate lives than in creating a shared one together.

There was no help for it. He would have to make his way as best he could. He lifted the latch and heard it click open, paused for a moment so that she might not be surprised, and went in.

The shadowed air smelled of sweet herbs and beeswax. No
laran-charged
glows lined the walls, only candles, and their light caressed the polished wood, the soft velvet of curtain and drape, and the cheeks of the woman who lay on the wide bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows. She had drawn the covers up to her neck. All Carolin could see of her was her face, her eyes rimmed with white, and the fingers of one hand twisted in the sheets. She had been murmuring, too low for him to understand, but broke off as soon as he stepped through the door. She looked, he thought, as if she were anticipating a rape. He felt sick.

Yet it would have been unthinkable to simply turn around, go back to his old familiar chambers, and forget the whole thing. She had done nothing to deserve such humiliation. Nor could he sleep on the floor or chastely at her side. The marriage had been made for the sake of the Kingdom, and therefore must be consummated.

Moving slowly, so as not to alarm her, he sat on the bed beside her. The only thing he could think of was to talk to her as if she were a mare frozen with terror, perhaps stroke her hair, if she would permit him.

He began awkwardly, reassuring her that he meant no harm. It seemed cruel to point out that she had refused their only brief chance at acquaintance, so he went on to say he hoped they would soon enjoy each other’s company and come to care for one another. As he spoke, he felt an easing in the tension of her body.

“Will you not give me your hand?” he said, and reached for hers.

Instead of releasing the covers, she fumbled about with her other hand. As she slipped it free, he caught a glimpse of small polished beads, probably river opal, joined by metal links.

Cristoforo prayer beads. No wonder she was so frightened. The Hasturs worshiped Aldones, Lord of Light. Cristoforos were considered by many to be weak and effeminate, unworthy to rule. The scandal of a Hastur heir marrying one of them would be immense.

As he touched her flesh, Carolin felt a fleeting instant of laran contact. Many of the Ardais were also Gifted, and she must have gone to great lengths to keep her faith hidden, even from her family. Had she refused this marriage, the reason might have been discovered. If her family had been angry enough, she might even have been killed. So she had agreed, perhaps praying to Holy Saint Christopher, Bearer of the World’s Burdens, to show her a way out.

No way had appeared.

“My dear,” he spoke as he would to a child and reached out his hands. For a moment she resisted, but allowed him to take her fingers from the sheets and hold both hands in his. “My dear, why did you not tell me?”

“Why, indeed?” The words rushed from her throat with unexpected passion. “What purpose could there have been? How could I, being what I am, bind myself to a son of Hastur, you who claim descent from Aldones, Lord of Light? How could I do otherwise? Disgraced beyond my entire family, beyond redemption ? And now that you know, you will have no choice, for my faith is more dear to me than my life. Do your worst. I am prepared.”

What does she expect me to do? Rape her on her wedding night? Kill her?
With a sickening shiver, he realized that was exactly what she feared.

“I mean you no harm,” he repeated, too stunned to think of anything else to say. “Whatever you have heard of us—of me, I am no monster to take a woman unwilling.” He referred to the vow of
cristoforos
forbidding all but consensual sexual relations.

Yet ... the marriage
must
be consummated. For the future of Hastur, for the welfare of his people, the stability of the Kingdom, he must sire sons.

He began stroking her arm. “If—if this were not a problem, would you wish this marriage?”

“What does that matter? I am sworn to it. My wishes have never meant anything.”

“That is not true, Alianora.” Deliberately, he spoke her name, and watched her involuntary response. “There are many things I cannot change, and the fact of our marriage is one of them.” He ran his fingers over the copper
catenas
locked around her wrist. “But to the extent of my power, I wish you happiness.”

She stared at him, and when she spoke again, her tone had lost some of its stridency. “I—I would be a good wife to you, a dutiful wife. But I cannot give up my faith.”

“I will not ask that of you.”

Again she stared, this time in frank disbelief. “It is not possible—”

“Am I a Prince of Hastur or not?” He captured her gaze with his, holding her hands immobile.

She swallowed, mute.

“Then I say that this matter concerns only the two of us, and what we do, how we resolve it, is between us alone.”
Do you understand me?

Eyes huge, she nodded. He couldn’t be sure if she’d heard his telepathic thought, or was simply assenting to his proposal.

“Then we will hear no more of this,” he continued. “What is secret will continue to be so, within the confines of these rooms.”

The knot of tension in his belly relaxed a fraction. He returned to stroking her arms, forcing himself to concentrate on the texture of her skin. She was all softness and fine bone, with no firm muscle. In a sudden, almost frenzied movement, she sat up, threw her arms around his neck, and burst into tears.

He held her, weaving his fingers through her unbound hair. It was thicker than he’d expected, like heavy satin, a small measure of sensual pleasure. That was something, then. Aldones knew how he was going to make love to her like this, a sobbing, quivering stranger.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Gradually, she grew quieter, her shudders dying away. He freed his hands from her hair and ran them down the length of her back. The fabric of her night dress was so thin he felt every contour of her body. She leaned into him, burying her face against his chest. By slow degrees, so as not to alarm her, he stroked her sides, her hips, occasionally tracing the curve of breast and buttock. Desire stirred in him and as quickly died.

“Are you—have they told you what to expect?” he asked. “Does it frighten you to lie with a man?”

She made no answer, and she would not open her eyes. Holding her, he lowered himself on the bed, so that they lay together, his arms around her. When he drew back to look at her, she kept her eyes tightly shut. He cupped one breast, noticing that she made no response. Neither did she draw away from him as he pulled off his own clothes and covered them both with the comforter. Her skin was cold through the thin gown, but he would warm them both.

He kept stroking her, more intimately now. She was not unattractive, had been well fed and well tended in life. Her skin was smooth, her breasts round, her belly pleasingly soft. After a long while, he noticed the change in her breathing, the slight inhale as he ran his fingers over her nipples.

She was not unwilling, then. It was his own body which now refused to respond. He tried to focus on her breasts, her hips, the warm triangle of her crotch, all the womanly parts which had sparked his adolescent fantasies. His own body felt tepid, his efforts to stimulate himself mechanical.

Doggedly, he kept on, seizing upon any hint of reaction. At one point, she whimpered and her fingers went around his neck. With that, he was able to achieve an erection, although he didn’t know if he could sustain it. He decided that if he were going to finish this business, he had best do it quickly.

She made no protest as he rolled on top and awkwardly slid into her. He felt her flinch as he began thrusting. He tried again to reach her with his mind; she was not barriered, but had simply gone somewhere else, leaving him to do what he pleased with her body.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a woman taking pleasure in his movements, welcoming him, yearning for him, embracing his mind as well as his body. He thought of the Castamir lady he had met the season he was presented at
Comyn
Council who had first excited his desire, about Marella, who flirted with him back at Arilinn. His breathing deepened, as his own arousal built. A wave of heat swept over his skin. He thought of Maura dancing, her face glowing, eyes meeting his with that unflinching gaze, the warmth and richness of her trained laran. With a rush that took his breath away, spasms tore through him. He thought he cried out, but perhaps it was only within the darkness of his mind.

He rolled off her, leaving one arm across her breasts. His breathing slowed, and the thunder between his ears fell away into stillness. He opened his eyes.

She was staring at him, her lips slightly parted.

“Did—did I hurt you?” Again, the soul-deep sickness threatened to rise up within him.

To his surprise, she shook her head. “I had been warned what to expect. This was not nearly so bad. I—I know you tried to be kind. I am grateful.”

Grateful.
But it would be unspeakably cruel to throw the word back at her.

He stroked her cheek. “Perhaps a child will come of this night. That would please you, I hope. And from everything I have heard, the first time is the worst.”

“Yes, that is what they told me also.” She rolled on to one side to study him. “I did not realize—how fortunate I am. You are a kind man, I think, and an honorable one. That is more than any woman can hope for. I will try to be a good and dutiful wife to you.”

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead and felt her sigh of relief. Sleep came reluctantly, although by the change in her breathing, Alianora had dropped off long ago. He lay as still as he could so as not to disturb her, trying to quiet the uneasy vortex of his thoughts. As the first pale glow of dawn seeped through the heavy curtains, he was left with only two certainties.

This woman was his lawful wife, would someday be his Queen, and was deserving of all courtesy, respect and honor. But he did not, nor could he ever, love her.

Spring also came early to the Plains of Arilinn. The earth awoke even before the days grew warm, as if bud and seed possessed some secret knowledge of what was to come. Snow-drops and ice daisies in wooden planters burst through the thin shell of frost to unfurl thick petals of yellow and purple in the slanting sun. During the early afternoons, when the great red sun was at its zenith, the drifts of snow in the Tower’s outer courtyards fell in upon themselves, melting from within, and though they crusted over each night, no new snow fell, so that each day, the mass of soggy trodden slush dwindled.

Waking after a short day’s sleep, as he often did when working through the night, Varzil made his way through the Veil and its courtyard. He paused to appreciate the shoots of green with their clusters of heart-shaped blossoms, stark against the patches of snow and bare dark soil. The air, although still chill, carried the faint damp tang of the new season. Beyond, in the fields, a mist arose from the ground, an exhalation. As yet, town and Tower kept to their winter rhythms, but not for long.

He drew his cloak, with its lining of soft marlet fur, closer around him. Gloved fingers brushed the silver pin that was his sole ornament. He traced the familiar pattern of the stag with its backswept antlers and thought of Carolin. News of his friend had arrived from time to time, mostly carried with other messages along the telepathic relays from Hali Tower. Carolin’s first son, named Rafael-Alar, was now a sturdy toddler, and another child was on the way.