With her other half, she saw an old ghetto hovel of granite and limestone, a place filled with candlelight, a wake. She was sitting, surrounded by those candles, alone. Only an hour after her father’s body had been lowered into the ground, in a simple wood casket. Her father, a lowly scribe who had been mad and cruel and pathetic and beloved. Her mother, crying softly, pitifully in a locked room somewhere in the remote corner of her memory childhood.
These were the people of the “house” of Ylir. These two, who had engendered her and unwittingly tortured and loved and once again tortured her, in the anonymous silence of the poor masses—just two souls taken at random, out of this great fathomless City—these would never know or care about the honor being bestowed upon them by a resurrected Monteyn King. For, to them, he would always be but an ancient wax-puppet from that Tomb, the place they used to often walk by, all their lives, when they too had been children, for as long as they could remember, bathed by a monochrome silver sun. . . .
She stood, coming again to herself. Then she bowed with a soft smile of respect upon her lips. And she repeated the oath of fealty—forgetting for once in her life that she did not swear loyalty to anyone—speaking in a voice devoid of feeling, words of promise to this new and old King.
When it was done, she returned from the bright light and stood aside in the ranks of the aristocracy, now their equal.
Yet she felt abysmally and sadly the same.
Soon, others were called to swear before the King, before the antique banner of white and gold that had upon it an embroidered image of a Winged Bird—a Phoenix surely—its wings outspread in flight. . . . Only an hour ago, the banner had been removed from storage, unwrapped with care and dusted off, and the Bird was now seen soaring once again toward the sky.
“How does it feel to be Lady Ylir?”
She started, finding her thoughts had wandered once again (that bird, flying, somehow calling her), and found herself looking into the pale beautiful eyes of the man she never thought she would again see alive. Even now, she met his gaze with a hurtful pang of emotional intensity.
“Well, how do you feel, Lady Ranhéas Ylir?” he repeated softly, his face close to hers, looking into her eyes.
“I don’t know my lord—Lord Chancellor Vaeste. . . .”
“You will know soon enough. When you have the chance to hold and rule the estate gifted you by the King. He has favored you, you realize. He thinks unusually well of you.”
“And I think well of him,” she whispered, letting the strange new warmth and intimacy of his words come licking over her, soothing like sun-warmed honey.
Their attention was drawn suddenly by the sight of a man and a woman who stepped forward before the Monteyn, and bowed their heads. The first was Harlian Daqua. And at his side, his new bride of less than two weeks, Elasand’s cousin, Lixa Beis. And suddenly it was Lixa who stepped forward, and lifted her moon-serpentine face to gaze up at the King.
“Your Sovereign Grace,” she said quietly and yet firmly. “We come before you now begging your mercy despite all. We have been wed before the Grelias, in a ceremony that was but a weak charade set up for the benefit of our former Qurthe enemy, a ceremony that went against our deepest wills. We ask you now, despite the wills of both our Families, to dissolve this union that has never been and never will be consummated.”
And Harlian Daqua echoed her, saying, “Yes, it is true, Your Sovereign Grace. We have been betrothed blindly, and our hearts have never been in this union.”
“Is it because you already love someone else?” said the King simply.
And both Harlian and Lixa, suddenly, unexpectedly spoke in unison, “Yes.”
“So be it,” said the King. “Let this be a day of true judgment. And let no Daqua or Beis protest my decision in this. I declare this union nullified. You are free, both of you, to love as you will.”
“Once again, naive words of a poet,” whispered Elasirr’s voice from behind into Ranhé’s ear.
But in that moment, another was presented before the King, and the resulting silence was profound.
She came forward lightly, this lady, and was veiled heavily. And then two noblewomen at her side lifted the gauze and lace from her face, revealing a young maiden of unearthly beauty, with hair soft and gently yellow-white, and skin like cream. Her eyes, framed by dark sable lashes and perfect brows, were downcast, and her lips, like the sunset.
“Lady Imogenn Olvan, Your Sovereign Grace . . .” a man’s voice pronounced. “She has been chosen, of all the fairest daughters of this City, to be your Queen.”
For a moment, the King maintained the universal silence. Only a slight quiver of a facial muscle. He looked at her, all amusement—if ever it truly was there—swiftly leaving his face, so that for a moment they who had brought her here thought they had made a terrible mistake.
And then he uttered, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Reiera. . . . Could it be, you are she? No . . . of course, not. . . .”
The young woman raised her eyes for the first time to look at the King, and then said in a barely audible voice, “Your Sovereign Grace. I am Imogenn. If you will have me.”
But the King never allowed her to finish her words. Instead, he got up from his Throne, and came down the steps of the dais, and took her small pale hands into his own. For a long moment he stared into her eyes, and again whispered, “You are . . . so much like her . . . my betrothed who is now long gone, like dust of the centuries. . . . But—forgive me, Lady Imogenn. I know nothing of you, nothing except that you are lovely and fragile as another was ages ago. And yet, it seems, time comes and returns upon us all, and fulfills all things, allowing that which we need most to catch up with us. Yes, you of all will be my Queen!”
“More poetic fodder for our royal bard. Now he’ll sing praises to his new lady for the rest of our days,” came Elasirr’s soft biting voice from behind Ranhé, and once again she turned lightly, and barely acknowledged him.
Elasand meanwhile, observed her very intently, seeing maybe for the first time, this woman standing at his side. And he knew something at last, something that had long been half-formed, in great conflict with his formal convictions, his outlook, his stubborn nature, something that had been brewing inside him, and now had a chance to emerge.
“Ranhé,” whispered Chancellor Vaeste, close to her other ear, “I would speak with you tomorrow about something very important. Promise to come to me. At noon. You must promise me this, my loyal Lady Ylir.”
“Yes,” she replied, without hesitation, looking in that instant into his eyes, her face, her cheek only inches away from his own.
And with that, the second night of this new Age settled warmly over the City.
She came the next day, as promised.
The Monteyn’s gift to her was a villa in the midst of Dirvan, formerly belonging to Grelias who in turn had confiscated it decades ago under the guise of Regental stewardship, as they had dealt with all of the Monteyn belongings. It had been small and virtually unused, but due to a Grelias whim, a small permanent retinue of live-in servants was always maintained.
And now, it was the Ylir Villa.
Ranhé had awoken in a deep fine bed that was unbelievably and completely hers. For a moment she recalled a thought she’d carried around with her, long before any of this had happened—a wish to have a house of her own, illuminated by white light. She had been naive, then.
And now, here she was, her wish fulfilled.
Thinking small irony-ridden thoughts, tired somehow, Ranhé dressed in her own set of clothes, and spent the morning walking in the small but perfect garden protected by a tall private fence. Here, she gazed long at the bizarre green of the leaves, and at the recurring shadows of varied pulsing colors that the sun cast in its continuous spectral cycle.
Just before noon, she left through a small private gate of the garden, without notifying any of her (yes, her own!) servants. It was but a short walk through the vast lush Outer Gardens to the Vaeste Vill
a.
She was informed that Elasand Vaeste was in a small room on the second floor. She ascended the stairs, her boots clicking softly, the neck of her shirt somehow feeling tight about her throat. In the corridor around the corner, she nearly collided with a man with sun-hair, and then stopped dead in her tracks.
“You!” It came out of her stupidly, involuntarily. “What are you doing here?”
Elasirr may or may not have been startled. But the only thing he did was stop in all silence and block her way. Then, he stood aside. His eyes were impassive.
“I now live here,” he said. “Remember, I am the Lord Vaeste.”
“Oh. . . .” The word tumbled out of her. Again, she was stupid, stupid.
“You’re going to see him,” said Elasirr, watching her with calm eyes. “If so, he is in this room behind me. I was just leaving. We’ve spent a good deal of this morning talking, he and I, as two strangers who are now brothers should.”
“Good,” said Ranhé. “It’s as it should be. Trust has been missing between you. Maybe now—”
Again, stupid. . . .
But he did not seem to think her words were inappropriate. “Thank you,” he said softly, “for everything—Lady Ylir.”
And the way he said her name made her tremble. Secretly, so far and deep in her mind. . . . Her name. . . . She heard it being pronounced like a precious thing.
“Well, go on,” he said. “Go on to see my brother. He is waiting for you.”
Ranhé took a step forward. And then, again she stopped, and looked directly up into his eyes. “And do you know, by any chance, what this might be about? What does the new Chancellor Vaeste want with me?”
Elasirr’s face was unreadable, like smooth pale stone. “I would think you know already.”
“I may know. But I still ask. I ask you.”
“Why? In this, I’m not of any consequence, Ranhé. If you must, I am merely the brother of the man you love. There, is that what you’ve wanted to hear? Go to him.”
Something flickered along the features of her face. “Yes,” she said. “That’s possibly what I’ve needed to hear. And yes, I go to him now. Only, no. One small correction. I go to speak with the brother of the man I love.”
And with that, never looking back to see Elasirr’s reaction, she stepped past him violently, stepped forward, and opened the door.
Elasand was looking through the window at the gardens below. His face, as he turned to her, his silk ebony hair, was highlighted by the changing shadows of yellow, then green, then blue, as the sun continued its pulse.
“Ranhé!” he said with a quick smile, which made his face light up.
“My Lord Chancellor,” she responded, entering, and involuntarily slamming the door behind her. And then she stopped in somewhat awkward silence. “You told me to come. And I am here, as I promised.”
“Ranhé!” he repeated, and then came forward, and stopped right before her. “Yes, of course you’ve come. You always keep your promises. In fact, I now take this moment to ask your forgiveness for that one time when I doubted you, just before the battle—”
“Please,” she said. “Let’s not remember that. None of that.”
He looked at her intently, and continuing to smile, whispered, “Why did I never think you were fair to look at before? Maybe because I had been obsessed by the violet goddess of love herself. And yet—I’ve been cruel to you, my sweet loyal Ranhé. I had known for some time now—since that moonlit night when you stood with me in the garden, and you cried. I had known for some time of your feelings.”
“What feelings?” she said, looking at him with earnest pale eyes.
“I know,” he said, “what you feel for me. It is not mere loyalty.”
And then Ranhé smiled. She continued looking directly into his eyes, as she said, “And what is it that I feel for you?”
Elasand’s own look took on a moment of uncertainty. Just an instant. And then he continued, “Before I say anything else, you must know this one thing. It’s something that I had been discussing with Elasirr earlier today. It concerns a matter of trust. And a long-standing misunderstanding between the two of us. And, it has something to do with my cousin Lixa.”
“Lixa Beis? An interesting woman. I admire her courage before all to petition the Monteyn for a dissolution of the marriage. What were her reasons? Was she in love with someone else, my lord? Could it be possibly that all along she had been in love with you?”
Elasand stared at her in surprise. “Your insight is remarkable, Ranhé. Indeed, that is so. In fact, she had talked to me later last night, and she confessed not only her feelings, but the fact that she was the one responsible for hiring a band of cutthroats disguised as Bilhaar, to waylay us on the road on that day when you and I first met, Ranhé. Her plan was to delay the Wedding as much as possible, and to beg her mother to call it off, together with Harlian Daqua, who incidentally was long besotted with their mutual friend, Lady Yllva Caexis.”
“I see,” said Ranhé with a thin smile. “So, I had unfortunately interfered and ruined her plans—quite clumsy plans, don’t you think? Did Lixa realize she was risking lives in the process? Or is it possible that she was willing to have you dead, rather than not having you at all? Incidentally, do you love her, Lord Chancellor?”
Her last question came unexpected as a knife blade. Elasand could not immediately answer, and began to pace the room. Finally, he gathered himself, and turned to her in intense silence.
“No.” he said. “I do not love her at all, not in that way. How can I, when I finally opened my eyes to the truth, and realized that I love you?”
A long silence in the room. The sun continued its pulse. Violet, red, orange. . . .
“You cannot imagine how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” she said in a whisper. “To hear those words from you. I’ve lived this scene over and over in my dreams.”
“Ranhé,” he said, nearing her. “It’s true, I know it only now. It is you that I love—”
“No,” she said suddenly, in a loud cold voice. “Enough, my lord. No need to force your mind into this new and latest convolution. Truth is—you love and have loved no one. First, there was the impossible excuse, the love of a Tilirreh. Who could compete with that? Then, you had known Lixa’s feelings—any idiot would—but pretended ignorance, and chose to let her play out her little sad attempt at rebellion. It suited you, and you chose to believe that Bilhaar had been sent against you, and thus perpetuated your reasons to distrust your brother. And then, myself. You chose to ignore me, because I, a commoner, was so far beneath yourself, and instead used my loyalty to maintain this game. Why do you continue to surround yourself with such aloof emotional relationships, Elasand? Why do you choose to have people who could truly love you kept at a distance? Is it because you cannot face us, any one of us? Is it because you cannot face the idea of love in yourself? Think, Elasand, maybe that is the real reason Laelith had been calling to you, trying to awaken you from within?”
She fell silent, like a broken emptied thundercloud. She looked at his face, stark with emotion, highlighted with hues of green, blue, and violet. . . .
“We had a conversation, Elasand-re, about loyalty, once, when you were hiring me,” she said, in a softer tone. “Remember, you asked me to swear to you, and I refused, saying I could only give you a simple promise, not an oath? That I was loyal to no one, ever? That I would be unpredictable, that you should never fully count on me, that I would leave you, all of a sudden, out of the blue?”
“Yes,” he said, “I remember. It’s what drew me to you in that moment—your elusiveness. It was your lightness, your lack of commitment, that had attracted me.”
“Exactly. We both enjoyed that fleeting sense of noncommittal dealings, the loose bonds. And unfortunately, Elasand-re, we are both alike, in that way. Thus, my lord, I am now leaving you. Out of the blue, and for no reason at all.”
“I see,” he said. “You choose to wound me now, in revenge for being ignored
.”
“Ah . . . Poor Elasand-re. Still without trust. Still seeing ulterior motives. No, I take no revenge upon those I care about. For, not only do I care, but I still love you with all my very soul and breath, even if you don’t understand or believe me. A part of me died alongside you on that battlefield, when you died. Even now, that one part of me will never return, that easy joyful lightness—it slipped away as I watched your blood run upon the ground that day. I care for you in a way that will never make sense to you, proud foolish man. But I leave you now, as I promised once long ago. Because at last you no longer have any true need of me. And because I keep all promises, even to myself. I go now, in goodwill and gentle silence.”
And with that, she turned her back to him, seeing in the last moment only a silhouette against the red of the sun.
“Wait! Ranhéas!” he cried then, his eyes burning with emotion, realizing in that moment—a second too late—that the loose bonds had grown stretched to the limit, and had snapped at last.
But she was already outside, and the door to the room had closed softly.
And he stared at it blankly, saying something to her, over and over in his mind.
Elasirr was waiting at the foot of the stairs, so that Ranhé once again nearly tripped over him as she came running down the long flight. He took hold of her arm, and tugged her roughly to a standstill.
“Just one thing I need to clarify,” he said in an odd voice. “What exactly did you say to me, there, upstairs?”
“Have you been waiting, all this time?” she countered, unable to look at him somehow, because after her conversation with Elasand a knot had risen in her throat, and she just wanted to be gone, from all of them.
But Elasirr continued gripping her arm painfully, and then he took her shoulder, and he pulled her forward to stare into her face.
“Do you know,” he said, “that your eyes are silver? Pale, cool gray. Like the world was, before the coming of the Rainbow?”
“What the hell?” she whispered, while the knot began rising, and she could sense the fullness of tears beginning to glisten in her field of vision. She must not let him see this, she must not blink.
Lords of Rainbow Page 50
