03 - The Eternal Rose

by Gail Dayton

  “This is useless.” She threw the quill she'd been attempting to take notes with onto the table, spattering it with ink. “Kallista needs to come out of that room and make some decisions. We're not getting anywhere without her."

  “You do it,” Torchay said. “You heard her."

  “Then stop arguing with me when I try. Damn it, Torchay—” Viyelle didn't get fully underway before he interrupted.

  “I know you're hurting, love.” Torchay reached across the table to clasp her hand. “We all are. But we weren't bound to Stone like she was.

  She felt him die. That magic link she has to all of us—she felt it break. If she needs a wee bit more time and space to get over that, she should have it."

  Viyelle swallowed her scream of pain and frustration. Maybe Kallista did feel him die, but she didn't love Stone like Viyelle did. He wasn't first in Kallista's heart.

  “But she still has us.” Aisse sounded confused and hurt. “We are not Stone, but we are us—ourselves. We are still here. I don't understand why—"

  “She will remember us,” Obed said. “Soon. But we have other matters to discuss."

  “The trial,” Keldrey said.

  “Doesn't the embassy have lawyers?” Viyelle looked from Obed's grim face to Keldrey's. She was getting a bad feeling about this. “Truthsayers?"

  Obed shook his head. “Warriors will be more use than lawyers. Justice in Daryath is decided by combat. Each side in a case brings a champion to the court. They fight, and the winner of the combat is the winner of the court case."

  “B-but that's outrageous,” Viyelle sputtered. “What about truth?"

  “The One is the judge of the truth. The One ensures that the side of right is the winner."

  “Let me guess—which usually turns out to be the side with the biggest purse to hire the best fighter.” Keldrey's voice held all the cynicism Obed's only hinted at.

  Their tattooed ilias smiled. “Or the side with enough sons to find those with the talent not only to become champions, but to become dedicat."

  “What about the people too poor to hire a champion?” Viyelle's outrage grew with each further revelation. “Are they simply without luck?"

  “Only those dedicat champions in their direct family line are sworn to fight for their Line. The others are sworn to justice. They fight for whoever has need. And the im-dedicats may do so as well, if they do not have other commitments."

  “This was you?” Leyja's voice held the wonder Viyelle felt.

  Obed inclined his head. “Yes. I did this."

  “Kallista should be here,” Torchay said. “She needs to hear this. Why have you no’ told us before?"

  “It is not a thing I am proud of. Murder done in the name of justice is still murder."

  “Especially when it's done in the name of greed,” Keldrey said.

  Obed acknowledged that truth silently.

  “Tell her,” Torchay said. “You have to explain this to Kallista. We have to find another way to get Stone's boy back. She can't handle another death, not of one of us."

  “None of us will die,” Obed said.

  “She won't let anyone else risk his life—"

  “Trials are not always to the death,” Obed interrupted. “It is a matter to be settled with the justiciars when they come."

  “If it's not always to the death—” Viyelle spoke up, her horror mingling with awe that Obed had survived such a life. “Why is it ever to the death?"

  His easy smile twisted. “Expense. The more serious cases—those involving serious crimes or large amounts of money—call for serious combat. It can be to death, or it can be multiple combat. A tournament, if it is not to the death. It costs more to hire more fighters, even if they know they will not die. Sometimes they still die. Many have killed without meaning to. And sometimes they die later."

  “How serious is our case?” Leyja asked.

  “I do not know.” Obed looked worried as he shook his head. “It is over a small servant boy. He is not important. But the parties involved—the Reinine of Adara and the very powerful Habadra Line—they make it important."

  “Why did you get us into this?” Viyelle demanded, horror rising to outweigh even grief.

  “To get us out of Habadra's House without further bloodshed.” Obed snapped his gaze to hers. “It would have come to this anyway. Neither Kallista nor this Chani would back down. It is the only way to get our son back without starting a war."

  “Sounds damned close to war to me,” Viyelle said.

  “But it isn't.” Torchay stood. “It's controlled, limited. It has rules. But no battles to the death. Agreed?"

  Everyone nodded.

  “Obed, you need to explain this to Kallista,” Torchay said.

  Obed sighed and stood. “I will try."

  “If she starts to throw things again, duck this time.” Fox attempted to tease, but his heart obviously wasn't in it.

  “I would gladly accept another black eye,” Obed said, “if only she would let us comfort her.” He slipped through the door.

  “We have to be careful,” Joh said. “Sky is safe right this moment, but I've been talking to the embassy staff. They've told me about the Sameric sect of clerics, how they whip up mobs at the least hint of heresy. Habadra wouldn't protect him if the Samerics get hint of our ilian. And she could use it as an excuse for—well, who knows what she might do?"

  Viyelle squeezed his hand. She wanted to sleep in a big pile with all of them together, as they sometimes did. It would be lonely with only Joh. Thank the One, she hadn't lost him too.

  “Kallista.” The fear in Obed's voice carried through the open door. They all scrambled to join him. Chairs fell over, Fox nearly did. In moments, they were gathered around the chaise where Kallista sat staring into nothing at all.

  “What's wrong?” Viyelle had to ask, her heart pounding.

  “She won't answer me."

  “Kallista.” Torchay knelt beside her, waved his hand before her face. “Kallista, do you hear me?"

  She blinked, turned her face in his direction but never quite made it before she subsided into her blank staring again. Torchay lifted her eyelids to peer into her eyes. He chafed her hands, pinched her wrists, and nothing happened.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Cold rolled down Viyelle's back despite the heat building up in the room. She shivered, pulling Joh's arm around her.

  He frowned, wrapping her close. “Cold?"

  Viyelle nodded. “Scared. But cold too."

  “So am I.” Joh absently rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms. Viyelle recognized the subtle signs as Joh turned his analytical mind to matters she could only guess at.

  “Viyelle is cold,” he said after a moment. “So am I."

  “Oh?” Leyja frowned and came to lay her hand on their foreheads. Having three bodyguard-trained iliasti gave them an embarrassment of riches in healing skills. Kallista had the magic and their bodyguards had the best non-magical medical training possible.

  “Do any of the rest of you feel it?” Joh asked. “That chill?"

  Aisse shivered. Obed rubbed his arms. “We feel it because you ask if we do,” he said.

  “No.” Torchay shook his head. “It's not cold. It's the links. Kallista's cut us off."

  “How do you know?” Obed's tone was scornful.

  “Can she do that?” Keldrey asked.

  “She can't do that,” Aisse said at the same time. “She couldn't before."

  “That was seven years ago,” Torchay said. “And only three of you were godmarked. There's eight of us now and she's had time to learn."

  “How do you know?” Obed repeated.

  “Because I do. And if you'd get your head out of your arse and stuff that pride of yours where it belongs and pay attention to what the hell's going on inside you, you'd know it too.” Torchay's face was in Obed's, both of them snarling and spitting.

  Viyelle held her breath, hoping nothing more would happen, hoping that if so
mething did, Keldrey and Leyja or Fox or someone could stop it. How could things be falling apart like this? So quickly?

  “I know,” Torchay growled. “Before any of us were marked, even before she was struck with this magic, I could tell when she used magic. I still can. Compare how you feel now with how you felt this time yesterday. What's changed?"

  “He's right,” Joh said. “I can feel it. I think we all can. We just didn't realize what it was."

  “I think she's been pulling back from us since yesterday,” Torchay said. “A bit at a time, until now she's gone so far she can't come back."

  “She has to,” Keldrey said. “What about the demons?"

  Fresh horror slid through Viyelle and she shuddered. She'd forgotten about the demons, about anything but her own pain. Could this mess have something to do with demons?

  “What do we do?” Obed took Kallista's limp hand between both of his, quarrel forgotten. “How do we bring her back?"

  They all looked at each other helplessly before Torchay finally said it. “I don't know."

  “We keep trying,” Joh said. “Whatever we can think of. We talk to her. We love her. We need her. We push that love and need down the links until we get through. All of us."

  “Get rid of the Daryathi servants,” Keldrey said. “We don't need ‘em. We can take care of ourselves. All the locals in the whole embassy. Nobody comes inside who's not Adaran. That way, long as we're inside these walls, we don't have to worry about hiding the ilian in pairs."

  “We can't send back that new champion of ours,” Viyelle reminded them.

  “He stays in the barracks."

  “Maybe the funeral will help her,” Aisse said.

  “And maybe it won't.” Leyja looked worried.

  “It's got to be done though,” Torchay said. “Soon."

  “I'll take care of it.” Viyelle didn't want to decide it all herself, but she would.

  “I'll help,” Joh said.

  Viyelle nodded, smiled at him. “You always do."

  “Since you're chief of staff, Vee, I think you'd better meet these justiciars with Obed.” Torchay stood, hands on hips, staring down at Kallista.

  Yet another task for her list. Viyelle needed paper to write them all down so she didn't forget one.

  “Whoever isn't busy with something else, be in here,” Torchay said. “Trying to get through to her.” He sighed. “And I suppose I'll go let the ambassador know about the servants. She won't be happy."

  “Too bad,” Keldrey said. “What about the kids?"

  “They might get through to her,” Obed said.

  “They might be frightened,” Leyja fretted.

  “Saints, what's got you so gloomy?” Keldrey grabbed her by the back of the neck and shook her gently. “Never mind. I know. You can't feel Kallista. Kids are smarter than you think. They'll know something's wrong, and if you don't tell ‘em what it is, they'll be dreaming up something a thousand times worse than the truth. And they might help bring her back."

  “We can work out a schedule,” Torchay said, “so it's not a mob scene in here. Keldrey, you and Leyja can do that.” He looked from one to the other. “All right then, let's get busy."

  * * * *

  Endless days later, Obed strode through the embassy, his robes billowing behind him, scarcely pausing at the hurriedly constructed gate in the walls between the Reinine's residence and the embassy proper. He was in a hurry. Viyelle had to break into an occasional jog to keep up. Leyja merely stretched her long legs a bit.

  The justiciars had finally come to discuss terms for the trial, and Obed begrudged every moment he had to spend with them. Kallista still had not returned from wherever she'd gone.

  MorethanaweekhadpassedsinceStone'smurder.ItwasFifthdayagain. The justiciars had taken their time arranging this meeting. As usual.

  The funeral had been last Fifthday, in the embassy's largest courtyard. They'd had to lead Kallista to her place at the head of the family. Torchay had placed the brand into her hand and held it there with his hand around hers when it was time to light the fire. Obed had had his own torch to deal with, but he still resented Torchay taking that place. He knew he had no right to resentment, tried to push it away, but it kept bubbling back up.

  Kallista's body had attended Stone's funeral. Her spirit had been elsewhere. He wouldn't have thought she'd react like this, but—Obed only hoped she had not gone to be with Stone.

  The embassy's truthsayer met them outside the council room doors. Obed didn't like this. At all. They needed Kallista and they needed all of her magic. But until they discovered a way to bring her back, they would have to get by as best they could.

  He nodded to the truthsayer. Leyja opened the doors and Obed swept inside, playing the part of one-and-only-Reinas to the hilt.

  The three justiciars sprang to their feet and bowed, looking from Obed to the obviously subordinate truthsayer, then to Viyelle and Leyja who were dressed in finery almost the equal of Obed's. Clearly, they did not know who ranked highest, whom to address. Obed gave an Adaran-style bow and let his robe slide a bit from his bare shoulders, exposing his body tattoos. He did not like to go about unclothed—he'd done far too much of it in his life—but sometimes the effect was worth it, as now. The justiciars could not seem to stop staring.

  The head of the group, distinguished from her colleagues by the medallion of office that hung round her neck and the black trim on her white robes, introduced herself and her companions. Obviously, she hoped for a similar introduction so she would know whom to address. Obed was tempted to forego one—they knew perfectly well who he was. But good little courtier Viyelle stepped hard on his foot, so he did it.

  “I was told the Reinine Kallista took a personal interest in this case.” The head justiciar sat at Obed's invitation.

  “My Reinine is indisposed.” Obed flipped the tail of his robe out of the way as he took his place. “One of her Godmarked was murdered. But yes, she has a personal interest, which is why I am here, as well as her chief-of-staff."

  “The matter is the redemption of a bondservant boy, child of a bondservant formerly named Merinda il-Kyndir?"

  A battle with words, not swords. Obed took a moment to recite the dedicat's litany to clear his mind of all but his purpose here at this moment. No echoes from his childhood or the skola and arena. None of his desperate worry over Kallista. Just now. This.

  He let Viyelle answer the question. He was here for the effect of his tattoos on the justiciars—these women had seen him in the arena-court many, many times—and to share his knowledge with the chief Adaran negotiator, Viyelle.

  “Tournament,” she was saying, for the second time, louder. “Enough blood has been spilled already. My Reinine will not agree to more death."

  “The Habadra has no dedicat champion in her Line to pit against yours. She hasn't the funds for a tournament. She has enough for one champion. It must be to the death."

  “Absolutely not.” Viyelle shook her head vehemently.

  “Then you forfeit—"

  “We will pay,” Obed said. “We will provide prize money for four champions in addition to the one Habadra can provide."

  “A case of this magnitude—” The head justiciar shook her head, not at all the apologetic she pretended to be. “Between two of the most powerful Lines in the world—if it is not a death trial, I do not see how it can be done with less than six combats. Eight would be better, to avoid unlucky seven."

  “If Habadra Line is so powerful, they can pay for more than one champion. There are dedicats who will fight for nothing."

  “Not for a rich and powerful Line like Habadra. But their riches are in land and crops, not in ready cash. Adara is the richest land in the world."

  “But this case is not Adara's. It is a matter of the Varyl Line. Of family. We will pay for five champions for Habadra then, but we will not pay more than our share.” Obed kept repeating his mind-clearing litany. This sort of battle did not allow him to leap across the table and choke
the breath out of his opponent. Unfortunately. The twitching of Leyja's hands told him she felt the temptation as well.

  The afternoon wore away and autumn's earlier evening set in as they hammered out agreement. The justiciars would go back to Habadra for her agreement and more hammering would doubtless be required. But the main terms were set. The trial would be a tournament of eight single combats, with a final mêlée battle the next day, the whole to be held three weeks after all the elements were agreed to and champions named.

  Keldrey's continuing visits to Stone's son were added to the justiciars’ trial order. Only the petty details were left, but in Obed's experience, the petty details often took longer to beat into submission than the larger elements of a thing.

  At last, after interminable bowing and politeness, Obed was set free to return to Kallista's side. He flew through the embassy, whose corridors had never seemed so endlessly long. He found her sitting in the courtyard under the same tree where he'd left her, candles and torches providing gentle light.

  The weather had changed in the past few days, a violent thunderstorm bringing cooler weather behind it. Pleasant weather, like summer in Arikon, rather than Daryath's oppressive heat. It made the courtyard an even more inviting retreat. Kallista sat passively, fallen flower petals decorating her hair, while their children played quiet games with chalk and buttons on the paving stones. Could nothing reach her?

  “How is she?” Obed asked Keldrey who stood a casual watch on the scene from the doorway. “The same?"

  “Yeah.” Keldrey let a long breath sigh out through his nose. “Torchay tried calling her again. For a minute, I thought she might answer. But—” He shook his head.

  Obed fought the wave of jealousy that swept over him, but it was relentless as the tide. He knew better, had conquered it in Adara, but the familiar sights and smells of his former home brought all his dreams and insecurities back again. Did she truly love him? Was he even worth loving? How could he know?