Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  He emptied his mind, and kept pacing. He emptied it again, and kept pacing. Two hours of emptying, and a tiny voice in his mind, a voice not his own, whispered, "Temmin."

  He halted. The emptiness filled, and the voice vanished. But he had heard it.

  He left the chapel, and took the long walk through the castle to the Residence at a trot; he banged on his father's door. Temmin brushed past the King's valet into the receiving room. "Is he awake, Gram?"

  "His Majesty is closeted with Mr Winmer, Your Highness," said Gram stiffly.

  "Uncloset him. Winmer should be done with him at this hour."

  Gram's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Indeed, sir?"

  "Indeed. Tell him I'm here." Gram bowed just enough, and disappeared into the King's private rooms.

  Harsin entered in shirtsleeves, to find Temmin helping himself to brandy from the sideboard. "To what do I owe the pleasure, son?"

  "I doubt you'll get much pleasure out of it. I've been to the Temple and talked with Allis and Issak," said Temmin. "They were ten, sir. Did you know? I'll take your silence as 'yes.'"

  "I'm surprised you had the courage to confront them."

  "Confront them?" shouted Temmin. "I can ask them anything! And they told me everything. I trust them! They tell me the truth! I'm going, Father. The Gods have called me, and I'm going."

  "You don't understand! This is a mistake! You are costing me--"

  "I don't understand your political situation and I don't care. You are King. You rule absolutely. Everyone's always going on about what an astute ruler you are--figure out how to turn it to your advantage. Ask Sedra to help you," he snarled. "It's only for two years, and I will come out of it the stronger, with skills I can use when I am king in my turn."

  Harsin purpled. "You will make me a laughingstock."

  "Because I'm a virgin? That's hardly the main measure of a man."

  "What would you know about the measure of a man?"

  Temmin downed the brandy's dregs and smacked the snifter on the sideboard. "More than you think." He stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  "There's the Gods' revenge for my blasphemy," said Harsin to the empty room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Temmin sent a message to the twins that night, by way of a sleepy footman. The next morning, a postulant Lover delivered the response; it sat on the library table when Temmin returned from a solitary breakfast.

  "Disregard me," said Teacher, lounging by the window. "By all means, read your letter."

  Temmin sat down and ran a finger over the Lovers' Temple sigil stamped into the wax. Breaking it felt like sealing his fate, though he'd sealed it the night before in his father's study. "Your Highness," it began. "Your presence is required at the Lovers' Temple from Farrday, the 34th day of Spring's Beginning, through Ammaday, the 35th day of Spring's Beginning to prepare for your admittance as our Supplicant." The elegant writing included no signature.

  "That is from the Embodiments, I assume. Did you find your answer last night, then?" said Teacher.

  "I would've thought my father told you this morning."

  "I have not seen him yet, though I wager when I do we will have quite the spirited discussion." Teacher moved to sit atop the table. "What did you decide?"

  "I'm taking Supplicancy."

  A flicker crossed Teacher's dispassionate face. "You are sure? You may change your mind, right up until the moment you take orders."

  "I'm as sure as I can be," said Temmin. "I heard...it sounds ridiculous, but I'm talking to a man who walks through mirrors, so...I heard a little voice calling my name. That's all." He looked up into the pale silver eyes. "I think I've been called. It feels like the right thing to do. Allis and Issak have been more trustworthy than my own father. So...I told them I'm doing it. Paggday--it's not my initiation, is it?"

  "No," said Teacher. "That will be at the Neya's Day Spectacle."

  "In front of everyone?"

  "You must be sure of yourself. Public proclamation confirms that surety. You will be learning all about it when you are there on Paggday."

  Temmin fingered the old red book, still lying on the table since his last lesson. "What if I'm wrong?"

  "We pick a path, we walk it as best we can, and we change course if we find we have taken the wrong way. How gracefully a man adapts is one of his greatest measures. Shall we continue?"

  Temmin opened the book.

  * * * * *

  Warin arrived home leading a laden pack horse. The door swung open at his touch, unlatched; he tripped on an empty water bucket just inside. Ashes filled the stone-cold hearth.

  He called for Emmae, but no answer came. He ran outside and called again, ran to all the places he thought she might be, but he didn't find her. His heart gave a great thud, and he ran back to the cottage. There, beside the hearth, he found the newly-shined silver tray. A message glowed on the table top, burned into the wood:

  I found a girl left all alone and took her home for safekeeping

  --H

  Warin seized the tray. "Show me Hildin of Tremont!" he shouted, but it reflected only his own stricken face. He threw the tray against the chimney to clatter against the hearthstones.

  Hildin had Emmae. Warin had worried about Travelers and wanderers of all sorts, but never thought his brother would take her. How had she found the tray? What had possessed her to polish it? How could he have been sentimental enough to bring it with him in the first place? He should have told her about the danger, about reflections, about Hildin. How could he have told her without telling her who he was--or about her enchantment? He should have told her everything. No, he should have kept going ten years ago, across the river into Leute, where Hildin couldn't find him. But leaving the kingdom meant losing his magic; leaving his father and the throne behind had left him cursing the Gods for his prophesied fate, and now he cursed himself for his weakness and pride.

  He shuddered, thinking of her enchantment. Hildin had to have discovered it by now.

  Warin unloaded the horse. It had no saddle, but he didn't need one. He sorted through the new supplies, pulling out what he wanted and storing the rest in the cottage. Perhaps he and Emmae might return; perhaps the leavings might serve some other poor man. He came upon Emmae's ring and promised ribbons, and tucked them in his pouch. He would give them to her yet.

  When he had what he needed for his journey strapped to the horse's back, he went to the cupboard a final time. He lifted up its false bottom and took out a sword, still kept sharp in its scabbard, and a little box. He shouldered the sword's harness, added the box to Emmae's presents in his pouch, and picked up the silver tray.

  Warin propped the tray against a tree. "Show me the Traveler Queen," he shouted. His image faded, and the old crone appeared, grinning and beckoning. Warin led the horse into the reflection.

  He emerged into a clearing; the Travelers' bright caravans surrounded him.

  "And a horse, too!" chuckled the old woman. "What took you so long to find me, Warin?"

  "I couldn't leave Emmae to search for you on foot, and I couldn't risk Hildin finding me if I searched for you by reflection."

  "Emmae?"

  "That unfortunate girl you enchanted!"

  "Ah, you found her, then! I knew you would. How is she?"

  "How do you think she is, you cruel old bitch?" said Warin.

  The woman laughed. "An old bitch? Perhaps. But you have no idea what real cruelty is, Prince."

  Warin scooped a ball of flames from the cookfire and bounced it. "Hildin has her, and you owe me an explanation. You owe her one--you owe her your help!"

  "Or what?" she said. "Do you honestly think I'm frightened of a little fire ball, Your Highness?"

  "Perhaps not for yourself, but I'm willing to wager your wagons would burn nicely."

  A rusty-haired young man approached and put an arm around the old woman. "You are among friends, Prince Warin, truly."

  Warin frowned, studying the young man. "You look familiar
. I'm sure I've traded with you--you're her son. And yet the man I knew--"

  "Had a wall-eye," grinned the Traveler Prince. "I've been cured. Now is not the time to threaten. Calm yourself."

  "Give me a reason to be calm!" said Warin. He pulled a second ball from the fire and stood, one in each hand.

  "Stop playing, you'll burn someone," said the Traveler Queen. "Connin, return those to the fire."

  The Traveler Prince flicked his fingers; the fireballs shot into his hands and from there back to the campfire, leaving Warin breathless and even angrier than before. He drew his sword, and Connin stepped back, arms spread. "Friends, Your Highness. We've always known who you are. If we meant you harm, we could have killed you in your sleep any time in the last ten years. Please, eat with us."

  Warin sheathed his sword, uneasy but pragmatic, and sat down by the fire. The old woman handed him a bowl of rabbit stew and a hunk of brown bread to sop in it. "Prince Warin, I gave you your prophecy at your naming, as I do for every royal son. You didn't like yours, and so you ran away."

  Warin stared into the fire until his eyes dried out. "I swore I would never take the throne, or marry, if it meant my father's murder."

  "Your Highness, our fortunes find us wherever we are," murmured the Queen.

  "I never understood Hildin's prophecy: 'As a rabbit, so a man.'"

  "You will," she said in a changed voice.

  He looked up; a beautiful, dark woman with a round face and bright eyes had taken the crone's place. He blinked. She became grizzled and withered again, but her dark eyes still twinkled and danced. He shivered. "I want to find Emmae and take her home with me. She's mine whether we marry or no. You know who she is, don't you?"

  She nodded. "Her real name is Edmerka. She's the only child of King Fredrik of Leute."

  "A princess?" he gasped. That changed everything. He couldn't take her back to the cottage; her father would never allow it, and in good conscience he knew it would be wrong to keep her from her duty. Besides, he couldn't marry her. When he guessed she was the daughter of a merchant, not standing before Pagg sat easier in his mind, but it wouldn't do for a princess.

  The Traveler Queen told him everything: the unpaid debt revenged; the gift of amnesia paid for in maiden's blood. "It cured my son's eyes. Powerful stuff. You noted the mark on her hip? No babies will come before it fades, but the kindling spell will not fade, nor can I remove it."

  "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you for this," said Warin.

  "That you'd be dead before you raised a finger is beside the point," answered Connin. "We'll help you get her back."

  "I have always aided your family," said the Queen. "I bear you no ill will personally, Warin, but the Tremonts are no friends of mine. And yet, I have had no choice but to aid you. All of it done for love, Your Highness." She paused. "The Leutish princess was meant to be enchanted. The Tremontine Heir was meant to find her. The two were meant to fall in love." She leaned forward and patted his knee. "You tried to escape your fate, but fate brought you Emmae. Will you return to the Keep for her? Even with your prophecy?"

  "Yes," rasped Warin. "I can't leave her with Hildin, even...even if she'll never be mine."

  "Then we will go with you. It's faster and safer with us than on your own."

  "Is there any way to remove her curse? Any way at all?"

  "She must bathe in the blood of a king," replied the crone.

  Warin shuddered; if it meant killing his father, or Fredrik of Leute, she was doomed for life. He murmured his thanks, and rose to fetch his bedroll.

  "One last thing, Your Highness?" faltered the Queen. "Have you seen Teacher?"

  "Teacher? Not since I left the Keep," said the startled Warin. "You'd have more recent word than I do. Why not just summon his image in a reflection?"

  The Queen gave him a faint, sad smile. "Good night, Your Highness. It's many days to the Keep, and we start early tomorrow."

  Warin lay on his bedroll, eyes following cinders into the night sky. If he went back for Emmae, he would be forced to stay and take the throne some day himself. In his youth, he'd dreamed of ruling his people well, until the full import of his prophecy weighed down on him. He had schooled himself then to renounce the throne in spirit as well as fact, and lead a quiet life far from the Keep. That was all over now. His father faced a violent death at Warin's hand.

  He reached into his pouch for the little box; it tangled in Emmae's ribbons, but he fished it out at last. It contained nothing but a mirror inside the lid. "Show me Emmae...Edmerka of Leute," he whispered. When no image came, he tried Hildin, and then Teacher. But the mirror showed him nothing but himself. Warin closed the box, sad but relieved; he hadn't seen her, but he also hadn't seen what his brother might be doing to her.

  He closed his eyes. If he had to return to the Keep, he would become king in time. Perhaps, he thought as he drifted off, he could then atone for his father's death and remove Emmae's enchantment with his own life's blood.

  As the days passed, Hildin and Gian came to Emmae every night, and sometimes during the day as well; she had no choice but to enter into everything they did to her. "I will break you soon," Hildin said once. "Every time I take you, you are a little less hesitant, a little more eager. Fight harder, darling, I'm not tired of it yet!" She cried aloud, in ecstasy and despair, and Gian licked the tears from her cheeks.

  Emmae grew despondent. Meg told the Prince the girl never slept; Hildin took to using the enchanted ring to force sleep upon her.

  Meanwhile, King Gethin fell from madness to near-unconsciousness; his time drew short. Hildin sat with him, watching him sleep, until his father roused and took his hand. "Warin? I knew you'd return," said the King, his voice weak and crackling, as if he breathed through water.

  "I am Hildin, sir," grated the son. "Warin is dead."

  "Warin dead?" wept Gethin. "Oh, my son, my only son!" Hildin snatched his hand away. Gethin cried himself into stertorous insensibility.

  The Prince scowled into the fire; he planned to use Warin's girl harshly tonight. Teacher entered, a man in Leutish livery following. "A messenger from King Fredrik of Leute, sir."

  The messenger bowed himself in half, and presented a parchment to Hildin; Hildin unrolled it to find a drawing of a handsome older man with an aquiline nose and a grave face, a jeweled circlet above his brow. "My master, King Fredrik," said the messenger. "The scroll is keyed to the King of Tremont, Your Highness," he added.

  "The King is indisposed," said Hildin. "He named me Regent, and as such I stand in his stead." He shot a gloating look at Teacher. "If a magical object...say, a scroll, or even a person...is tied to the King, I may command it." The messenger bowed again.

  "Speak! I listen," Hildin said to the parchment.

  The drawing blinked as if awakening from a nap. "King Gethin?" it said. "Oh--Prince Hildin! Where's your father?"

  "He is on his deathbed," said Hildin. "I am Prince Regent and act for the kingdom."

  "Your brother?"

  "Is dead. I am the Heir."

  Fredrik's drawing nodded in thought. "I see. Very sad. I grieve for your father already. He was ever a good neighbor, and a pious man, and your brother was a brave warrior whose counsel I have missed." Hildin ground his teeth, but nodded. "I have need of a good neighbor and counselor now," continued the drawing. "I seek news of my only child and heir, the Princess Edmerka. She disappeared near our mutual border three spokes ago, and though I fear bandits, I've received no request for ransom. We've searched everywhere to no avail, though I have respected our treaties and have not crossed the Western Branch of the Leute. I beg for your assistance, since my magic stops at our border."

  Hildin's ears pricked up; Warin's hut lay near the border. "We share your deep concern," he said. "Why did you not contact us sooner?"

  "For the first two spokes, we thought she lived safe at Allerach, the seat of my wife's family, until the captain of her guards was found raving in a village many miles from there. He had no memory, not of my d
aughter nor even of himself. When I arrived at Allerach, Baron Aller was completely unconcerned--said he assumed we'd changed our minds. He is also no longer a Baron, as he is missing his head." The drawing drew its brows together. "We have searched for my daughter ever since. We've found most of her retinue, all witless and raving. I am frantic. If you find her, Your Highness, I shall give her to you in gratitude. Your father and I have often spoken of alliance. There is no one to rule after me, though I have tried and tried to get a son. I have no nephews, nor cousins however distant--not even bastards. Our blood has grown thin over the centuries. Through marriage to my daughter, perhaps my grandson--your son--will rule here in Leute. After the way King Gethin and Prince Warin led us against the Northern Incursions--"

  "Your Majesty," interrupted Hildin, "We will undertake the search this very night. I shall find her for you and happily take her to wife. I will speak to you in this way again as soon as I have word." Hildin rolled the parchment up, the drawing's mouth still open to respond.

  Hildin dismissed the messenger and strode from the King's chambers, Gian and Teacher close behind. "Gian, quickly. Two mirrors to our guest's room." Gian ran off.

  "Guest?" said Teacher as they climbed the stairs. "Your Highness, is there something you have not told me?"

  Hildin laughed. "Nothing that would concern you until now." He arrived before the chamber above his own, and pressed his ring against a small stone in the wall. A hidden door opened. "After you," said Hildin.

  On the bed lay Emmae, the sleeping ring upon her finger. "Who is this girl? Why have you put her to sleep? Those rings were not meant for this," said Teacher, crossing to her side.

  "I forbid you to touch that ring," said Hildin. Teacher's hands pulled back as if burned. "Such a glare, but so obedient," chuckled the Prince. "Who is this girl? We shall see."

  Gian arrived, carrying two small mirrors. Hildin set one on the bedside table, Emmae's slumbering form reflected in it. The other he set before him. "Show me the Princess Edmerka."