Banshee’s Honor
Part Thirteen
by
~Chapter
Twenty-Five~
Arriving
at Oakheart at pre-dawn, did nothing to improve Azhani’s standing
within the queen’s court. Already,
murmurs were flying around the packed chamber, causing Lyssera to
briefly rub her eyes. Sending
a quick prayer to Astarus, who looked after fools and their errands,
she hoped that whatever had caused her weaponsmaster to stay out so
late, would be worth the candlemarks of gossip she would have to endure. Lyssera stifled a sigh as yet
another rumor reached her ears.
“Did you
hear, my queen? Master Azhani
has been out howling at the moon!” a wide-eyed merchant from the outer
provinces whispered in shock.
Lyssera
ignored him. According to
Allyndev, the warrior was sleeping. Azhani
had not answered her door when the young man had knocked to inquire
after her health.
Kyrian
was still with Ambassador Iften, making sure that there were no other
ill effects from the krill poisoning. Without
any new information, Lyssera had to deal with her court and her
advisors alone. During the
morning session, she easily dismissed their concerns by informing them
that she had someone investigating the matter of Ambassador Iften’s
poisoning. After talking
amongst themselves, it was agreed by the court and council that she had
done the right thing.
Of course they agreed. Lyssera’s thoughts were tinged
with disgust. They don’t have to pay for it. As
Lyssera’s weaponsmaster, Azhani earned a retainer.
It was small, but more than enough to provide the warrior
with the occasional frippery. Essentials,
such as food, shelter and clothing were free.
Before hunting for snakes in Y’Syr’s garden, Azhani had
asked for and received extra funds.
Understanding
the need to grease the wheels of information, Lyssera had willingly
given the warrior access to some of her personal fortune. Now, she was understandably anxious
to discover what her money had bought. Already,
the morning’s gossip had brought news of three men in the Y’Tolan
ambassador’s party who had fallen sick, though their ills were quickly
proven to be weather related and not due to krill.
I need
to find the guilty parties quickly, before there’s a panic. The safety of Oakheart Manor is
legendary, and I will not allow some skulking bastard to destroy that!
One
of the courtiers leaned over to whisper some juicy bit of gossip but
quickly changed his mind when he saw the expression that crossed the
queen’s face. The count was a
rumormonger, but he liked his head where it rested – decorating a pike
was not something he had planned in his near future.
Shuddering, the man turned to another one of the
ever-present minor nobles, praying that whoever had put that look on
Queen Lyssera’s face was not someone he knew.
%%%
Azhani
was not asleep. Two guards
standing in front of the door that led to Baron Draygil Var’s suite,
were quite unaware that perched precariously above them, was the former
warleader of Y’dan. The
information that she had purchased from the smuggler Eskyn, led her to
this minor noble from the southeastern town of Tarin.
Two years ago, Baron Var’s father had died, leaving him a
tumbled down mansion and a pile of debt. To
pay the debt, what little monies there were left in the family
treasury, went into a steadily thriving export business. Salted beef, cured leather and glue
was purchased in Y’Nor cheaply and sold in Y’skan at tremendously
inflated rates.
A
little bit of discussion with the pages for both the Y’skani and the
Y’Noran delegations, had given Azhani all the information she needed. One of the main goals of the Y’skani
delegation was to cement a trade agreement with the plains people. Queen Lyssera had generously offered
her services as a moderator, and over the last few months, had spent
candlemarks at the treaty table, hammering out a mutually beneficial
agreement.
The
two kingdoms had dickered incessantly over concessions and as yet, they
had not signed any documents. If
those negotiations came to fruition, both kingdoms would reap the
rewards. Baron Var, however,
would be paupered.
Deeply
in debt to the Cabal, Var’s options were limited.
Over the course of the day, Azhani had followed a trail of
clues, learning that the nobleman received many visitors from the
infamous House. Ostensibly,
they met for trade matters, but even men who are experts at misleading
the law can make mistakes.
A
wicked smile curved Azhani’s lips. No
one paid any attention to the pages – the young boys and girls who were
employed by the crown as an easy means of delivering messages around
the ancestral home of Y’Syr’s nobility. Hearing
and seeing everything in their duties, pages were never shy of sharing
what they learned, for the right price, and Azhani was happy to take
advantage of that.
There
was no love lost between Baron Var and the page that had been assigned
to serve him, and the boy quickly told Azhani all he knew of the young
noble’s dealings with the House of Cabal. What
she heard, caused the warrior to clench her hands into fists several
times before she gave the boy a pocketful of silver and sent him off to
the kitchens for a treat.
Now,
she waited, poised to gather the rest of the information she would need
to prove that Baron Draygil Var was a traitor.
From her perch, Azhani watched silently as the nobleman
exited the room, stopping only to share a crude joke with one of his
guards before heading off to court. As
soon as his men settled against the door, she dropped.
“Hello
lads,” she purred, acting swiftly. Her
hands shot out, grabbing both men by the collar and slamming their
heads together with a resounding thud. Limply,
they slid to the ground. Working
fast, Azhani tied their hands together with a bit of leather thong and
then dragged them into the baron’s rooms. Later,
the queen’s guard could return and determine if Var’s men were involved
in his crimes.
Seeking
concrete evidence of Var’s crimes, she hurriedly searched the rooms. Minutes later, she found it, hidden
between the mattresses of the baron’s bed. The
lock on the baron’s cell door was a vial, not much larger than an
arrowhead which was filled with a thick, grayish dust that smelled like
citrus and tasted like soap.
Carefully,
Azhani slipped the dangerous substance into a pouch at her hip. A bit more judicious searching
turned up even more evidence – a signet ring from the House of Cabal,
given only to those members of society who joined their criminal
organization. Wrapped around
the ring was a scrap of parchment with the words, ~The master is pleased with your efforts, Var. To complete your work – see that the old sand worm does
not sign the treaty, and your debt is forgiven.~ written
in a spidery, delicate script.
Just
before she left the room, Azhani added another carefully applied thump
to the heads of Var’s guards and then headed for Lyssera’s court. A brilliantly cheerful grin appeared
and she began to whistle as she walked down the halls.
Today was going to be so much fun!
%%%
The
rumors were flying fast and furious when Kyrian finally made an
appearance in the large chamber that served as the queen’s court. Lyssera, seated in a rigidly
uncomfortable position on her throne, stood and walked down to greet
the red-robed stardancer.
“My
posterior thanks you for your timely arrival, good stardancer,” the
queen muttered softly as she smiled politely at the men and women
lining the sides of the aisle.
“It’s
always a pleasure to serve your majesty,” Kyrian replied just as
softly, smiling gently.
“And
how is the good ambassador?” Lyssera asked in a normal voice?
The
stardancer’s smile broadened. “He
is well, your majesty - cranky and irritable and demanding that he be
allowed to eat real cow, instead of just the drippings.”
Lyssera
chuckled, her merry laugh infecting the stardancer until she too, was
laughing. Returning to the
throne’s dais, each woman took her accustomed spot – Kyrian on a low
chair that sat to the queen’s side and Lyssera on the elaborately
carved yet far less comfortable throne.
“I
have had a letter from King Padreg,” Lyssera said conversationally.
Kyrian
tilted her head interestedly.
“He
and his lady send their love to you and Azhani.
Padreg also wishes you to remind Azhani of their deal.” The queen’s dark golden eyes
twinkled merrily.
Two
amber colored eyebrows rose in confusion. “Deal? Oh boy, I wish Azhani would tell me
these things. What deal?”
Shaking
her head, Lyssera shrugged and said, “I haven’t the faintest clue. Ask the warrior yourself, she’s
here.”
Striding
up the red carpet toward the queen’s throne was the warrior, a jaunty
grin on her face and whistling an infectious tune.
Effortlessly sinking to one knee as she reached the foot
of Lyssera’s throne, Azhani announced, “I have completed my task, my
Queen.”
The
crowd hushed as her words penetrated the fog of conversation. Stillness filled the room as
everyone waited for the queen’s reply.
Inclining
her head, Lyssera regally said, “By all means, my friend, share your
findings. Tell us who
slithers in our midst, seeking to destroy Oakheart’s peace.”
Rising,
the warrior lifted her head and in a clear voice said, “After much
investigation, I have determined that the poisoner of the good
Ambassador Iften was Baron Draygil Var.”
A
collective gasp echoed off the ceiling.
“Nonsense! She spouts lies, my queen!” The baron in question pushed his way
to the throne, indignation bristling from every pore.
Calmly,
Azhani turned to face the small-statured elven man, one eyebrow raised
in curiosity. “If it is lies
that I speak, my lord baron, tell then why it is that I discovered
these in your quarters?” From
the pouch at her belt, Azhani produced the vial of poison, the signet
ring and the note.
Baron
Var went white, fear and rage flickering across his face before
sputtering, “You didn’t find that in my room, you planted it! I know who the poisoner is my queen
– it’s this scum you’ve hired, Azhani Rhu’len.
King Arris was right to call her Oathbreaker!” Disgusted, he sneered, “I am shamed
that you allowed such a one into your household.”
The
scar on Azhani’s face twitched as she ground her teeth, but she kept
silent, waiting for Lyssera to speak.
The
queen did not disappoint. Rising
from her throne, she stepped gracefully out onto the carpet and circled
the baron and the warrior. One
elegant hand came up to cup her chin.
Attentions fully held by the
drama playing out before them, the nobles were pinned to their seats as
the queen’s eyes scanned the court.
“Baron
Var, who I hire is none of your concern; however, your opinion is
noted,” she said icily. “Azhani,
your service to me thus far has been unimpeachable and all know that
Theodan of Y’dan held you in the highest regard.
Hence, I trust that your information is fairly gathered,
but my court may not be so swayed by your reputation.
Therefore, I ask, do you have any further proof of the
baron’s guilt?” Not that
Lyssera truly needed any more proof; Var’s greed, as well as his
opposition to the Y’Nor/Y’skan treaty, was well known.
“I-“
Azhani started to reply when she was interrupted.
“Why
don’t we ask the goddess to verify the truth?” Kyrian stepped forward,
her words echoing through the room. Smiling
sweetly at the fuming baron, she said, “I am sure that Starseeker
Vashyra would be happy to oblige you, my queen.”
The approving warmth in Azhani’s eyes made every word she
spoke worthwhile to Kyrian, who was beginning to shake under the
scrutiny of the hundreds of nobles that were attached to Lyssera’s
court.
“An
excellent suggestion, Stardancer Kyrian,” Lyssera praised, nodding at a
page who scurried off to find the priest of Astariu who was assigned to
the Y’Syran court.
Several
tense minutes passed while Azhani and Baron Var stared each other down. The warrior wore an expression of
unconcerned boredom while the baron struggled to keep his hands at his
sides, away from the jewel-hilted dagger that rested against his left
hip. Nervous chatter flitted
from one end of the chamber to the other, as the nobles, growing bored
by the hard silence, began to quietly whisper to each other.
Indifferently
turning away from the fuming baron, Azhani casually bumped her elbow
into Kyrian’s arm. The
stardancer looked up, surprised, but then smiled at her friend.
“Hey,”
the warrior whispered, her voice barely carrying beyond the
stardancer’s ears. “Want to
get something to eat after the manure hits the crowd?”
“Sounds
good to me, tall, dark and dangerous. You
can tell me what the hell you promised Padreg, while we eat,” Kyrian
whispered back.
What I promised Padreg?
Huh? Then
it hit her. Oh shit! He
must have told her about the midwinter joining.
What the hell am I supposed to say?
“Oh, it’s nothing, Kyr. Padreg
just wants us to get married with him and Elisira during Winterfest?” Oh yeah, that would go over like a
pig in a barrel.
Whatcha so freaked about, warrior?
Telling Kyrian about your promise, or admitting that you
find the idea of marrying her – intriguing? A mischievous internal voice
prodded.
Azhani
wanted to close her eyes and thump her head against the nearest wall,
but she didn’t. No, you rutting satyr! I
love Ylera! She is the only
one I will ever love! The words felt strangely hollow,
though.
The
opening double doors at the end of the hall, saved her from having to
argue further with her conscience. Starseeker
Vashyra swept down the aisle, gathering all eyes to her tall, beautiful
form. Taller than Azhani, but
willow switch thin, with long, silver-touched black hair that flowed
almost to the floor, the priest of Astariu was a formidable sight in
her azure silk robes. A star
tattoo emblazoned on her forehead, proclaimed her status as a
starseeker. Vashyra was one
of the goddess’ chosen intermediaries, and no one would dare call her
word into question.
When
she reached the small group clustered at the edge of the dais where
Lyssera’s throne sat, Vashyra inclined her head and said, “I understand
I am needed, your majesty?”
“Starseeker,
I am pleased that you were able to join us so quickly,” Lyssera said,
ascending the steps to her throne and seating herself in the great
chair. “We have a matter of
law before us that needs the goddess’ touch to clear up. Are you willing to aid us?”
“Of
course, my queen. I am always
proud to share Astariu’s gifts with the people of Y’Syr. What is it I may assist you with?”
the priest asked serenely, her violet eyes looking from Azhani, to
Kyrian, to the baron and back to the queen.
The
room quieted down as the nobles all strained to watch and listen. Kyrian felt sweat break out on her
palms and would have turned and run from the room if Azhani had not
leaned over and whispered, “Hey, look at Var – I think he’s about to
piss on his fancy velvet shoes.”
Covering
her giggles with a sneeze, Kyrian looked at the queen and said, “I beg
your pardon, my queen.”
Lyssera
waved her hand as if it were nothing and said, “Starseeker, the issue
is plainly thus: Master Azhani Rhu’len has accused Baron Draygil Var of
poisoning Ambassador Iften Windstorm with krill dust.
To prove her claims, she has produced a bottle of the
poison, a signet ring marked with the seal of the House of Cabal and a
note of ominous tidings. Baron
Var has, in return, denounced Master Azhani as an Oathbreaker and
claims that she has falsely accused him of this crime.
I would ask that you intercede, calling upon your talents
as a starseeker and bringer of truth.”
“It
shall be as you have asked,” the priest calmly said, turning to take
the evidence from the warrior.
“No! I refuse to submit to this charade! My queen, you must see that you have
been placed under a cruel spell by this vile beast that has been
allowed to live in your home!” Baron Var exclaimed, causing the crowd
to murmur and mutter excitedly.
Around
the room, nobles whispered, “It’s true. Didn’t
she betray her own king? Did
we not see the bodies of the slain burn in a weeklong bonfire just on
the other side of the great Banner Lake? Was
she not the one responsible for the death of the queen’s beloved twin,
Ylera?”
“Silence!”
Lyssera was standing, anger pouring off of her in waves. “You will accept the judgment of
Starseeker Vashyra, or you will spend time in the dungeons!”
The
creaking of the old manor’s walls was the only sound heard as the hall
fell silent. Baron Var
snapped his mouth shut and backed away from the dais, while the blue
robed priest began to chant.
The
bottle, the ring and the parchment took on a hazy, golden glow and
slowly rose from Vashyra’s hand as she chanted, hovering in the air
momentarily before shooting out and impacting Var in the chest. Unconsciously, he caught the items,
dropping them hastily when he realized what his actions signaled.
Snarling,
“This is your fault, you bitch,” he drew his jeweled dagger and lunged
for Azhani, stabbing her deeply in the gut.
As he shoved the blade in, the nobleman threw down a
mirror, shattering it. “Master,”
he cried, twisting his dagger viciously, “I need you!”
The warrior’s blood spurted out over Var’s hand,
spattering the shards of glass littering the floor.
Shocked
by the man’s desperate attack, Azhani was unable to deflect the blow,
staggering back into Kyrian, who caught the warrior and quickly lowered
her to the ground. The
stardancer’s hand went immediately to her baton, but indecision gripped
her conscience. Should she
attack the gibbering man who was laughing madly and waving his bloody
dagger at anyone who dared to come close, including the queen, or
should she stay by Azhani’s side and attempt to staunch the blood that
flowed freely from the horrible wound in her belly?
The
decision was torn from her as the man launched himself at Lyssera, only
to be buffeted back by a wave of power from Starseeker Vashyra. Belatedly, Kyrian gripped her baton,
casting a glance down at Azhani, who was weakly trying to sit.
“Baron
Draygil Var, you are hereby declared guilty of treason.
For this act, you shall be banished.
Furthermore, you are charged and found guilty of the crime
of attacking one of the Queen’s Guard, for this crime, you shall die.” Lyssera’s voice, cold and harsh,
rang out through the court’s chamber.
Draygil
laughed, drool and spittle flying from his mouth to spatter against
Kyrian’s robes. “You think I
care about your charges, Queen Listless? Your
laws mean nothing to me, bitch, for I am of the Cabal.
Master, I have done it. I
have struck down your hated enemy!” he called out, almost pleadingly. “Come see, Master.
See what I have done for you!” Madly,
the baron slashed his blood-soaked blade across his own arm and began
to sing a disturbing, off key melody. As
he chanted, his blood dripped down his arm and onto the ground. Mingling with the warrior’s blood,
it began to glow an evil reddish color.
Behind
him, the air began to fill with a thick, grayish haze.
Starseeker Vashyra’s chant changed and the sound of the
two spellcaster’s chanting merged into a disharmonic music that caused
everyone who could hear it to wince in pain.
Golden beams of energy crackled at the edges of the fog,
attempting to clear it, but the power behind the baron’s spell was
strong. A face appeared in
the mist, its lips moving in unheard words.
Suddenly, the words became audible as the shadowy form of
a man stepped out of the mist and into the throne room.
“Draygil
you fool, I told you never to use that spell!
What is it that you –“ the speaker’s words faded off when
he noticed the crowd surrounding his servant.
The sorcerer’s body flickered, fading in and out as golden
arcs of lightening coruscated around him. Turning,
he spotted Starseeker Vashyra. Eyes
narrowing, he chanted a few guttural words and pointed, knocking the
priest back and halting her spells.
Azhani
Rhu’len staggered to her feet, crying out, “You!” and grabbing for her
dagger. Her actions caused
fresh blood to pour from her wound, sending the warrior reeling to her
knees in pain.
Hollow,
mirthless laughter followed. “Now
that is exactly how I like to see the children of my enemies, Daughter
of Rhu’len. Tell me,” he
sneered, “How does it feel to grovel in the dirt?”
Almost willing to forgive his puppet the transgression of
summoning him to the Y’Syran throne room, Kasyrin Darkchilde smiled
evilly. Ever since the
Cabalian mage and Azhani’s father had first fought, he had longed to
see this woman kneel before him.
Revenge truly
was a dish best served ice cold. Are you rotting in hell yet, DaCoure? he thought nastily, feeling all
over again the shame and anguish of his original defeat at the hands of
Rhu’len DaCoure. I told you that day, that you would fail, and I was
right. Look at me now,
Rhu’len DaCoure. Look at me
and weep for the loss of your House!
Hatred
suffusing every line of the warrior’s body, Azhani dug down into her
reserves and stood, cupping one hand protectively over her wounded
abdomen. “One measly,
half-assed cut from any of your flunkies, will never be enough to put
me in the dirt, Darkchilde,” she said, with her voice grating through
clenched teeth. A small, warm
hand at her back, as well as soft, almost voiceless singing gave the
warrior the courage to drop her hand. Clean,
bright yellow energy wrapped around her body, encasing her in the
healing spell of Astariu’s Own.
Kasyrin
roared; his revenge thwarted. “Demons
take you, spawn of DaCoure!” A
rapid stream of harsh syllables followed and the mage’s hands lit with
an ominously red glow.
“Darkchilde!”
Starseeker Vashyra shouted, distracting the sorcerer.
The star emblazoned on her brow pulsed with a brilliant
golden light. “Begone, pawn
of Hell,” she commanded, waving her hands dismissively.
A single
amber beam of force erupted from the priest’s star-shaped tattoo and
flew across the room, twisting into a cyclone before striking the
ghost-like form of the mage. He
reeled back, stumbling under the buffeting force of the priest’s
psychic blow. Dark gray
tendrils of slithering energy emerged from the swirling mists of the
portal and caught the sorcerer. Ugly
yellowish green sparks of energy began to twist through the crimson of
Darkchilde’s hands.
“Get
ye hence!” Vashyra’s voice rose to a piercing shriek, causing the
cyclone of golden energy to strike once again.
Teetering
at the edge of his portal, Kasyrin brought his hands out to release the
spell, when something distracted him.
Flying
through the air in a graceful arc, was Kyrian’s baton.
Boiling red energy lanced out and knocked it aside, but
that was all the time Vashyra needed to redouble her efforts to push
Darkchilde through the gateway.
With
a distinctive, sucking pop, the window closed, preventing the evil mage
from unleashing any further magicks upon the Y’Syran court.
“Damn. Hate it when that happens,” Azhani
commented wryly, slumping as pain washed over her body.
Gold-tinged
purple eyes met the warrior’s weary blue gaze.
“Azhani Rhu’len, hear the words of the goddess and heed
them well,” Vashyra’s normally sweet voice had changed to something
incredibly ethereal and impossibly familiar.
“The
breaking is at hand. Upon the
day when the sun stands still and the stars no longer spin with time, a
battle will rage. Three
chosen by fate shall unite to face the Beast.
The Blade, the Heart and the Stringless Puppet shall cross
paths. Upon that meeting, the
Beast shall rise to seek his place. Stand
well against the storm, and time shall sing of thy glory into the mists
of forever. Fall, and all
will blacken and fade.” At
the end of her speech, Vashyra’s eyes rolled up into her head and she
collapsed.
“Looks
like a plan to me,” Azhani muttered as her knees started to give out. “Ow,” she added as Kyrian caught her
and laid her on the carpet.
“Shh,
I’ll take care of you, my friend,” the stardancer murmured, stroking
her fingers through the warrior’s dark hair.
Smiling
weakly, Azhani hazily mumbled, “I know you will.”
The warrior’s voice faded away as she passed out.
~Chapter
Twenty-Six~
Azhani
opened her eyes and groaned weakly. Her
side ached fiercely and her bladder was dangerously full. What happened? she thought blearily, yawning
and blinking moisture from her eyes. As
she came awake, memory returned. Oh
yeah, traitors and sorcerers and stabbings, oh my!
“Ugh,”
she croaked, trying to sit up.
The
motion woke Kyrian, who had passed out in a chair next to the warrior’s
bed. Rubbing her face, the
stardancer reached for her friend, helping her to sit.
“Sorry,” she said sleepily. “Must’ve
fallen asleep.”
“S’okay,
just need to find the privy,” Azhani said, yawning again. “Then you can go find your own bed. Chair’s not that soft.”
Staggering
to her feet, Kyrian lifted Azhani up and helped her to stand. “Can’t. Gotta
stay here with you, warrior. Queen’s
orders.”
Azhani
snorted. “I can take care of
myself, Kyr. I don’t need a
nurse-Ow!” A startled oath of
pain was forced from the warrior when she tried to move too quickly
toward the water closet. “Damn. I hate being injured,” she growled.
“It’s
getting to be a routine with us, isn’t it, Azhi?”
Kyrian said, making sure that the warrior had finally
gotten positioned and then turning away. “You
get broken and I fix you.”
“Hah-hah,
very funny, Kyrian,” the warrior griped. “Ah
gods, is there anything to drink in this room?
I feel like I ate a sheep, wool and all.”
Kyrian
laughed. “Yeah, there’s lots
of water, my friend. I made
sure of it.” The stardancer
went over to the bed and poured a cup of water for the warrior and set
it on the bedside table.
After
she had been helped back to the bed, Azhani gratefully drank the water. “Thanks.
Now, I suppose I get to have something foul tasting and
good for me, right?” Lines of
pain shadowed her face as she spoke.
“Oh
yes, it’s time for your medicine, my friend,” Kyrian said, lifting a
gently steaming pot from the fire. Expertly,
she mixed a cup of pungent-smelling tea and handed it over to the
grimacing warrior.
Closing
her eyes, Azhani drank it down as fast as she could.
“Gah!” She
shuddered. “Do I get my
spoonful of honey now?”
“Baby,”
Kyrian said, her voice filled with warm amusement.
“Here, open wide,” she put a spoon in the warrior’s mouth.
“Mm. Baby I might be, Kyr, but at least I
don’t have to wake up with medicine mouth!”
The warrior yawned. “Now,
since you’re not going to leave me to sleep in peace, why don’t you at
least climb in bed with me? It’s
certainly large enough and I know you don’t kick in your sleep.”
“All
right, if you insist,” Kyrian said, unbuckling her belt and shucking
her stardancer’s robes. Underneath,
the young woman was wearing a simple knee-length tunic, which was more
than enough to sleep in.
The
stardancer drank a cup of water and then slid into the bed on the other
side of the warrior. Yawning,
she said, “Goodnight.”
“Night,”
Azhani murmured sleepily.
Kyrian
dropped off to sleep almost immediately, but the warrior lay there,
staring at the ceiling and listening to her friend’s deep, even
breathing.
Go
to sleep, warrior,
she told herself, but her eyes wouldn’t shut.
Lying just inches away, so close that she could feel the
stardancer’s heat, was the woman who had grown from a nuisance into her
best friend.
Ah
goddess, what am I doing to myself? She’s
just a friend. Why am I
suddenly so aware of her? The stardancer turned in her
sleep, her hand reaching out and wrapping around Azhani’s arm in a
light, comforting embrace.
“Astariu,”
Azhani whispered, shocked by the intense wave of desire that radiated
outward from the point of contact. She
closed her eyes, willing a vision of Ylera’s dead, battered body to
appear. All she got was a
hazy memory, tinged with sadness and disgust, but lacking the emotional
impact that thoughts of her elven lover usually brought.
What the hell? Every muscle in her body went taut with the strain of staying under the covers. Instinct yelled at her to get up, to get out of the bed and away from the woman who was stealing her hatred, and yet she couldn’t move. I can’t blame Kyrian, she thought sadly as a tear leaked out of her eyes. I have to go on. I know this. I have to let go of the past.
She
sniffled softly and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
It’s so hard, though. She looked at her peacefully
sleeping friend and smiled mournfully. I
guess I’m just going to have to start getting used to noticing that my
best friend is beautiful.
Reaching
out, she brushed a stray lock of amber colored hair out of Kyrian’s
face. And
that she touches parts of my heart that I thought had died.
A
gentle, sweet smile spread across Kyrian’s face, causing the warrior to
wonder what dreams danced in the stardancer’s sleep.
%%%
Waking
up wrapped in Azhani’s arms, was like scratching a bothersome itch for
Kyrian. It felt wonderful and
yet she knew there would be a painful aftermath.
It was bliss to feel the softness of the warrior’s breath
on her neck and at the same time, it made the stardancer feel sick
knowing how much pleasure she was deriving from the gentle contact.
Do
I love her? Why yes, my
queen, I’m so in love with Azhani that I’ll make do with whatever
scraps of emotion she’ll give me. Is
that what you wanted to hear?
Kyrian
was fairly certain that was not what Lyssera was asking. Sighing, the stardancer disengaged
herself from Azhani’s embrace and rolled out of the warm bed. The room was temperate, but the heat
of the warrior’s skin told her that a fire would be necessary. Azhani’s wound was mildly infected,
something Kyrian hoped to address later that day.
Once
the fire was stoked, she exited the room and headed for the kitchens,
seeking breakfast. Pausing in
the doorway, she looked back at the sleeping woman and burned the sight
into her heart. In her sleep,
the warrior had rolled over and grabbed Kyrian’s pillow, pulling it to
her and cuddling it like she had cradled the stardancer only moments
before.
%%%
While Azhani
recovered, Lyssera spent time closeted with several of her courtiers. Surprisingly, a few of the nobles
had recognized the face of Kasyrin Darkchilde as that of a well-known
silk and spice merchant from Y’skan. Going
by the name of Kesryn Oswyne, the sorcerer had ingratiated himself to
the wealthy and elite of all seven kingdoms with gifts of rare spices
and silks from the remote desert tribes.
Those
nobles who became a part of Lord Oswyne’s “favored” circle, soon found
that the merchant would pay handsomely for seemingly small favors. A waved fee here, an extra set of
transport documents there, and no one went away from the deal unhappy. As quickly as she could, the elven
queen began to interview those that were identified as Kesryn’s
“chosen”, gathering what information she could about those supposed
favors. Most of what she
learned was harmless graft, but there were a few clues that pointed the
way to a darker, more sinister plan by the sorcerer.
That
plan remained a mystery to the queen and her advisors.
This made Lyssera chafe and she wanted Azhani to heal as
fast as she could, though she knew that Stardancer Kyrian would do all
she was able to help the warrior recover. Using
the warrior’s down time to her advantage, the queen spent candlemarks
talking to her about Kasyrin, learning all she could about the mage.
Azhani
knew very little, but what she did know she gladly shared. Thirty years ago, Kasyrin had risen
through the ranks of the Cabal, starting as a street thief and working
his way up to becoming an assassin and finally a sorcerer. Using his knowledge and skills, he
challenged the Old Man, the nebulous leader of the House of Cabal. Very few people alive knew the Old
Man’s true identity, and he used his power to keep it that way.
Immediately,
the shadowy leader recognized Darkchilde’s threat and sought to have
him eliminated. Calling on
the skills of his best intriguers, the Old Man snared Rhu’len DaCoure,
by then a captain in Theodan’s army, into a web designed to destroy the
sorcerer. Through a trail of
clues, rumors and half-truths, Rhu’len was led to believe that Kasyrin
was responsible for the death of his beloved Ashiani.
The
destruction of Kasyrin Darkchilde became one of the foremost goals in
Rhu’len DaCoure’s life. His
single-minded determination impressed many, scared some and gained the
enmity of the Cabalian sorcerer. Every
time Kasyrin attempted to gain a foothold in Y’dan, Rhu’len was there
to stop him.
After
several years of cat and mouse, it came down to a combat of arms. With his magical powers drained away
by a starseeker, Kasyrin had to face Rhu’len with only a blade. The battle was frighteningly short. Rhu’len DaCoure was one of the best
swordsmen of his time, and Kasyrin, though fair with a blade, was no
match for him. As he lay
dying, Darkchilde vowed revenge. Laughing,
Rhu’len turned away, leaving the sorcerer to bleed to death.
It
was only after Kasyrin’s death that Rhu’len learned the truth. The mage had never been responsible
for Ashiani’s death – it had all been a product of the Old Man’s
machinations. Rhu’len
continued to rise within Theodan’s army, but he never forgot the lesson
he learned. While he was
alive, the Cabal found it very difficult to operate within the borders
of Y’dan.
The
events following Azhani’s wounding, proved that Kasyrin had not died,
however, and this left the queen feeling very chilled.
Obviously, the mage had retreated into the shadows,
rebuilding his power base and planning his revenge.
That he answered his servant’s call, revealing his
identity, meant nothing good.
As
Azhani and the queen talked, Kyrian came in to change the dressing on
the warrior’s wound. Watching
the two women interact, Lyssera realized that it was going to take an
overt act to get them to acknowledge their feelings.
She would have to convince Azhani to take a chance at love
one more time. Kyrian’s
emotions were easily read, though the stardancer tried hard to conceal
them. The warrior’s feelings
were more difficult to see, but careful observation revealed that they
were there.
Confusion and
longing flickered in Azhani’s eyes when she looked at Kyrian. The stardancer seemed oblivious to
this and the warrior was quick to look away from her friend’s face. Yes, Lyssera decided, it was time to
speak. Quietly, she waited
for Kyrian to finish, wanting to talk to Azhani alone.
Meddler, she thought fondly. But it would
be worth it, if some happiness arose from it.
“Thank
you,” Azhani said quietly as Kyrian changed the dressing. “It’s almost healed, you know.”
A
wry half grin twitched on Kyrian’s lips. “Yes,
I know. This is what I do,
you know. Now shush, and let
me work, Azhi.”
Azhani
chuckled and stretched her arms above her head, giving the stardancer
plenty of room to work. “I’m
just grateful for the quick healing you did back in the throne room,
Kyr. I was about to fall down
and kiss that damn mage’s ghostly boots.”
“I
wish I could have been more thorough. What
if you’d had to fight him?” Kyrian asked, wrinkling her brow comically
as she tickled the warrior’s belly before pulling the tunic down over
the freshly bandaged spot.
Squirming
away from her friend’s agile fingers, Azhani replied, “Then I’d have
tossed you at him first, so I could make a run for it!”
“Great,
leave me to do all the heavy fighting while you run off into the woods
like some demented rabbit. Thanks,
but no thanks, Azhi. You’re
the tall, dark and dangerous one, remember?
I’m just the two-copper sidekick who follows you around
like a mooncalf.” And
if you knew how close to the real truth that was, you’d probably run
faster than that rabbit I mentioned.
“I
guess I’d just have to rescue you again, wouldn’t I, healer?” Azhani
joked as she pushed herself up on the pillows.
Ah gods, but it feels so good to
have a friend like Kyr. How
many other people would be willing to be a cranky warrior’s rag doll at
night?
Since
the stabbing, the stardancer had stayed in the warrior’s room, rather
than returning to her own quarters. The
arrangement worked out nicely, giving Azhani a nighttime caretaker she
trusted and Kyrian the reassurance that the warrior would not try to
get up and hunt down Kasyrin Darkchilde in the middle of the night.
It
was such a nice setup that Azhani regretted knowing that the day was
soon approaching when Kyrian would move back to her room down the hall. The distance, though short, would
mean a return of their roles as warrior and stardancer, leaving the
easiness of their friendship to live only behind closed doors. Azhani wasn’t sure she could let
that go, not now, not after she had allowed Kyrian to climb so far
inside her heart.
And
just when did that happen? How
did you go from wishing only to see the death of Ylera’s killer, to
staring at the golden highlights in your best friend’s hair? Oh, beloved, am I right to want to
move on? Can I let you go?
“Good
answer,” Kyrian praised, standing up and brushing her hands on her robe. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see
to Ambassador Iften.” She
rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “That’s
one thing I really have to thank you for, Azhi – you’re a good patient. You understand the need to lie still
and let me do my work. The
ambassador thinks he’s still a lad and can leap from his sickbed after
only a few days rest.”
“My
daddy always taught me to respect my elders, pay attention to my
surroundings and to never, ever cross a medic,” Azhani said seriously,
though her eyes twinkled merrily. “I’ve
done pretty well with two and three, wouldn’t you say, my queen?”
Lyssera
laughed gaily. “I can’t
disagree with you there, old friend.”
“Well,
two out of three isn’t too bad, as long as you always remember number
three,” Kyrian said as she turned toward the door.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Don’t do anything heroic without me, okay?”
“Okay,”
Azhani agreed, watching as the stardancer left the room.
The
spicy scent of cinnamon and apples drifted around the room, melding
with the aroma of leather and the clean smell of the bed’s linens. Staring at the low fire that burned
in the hearth, allowed Azhani’s mind time to wander and she found
herself thinking of Kyrian, and wishing that she had stayed longer.
Theirs was an
unusual friendship. Since
escaping Arris’ clutches, all Azhani could think of was revenge; of
putting the monster who had slain her beloved Ylera, into the ground
where he could harm no other. Now,
killing him wasn’t nearly so important. Thinking
of revenge left her cold, with a bitter taste in her mouth. Yes, she wanted to get the bastard
off of Y’dan’s throne, but her original plan of just attacking until he
was dead, seemed so unimaginable.
Life
in Y’Syr was good. Queen
Lyssera treated her well; teaching Allyn and the other guards fulfilled
the warrior’s need to hone her skills and being friends with Kyrian had
done a lot to heal the rift in her heart.
“Did
I ever love her?” she wondered aloud, startling Lyssera.
Gazing
at Azhani’s face, Lyssera asked, “Deep thoughts, my friend?”
“I’m
drowning in them,” Azhani admitted softly, as a troubled expression
washed over her face.
“Your
question – was it about Ylera?” Lyssera asked delicately, keeping a
neutral tone in her voice.
“Yes,”
the warrior replied sadly. “Pretty
pathetic memory if I have to ask myself questions like that.”
“No,
my friend. I’d say it was a
healing heart trying to find its way back to living,” Lyssera said
tenderly.
“How
can I let go of my feelings for Ylera? She
was everything to me. I must
be an idiot or crazy to turn away from all the joy she brought me!”
Azhani cried, burying her face in her hands.
“You’re
neither crazy nor an idiot, my friend - only mortal.
Life goes on, and so does the heart.
We all need companionship, my friend.
Even I do not always sleep alone.
You could do worse than to let someone into your life,”
said the queen gently.
Shocked,
Azhani spluttered, “What?”
“You
could do worse than to open your heart to someone like Kyrian.” Lyssera held up a staying hand. “I don’t want to hear that only
Ylera holds your heart and that you would never dishonor her memory by
doing something as wonderful as falling in love again.
I think that’s owldragon dung and I know Ylera would agree! You could do my sister no greater
honor than to love again.”
For
a long moment, Azhani just stared at the queen, her jaw working as
words tried to form. Tears
gathered in her eyes, and then vanished to be replaced by a deep
confusion. Shaking her head,
Azhani said, “I don’t know what to say, Lyss.
What I felt for Ylera was deeper than anything I had ever
known before. Watching her
die, leeched all the love in me away. For
so long, I felt like I had no emotions; that they bled away and stained
the stones of Y’dannoch castle.” Wide-eyed
wonder shined out of the warrior’s face. “I
like Kyrian, Lyss. She is so
much to me, and she touches me in so many ways that I can’t begin to
name them, but love? I don’t
know. I just don’t know.”
Lyssera
took Azhani’s hand in hers, cradling the warrior’s calloused fingers
with her own. “All I’m asking
is that you allow for the possibility of love, my friend. The heart and the mind don’t always
speak the same language, but with love, translations aren’t necessary.”
“I’ll
think about it. I wish my
father were still here. He
would know what to say,” the warrior said wistfully.
Rhu’len had learned to love again, though before he died,
he had been between relationships. “How’s
Allyn?” she asked, changing the subject.
Releasing
the warrior’s hand, Lyssera replied, “Anxious to have his teacher back. He’s been routinely defeating some
of my better guardsmen and needs a serious challenge to knock some
humility into his skull.”
“Oh? Why don’t you ask Kyrian to spar
with him? Two or three rounds
and she’ll have him praying for my return,” Azhani said, chuckling
mischievously. “In fact, have
her tell him it’s an object lesson.”
“Object
lesson?” the queen asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
“He’ll
understand,” said the warrior, grinning wickedly.
“The
stardancer must be very good, to inspire that kind of revenge.”
“She
routinely kicks my butt at the Goddess Dance,” the warrior said. Though she
does have that rather irritating habit of avoiding direct confrontation
when weapons are involved. I
need to address that. I
wonder if being bedridden will get her to talk about it, because
Astariu knows she’s as close-mouthed as a monk about it otherwise.
“This
I have to see. All right,
I’ll ask Kyrian the next time I see her.”
“I’m
sure she won’t mind having a moving pell,” said Azhani.
She and Lyssera shared a laugh over the image of Prince
Allyndev running around the salle, trying desperately to protect his
head from Kyrian’s well-placed attacks.
%%%
“You
are so good to me,” Ambassador Iften said warmly, while Kyrian plumped
pillows and straightened covers for him.
“Yes,
and you return that kindness with your curmudgeonly ways, you know,”
the stardancer teased, shaking her finger at him.
He
chuckled. “Well, I’m just an
old man trying to get a little tenderness from a beautiful woman before
I die.”
The
banter between Iften and Kyrian was natural, flowing out of a mutual
admiration that had been in place since the stardancer had been caring
for the old desert man. For
Iften, Kyrian was like the granddaughter he had lost to a sandstorm
many years ago and to Kyrian, the ambassador was the grandfather she
never had. When she wasn’t
with Azhani or spending time in the city’s hospice, Kyrian would while
away her candlemarks with Iften.
As
a Desert Walker, Iften had seen many marvels and wonders, and he never
tired of sharing his experiences with the pretty young stardancer. Today, he had regaled her with his
adventures inside of an obsidian cave high in the Y’oro Mountains.
Settling
a tray over the man’s lap, Kyrian reached out and tweaked Iften’s nose. “You just keep hoping, Granther. Maybe Astarus will send a nymph to
dance in your dreams.”
Greedily,
Iften lifted the lid on his dinner tray and let out a squawk of
delighted surprise when he saw a steaming, still sizzling steak with
all the trimmings, waiting for him. A
beatific smile lit up his face and he said, “Cow!
It’s really cow! My
nose was not deceiving me after all!”
Laughing
and shaking her head, Kyrian tucked a napkin into the old man’s collar
and then stepped back to settle in a comfortable chair while he fed
himself.
A
loud moan echoed around the room, proclaiming Iften’s absolute pleasure
over the meal. “I take it,”
he said, wiping his lips, “That I’m no longer in danger of feeding the
worms?”
On
the stand next to the stardancer’s chair, a cup of water sat, with
beads of moisture gathering on the glass surface and dripping down to
puddle around the base. Reaching
for it, Kyrian drank deeply and said, “Yes, I think you’re out of the
woods. I can find no trace of
krill in your system and your aura’s as clean as it can be,
considering.” She did not add
that he was dying – the sand-lung was rooted deep, and nothing she
tried would evict the stubborn disease completely.
Her healing had given him years back, though, and with
luck and care, the old man would see many more years before the desert
born sickness took his life.
“So,
what was all the hullabaloo out there, a few days back?” asked the
ambassador between bites of his dinner. “Kirthos
wouldn’t say – didn’t want to upset the old man and cause him to have a
relapse.”
“Before
or after Azhani got stabbed?” The
stardancer’s voice was strangely hollow.
“Stabbed? What the hell? Is she all right?” His fork fell to his plate as his appetite vanished. Please no, don’t let the warrior be dead. It will break my little Kyr’s heart.
“She’ll
be all right in a few days, but, oh gods...” the stardancer sobbed and
her glass dropped to the floor as she buried her face in her hands. “I almost got her killed,” she
whispered brokenly.
Pushing
his meal aside, Iften levered himself off the bed and walked over to
kneel beside the crying young woman. He
took her hands in his and pulled her into his arms, clumsily patting
her back and whispering comforting words until she could speak again.
“Tell
me about it, sweet Kyr. Share
your burden with an old man whose shoulders are strong,” he encouraged
gently.
Slowly,
the stardancer began to tell the story. “Azhani
came to court to reveal who had poisoned you.”
“Yes.” Iften nodded.
“I know that much. Kirthos
tells me it was a courtier named Var. I
remember him from the talks. Sly
little man with too much love for money and not enough care for his
people.”
“He
accused Azhani of planting the evidence against him.
The queen called on Starseeker Vashyra to cast a
truth-seeking spell. When he
was revealed as the poisoner, he attacked Azhani and st-st-stabbed her.” Kyrian shuddered.
“I tried to help her, but he must have been some kind of
mage, because he cast this spell that brought this other mage and oh
gods, he was so powerful, granther!” The
stardancer’s shudders grew violent as remembered fear gripped her. “I was so scared,” she whispered.
“Shh. It’s all right, he’s gone now,”
Iften soothed. Whether or not
the mage was truly gone, he did not know, but it seemed to be the right
thing to say as Kyrian calmed down.
“There
was a battle between him – Azhani called him Darkchilde – and Azhani,
but it took Vashyra’s magicks to send his seeming back through the
portal that Baron Var created.” Pulling
away from the ambassador, Kyrian settled back in her chair and wiped
her face on her sleeve. “I
could have done something to help, but I just stood there, too scared
to move a muscle.”
“There’s
no shame in fear, lass. No
one will fault you for that,” Iften said, infusing his words with as
much assurance as he could.
“She
could have died,” said the stardancer dully.
“And I would have stood there, unable to even lift a hand
to protect her. It was the
queen who took my baton and threw it at the right moment, distracting
the sorcerer long enough for Starseeker Vashyra’s spell to work. I could barely remember how to wield
Astariu’s Fire, much less my own weapon!” Kyrian’s
hands fisted and she pounded her legs in frustration.
“Is
she dead, then?” Iften asked, using his voice like a whip.
“No! I healed her enough so that she
could fight but-“
“Then
you did your duty, stardancer. Scared
or not, you did what the goddess blessed you to do and that’s to be
commended. How many of the
queen’s guard threw themselves in harm’s way to rescue Azhani? Can any of those court peacocks
strut and preen about how they saved Azhani Rhu’len’s life?”
“No,”
Kyrian whispered, as her shoulders slumped wearily.
“Let
it go, lass. Life is too
short to dwell on should-have-dones,” the ambassador counseled wisely.
“I
know, but sometimes, when I go to sleep at night, and she’s there
beside me, I have to reach out and touch her, just to be sure I’m not
dreaming,” the stardancer said sadly.
“You’re
a good lass, Kyr, with a gentle soul. I
would be far more concerned if you blithely went on with your life,
relegating the incident to the realm of the every day, and I would bet
that Azhani feels the same way. A
good warrior knows that the true test of friendship is the aftermath of
battle, not the frenzy of death.” The
old man struggled to stand, waving off the stardancer’s silent offer of
help. Shaking out his
tingling legs, he grinned wryly at the stardancer.
Finally, he was able to totter back to his bed and pick up
his forgotten meal.
“I’ve
heard about battle lust, and battle fatigue – I guess I just never
thought it would happen to me. It
didn’t – I didn’t feel this lost after...” Burying her face in her
hands, Kyrian let out a shuddering breath.
Iften
sat, quietly waiting for her to talk. Kyrian
stood and began pacing.
“I
don’t know if I can talk about this right now, Granther,” she said
helplessly as she drifted around the room, letting her fingers graze
over the various bits of art and knickknacks that decorated the chamber.
“All
right, I won’t ask you to bare your soul if you’re not ready to, lass. Would ye rather talk about something
else? Your warrior friend,
maybe?” he asked gently. “I
rather think she’s a bit more pleasant subject, no?” A teasing grin
tugged at the corners of the old man’s mouth.
“Granther!”
Kyrian chastised, flushing a red almost as deep as the color of her
robes.
Iften
chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “If
you insist on giving me the name, I thought I might as well have the
duties that come with being a pretty lass’ grandfather, Kyrian. You can’t blame me for wanting to
see you happy.”
Startled,
the stardancer stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the
ambassador. “What do you
mean?” Am
I that obvious?
“Ah
lass, to be young and in love again,” Iften said dreamily, winking at
the outraged expression on Kyrian’s face.
Blessed
Astariu, I am that obvious!
she
mentally wailed. WhatamIgonnado?
Whatifsheknows? Ohgodsohgodsohgods... “Oh gods,” Kyrian whispered
frantically as her thoughts spilled out of her mouth.
“You can’t tell her. Please
don’t tell her. She doesn’t
know...” she babbled anxiously.
Holding
up a hand to halt the stardancer’s tumbling words, Iften said, “Don’t
fret yourself about it, lass. I’ll
not give up your secrets; they are yours to hold and yours to tell. A load heavy to bear, I am sure, but
as I have said, my shoulders are strong and I am willing to lend them
to you.” A gentle smile
creased his careworn face.
The
stardancer examined the ground at her feet, noticing her empty glass
sparkling in the firelight. It
would be so easy to unburden her troubles to this man – already he had
proven a capable and generous listener, though the stardancer was wary
of spilling so much of her soul onto the newly healed ambassador’s
admittedly broad shoulders.
Shuffling
back to her chair, she realized she was thirsty.
She considered digging around in her bag for the flask of
brandy she kept to revive patients. Realizing
she didn’t have the energy to stand up and walk the four or five paces
to the table, she settled for giving the distant haversack a
half-hearted glare. She
sighed and mulled over the prospect of actually putting words to the
morass of emotion whirling around in her heart.
Iften’s offer
to listen was genuine and motivated only by his care for her –
shouldn’t she return that generosity by treating it as the gift that it
was? Hadn’t she been going in
circles for weeks on her own, trying to tell herself that all she felt
for Azhani Rhu’len was friendship? Didn’t
the warrior’s face haunt her dreams, taunting her with what she would
never be able to have? Iften
deserved some truths from her, since he had been so willing to let her
invade his secrets, and probe every corner of his mind and body for a
cure to the sand-lung that was ravaging his life.
Surely, talking about her feelings for Azhani had to be
better than thinking about...
Than thinking about how you almost got her killed, right, Kyr? That’s what really has you in knots, isn’t it? You froze again, when the time to act came. You froze and it was Lyssera’s quick thinking that saved the day. She hasn’t said anything, but you know the queen’s itching to know why you didn’t act faster. Astariu’s blessed womb, Kyr, she even had to take your weapon from you and use it to distract Darkchilde. Sister Jerlayne would be mortified to learn that her best student couldn’t even concentrate hard enough to distract a mage’s seeming!
“Here
now, Lass, if you go falling into the quicksand of your mind, even a
sand storm will seem like a blessing. Drink
up, and speak of what itches so terribly,” Iften said as he handed her
a flask.
Without
looking at the beverage, Kyrian drank deeply, coughing painfully as the
harsh liquor burned all the way down. Wheezing,
she asked, “What the hell is this?”
“Desert
mead, and don’t ask what’s in it,” Iften replied, winking charmingly.
Shuddering
as she took another drink, Kyrian capped off the flask and handed it
back. “Thanks, I think I
needed that.”
“Anytime,
lass,” he replied, settling back on the bed and taking a swig of the
harsh beverage.
“I’m
in love with Azhani,” Kyrian said in an almost inaudible whisper. Then she shook her head ruefully. “And I don’t know how to forget my
feelings, but I have to. She’ll
never accept them, or return them. I
knew Ylera Kelani and I am a pale shadow compared to the sunshine she
was.”
“Kyrian,
lass, love isn’t about filling a mould. You’re
right – you can never be what Ylera was to the warrior, but that
doesn’t mean Azhani is incapable of loving you,” Iften said gently.
Hope
rose thickly in Kyrian’s heart, forcing her to swallow heavily and push
the heady feeling away. “No,
I don’t think so. We’re just
friends. She’s not the kind
to let someone that close to her heart. Ylera
was special – she could get anyone to fall in love with her.” Closing her eyes, Kyrian smiled in
memory. “It used to drive
Sister Jerlayne crazy; all the acolytes used to slave to the princess’
beck and call, and Ylera loved every minute of it.
The only time she didn’t care for the adulation, was when
she wanted to study, and for that, she came to me.
Everyone knew I was just plain old Kyr – boring and
studious. They couldn’t
imagine that Ylera and I could be friends, and that is exactly how she
wanted it.”
“It
was much the same here, I’m afraid,” Iften admitted.
“Half the court wanted to marry her and the other half
hated her for it. It’s no
wonder that she jumped at the chance to visit Y’dan when she did.”
Lost
in her memories, Kyrian wistfully said, “You know, I don’t think I’ve
even told Azhani that I knew Ylera. When
I first found out that they had been lovers, a part of me was jealous.” Seeing the expression on Iften’s
face, Kyrian smiled ruefully. “Oh,
not of what they had. I was
only thirteen when I knew Ylera and she was more like a big sister than
anything else. No, what
really struck me was that Azhani knew Ylera as an adult, something that
I’ll never be able to do.”
“I
can’t tell you what you want to hear, Kyrian.
All I can say is that you should talk to Azhani. Perhaps the best thing you can do
for her is to be her friend. Love
can grow from many foundations, and friendship is the best of them. Always remember: communication and
honesty are the firmest building blocks a relationship can have. Let your heart be your guide, lass,
and the gods will see you home.”
Looking
at the old desert man and seeing the depth of knowledge reflecting back
at her in his eyes, Kyrian could only nod her head in dazed agreement.
Chapters Twenty-Seven and Twenty-Eight