by Anne Logston
Kayli scrabbled for her bow case, but by the time she drew her bow and strung it, Terralt had turned his gelding and run it solidly into the Sarkond’s mount, leaping from his saddle to bear the raider down to the ground with him. The two fought with swords, but so closely that in the confusion of dark and rain Kayli did not dare fire a shot lest she hit Terralt. Even as she came to that conclusion, however, Terralt made a fatal strike and the raider collapsed to the ground, unmoving.
Terralt spared no time to enjoy his victory; he was back in the saddle before Kayli finished repacking her bow. Panting, he snatched up Maja’s reins, and Kayli saw blood on his sleeve.
“Are you badly hurt?” she asked, reaching toward him. Terralt shook his head impatiently.
“Just a scratch,” he said. “We’d better move on quickly. He couldn’t have been alone.”
Kayli had to admit the sense of his words, and she made no protest as Terralt once more spurred his gelding to a gallop. Thankfully no other Sarkondish raiders materialized out of the rain, although Kayli could not resist the impulse to glance behind her every few moments.
It unnerved her to ride on and on by night, with not so much as moonlight to guide their way. How could Terralt possibly know where they were going in the darkness and the rain? Surely the night must be nearly over, but the darkness continued; only Kayli’s energy was fading. She was grateful for her Bregondish saddle; it had been made for just such long rides, even equipped with special straps to be buckled across the thighs so that the rider could sleep in the saddle if necessary. Now Kayli regretted that she had never developed such skill; a few moments of rest would have been a great blessing. As time passed, Kayli mustered every bit of her temple discipline to hold out just one moment longer, and then one more, and then one more...even her cold, wet skin and her helpless shaking were no longer enough to keep her alert. When she thought she could bear not a single moment more, Terralt pulled the horses to a halt under a cluster of trees. Kayli thought he had decided to camp after all, but they paused only long enough to let the horses regain their wind, then rode on. Kayli surreptitiously swallowed a stimulant potion from her pack, but the potion roused only a brief renewal of strength and warmth from a body already drained of its resources. She huddled in Terralt’s cloak, clung to the saddle, and endured.
At last a dim gray light appeared behind the heavy clouds, but neither the rain nor Terralt’s speed diminished. As the potion she’d drunk wore off, Kayli was forced to buckle the saddle straps across her thighs. After that there was nothing to do but hold the cloak closed, clutch the raised pommel of the saddle—and what, she wondered dully, had become of the lovely hawk Randon had given her?—as she drifted in and out of consciousness, dozing and then jerking upright again.
Maja halted so suddenly that Kayli was thrown forward and would have fallen were it not for the sturdy straps. Even so, she only half woke, blearily realizing that they were surrounded no longer by wetland countryside, but by stone walls, a courtyard of some sort, and that people flocked around them.
There was a confusing babble of voices, but Kayli was too weak to translate the rapid Agrondish and could only sit limply while hands fumbled to unbuckle the straps holding her in the saddle.
She drifted out of consciousness as she was lifted from the saddle but half woke again sometime later when she realized she had been lowered into a large hot bath. The warmth was so delicious that Kayli struggled to stay conscious, but in vain. She roused again only when someone held a cup to her lips; remembering only that she was fasting, she struggled weakly to push the cup away, spitting out the bitter liquid.
She recognized Terralt’s voice, and this time she could follow the Agrondish.
“She said she was on some kind of fast. She was drinking potions out of that bag.”
A strange voice. “She’s half-starved and chilled through. I’m afraid she’ll get the choking sickness if I can’t get something into her. Still, I don’t dare risk poisoning her by mixing potions. What can she have?”
“I don’t know.” Terralt’s voice was heavy with irritation. “I was escorting her, not feeding her. Broth. Tea. That’s all I saw her take.”
Some immeasurable time later another cup was put to her lips, and Kayli smelled rich broth. She drank gratefully; when the cup was empty, she was given more, and she drank that, too. Voices faded in and out, but she paid them no heed. She was safe; that was all she needed to know. She let herself slide back down into sleep, and this time she was in no hurry to wake.
Some indefinable time later Kayli awoke slowly, luxuriously, relishing the soft warmth of the bed in which she lay, the familiar crackling of a fire somewhere nearby. She sighed with pleasure and opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Endra’s face, a deep cut down one cheek and a large purple bruise framing her left eye, but Endra nonetheless.
“Well, good morn to you, lady, or good afternoon, rather.” Endra chuckled. “You’ve had everyone dithering, most of them afraid the fragile lady would drop dead of a simple chill. I knew you were a tougher weed than that, eh, lady?”
“Most assuredly.” Her voice was rough and hoarse; Kayli cleared her throat, and Endra poured her a cup of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. Kayli pushed the cup aside. “How long has it been since the attack?”
“Two days.” Endra pushed the cup back into Kayli’s hand and gazed at her sternly until Kayli, drank. “I lit out close on your trail—what I could see of it in such a storm—with three of the guards. Once they knew you were headed for Tarkesh, we did the same, but you still bested us by half a day.”
Kayli swallowed the last of the water and impatiently pushed herself up into a sitting position.
“What of the other maids?” she asked.
“The guards said three rode off toward Bregond,” Endra said. “When the last of the raiders fled, Anida and Devra and Brother Santee rode ahead with some of the guards. They’ve arrived. There’s no news of the three who rode west.”
“But the other?” Kayli pressed.
“The guards say Dena was taken by the raiders,” Endra said quietly. “I’m sorry, my lady.”
Kayli knew what that meant. By now Dena would have ended her own life, as would any Bregondish citizen captured by enemies, so she could not be made to betray her country’s secrets. In Dena’s case, however, a quick death would have spared her other torments.
“I will send word to my father,” Kayli said grimly. “Much Sarkondish blood will spill for this.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, my lady,” Endra said gently. “There was nothing any of us could have done. Are you well enough to rise and dress? Lord Randon is eager to meet you.”
Kayli nodded, for once glad that there were Anida and Devra and Endra to help her dress and arrange her hair. When she looked in the mirror, she was dismayed at her appearance—there were huge dark circles under her eyes, her lips were dry, and her cheeks were hollow; beneath her golden-brown skin, she was pale and wan. In the Order she had never worn the powders, creams, and rouges some of her sisters used to enhance their beauty, but now she was glad Endra had brought them. As she was, Lord Randon would likely think her diseased and half-dead.
When Kayli was as presentable as Endra and the maids could make her, she opened the door. To her surprise, there were two guards outside her door—was she a prisoner? She was somewhat reassured when both guards bowed deeply to her, and one of them said (in slow, careful Agrondish, as if to a child), “Good afternoon, Lady Kayli. We have been assigned to guard and protect you. May we be of any service?”
Did Lord Randon fear assassins in his very castle?
“I thank you,” Kayli said in Agrondish, bowing in return. “I would be grateful if you would escort me to Lord Randon.”
“He will be greatly pleased by your recovery,” the first guard said, smiling. “Come, I’ll take you to him now.”
One of the guards remained outside the door to her room (so no assassin could enter? Kayli wondered), and the ot
her led her through corridors and down a flight of stairs. He stopped at a set of large double doors and knocked, then opened the door.
“My lords, the lady Kayli of the High House of Bregond,” the guard said, standing aside for Kayli to enter. Kayli took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The room was a study perhaps, for books lined shelves on the walls, and the two men in the room were sitting at a long table strewn with books and scrolls. Terralt was pointing to a passage in one of the books; the tall, slender man beside him with the amazing red-brown hair must be Lord Randon, her betrothed.
Both men rose and came forward.
“Well, here she is, brother,” Terralt said, grinning. “Delivered safe and sound, just as I promised you.”
Lord Randon gave his half-brother a scowl before he turned to bow deeply to Kayli.
“I’m honored to meet you, lady,” he said in halting Bregondish. “I’m Randon.”
“Lord Randon,” Kayli murmured, flushing at the awkward situation. Terralt’s presence made it worse. Hesitantly she extended her hand; Lord Randon took it gingerly, as if he did not know what to do with it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pausing slightly before each word. “I’ve had little time to learn your customs or your language.”
“Then we will speak in your language instead,” Kayli said, hoping her Agrondish was less clumsy and accented than Randon’s Bregondish. “As I am to live in your land, it is fitting that I learn your language and your ways, and not you mine.”
Terralt burst out laughing.
“What did I tell you, little brother?” he said. “Speaks it like one of us. And you should see her ride.” He chuckled, making his comment an innuendo. “But doubtless you will.”
“Terralt!” Lord Randon scowled. “Enough of that. Go and find the priests, please, and see if they’re finished conferring. This is difficult enough for all of us.”
Terralt gave an exaggerated sigh, bowed extravagantly to Kayli, and stepped out without another word. Randon turned back to Kayli with an apologetic grin. Kayli noted for the first time that Randon had the same magnetic, sparkling eyes as Terralt, but his were brilliantly green without any of the brown in Terralt’s eyes. Kayli was relieved that Randon was more sun-browned than Terralt, probably because of his riding and hunting; it might be normal for Agronds to be so fair, but Kayli could not entirely shake off the impression that these pale folk looked sickly. At least he had a proper mustache, and no hair on his chin.
“Please pardon Terralt,” Randon said quietly. “The weeks since my father declared me Heir have been difficult for him. He feels he’s been cheated, and I’m inclined to agree. He served Father well for years, and I’m ill-prepared for ruler-ship—and no one knows that better than Terralt.” He stopped, signing and shaking his head. “Forgive me. I’m babbling like a fool. Please, sit down.” He saw Kayli’s hesitation and added, “Unless you need to send for one of your maids?”
In Bregond it would have been highly improper for Kayli to be alone in a closed room with a man, but that seemed silly when she’d traveled so far to marry him. She smiled and sat down in one of the chairs near the fireplace. Randon hesitated, then sat down in a chair facing hers.
“My instincts nag me to offer you something to drink,” Randon said ruefully. “But I’m told you’re fasting, much to Stevann’s—my healer, that is—disgust. May I ask how long you’re expected to-continue your fast?”
Kayli flushed. She had not expected to be asked about it.
“Until our wedding night,” she told him.
Randon raised an eyebrow, a gesture strikingly similar to Terralt’s.
“Do all Bregondish brides starve themselves, or only the noble ones?”
“Neither,” Kayli said. She had to smile. “It is a—a custom of my Order.”
“Then I trust you won’t object to a hasty wedding.” Randon cleared his throat. “In fact, it would be best if we were married immediately, if you don’t mind. The wedding, my succession, are unpopular with most of the nobility of Agrond, and Terralt has made a formal complaint. We have permission from the advisory council to be married immediately.”
Kayli was surprised.
“They have found me suitable without even meeting me?”
“You’re High Lord Elaasar’s daughter,” Randon said wryly. “That makes you suitable.” He hesitated, then said frankly, “Stevann examined you while you were unconscious—in the presence of your midwife, of course—and confirmed your virginity. I beg your pardon for that, but—”
“No. I would have expected as much under the circumstances, although in Bregond a midwife would have performed such a task.” Kayli flushed with embarrassment, but perhaps it was best; at least she had been spared the indignity of such an examination by a stranger—and a man!—while she was conscious. And at least her fast would soon end. “When would you like to have the wedding?”
“Tonight, if you don’t object.” Randon shrugged. “I know it’s short notice. But if you’re well enough—”
“I am well,” Kayli said quickly. “But are there no banns to be posted, none of the noble families to witness?”
Randon grimaced.
“We can’t be crowned until you’ve demonstrated that you can bear my heir,” he said. “Technically, until that time I could set you aside in favor of another woman, or pass the line of succession to Terralt. By our custom, we’d have a formal wedding when you became pregnant, inviting all the lords to witness both the wedding and the coronation. A private wedding now confirms the alliance between our countries and ensures the legitimacy of my heir.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “I’m sorry to speak so plainly. As Terralt is ever reminding me, I’ve spent too much time among peasants.”
“Thank you, but I prefer your honesty.” Kayli took a moment to master herself. So, despite having left behind her life, her dreams, she could still be set aside, renounced as a failure if she failed to bear a child with expected promptness? But of course, if Randon’s Heirship required a successor, he could not afford a wife who would endanger his claim.
“Very well. I can be prepared for our wedding tonight.” Kayli spoke without emotion; in fact she felt empty and numb. “If it reassures you, my midwife Endra and my father’s healers have examined me and assure me that there is no reason I should not bear strong and healthy children.”
“Stevann said the same.” Randon sighed ruefully. “You have no idea how I resent the businesslike nature of this whole arrangement. When Terralt was married to Ynea, at least they’d met a few times at feasts and festivals, and there was no real need for Terralt to hurry about fathering an heir. Not that he was slow about it anyway.” He sighed again. “Forgive me, lady. I’m sure Terralt’s told you what a dreadful husband I’ll make. I can only promise my best effort, and my respect, which will be all the greater if you can bear with me through this nastiness.”
He said this in such an earnest, almost pleading manner that under other circumstances Kayli might have laughed. How different he was from the cocky, self-assured Terralt! As it was, she couldn’t quite keep a smile from her lips.
“I have no doubt that there will be harsher tests of our mettle than a hasty wedding,” she said quietly. “Nonetheless I have spent my life learning to accept and meet challenges presented to me. When failure is unacceptable, the motivation to success is greatest.” She chuckled to herself; she’d repeated that adage over and over as she prepared for her first firewalk.
Then she glanced at the door again.
“Where is Brother Santee?” she asked. “I thought you sent Terralt for him.”
“Not for him,” Randon said. “Your priest was injured in the raid. He’ll recover, Stevann says, but he’s not well enough to perform the ceremony.”
Kayli’s heart sank. She’d fully expected to be wed in a proper Bregondish bloodbonding; would her people even recognize some outlandish Agrondish rite? Would her children be considered illegitimate in Bregond?
“I sent our pri
est to see him,” Randon continued. “He’ll perform both rituals so that we can be wed by your customs as well as ours. Your Brother Santee insisted that he be carried down for the wedding so he could at least prompt the priest if he forgot anything. Is that acceptable?”
“More than acceptable,” Kayli said, relieved. She hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on a proper bloodbonding, her one assurance that this marriage was a true one, not merely political prostitution. “I thank you for your consideration.”
“And I thank you for the horses,” Randon said quickly. “They’re wonderful beasts. If not for the circumstances of your arrival, I’d have been in the saddle long before now. I couldn’t have asked for a nobler gift. Were they your choice?”
Kayli couldn’t suppress a flush of pride at his words.
“They were the finest in my father’s stables,” she said. “I was so pleased by the beautiful hawk you sent.” She sighed. “I fear he was lost in the raid and is likely seeking a mate of his own somewhere between our two countries.”
“No matter,” Randon said quickly. “I’ll take you to the mews and you can choose another.” He hesitated. “Lady Kayli, I want to make this as easy for you as I can. Of course I need an heir, but you may keep your own rooms and—”
Kayli chuckled a little bitterly, remembering her own hopes that her husband, like Jaenira’s, might not trouble her overmuch. Somehow her attitude had changed in the intervening days. She had given up too much in the name of this alliance. If this marriage must be, she would not let Randon or anyone else make a mere travesty of it.
