“It’s safer here,” someone piped up from the back. “And we’re treated well. I’d carry eight babies at once if I thought it would keep me here longer.”
Nods traversed the group.
Tae abandoned his preconceived ideas. He selected one woman at random, a thin adult who had apparently already delivered her baby and now worked toward another. “But what about your child?”
“I miss her terribly,” she admitted, yet she smiled. “I’ve met her parents. Her father is gentle and loving. Her mother understands the precious gift a baby is because she’ll never have one of her own. I’ve never seen people so happy, and I know their baby will be happy, too.” The grin broadened. “No act in life so proves a woman’s love as sacrificing her own joy for the welfare of the child she bears. Condemn her to my life?” She shook her head at the very thought. “Keeping that baby would have been the most selfish evil I could commit.”
The woman’s sincerity was undeniable. Tae believed he liked the change in attitude. When he lived among the gangs, most considered a baby a woman’s punishment for sex, whether consenting or inflicted. No one considered the needs of the infant.
The sad stories continued, as well as the affirmations about the best interests of the children. Reacclimatization to the culture of the East saddened Tae to the reality at the same time bringing understanding. Several did describe happy childhoods and marriages that included gentle Eastern husbands and fathers who little resembled the predators who stalked the streets. Yet, Tae realized, he had deliberately chosen the wing of the unmarried. Widowed, raped, and/or orphaned, these women had become as desperate as those born to the streets. Few without a Renshai’s strength and abilities would choose the life they once led over the luxuries and protection of Stalmize Castle.
And Tae was forced to suffer the bane of any nineteen-year-old’s life: this time, at least, his father was right.
* * *
After a morning of discussing normal castle affairs into yawning detail. King Griff was happy to see the three elves entering Béarn’s courtroom, even had he not recognized Tem’aree’ay among them. The grin that filled the female’s features made him giddy. The males fairly danced down the central carpetway, bounding like excited children. The guards shifted, discomforted by the oddness of their approach, but a smile pulled at the corners of Griff’s enormous mouth. He had spent enough time with the lysalf to know that this was their natural state, the sedate shyness they adopted around most humans the peculiarity. It pleased him that they felt comfortable enough in his presence to slip into their normal demeanor.
At the foot of the dais, the two sentries who accompanied them waved to them to stop. Obeying, the males bowed and Tem’aree’ay curtsied.
At Griff’s right, Darris remained still. To his left, Captain Seiryn watched the elves intently. Griff leaned forward, unable to remove the silly grin. “What can I do for you?”
The elf to Tem’aree’ay’s left, Eth’morand, turned sapphire-colored eyes on the king. A blond mop of hair fell across his eyes and in a shaggy mane to his back. “Majesty, our people thought you should know that another lysalf will soon join us.”
Griff recalled how the lysalf came among them, by abandoning Dh’arlo’mé’s command. “Those who leave darkness for light will always be welcome in Béarn. I will have servants prepare quarters for the new arrival.”
The smiles on all three elfin faces broadened, though a moment before Griff would not have believed that possible. The other male, as dark-haired as his companion was light, spoke now, “Sire, thank you for your hospitality. But the new arrival can share quarters with his mother.” He indicated Tem’aree’ay.
The king’s eyes zipped to those of his closest friend. He scarcely dared to believe she had never mentioned she had children. His smile wilted, destroyed by the realization that they did not know one another as well as he once believed. Surely, she realized he adored the younglings. “I wasn’t aware you were a mother, Tem’aree’ay.” He tried to hold sadness from his tone. She might misinterpret it, believing that her offspring would distance him.
“I’m not, Sire.” Tem’aree’ay clearly did not take offense, the smile still plastered on her angular features. “Yet.”
Eth’morand sent khohlar. First came a concept of deep respect, followed by apology for the method of communication. *Lav’rintir said he explained elfin reproduction.* Another impression followed, that of cautious joy, tainted by knowledge. *We do not know which elf died of age. Lav’rintir is eldest, but he has outlived scores. We worry for a competition with the svartalf.* Understanding accompanied the words. Griff came to realize the extent of that worry: whether the infant would turn svartalf if his soul came from that pool. The male knew a desperate concern. If lysalf and svartalf competed for souls, they might find it worth sacrificing a portion of the pool to keep the lysalf from “stealing” the infants. Elfin war could result. He fretted also over the possibility that Captain had died.
Oblivious to the khohlar, Darris nudged King Griff. “Sire, he means she’s having a baby,” he whispered.
An elf baby. Yes, I knew that. A pang of jealousy speared through Griff, though it felt as ludicrous as crying over a colt born to a well-loved mare. He spoke aloud. “Congratulations, lysalf. We’ll have a feast, of course. The population will be ecstatic, though a bit envious, I’m afraid.” He did not mention that he spoke for himself as well.
All three elves shook their heads slightly. Resentment did not exist in their culture, at least it had not before Dh’arlo’mé’s reign of terror.
Tem’aree’ay’s mental voice touched Griff next. *Did Eth’morand explain his concerns?*
Unable to return the khohlar, Griff returned a discreet nod.
*They are immaterial. No one died for this baby. It can only be yours.*
Griff gasped, and all eyes shifted to him. As one, the guards stiffened. Darris and Seiryn crouched, seeking a nonexistent threat. Griff’s mind went back to a night only a week ago. Tem’aree’ay’s casually open sexuality had resulted in innocent exploration. The anatomy proved enough like human’s for coupling, yet it had never occurred to him that offspring could result. Myriad questions clambered for attention at once. How could Tem’aree’ay know so soon? How does she know it’s mine? Is it human or elfin? For the moment, his thoughts refused to run further.
Eth’morand bowed. “Thank you, Sire.” He sent, *I only hope our mourning will not disrupt the feasting. For us, death always precedes life.*
Not this time. Griff wished he could share their silent communication. More than air, he needed Tem’aree’ay’s explanation.
The three elves turned, still grinning, and headed up the carpetway. Tem’aree’ay sent one last message, *Yes, I’m certain. Please, come to my quarters when you’re free, and I’ll explain. I hope you’re not angry.*
Anything but, my love. Griff could scarcely wait for his moments of freedom from the court. For now, he suffered mostly desperate confusion.
CHAPTER 37
Compromise
I make my decisions as quickly as an eye blink, and the more important the decision, the faster I have to make it. I make my choices on the battlefield. Since I’m still alive, I’ve obviously never once made a mistake.
—Colbey Calistinsson
Controlled by threat as well as chains, Kevral allowed Pudar’s prison guards to move her to a cell at the far end of the dungeon. Its odd system of pulleys and slots allowed her nearly full range of movement, but whenever the door cranked open for feeding or other visitation, the chains tightened, jerking her off her feet to pin her helplessly against a granite wall. A square hole, too small to admit her shoulders, vented the prison. Cool air funneled through, chilling the shackles that pinched her wrists and ankles, the metallic coldness aching against bone and flesh.
Despite the indignity and discomfort, Kevral found her new quarters a relief. At least, most times, she could move freely. The guards who had accompanied her there promised that some of
her personal belongings would follow, surely those things she could not turn into weapons to use against prince, sentries, or self. She had never considered herself attached to objects, yet she knew a flutter of emptiness at the loss of some. The missing swords pained the most, a suffering she could bear no more easily than the sacrifice of her own arms. She thought of the historical book about Colbey that Tae had gifted, stolen, and returned. She also missed his other presents: a carven figurine of the most famous of Renshai riding into battle, and the strange, green gem that was Dh’arlo’mé’s missing eye. Visions of the crime lord’s son drifted into her mind now: long, black hair a magnet for twigs, leaves, and dirt; his eyes containing an evident spark of wit; the dangerous features that concealed a gentle caring few understood. She wondered, as she had so many times before, whether he had ever made peace with his father, and, if so, what that peace had bought him.
Thoughts of others followed swiftly: Ra-khir’s unsparing face filled her mind’s eye next, his green eyes holding a promise of eternal love. She saw Matrinka and Mior, Darris and Griff, Captain and his many followers. She missed them all and, Kevral realized mournfully, she might never see them again.
The train of thought gained Kevral nothing, only added to the sense of helplessness that had never before seemed within her Renshai repertoire. She sought solace where she’d always found it in the past, springing into a wild flurry of svergelse. Reasonably well fed and watered, now a night beyond childbirth, she found more strength than at her previous practice. Again, she dedicated self and swordplay to the deities of Renshai, a frenzied whirlwind of prayer that begged direction. She had seen waves bashing against Béarn’s cliffs, had heard of a volcano that hurled tons of rock for miles. She patterned herself after these, seeking the unbridled strength they represented.
Chain clattered against granite with every movement, and the edges of the manacles carved skin from Kevral’s wrists. As before, her gaze etched a sword-form from the dank shadows of Pudar’s dungeon, tricking her mind into accepting its reality. The blade skipped through the air, weaving through imagined defenses and cutting enemies who now all bore the likeness of King Cymion. All except one. As Kevral pirouetted through a complicated Renshai maneuver, a lithe human figure appeared amid the army of Cymions. Feathered blond hair barely moved, though the sinewy muscles arched and thrust in a ceaseless motion that stopped Kevral in mid-lunge and held her spellbound.
Then, icy blue-gray eyes met hers, and the warrior who exactly resembled Colbey leaped toward her with an animal snarl of challenge. His sword jabbed toward her, trailing a multicolored wake of sparks. She jerked hers upward, a clumsy but effective parry. Less than a heartbeat later, he jerked free and sliced for her head. Kevral dodged, her foot slamming down on a chain that bruised her instep. Pain incited anger. Changing strategy in that instant, she rammed forward with a blazing assault on Colbey’s neck. Suddenly defensive, he retreated with a laugh of fierce joy. A moment later, he had the upper hand again, but Kevral would never forget the bare instant she had dazzled Colbey Calistinsson.
Colbey waded back in with a brilliant in-and-out attack that left Kevral with an aching hip and no visual memory of the strike. He disengaged only a moment before diving back in with a low feint, followed by a high feint, then a sweep that caught her recovering too late. The side of his sword crashed against her ear. Kevral staggered, tripped over a chain, and slammed to the stone floor. She rolled, avoiding the blade intended to pin her, though the maneuver stamped link-shaped wounds across her spine. Colbey’s tip cut the imaginary sword from her hand. Once it left her grip, it disappeared, and he did not even bother to make a motion as if to catch it.
Kevral scrambled to her feet. “You’re really here, aren’t you?” The realization made her sick. Embarrassed for the humiliation her hero witnessed, she lowered her head and avoided his eyes.
“I’m really here,” Colbey admitted, sheathing his sword. He glanced around the cell.
“I shouldn’t have let this happen,” Kevral whispered. “A Renshai fights to his last ragged breath.”
“A Renshai,” Colbey corrected, “also knows when to fight his battles and which ones to fight.”
Kevral’s brow furrowed, and she rolled her eyes upward to catch him from peripheral vision. “Are you telling me there are times when Renshai may run from battle?” The words seemed too impossible to speak aloud.
“I’m telling you that there are times when a Renshai may avoid battle, when other solutions would serve better.” Colbey paused, apparently awaiting some confirmation or sign of understanding. When none followed, he continued. “Such as when an enraged student, friend, or family member attempts to kill him. Such as when a worthy opponent would prove a better ally than foe.”
Kevral nodded, grasping his meaning but seeing no analogy to her own situation. “But Cymion is neither friend nor worthy.”
Colbey walked to Kevral’s side, kicked away loops of chain, and guided her to the floor. He crouched beside her. “Kevral, let me tell you a story about a Renshai warrior I knew named Vashi. One more dedicated to war and the tenets of our people, you could not have found. One day, we opened a door to a semicircle of enemy archers. Vashi threw herself on them without thinking. She died full of arrows, striking not a single blow of her own. She was the only casualty on our side.”
Kevral reveled in her hero’s attention, though she did not believe she fully understood his point. “She died bravely.”
“Bravely, yes,” Colbey concurred. “But without honor. Her sword claimed no lives. She missed the savage joy of battle that the rest of us not only savored, but survived. It was not her actions I condemn, but her timing. Our enemy had set up that situation to talk. Things might have turned out differently if we had.” A catch in his voice suggested that he wished they had, but he did not elaborate.
Kevral finally shed enough embarrassment to look at Colbey. “You’re telling me to wait for the proper moment to fight King Cymion.”
Colbey shrugged, evasive.
“But, when I’m carrying his grandchild, it’ll be too late.”
“Will it?”
The question struck Kevral dumb. She had never considered it otherwise.
“I’m not omnipotent, Kevral. If you want me to understand the situation, you’ll have to explain it.”
Kevral complied, describing her problem, mostly in general terms while Colbey listened silently, his face displaying nothing judgmental.
He waited until she finished before speaking. “So the healers want you to keep your fertility. The king wants you to produce an heir . . .”
“A female heir,” Kevral corrected. Sudden realization drove a gasp from her. “Gods, I think I finally figured out why they want a girl.”
“Because, since the plague affects females, a boy would leave them with the same dilemma they have now.”
“I’ll bet they’re planning to . . .” Kevral found herself unable to say the words. She made a noise of disgust. “No daughter of mine is going to become a tool for incest.”
Colbey did not need the thought spelled out. His mental powers made such unnecessary, and Kevral’s fear that they would marry or, at least, breed the girl back to Leondis seemed obvious. “I understand what the healers want. And what the king wants. Kevral, what do you want?”
“I want my freedom. I want my sons.” Kevral’s eyes narrowed. “And I want Cymion’s head tumbling off the end of my sword.”
Colbey sighed, the sound grim with impatience. “All right, I’ll rephrase that. Which of your current options do you want?” Kevral did not understand.
“It comes down to this: Do you want to keep your fertility or sacrifice it?”
Kevral shook her head. “It’s not that easy. If I keep my fertility, I have to carry Cymion’s grandchild. If I want my sons, there’s an even chance I’ll have to carry another royal brat. If I lose my fertility, I’m free. And my children, too.” Even as she spoke the words, Kevral wondered if she had the last part rig
ht. Surely Cymion knew the danger loosing her would pose to his own life and, perhaps, those of his guards and citizens. More likely, if her courses started, he would condemn her to death.
“Let’s keep this simple,” Colbey said, ignoring everything she had just proclaimed . . . and thought. “Just answer my question.”
Kevral tried to remember it.
“Do you want to keep your fertility or sacrifice it?” Colbey prompted.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Exactly the problem.” Colbey rose and pressed his back to the wall. “Kevral, you have to learn to make decisions.”
Kevral rose, too. “I make decisions all the time!”
“Is that why you allow two good men to suffer while you find every excuse to delay choosing between them?”
The barb struck a raw wound. Kevral hissed. “What’s that got to do with the other?”
“Everything.” Colbey crossed his arms across his chest.
Kevral stomped on growing rage, in favor of the bottomless respect in which she held this immortal. “I thought it best to marry the baby’s father.”
Colbey corrected, “You hoped the baby’s biology would make the decision for you.”
Need to understand usurped defense. “Do those babies really have different fathers?”
For all his lack of omnipotence, Colbey had, apparently, seen the boys. His tone lost its accusing edge. “It would seem so.”
“Is that possible?”
“Happens all the time with animals. Rare among people, but you wouldn’t be the first.” Harshness returned to Colbey’s voice, “You’re dodging the decision again.”
“I told them to see others.” Kevral turned away.
“In the vain hope one might fall in love with another woman and, once again, make the decision for you.” No sounds of movement came from Colbey’s direction, but the breeze from the vent did cut off momentarily. “You’ve made them prisoners every bit as much as you are now.”
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