“Zeta should return to the wood,” Thalassa said. “If Nzuri and Hushar have done everything they can, the Guardians may aid in her healing.”
“She won’t wake,” Nzuri said.
“Not yet, but once she does, she could go.”
Nzuri shook his head. “Zeta needs time to heal. Traveling to the Animus Wood is far too long a trek. I’m certain that the Guardians could aid her, but not soon.”
“Arinak can take her. When my [5]AvHotther comes, I’ll ask him to inform the AsZar. If the possibility exists, we must try.”
“I’ll talk to Dani about it soon,” Pentanimir said, standing from his seat. “Nzuri, do you have some dream wine in your chamber?”
“I do, but Danimore won’t partake. He wants to be alert when Zeta awakens.”
“I understand, but he will drink it. Dani can do Zeta little good in his current state. After you’ve finished here, can you bring the wine to Dani’s chamber?”
“As you wish,” Nzuri said. “I’ll be only a moment.”
“Thank you, Nzuri. I need to see my brother. Please continue and I’ll speak with you on the morrow regarding your progress. Excuse me,” Pentanimir said, motioning for Symeon to remain as he left the chamber.
Pentanimir attempted to project an aplomb demeanor whilst traversing the corridors. Flipping his hair to his back, he straightened his stance, sorting through the morass of thoughts inundating him. He’d known they’d face hardships and opposition during this transition, but he couldn’t have begun to imagine such a tragedy. Neither Zeta nor Danimore deserved this, and Pentanimir blamed himself for suggesting the false pledge to Danimore. If he hadn’t followed his advice, none of this would’ve happened.
“What have I done?” Pentanimir murmured, walking across the covered bridge. Peering down into the courtyard, he paused, noticing Beilzen and Fáelán. Pentanimir smiled wistfully, observing the way Beilzen was playing with his son. Fáelán’s giggles were continuous as Beilzen swung him around, and then tickled and kissed him repeatedly. They loved each other, and witnessing that love both pleased and saddened him.
“Would Dani have played with his son the same?” Pentanimir lamented. With a parting glance, he proceeded to the chamber. Pentanimir wasn’t certain what to say or if he should speak at all. What he did know was that Danimore needed him, and that he’d do whatever was in his power to help him through this.
Danimore didn’t turn when Pentanimir entered the shuttered room. Though it was midday, the room was dimly lit. Only the light from the hearth illuminated the corner, casting shadowy impressions across the room. After allowing his eyes to adjust, Pentanimir inched closer, checking to see whether Danimore had finally fallen asleep. He was half-sitting on the chair and half-lying across Zeta: his head resting on her abdomen, where his son used to be.
Taking a steadying breath, Pentanimir did his best to contain his emotion.
“Ho—how’s Zeta?”
Danimore rose slightly, looking in his direction. His lips quivered, struggling to form the words. The dark swollen circles under his eyes were moist with tears. “Did Nzuri tell you? Did—did he tell you about our son?” His hoarse voice was weak.
“I’m sorry, Dani,” was all that he could manage, stifling his own tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s my fault. I’ve killed my son just like Father did his.”
Pentanimir staggered back a step, shaking his head. “No, Brother, no. You haven’t done anything wrong. Please. None of this is your fault.”
“My actions caused his death as surely as if I held a blade to his throat.” He wiped the wetness from his eyes, caressing Zeta’s hand. “They…they wouldn’t allow me to see him, to touch him, to kiss him, or hold him in my arms. They wouldn’t allow it. Hushar took him from me and wouldn’t allow me to see. I want my son, Pentanimir. I want Zeta to hold him. I want…I…” His words ended in a sob.
Pentanimir gripped him in a tight embrace, allowing him to cry in his arms. Only the sound of the brother’s dolorous laments resonated off the walls.
Pentanimir opened his eyes, glancing around the darkened corners. He gently leaned away, still holding Danimore’s arms. “I’m going to have Zeta moved to your chambers. You need to be in your own room where you can lay beside and comfort her.”
“She doesn’t want me anymore. When she learns about our son, she’ll leave me. It’s my fault, Brother. I’ve done this, and now, I’ll be left with nothing.”
“Zeta could never hate you. The love that you share is stronger than any tragedy that you might face. It’ll be difficult, but that love will see you through this, Dani, I promise.” Pentanimir lifted his face to meet his eyes. “You must think of Raithym, too. Take whatever time you need. We’re all here for you, Dani. Don’t ever forget that. Once you’ve had time to heal, you and Zeta will have another child. It won’t replace your son, but it’ll bring you happiness, just as Raithym has.”
Danimore shook his head, turning back to his wife. “I want to see my son, Pentanimir. He should be here with us.”
Pentanimir stared over at the bed, unable to force any sound from his throat. A pain erupted in his chest, twisting and singeing his heart. Wordlessly, he nodded, walking to the door. Pulling a cloth from the table, he wiped his face before joining his guard in the corridor.
“Arrange for an immediate transport of the Shijahn to her chambers,” he told his guard. “Make haste and await me there.”
“Yes sir, Zaxson.”
Pentanimir hastened to find Hushar, focused on his brother’s need over his own feelings of guilt and mourning. He didn’t know how or if he could soothe Danimore’s heart, but this was a first necessary step. Regardless of his trepidation, this, he had to do.
“Hushar,” Pentanimir said, entering her work room. “I’ve just left Dani, and…and he isn’t well.”
“I’m sorry. There was nothing that we could do. With the fall, her womb wouldn’t calm,” she said, sullenly.
“No one blames you, Hushar. Dani blames only himself.”
“I felt much the same when your father and I lost our first, Naldon,” she said. “Manifir’s heart broke when he returned and learned about our son’s death. We each blamed ourselves, just as Dani does now. It took time, but we were able to heal. In time, Dani and Zeta will heal, too. In time.”
Pentanimir could only nod, remembering when Temian had told him about their eldest brother: Manifir’s first son.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“Where’s who?”
“His son. Where’s Dani’s son?”
“He’s resting in the cool of the catacombs to await proper entombment.”
“I want him brought to Dani’s chamber. Has he been cleaned and prepared?”
“What? Zaxson—”
“I want him brought to me, Hushar, please. Can you ensure he’s tended and swaddled, and bring him to me?”
Her eyes widened, as they met his. “Pentanimir, the babe is barely over half a cubit. Zeta was six full moons, and he didn’t have time to grow.”
“That doesn’t matter. How is his appearance? Did he sustain any injuries during the fall?”
“No. He looks like any other infant, only very small and thin. His features and skin…I don’t…please, why—”
“Because Dani won’t be able to heal without it. He must hold his son, feel him in his arms, and know that he’s real. He needs to be with him in order to let him go. If Zeta were able, she’d need the same. It must be.”
She nodded her assent, thinking of holding her son in her arms. Danimore never had the opportunity to welcome his son into this world. She understood the need to be with him as he left it. “I’ll ensure that he’s ready and bring him to you.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in Dani’s chambers,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I’m glad that you decided to stay with us, Hushar. My father was blessed to have you in his life.”
Pentanimir was relieved to see his guard waiting outside of Danimore’s
chamber.
“Are they inside?”
“Yes, Sir, and Nzuri brought a vessel of wine, too.”
He inclined his head, slowly entering the room. He would have his brother drink the dream wine and rest. Danimore would hold his firstborn, and then he’d rest. That’s what Pentanimir prayed, and he repeated that prayer as he gently closed the door.
He was gladdened to see Danimore nestled next to his wife. Zeta lie motionless, propped up by several soft cushions. Her thick, red hair drifted over her bare shoulders, and there was a soft blush to her cheeks. The extra weight she’d gained during the pregnancy filled her face, softening her already delicate features.
She’s beautiful, Pentanimir thought. He walked over to the table, pouring a cup of dream wine before moving to the bed.
“Has there been any change?”
Danimore didn’t turn, merely shaking his head.
“Dani, I’ve asked Hushar to bring your son.”
His head snapped up, turning to face him. “She—she’s going to bring him to us?”
“She is. Are you certain that you want to do this?”
“I’ve never been more certain. He’s my son, Pentanimir. Wouldn’t you want to hold and love your child?”
“Of course, I would. I just needed to ask, Brother. Hushar warns: your son is small.”
“I don’t care. He’s my—”
The soft knock caused Danimore to gasp, sitting up and staring at the door. As he glanced at Pentanimir, his puffy, red eyes lined with tears. “I…” his voiced cracked, unable to form his words.
“It’s all right,” Pentanimir said, moving to answer it.
When he opened the door, he nearly gasped, looking at the tiny bundle in Hushar’s arms. Nothing but his head was visible, sticking out from his swaddle.
The babes features were sharp and tight, with barely enough fat on his face to soften his protruding cheekbones. Pentanimir gently stroked beneath the babe’s ear where the skin had torn. So cold, he thought. So still.
“I’m sorry,” Hushar whispered. “His skin is so delicate. I took great care, but—”
“It’s all right,” Pentanimir said, nestling the babe in the crook of his arm, though there was no physical need to do so. “He’s beautiful. Thank you, Hushar.”
“Would you like me to wait?”
“Yes, but please do so on the divan in the corridor. I’d like these moments to be private.”
When Pentanimir turned, Danimore was seated at the edge of the bed, looking at him longingly. His hands continually rubbed his thighs, as his entire body trembled.
Pentanimir managed a smile, walking over to the bed and carefully presenting Danimore’s son to him. His hands shook, reaching out for his son.
Pentanimir choked back his emotion, watching Danimore rock the tiny infant in his arms. Danimore kissed every exposed area of skin, caressing the crown of his hairless head. After cradling him close, Danimore lifted his son to Zeta, bringing his cheek to her lips.
“Godfrey Jansen Benoist,” he whispered, holding his son to his chest.
“Par—pardons.”
“His name. Zeta and I wanted our first son to be named Godfrey for Mother’s father and Jansen for her own.”
“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful boy.”
“He’s my son, Pentanimir,” Danimore said with an aggrieved smile and empty eyes. “Like Tardison is for you. Godfrey is my son. My firstborn son.”
Pentanimir winced, feeling the pang in his chest increase. Danimore had been there when Tardison was born. Even after the suffering Brahanu endured during his birth, Tardison was healthy. Eytan had grown just as strong, although he had been as still as Danimore’s son when Gali had delivered him.
Now, his brother sat holding his son. A son that would never cry or reach for the hands of his father. This was a greater pain than he’d ever known, and he could do nothing to soothe it.
“Drink, Brother,” Pentanimir finally said.
“I have no thirst.”
“I know, but you need to drink it. Nzuri has put herbs in the wine. Without taking food, you’ve become weak. Zeta will need you strong when she wakes.”
At that, Danimore relented, draining the cup.
“Good. Mayhaps you should lie next to Zeta and enjoy the comfort of your son for now.”
Danimore smiled wistfully, nestling Godfrey in his arms. He turned toward Zeta and laid him upon her womb, draping an arm over them.
Pentanimir watched as Danimore’s eyelids began to close.
“Dani, Godfrey cannot remain.”
“I know. But he’s with us now,” was the last thing Danimore said before giving in to the herbs. Pentanimir sat quietly, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. After nearly half a glass, he scooped Godfrey up, leaving the couple to rest.
Gift of Friendship
Sahma skipped barefoot down the corridor, nibbling one of the muffins she’d sneaked out of the kitchen. Her tousled ringlets bounced as she hummed, waving to the guards she passed.
Once she’d turned the corner, she paused, hearing muffled curses from a nearby room. Glancing around, she inched forward, listening intently and approaching a half-open door.
Sahma perched on her tiptoes, and then stifled a giggle as she peered into the room. Ahvixx was seated at his desk, struggling to untangle a comb twisted in his hair. He grunted, attempting one more tug before lowering his head on the table in defeat.
Not waiting for an invitation, Sahma tapped on the door, and stepped into the room.
“I heard you from the corridor,” she said. “I didn’t think that heldings knew such words.”
Ahvixx’s head snapped up, and he stood, backing against his desk. “You—you heard me?” he asked with the comb still hanging from his hair.
“Well, I wasn’t eavesdropping, you know,” she said, approaching where he stood. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Ahvixx flinched when she reached for him, disentangling the comb.
“Tha—thank you,” he said, bringing his hair forward and looking at the new knots he’d created.
Sahma smiled, reaching out to stroke his hair. “You should start at the bottom when you brush it.”
“Yes, well, thank you.” He flipped his hair to his back, meeting her eyes. “You’re Nazilian?”
“My mother is Nazilian. You didn’t know?”
Ahvixx’s brow furrowed, scrutinizing her closely. He’d seen her many times, but hadn’t noticed her features. He usually kept his eyes lowered, avoiding any potential interaction with others.
Now, he noticed Sahma’s pale eyes, sparkling and full of life. That paleness accentuated her smooth, caramel skin, framed by her thick pecan-colored hair. Neither gave hint of her Nazilian heritage. He could tell that she was young, yet her body was showing obvious signs of her budding womanhood. This was the first that he’d truly seen her.
“Is Yeshe your mother?” he asked.
“Yes, and Saifu is my father. You dine with us daily and you still don’t know who I am.” She smiled again, picking up a brush from the table. “Sit and I’ll show you the best way.”
“Thank you…” He paused, not knowing her name.
“My name’s Sahma, and you’re Ahvixx. Now sit and allow me to help. I brush my mother’s hair every morning, but not even hers is as long and thick as yours. It’s beautiful.”
He smiled nervously, lowering on the stool. “It—it’s become too long, and I need to have it cut. The time seems to have gotten away from me.”
“Cut? Why would you do that?”
He observed her reflection in the mirror on the table, seeing her pleasured expression as she brushed.
“I don’t have the patience to care for it, and it tangles easily.”
“Well, I can do it for you,” she said, never turning from her task.
Ahvixx’s eyes widened. The last thing he wanted was intrusion. He missed the solitude of the temple and the comfort that isolation awarded him.
Having Sahma interrupting his desired routine wasn’t a pleasant prospect.
“I appreciate your offer, but it isn’t necessary. It’s past time that I cut it, and my sister always assists me.”
“Your sister? Droxahn went riding with Aizen. I’ve barely seen either of them of late. It’s no bother for me, I’d enjoy doing it.”
She never looked up, as he continued to stare at her in the mirror.
His eyes reflexively closed when the brush moved higher, gently massaging his scalp. A pleasured sigh escaped his lips, enjoying the relaxing sensation. Sahma looked up then, continuing to brush. It was much the same with her mother.
“There,” she said, sliding her hands over his hair. When Ahvixx opened his eyes, he smiled, running his thick fingers through.
“I can’t remember the last time my fingers could pass through without being caught in a tangle.”
“Well, I can come and brush it for you. I love the way it feels.”
“I—I wouldn’t want to impose or—or keep you from your studies.”
“You wouldn’t. I’d come before morning meal,” she said, gathering the hair behind him and starting to braid.
Ahvixx said nothing, continuing to watch. When Sahma tied off the end, she draped the braid over his shoulder, taking a step back.
“Mayhaps if you keep it bound, it wouldn’t tangle, so you’d have no need to cut it.”
“I—I don’t know how to braid.”
“I do. So I’ll see you before the morning meal,” was the last thing she said, before handing him one of her muffins and skipping back out of the chamber.
Ahvixx turned, observing as she left as unexpectedly as she’d come. When he looked at his reflection, his hands went to the neat braid. His face appeared different somehow.
“You are beneath no one,” he said. Slowly, his broad shoulders moved back from their typically slumped position.
“Was that Sahma leaving your chamber?”
Ahvixx spun around as the slump returned to his shoulders. “I—I didn’t touch her.”
“Ahvixx, be calm,” Olam said. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I only asked because I thought I recognized her familiar skipping and humming. If there’s anyone to bring you from the shell in which you hide, it’s Sahma.”
Seed of Scorn Page 16
