Seed of Scorn

by Aaron-Michael Hall

“Yes, his kiss. Certainly, you realized that I’d desire such affections. Do you not feel the same?”

  He thought about Sahma’s kiss. Until that time, he hadn’t given much thought to such displays of love. However, what was in his mind was much different from what Droxahn was speaking of. Would he desire more at some point? That was a question he couldn’t answer, not truly. In the past, he hadn’t thought about carnal pleasures. The abuses he’d suffered and the path he’d chosen wouldn’t allow. Now, could it be? Droxahn spoke true; he didn’t have to become a priest. He could take a wife and have a family, if his heart led him in that direction. Did he want more of and from his life now?

  “Ahvixx?” Droxahn said, bringing him back to the moment. “Do you feel the same?”

  “About what?”

  She chuckled. “Don’t you want to share a kiss with someone that you care about?”

  “Mayhaps one day, but for now, I’m satisfied sharing interesting conversation and pleasant company.”

  “I’d have to agree. Never have you looked so content or smiled so freely. Whatever Sahma has done, I’m pleased, and want to see more of it.”

  “And I’m pleased to see you growing closer with Aizen. He’s a fine man, Sister, and he’ll love you well.”

  She paused, considering his words. “You’ve seen this?”

  “I’ve seen many things. Follow your heart and allow him to do the same. Never will you err staying true to that which lies within.”

  Reunions

  “Do you know the name Molag Bomgaard?” Aronin asked.

  “Only the information we received from Yarah,” Pentanimir said.

  “It’s a name that you’d do well not to forget. It’s he who the Caretaker dismissed from our council. I was appointed in his stead. It’s also he who would see you and everyone within the citadel at the end of a headsman’s axe.” With that, Aronin raised his cup to his lips, studying his cousin’s face.

  “Do tell,” Pentanimir said, leaning forward.

  Aronin grinned, noting the Zaxson’s placid expression. “A companion and I happened to be among the patrons of the Wheelhouse Inn in Yarah when Molag gave the most riveting speech. It didn’t take long for many of the patrons to agree with not only his misguided views, but the foulness in which he spoke.”

  “How foul would that be?” Danimore asked.

  “Suffice it to say, although many in that crowd aren’t pleased with you being wed to humans, they wouldn’t be opposed to finding their pleasures with your wives.”

  “Let the bastards try,” Danimore said, slamming a palm on the table. Pentanimir met his cousin’s stare. The charismatic Aronin always had a way with words.

  “And the names of these men?” Pentanimir asked, calmly.

  Aronin turned to Jarin with an open hand. Reaching in his vest, Jarin handed him a rolled parchment, which he immediately passed to the Zaxson.

  “These are the names of the men we’ve seen with Molag. Those at the bottom are the ones that we observed most eagerly agreeing with everything he spoke, and he spoke much, I assure.”

  “Has he proved a greater issue to Urdan or has he remained in the shadows to build his so-called army?” Pentanimir asked.

  “He waits,” Aronin said. “This is one to watch. Support for the rhetoric he spews is building. Intentionally, he misleads to outrage those with lesser intellect and station. He’d have them believe that you apostatize all Nazilians, and have forbidden the worship of the Four on pain of death.”

  “Insanity…no such proclamations have been issued,” Danimore said. “Everyone is free to worship as they choose.”

  “You speak true, Nakshij, and those who can read the dictums you post know that truth. However, not all in Yarah can, particularly in the lowers. It’s gossip and lies that fill their ears from the tongue of a true orator: one with the skill of Draizeyn himself. They believe Molag’s assertions, especially in the manner that he delivers them.”

  “Mayhaps it’s time that you or I visit Yarah,” Danimore suggested, regarding the still silent Zaxson.

  Aronin immediately nodded. “Urdan and I spoke about the same,” he said, and then turned when the door opened.

  “Pardons, Zaxson.” Temian bowed. “I was told that you were in conference with Jarin Swayne and I wanted to join you.”

  Jarin stood, greeting Temian with a crushing hug.

  “Temian, I’d hoped to see you,” Jarin said, still holding on to him. “It’s been far too long, Brother. Come, sit. There’s much to discuss.”

  When Pentanimir nodded, Temian smiled, taking a seat next to Jarin.

  “So, son of Manifir,” Aronin nearly sneered. “I wondered how long it would take for you to insert yourself into this private meeting as you have into my family.”

  The comment put Temian back a step as he regarded the pompous man.

  “Aronin!” Pentanimir said. “You’re addressing the High Advisor of my council, a Chosen of Nazil, and my elder brother. You’ll show the proper respect, Cousin.”

  Aronin feigned a smile, and then glared at Temian.

  “How long will it be before you forgive what you don’t understand?” Temian asked. “My father showed no disrespect to Lady Thaon or any of your family. As you know, my siblings and I came before my father was wed to your aunt. Pentanimir and Danimore have a better claim of loathing, yet they’ve embraced me as their brother, as I have to them. We’re of no blood relation, Lord Thaon. Why then does your hatred cover me?”

  It was Aronin’s turn to be taken aback. Temian had never spoken so boldly to him. His eyes narrowed as he peered at the former Cha. He was offended that the lowborn bastard was even allowed at the Zaxson’s side. Albeit, when he looked at Pentanimir, he noted the obvious similarities in the two. Both men shared the look of their father, Manifir. It was true, Temian was older than even him. Even so, the fact that his uncle had half-human bastard children before marrying his aunt was unthinkable.

  Jarin finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “Lord Thaon, we understand the distress and even the possible offense taken when you first learned about Temian and Thalassa. Much time has passed since this revelation. My father accepted Temian in our home and raised him as his own. This he did for your uncle and his friend. When you thought Temian was a son of Urdan, you loved him as you did Arianna and me. What cause do you have now to reject that which you so readily accepted for most of your life? I thought you were of greater character than to hold such a grudge.”

  Aronin’s eyes widened. “You’d dare speak to me in such a manner?”

  “He merely speaks that which we all question,” Pentanimir interposed. “Temian is a son of my father; his eldest living child. Has he not suffered enough with the ways of these lands, Aronin?

  “My father loved both his mother and mine. Manifir was your uncle, but he was our father. The abhorrence you hold toward Temian is misplaced. He is no relation to you, but he was once a friend. Do you truly think it’s wise to insult the Zaxson and his brother?”

  Aronin’s mouth gaped at the veiled threat. “You’d side with the bastard of Manifir against me?”

  “I side with my family as a whole. You’d do well to remember who are all included in that family. In doing so, it would be wise to weigh the words you speak regarding my father. Would you speak so against my wife as well? I was pledged to the Zaxson’s daughter, but fell in love with Brahanu. Does this make me less in your eyes? To love a human over a Nazilian.”

  “Pentanimir, I’d never speak so. Your father was a man of honor and he always will be,” he said, respectfully. “The fact that Brahanu is human is of no matter. I—I just feel as if we were all deceived.”

  “Do you not understand the reason for that deception? Had anyone learned that Temian was half-human, he and my father would’ve been tortured and executed, mayhaps Urdan as well. These truths are known to you. Your aunt wasn’t dishonored. Father loved her very much and made her happy. The fact that he loved another before her isn’t a failing i
n him or the children that he sired. I understand my father’s heart and hold no ill feelings toward him. If you’ve truly ever loved another, you’d feel the same.”

  Aronin’s gaze lowered. His anger was misplaced. It was the betrayal he felt: not being trusted with this most important secret. He had to admit his feelings, if only to himself. He wanted to turn to Temian then and embrace him as a friend once more. However, his pride wouldn’t allow it. He only offered a slight nod, and left his apology at that.

  “So, is there more information about this Molag?” Danimore asked, bringing the meeting back to its purpose.

  “Molag Bomgaard is dangerous. Urdan doesn’t agree with my recommendation for an increased guard around the citadel. I hope that you might convince him otherwise. It won’t take long for Molag to build momentum to his cause. More Nazilians than you know are displeased with the shift in the lands. Most feel you’ve usurped your position through the workings of pythonesses and demons. It would do well for you to increase the guard in the citadel here, too. There might be another war coming and soon, Zaxson. If Molag and those of his ilk have their way, these lands will again bleed.”

  Ayrmeis

  Symeon caressed Sarai’s hand as he leaned down to kiss her. He dabbed the perspiration from her face, holding her attention toward him. The pain, the physical pain was at an end, yet he felt that her emotional turmoil was only beginning. He glanced over at Zeta, swaddling the crying babe, and then rushing him into the adjoining room.

  “Are you certain?” he asked. In his mind, he didn’t want to be the father of a half-Nazilian child. In his heart, he knew that he could love him as his own, and understood that Sarai might regret the decision to send him away.

  “It would be no dishonor to me,” he said. “I love you, and would love your son as well. Our son. Whenever I looked at him, I would see only you.”

  Sarai wiped her tears, recovering from the difficult birth. “I—I’m certain. The babe isn’t ours, he belongs to the Guardians. No child has entered my womb until I’m blessed with one of your seed.”

  Hushar peered up at them, continuing her work. Her heart ached when she overheard the conversation. She’d been told little about the babe or why she was supposed to take him to Pentanimir. Now, she understood, and that truth saddened her.

  “I’ll have a small meal brought to you,” Hushar said. “Rest now and everything will be all right. There was no tearing, and the soreness will abate in time.” She smiled. “I’m going to clean and prepare your son now. Would you like to see him before I present him to the Zaxson?”

  Sarai looked up at Symeon, feeling the tug of her emotions. She did want her son. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to love him, and be a mother to him. But she couldn’t. Daracus Vereux was the child’s father, and she couldn’t help but think about the brutal way that he’d used her. He’d taken pleasure in that abuse and her pained cries that accompanied it. How could she be this child’s mother without the agonizing memory of the father?

  She’d ruminated on that question since learning of her pregnancy, and the answer was the same. Sarai wanted her son, and her heart ached to have him near her. When she felt Symeon squeeze her hand, she took a deep breath, trying desperately not to cry. This was her husband and her truest love. She couldn’t inflict such dishonor upon him, no matter his reassurances. He’d already suffered enough at the Vereuxs’ hands. She wouldn’t relinquish the control she’d retaken over her life. She couldn’t permit Daracus to continue torturing them from the grave.

  “No,” she finally said, as tears poured from her eyes. “I—I have no son.”

  Symeon drew her closer, as she wept in his arms.

  “All wounds heal in time,” Hushar said. “Even one as great as this.” She tucked the blankets around Sarai. “Nzuri mixed a tincture of herbs and an ointment for you. Use it on your breasts with the rising and setting of the sun.”

  “Thank you, Hushar, for all that you’ve done,” Symeon said, consoling his wife.

  After gathering what was needed, Hushar approached the outer door of the adjoining chamber. Her smile was immediate, seeing Zeta holding the babe to her breast. After losing her son so tragically, it warmed her to see such closeness toward another’s child.

  “He’s small, but feeds well,” Zeta said, stroking the thick white hair atop his head.

  “Yes. He seems a healthy boy. Pentanimir will be pleased.”

  “He’s so beautiful,” Zeta whispered, kissing his balled fists. “So beautiful and so perfect. Is Sarai certain that she doesn’t wish such a blessing?”

  Hushar stopped her preparations, regarding her closely. Zeta appeared mesmerized by the infant, continuously kissing him as she rocked him in her arms.

  “Sarai is certain, Zeta. He’s Pentanimir and Brahanu’s son now,” she reminded.

  Zeta met her eyes, her expression forlorn. With only a nod, she focused on the babe again.

  “I must get him cleaned so that I can take him to the Zaxson,” Hushar said, reaching out for him. Zeta turned away from her, nestling him closer.

  “Zeta, you and Danimore will be blessed with another child. It won’t replace the son that you’ve lost, but it’ll be a wonderful blessing. Are you certain that you’ll be able to assist until Brahanu’s return? We can find a wet nurse or use goat’s milk instead. I don’t want to place upon you what your heart can’t endure.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she detached the babe from her breast, handing him to Hushar. “No. It’s comforting for me,” she said, never looking from him. “He’s the most beautiful babe I’ve ever seen. So beautiful.”

  “You’ll be with him as much as you desire. It’s a blessing that you’re able to assist.”

  Zeta stroked the babe’s wavy hair again. “He’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Is there anything else you need of me?”

  “Yes, can you please bring some more heated water? I’d send for Micah, but Pentanimir doesn’t want anyone to know about the babe.”

  “Right away.”

  Heal her heart, Hushar prayed, quietly.

  It didn’t take long for Zeta to return with the water. After she’d left, Hushar hummed, gently cleaning and tending the babe.

  “The eyes of Nazil,” she said as the warm cloth caused the babe’s eyelids to flutter open.

  His hair was silvery-white with thick waves, but his skin wasn’t pale, it had an almond hue.

  She smiled, turning him over to wash his backside. When she ran the cloth over his skin, she gasped. Gently turning him on his back, Hushar studied his features again. She quickly finished washing him up, and then swaddled him tight, hiding the sleeping babe beneath a folded blanket, and then rushed from the chamber.

  “Where’s the Zaxson?” she asked the guard in the corridor, being careful to shield the babe.

  “He’s in a conference in his solar.”

  “Do you know with whom?”

  The guard looked at her with annoyance as she continued to question.

  “If I were you, good sir, I’d answer. The Zaxson wouldn’t be pleased to learn that you refused the mother of his siblings.”

  With that, the guard stood taller, clearing his throat. He, of course, knew who she was. Even so, she was human, and a former slave, and he didn’t think much of having to answer to her.

  “The Zaxson is meeting with the Third Chosen,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Thank you.”

  As she hurried down the corridor, her mind wouldn’t calm. She didn’t know what to say to Pentanimir or what either of them could do. He had to know the truth, and she was perhaps the only person who knew it.

  “Mother?” Temian said, responding to the knock.

  She forced the best smile that she could manage, stepping into the room. When the door closed behind her, she revealed the babe beneath the blanket.

  “So soon?” Pentanimir asked.

  “Not long ago, and there’s much to tell.”

  Pentanimir approached, gently lift
ing him from her arms.

  “He looks like a healthy boy,” he said, motioning to Temian. “But why have you brought him here, Hushar? Zeta should be tending him.”

  “Please, both of you, please sit.”

  They exchanged a glance, taking their seats.

  “Zaxson, I know that whatever you’ve decided to do with the child isn’t truly my business, but are you sure that you must take on this burden?”

  “Burden? He’s but a babe, Hushar, a blessing. The Guardians have told us of his importance, and Sarai doesn’t want to care for him. This is all that I can share with you.”

  “Zaxson…Pentanimir, I’ve followed the Guardian’s teachings my entire life. The child is here as they asked, but that doesn’t mean that you must take charge of him. Isn’t there anyone you trust who can see to his needs?”

  “Why, Hushar? Why does his care concern you so?”

  She took a deep breath as a doleful look crossed her face. “The babe…he’s…Pentanimir, the child is a Vereux. Whether the son of Draizeyn or Daracus, I cannot say, but one of them is the father.”

  “What causes you to think so?” Pentanimir asked, doing well to keep the shock from his face.

  “It—it’s the mark.” She stood, unswaddling him, and then pointed to a small, olive-colored mark on his hip.

  “Here, do you see this?”

  Pentanimir studied the mark, noticing the odd shape and coloration. “It appears only a mark of birth.”

  “No, Pentanimir, the look and placement are the same as those of the former Zaxson. All of them had it upon their hip just as the babe does. It’s a mark I’ve only seen on the Vereuxs, and it’s unmistakable to me. I tended them all and even had the unfortunate occasion to see the same on Draizeyn, and his brother, Nikolaj.”

  They needed no further explanation. There could be only one way that she’d seen such a mark, and Temian’s head lowered with that truth. Draizeyn had used her as he did many others in the citadel.

  “I’m sorry, Hushar,” Pentanimir said. “When the AsZar mentioned the child to me, I asked Sarai if she knew the father. Although Draizeyn kept her for himself, Daracus fathered the child.”