The Consort (Tellaran Series)

by Ariel MacArran

  “I will retire now.” Alari stood, signaling an end to the audience. She descended the dais, Kyndan a step behind her. The Council leaders, clan Ti’antahs, and courtiers bowed to her as she swept past them.

  Her attendants hurriedly took up their places around them as she turned in the direction of the regent’s apartments.

  Upon entering her dressing room Alari handed her fan over and stood still, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion as the maids worked around her to remove her white mourning ensemble, to take the jewels and pins from her hair.

  Kyndan folded his arms. “Why did you decide against Trade?”

  “I did not,” Alari said tiredly. “I did not grant Food the dispensation they requested.”

  “Did you decide against Kinara because she’s my sister?”

  Alari shut her eyes briefly in relief as she was freed from the heavy, beaded court ensemble, putting her arms out so that one maid, Tilanna, could settle the lighter white dressing gown around her shoulders, another attendant knotting the sash at her waist.

  “I did not decide against Kinara, my mate. The Trade Council has used their power unfairly to enrich themselves for months.”

  “It looks like you’d rather make it harder for the poor to get a decent meal than look like you’re favoring a Tellaran.”

  “Kinara is not Tellaran,” Alari said as the maids finished wiping the ghostly makeup from her face and hands.

  “But I am. Would you have made the same decision if I weren’t here?”

  “Were you not here, I would have been mated to Jazan and it would have been me on the Ty’har,” she said brittlely. “It would have been me that died, not—not—”

  A sob cut off her words and quickly she covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Alari . . .” Kyndan caught her in his arms, cradling her against him.

  “Give us a minute,” he said to the maids. They hesitated and his nostrils flared. “That means, get out!”

  The door shut behind them and Alari shook her head against his chest.

  “I cannot believe she is gone,” she sobbed. “I cannot!”

  “I know.” He cradled her head. “I know.”

  He held her a long time, rocking her as she cried before he led her to one of the couches in the room. He went into the bathing chamber and came back with a folded damp cloth, wiping her face with it. Then he held the cool cloth over her eyes.

  Alari leaned her swollen eyes into the soothing dampness.

  “This is nice,” Alari hiccupped.

  Kyndan held the cloth against her forehead. “My mom used to do this when I was a kid.”

  “She was kind, then, like our sister.” Alari could not even imagine her mother doing such.

  “She was,” he agreed, with a faint smile. “It’s funny, there were a couple times when we were at the clanhouse and I’d look at Kinna and think, gods, she looks so much like our mother.”

  “How old were you when—?”

  “Eleven, almost twelve. But Kinna had only just turned eight.” He brushed her damp hair back from her forehead. “It’s stupid but when I was a kid I used to pretend she was just in the next room, that it was okay, she was only out of sight and quiet ’cause she was reading or something. That I could just walk into that room and tell her about my day or ask her something if I wanted to.”

  “I do not think that stupid,” Alari said thickly. “On every turn of the palace halls I think I will see Saria. That I will come around a corner and see the honor guard of the Second, then she will smile and disdain protocol to hurry over to me. That she will take my hand, and smile and whisper in my ear what the courtiers are gossiping about today.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to know her.”

  Alari’s vision blurred with tears again. “I am grateful to have had such as she for a sister, but I wished many times that she had been the elder and I the younger. She longed to be empress and I . . .” Her tears overflowed, guilt and shame tightening her throat that not all her grief was for Saria. “I very much wanted the life that we planned.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he said quietly. “But I sure can’t complain about the quarters.” Kyndan sent a dry glance back at the apartments they were now occupied as regent and consort. “They’re a hell of a lot nicer than anything I could offer you.”

  “Oh, Kyndan, I am—”

  He caught her chin to look into her eyes. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

  Tears stung Alari’s eyes. “I wish—if my sister—”

  “I know.” He drew her against him. “I do too.”

  “Regent,” Mezera, Leader of the War Council began the next morning, her voice chilly as the audience chamber around them, “I have come to discuss matters of Imperial defense, matters that must remain concealed from our enemies.”

  “I take it by ‘enemies,’ you mean me,” Kyndan said sharply.

  Mezera threw a narrow look at him. “Truly, Majesty, think you it wise to discuss our defenses in the presence of a Tellaran?”

  “This is my mate of whom you speak,” Alari reminded quietly.

  Mezera’s mouth tightened. “I mean no disrespect to you, Regent.”

  But I can go frack myself.

  Kyndan’s gaze narrowed and he fought the urge to throw Mezera out. The hostility of the courtiers and clan leaders toward him was escalating with every passing day and making Alari’s task all the harder. Between the strain of taking on the monumental task of regent and fending off the razor sharp teeth of these sercats harping about him instead of doing their godsdamned jobs, she was getting exhausted.

  “We’re not at war,” Kyndan bit out. “And in case you’ve forgotten, honored Council leader, my whole purpose in coming to Az-kye was to open peace talks.”

  “Those talks are inconsequential now,” she retorted.

  Kyndan folded his arms. “Who are you to make that decision?”

  “I am Leader of the War Council,” Mezera returned coldly. “And in the absence of an Imperial Warlord to command our forces, such decisions fall to me.”

  “Well, then maybe what we need is an Imperial Warlord!” Kyndan snapped.

  There was a moment of awkward silence. Alari’s glance flicked away and Kyndan nearly groaned as it snapped into place.

  Oh, festering hell, it’s supposed to be me!

  That’s why only the best warriors are considered to become consort. That’s why Jazan was the top pick, why he wanted to marry Alari when he didn’t love her. He would have been Imperial Warlord with power and influence to rival hers.

  His face heated as he realized that not only had he blundered but that in doing it in front of the Council leader and Imperial advisors he’d embarrassed Alari as well.

  “But since we do not have an Imperial Warlord,” Mezera continued acidly. “It is my place to see to the defenses of our empire. The stabilization and protection of our territory takes precedence over any accords the Tellarans want.”

  “Accords we want?” Kyndan began furiously. “Because the Az-kye don’t—”

  “This audience is concluded,” Alari broke in sharply. “Leave us. All of you.”

  Tight mouthed, the War Leader and her assistants quickly gathered their things and bowed. The majordomo and courtiers bowed too and left, shutting the door of the audience chamber behind them.

  “I let her get to me,” Kyndan said, annoyed. “I shouldn’t have let her get to me like that.”

  “The War Leader was ever sharp spoken. And she is cunning.”

  “And she sure as hell doesn’t want her ass out of that leader’s chair.” He met her gaze. “The Imperial Consort is supposed to command the Az-kye military forces.”

  “Yes.”

  Kyndan wiped his hand over his face. “I didn’t know.”

  “There has not been an Imperial Warlord since my father died. I have no brother, Her Imperial Majesty did not wish to take another mate, and so the War Council was convened. They were to serve until . . .”

&n
bsp; “Until you took a mate,” he finished. “But you married me instead of Jazan and the Az-kye forces are not about to obey a Tellaran.”

  “Yes.” Alari sighed. “And, my mate, you speak truly—Mezera wishes to keep her ass where it is.”

  Kyndan gave a choked chuckle and Alari joined him, their laughter filling the audience chamber.

  After their laughter faded, Kyndan asked: “Are the peace accords really being put on hold?”

  She sighed again. “As Mezera said, my rule has just begun. To make such a treaty now . . .”

  “You can’t look weak to the Tellarans.”

  She gave a short, humorless laugh. “I cannot look weak to the Az-kye! Empress Yi’saya, last ruler of the Xar dynasty was pulled from the very chair now in the Imperial throne room and thrown from the falls to the rocks below. After ten years of war and putting her three half-sisters to death, Empress Ilyn clawed her way to the throne and founded the Second Empire.”

  “I didn’t know that,” he said hoarsely. The Az-kye worshipped their ruler so fanatically it never occurred to him that they might ever have risen up against one. That there had been women who held this throne, possibly as young as Alari, who worked as hard as she did, who hadn’t survived an uprising or their own family’s infighting.

  Gods, that’s what Aidar meant when he said the empress had to first keep the throne. That’s why her consort becomes warlord; the empress’ military forces have to be controlled by someone she can trust completely.

  Alari shook her head. “My mother is ill, my sister is dead. It is whispered that the gods have withdrawn their favor from me. Even now I know some claim my rule cursed, the Empire doomed if I remain on the throne.”

  Her dark eyes were haunted and Kyndan realized it was these fears most of all that kept her from her rest when she tossed and turned beside him.

  He swallowed hard. He’d hardly helped matters. She had a consort who was not just Tellaran but wearing one of their uniforms. She had to rely on others because the one who was supposed to be her sword and shield wasn’t even Az-kye.

  “I must always show strength,” Alari said. “I dare not give them further cause to doubt me. My mother has ruled long and well but what she could do I cannot yet. I cannot risk pushing the treaty now. The War Council must remain convened and their leader’s counsel followed. There is no other choice.”

  Kyndan traced the curve of her cheek.

  Yeah, there is.

  Alari ordered her attendants to remain outside and entered the empress’ residence alone to find the High Priestess of Lashima resting in the outer sitting room. High Priestess Celara offered her a kind smile, her hands interlaced over her jeweled cane.

  “How does she?” Alari asked, glancing up the grand marble staircase to where the empress lay above. Even this sitting room was thick with the smell of incense; red powder had been scattered in the corners of the room by the priests of Meithea to misdirect spirits drawn by the empress’ illness as a gateway to the living.

  The High Priestess gave a half-shrug. “A bit better today, I think. We had tea together, she ate a little. We talked of the coming summer.”

  That the empress might not live long enough to feel the summer sun on her face made Alari’s throat tighten.

  “The High Priest of Behur is with her now. They make offerings daily to the god of Healing. As I do for the empress’ sake.” Celara’s dark eyes shone. “As I do for you.”

  “What of my mate?” Alari asked suddenly. “Do you also make offerings for him?”

  The High Priestess looked amused. “I do not think I offend the gods of the Tellarans do I ask Lashima to bless his seed, do you?”

  “No,” Alari murmured. “I suppose not.” Kyndan himself might find it embarrassing that this devout, aged lady placed white flowers at the feet of the Queen of the Heavens, entreating the goddess to make him potent enough to get his mate with child quickly.

  One of her mother’s maids came then to bring her to the empress’ presence. The priest of Behur was just finishing his incantation, the room thick with incense and chanting from the blue-cloaked priests.

  Alari studied her mother, reclining here in the dim room, the curtains drawn as the empress’ complained of sensitivity to light. If there were any improvement in the Empress’ health, it was slight and Alari schooled her features so that her concern would not show.

  She did not bow now that she was regent as she came beside her mother’s sickbed but she inclined her head respectfully. The empress waved her servants out and the door shut behind them, leaving them in privacy.

  “I have heard talk,” the empress rasped without preamble. Her face was wan but her eyes were sharp as ever.

  “There is always talk,” Alari returned. “Always whispers and rumors circling the court. You taught me that to give them too much attention is to help them take seed and grow.”

  “They have never had such fertile soil as a Tellaran acting as Imperial Consort!”

  “He is not acting as Imperial Consort. He is Imperial Consort.”

  “He walks the palace in the garb of a Tellaran warrior. He is not Az-kye. He has not taken his place within our clan.”

  “It was for you to welcome him to our clan and you did not,” Alari reminded sharply.

  Azara shifted on her pillows, her mouth tight. “Neither of you were to be found in the palace for me to do such.”

  “We are in the palace now,” Alari pointed out. “Shall I have him brought here so that you can offer him your welcome? Give him your name as his own?”

  “Had you taken Jazan as you should have—”

  “But I did not,” Alari flared. “I took Kyndan as mate.”

  Azara’s eyes flashed. “You never spoke so to your empress before.”

  “I was never my empress’ equal before,” Alari said, clasping her hands to conceal their shaking. “I am regent now.”

  The empress seemed to sink into herself, as if that burst of anger had cost her much. “Perhaps you are angry. Hurt still by the punishment I named for you.”

  “You mean when you would have made me slave and thrown me out into the street?” Alari asked with raised eyebrows. “Truly, I never think on it, Imperial Majesty.”

  “I was too harsh, too rash in my pronouncement.” The empress’ eyes fell shut. “My illness and pain clouded my judgment. Let my mistake be your lesson, Alari.”

  Alari shifted her weight, wondering how sincere her mother was. Surely she had been suffering then. She suffered so greatly now Alari could hear the wheeze of her breath.

  “I shall, Mother,” she said quietly.

  Azara opened her eyes, a glimmer of warmth in her gaze. “What has been done can be undone. Speak to High Priestess Celara. With the fate of the Az-kye at stake, she will agree. You can be unbound, able to seek a proper warrior, a proper consort, without delay.”

  “Never,” Alari said hoarsely. “Kyndan is mine, and I his.”

  The empress’ face fell. “You love him.”

  Tears burned her eyes, recalling how Kyndan risked his life to save her from Jazan’s cruelty, his warm blue eyes, his tender lovemaking, his smiles. “Yes, I love him. I could love no other more.”

  “You are regent; you cannot put this man above the needs of the Az-kye,” Azara said sharply. “This love is a weakness you cannot afford!”

  “Did you love my father?” Alari asked, stung.

  Suddenly the empress’ eyes softened and her lower lip curved. Alari remembered then Sechon’s story of how her mother had once donned colors against tradition to draw a certain warrior’s eye . . .

  “Beyond word or reason,” she murmured; then her cheeks were drawn again. “And when he was lost to me, my heart shattered. I would not have you know such pain and even less so for one unworthy of you.” The empress suddenly gripped her hand. “I do not trust this man. Your heart is his, but his heart is Tellaran.”

  Alari remembered Kyndan’s spinning her in his embrace in the sunlight, the pride in
his blue eyes when she showed him her drawings, his smile and, too, how he had argued for his sister, for the peace accords his people wanted . . .

  Alari drew breath to cry out that her mother was wrong, that they were all wrong, that when the time came that Kyndan must choose he would choose her.

  But when her lips parted to do so, she found she could not.

  When Alari emerged from the Empress’ quarters she was disappointed to see that although her honor guard was present, Kyndan was not. She wanted very much the reassurance of his smile, his blue eyes crinkled with humor, the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers.

  It was beneath the dignity of a regent and future empress but she could not help glancing this way and that in hopes of spying his tall form in the corridor.

  “Regent?”

  Alari turned at the sound of Sechon’s voice. “Elder.”

  “Whom do you seek?” Then Sechon smiled faintly. “Or need I ask?”

  “I thought that my mate would be awaiting me here,” Alari admitted.

  “I have not seen him yet this day, Imperial Majesty,” said Sechon, falling into step beside her. The elder sent a glance in the direction from which Alari had come and lowered her voice. “May I hope she is better?”

  “She is not,” Alari said quietly.

  Sechon’s face fell then she lifted her chin. “I understand the healers have begun a new treatment,” she said, her tone brighter. “They have great hopes of its effectiveness.”

  “So I have heard.”

  Sechon tilted her head. “There is more, I think, that weighs upon you, Regent.”

  Alari took in the attendants around them and the elder gave her an understanding look.

  “Perhaps in deference to my age, Regent, we might sit a moment?” She nodded toward the door of a small, unoccupied reception room. “I would be grateful.”

  Alari inclined her head and directed her attendants to wait outside.

  Once the door was shut Sechon joined her at the windows. The reception room overlooked one of the Imperial parks; it was late spring now and the garden was in full bloom. Grass just the color of peridot spread like a lush carpet under the golden light.