by Sean Russell
“Will we never be together again?”
“I hope we will. We’ll see where the river takes us.” Shekissed his cheek with great tenderness, then drew away. He felt the loss of herthe moment she left his embrace-almost more than he could bear.
“I have brought you something,” she said, her voice barelymore than a whisper. She placed an object in his hands.
Carral ran his hands over it quickly. “It is a mask.”
“Yes.”
“Why is it wet?”
“It has been in the river.”
“And what am I to do with it?”
“It is not for you, father. It is for Lady Llyn-a gift ofthe nagar. If she will wear it, and not remove it, her scars will be healed.”Elise paused. “She will be whole again-beautiful.”
“Ahh,” Carral said softly, but his first thought was, thenwhy would she love a blind man like me? She would marry Toren, certainly.He turned the mask over in his hands. These thoughts were unworthy of him, herealized. He should be overjoyed that Llyn could be healed.
“I would do the same for you, Father, but you did not loseyour sight. You were born without it. It cannot be restored.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have been blind my whole life. It isn’ta hardship. But if Lady Llyn can be healed …” His voice disappeared,suddenly.
Elise stepped forward and embraced him again. She kissedhim. He could feel how hard it was for her to release him. There was that, atleast.
He heard her steps on the gravel.
“Elise!”
The steps stopped. “Yes?”
“You have given up everything to fight this war-” He losthis voice, emotion stealing it away.
“I am the daughter of Carral Wills. How could I have doneless?” Her footsteps retreated through the garden, growing more and moredistant as though she had passed through a wall and out into the hostile worldbeyond.
He collapsed onto a low stone bench and wept like a child. No.He’d wanted to say. Your strength came from your mother, but it was toolate, too late to say so many things.
Forty-seven
Dease entered the ballroom. He had not been there since thecostume ball that ended the Westbrook Fair-and began so much else. There wasfurniture in there, now, as there was much of the year. Tapers cast their warmglow over the gathered masses: a crowd of his cousins and aunts and uncles.They were a subdued lot, even somber. Escaping destruction by the Wills andtheir allies would do that, Dease thought. Almost none of them knew the truestory. That would have sobered them for some years.
“Dease! Returned and looking hale,” an uncle said, clappinghim on the back. And then in a more intimate tone. “Do you have any idea whatthis is in aid of?”
“I haven’t, Uncle. I was sent a message that Toren wanted tosee me most urgently.”
“Ah. Well, here’s Toren. Perhaps he will have the goodnessto explain why we are here on this night of all nights.”
A hush of expectation fell as Toren entered. He was followedby a scribe and several servants bearing boxes of what appeared to be paper,documents of some sort. Behind them all came Lady Beatrice. The boxes were seton a long trestle table.
“Well, Cousin,” someone said, “it is comforting to know thatyou love us all so well that you have asked us here while leaving so manyothers uninvited. Yet I can’t help but notice that we are the Renne mostclosely related to you. A coincidence, I’m sure.”
“As you suspect, Cousin,” Toren said. “It is no coincidence.We all lie in the succession from my father to … well, I will get to that.”Toren took a few paces across the end of the large room, gathering histhoughts. He was dressed in somber clothes and wore a black velvet ribbonaround his arm. He had lost no immediate family member in the battle, thoughnumerous men and women present were not so lucky, and they wore the elaborateblack clothing of mourning.
“Let me begin by saying that if anyone realized how closethe Renne have just come to utter defeat there would be no celebration going onthis night. The feud between Wills and Renne almost brought to ruin more thanour own fortunes.”
“So why is there a Wills still living in this castle?”someone called out.
“A good question,” Toren said. “And the answer is that he isthe future of a continuing peace with the Wills.”
There was some murmuring among the thirty or so Renne present,but no one would say more. Carral Wills was respected even there, and he wasthe guest of Lady Beatrice, whose presence prevented any more criticism.
Dease closed his eyes, and felt something inside grow stilland cold. Toren was talking about Llyn. Llyn.
“You tried to make peace with the Wills before this warbroke out, Cousin,” a woman said. “We know that it isn’t possible.”
“I think it is possible,” Toren said. “In truth, it isessential.”
There was the briefest silence while people absorbed this.
“Carral Wills might be a man of honor,” Dease’s uncleoffered, “and he might uphold a peace between us, but what of his grandchildren?Will they?”
“They will if they’re Renne.”
This caused a little whispering, some quizzical looks. Morethan one person glanced at Dease as though he might have an explanation.
“Most of us have heard the rumor that Lord Carral has fallenunder the spell of one of the ladies of the castle. No need to name which one.Even if they were to have children, his daughter lies in the succession claimedby her family. And subsequent children would be pushed aside.”
“Lady Elise has renounced her family’s claims. She isleaving the old kingdom this night, and I don’t expect we will see her againfor many years.”
The Renne were looking one to another, uncomfortable withwhere this discussion appeared to lead.
“Let us stop being coy,” one woman said caustically. “IfLord Carral and Lady Llyn have children, they will be raised among the Wills.Their children will be of that family and forget any allegiance to the Renne.And what has all this to do with us?”
Toren looked up at the crowd then, determination burning inhis eyes. Dease had seen this look before many a tournament.
“I am proposing this. No. That is not strong enough. We haveonly one path to continued survival: the Renne and the Wills must be joinedinto one family. Lady Llyn must be made the legal heir to Renne aspirations.”
The room fell utterly silent. Dease looked around at thestunned faces, his precious relatives staring, slack-jawed, at the madman beforethem.
Dease took a deep breath. If he had learned one thing inthese past weeks it was that he was unworthy of Llyn’s favor. He took a stepforward. “If that is what the documents are for,” Dease said loudly, “I willsign away my claims in the succession.” He walked up to the table. “Where is aquill and ink?”
“I won’t sign such a document,” a lady said firmly, “norwill I stay here and listen to this”-the woman glanced over at Lady Beatriceand decided to choose her words more carefully-“proposal.”
“Why?” Dease said, turning on the woman, unable to hide hisanger. “Do you think you will one day come to the throne? There is no throne,and you are so far down the list of succession that neither you nor yourchildren will ever sit at the head of the Renne table. Toren is offering aresolution to our dilemma. The child of Llyn and Lord Carral would be the headof both houses. There would be no hatred to fuel our feud.”
“Such a child would be a Wills,” someone called out angrily.
“No. The child would be a Renne-Wills,” Toren said. “Thechild of both houses.”
“But it is said that Lady Llyn loves another,” a womanargued. Which caused Lady Beatrice to shift uncomfortably in her chair.
This stopped Toren for a moment, and Dease wondered if hehad an answer. “Her heart has changed,” he said softly.
“But why not a union between you and Elise Wills?” a womanwondered. “That would make giving up our claims unnecessary.”
“Llyn and Lord Carral will bring peace, I believe,” Torensaid almost sadly. “Lady Elise
and I are only suited for war.”
Fondor had said nothing until this point, but now he steppedforward. “Only Toren is making a sacrifice, for he is the heir of Renneaspirations. The rest of us are only giving up a dream. I will give up a dreamfor peace.”
“As will I,” said Kel. “And if more of you had fought in therecent battles, you would not be hesitating as you are now. In truth you aresigning away nothing. Signing away nothing for a chance at lasting peace. Iwould take that chance in hopes that my sons would not give their lives to afeud they did not make.”
“I will sign your papers,” one of Toren’s cousins said. Shewas dressed in black, her face a mask of anguish. “I have lost one son thisday. I would give up anything to save others this sorrow.”
Toren’s secretary found the appropriate document. Shesigned, and Dease acted as first witness, Lady Beatrice as second witness. Thewoman’s hand trembled a little as she wrote her name, but her resolve was firm.Her husband signed after her, though he said nothing and met no one’s eye.
Fondor and Kel both signed their documents without hesitation,showing solidarity among the men who had fought. Two others who had fought inthe battle came forward, embracing Toren first, then signing away their claims.
Dease felt the whole enterprise balanced on a sword’s edge.If one person refused, all would be lost. Toren had shown great insight togather everyone together in one room. They could see the others committingthemselves to this course. Anyone who refused would be remembered as the onewho had thwarted a chance for peace, and all subsequent deaths in battle withthe Wills would be laid at that person’s doorstep.
As each person signed, the pressure on those remaining increased.Dease thought all would be for naught, as in the end a particularly stupidaunt and uncle refused to sign. But the rest of those present surrounded themand bullied them into signing. It wasn’t quite the way Dease had hoped it wouldgo, but everyone signed.
Toren signed last-the only one who really signed away anyrights-and, though he didn’t hesitate, Dease thought his face went a littlepale.
“It is done,” Toren said as he blotted his signature. “LadyLlyn is now the heir to all Renne claims and effectively head of the family-Llynand her children after her.”
Lady Beatrice came forward and kissed him on both cheeks,her pride unspoken but hidden from no one. Dease found he had to sit down. Hebeckoned a servant and asked for wine, and when it came he drained his glass inone draught. It didn’t help. He had lost everything he once valued, and thisnight he had lost twice, though neither had been his to possess.
I have given up my hopes, he thought. Letsome good come of it.
Forty-eight
Lady Beatrice stood with her hand upon the stack of documents,looking a little uncertain. Toren pushed open the shutters, letting the nightair spill in over the windowsill.
“Nothing like this has ever been done in the long history ofthe Renne. Thirty-one people gave up their claim to the throne, all in onenight. I fear come morning there will be some who regret this decision.”
“Too late. It is done,” Toren said. He closed his eyes andlet the cool air bathe his face.
“Not quite done. There is one more person who must agree tothis course. I expect you’ll want me to speak to her?”
“No. I will do this myself, Mother.”
“You should have spoken to her before you did this.”
“She wouldn’t have agreed. But now …. I have some leverage.”Toren turned away from the window and gazed at his mother standing in the lightof a chandelier. Her face seemed flushed in the candles’ warm light. “I willtell you honestly, Mother, I would rather face the servants of Death than woundLlyn.”
“It is not a wound. It is release. She will be free to giveher love to Carral Wills, who loves her with all his open heart. You are allthat stops her.”
Toren nodded.
“You are giving up a great deal this night, my son,” LadyBeatrice said. “First your position in the family, now the adoration of awoman whom I respect more than almost any other. Who will you be in themorning?”
“I will be the champion of Lady Llyn and Carral Wills and oftheir children-that is if they will let me.”
“I think they will consider it an honor.”
“Then I have one last task this night.” Toren bowed to hismother and turned toward the door.
“Toren?” Lady Beatrice said, stopping him in his tracks. “Itwill be more difficult than you know, giving up your position. People will stilllook to you for leadership, for answers.”
“I know, but I will not undermine Llyn and Lord Carral.Their authority must be paramount. Too much depends on it.”
Llyn was surprised to have a visitor at this hour, let aloneToren saying that it was most urgent. Llyn stood in the garden beneath theshadows of a lace maple, the silhouette of Toren visible above. She thought himbeautiful even in this poor light, his bearing noble without being proud. Itwas one of the things she loved about him.
For a second she glanced down at the golden mask she held inher hands. It was still wet and did not seem to dry. Just the thought of itstole her breath away.
“You are hurt,” Lynn said.
“I’ve sustained greater wounds in tournaments, if truth istold. A few days will see me whole.”
“I am glad of that.”
Toren fell silent, and Llyn sensed he had some news that hedid not want to give. Someone has died! she thought suddenly.
“You have something to tell me,” she prompted.
“Yes,” Toren admitted. “I have come from a council withnews.” He drew himself up a little. “I have renounced my claims to the mythicalthrone and will no longer sit at the head of the Renne council table.”
“Oh,” Llyn said as though she’d been pinched. “I suppose Ishould not be surprised. Dease, then, has taken up your duties?”
“No, Dease has signed away his own claims, as have severalothers.”
“What in this strange world is going on beyond my garden?Who is the titular head of the Renne now?”
“You, Llyn.”
She laughed. “It is late for jokes, Cousin,” she chided.
“It is not a joke, Llyn. It’s the truth. We have all givenup our place in the succession in favor of you.”
A cool wind seemed to blow through her. She felt as thoughshe balanced upon a precipitous ledge and dared not look down. “This is notright. No one spoke to me of this.”
“You would have refused.”
“I do refuse,” she said hastily. “I will not accept thisresponsibility.”
“Even if it means the end of our feud with the Wills andpeace for our children and their children after them?”
Llyn sat down upon the small bench beneath the tree. “Cousin,please …” she pleaded. “You can’t ask this of me.”
“And I won’t, if you insist, but let me ask you this. Do youlove Carral Wills?”
She glanced down at the mask she still held in her hands,then up at the obscured silhouette of Toren Renne. Her mouth went dry, and thewords evaporated.
She loved them both-Carral and Toren. She also knew whyToren was asking this question. And she knew what answering it would mean.
“Llyn?” Toren said softly. “I love you as a sister, but LordCarral … he loves you as you deserve to be loved.” Toren took a quickbreath. “Your children will be the heirs of both our houses-Renne and Wills.They will be our hope for peace.”
She felt herself nod, and glanced down again at the mask sheturned in her hands. But I will be healed, she thought. You will beable to look upon me without pity or revulsion. You might even think me …beautiful.
She knew these thoughts were not worthy of her-but she couldnot deny her feelings. Shame. She had felt shame all her life. Shamethat she was a monster. That people couldn’t look upon her without horror.
“We are asking a great sacrifice, I know. But peace Llyn…. Is it not worth any sacrifice?”
She felt herself nod. “Yes,” she whi
spered, the single wordsounding like a final judgment.
“Of course, if you don’t love Lord Carral,” Toren said, “thenyou should refuse.”
“I do love him,” she said, and turned her gaze up. She couldjust see Toren through the leaves, his perfect frame dark against the lightspilling from within. How long had he embodied everything she hoped for? Toolong, apparently.
“Then you will accept this?” Toren asked.
“Lord Carral has not asked for my hand.”
Toren seemed a bit surprised. “Perhaps he needs to be sureof your feelings for him.”
“Perhaps.”
“May I tell Lady Beatrice that you have agreed?”
“I will speak with her myself.”
Toren nodded. “Llyn …? I owe you thanks. I know how difficultthis will be for you.”
“No you don’t,” Llyn whispered to herself.
Toren hesitated a second. “Good night to you, Cousin.”
“And you,” she answered.
Llyn sat for a while after Toren had gone, feeling morehollow than the mask she turned over and over. All her hopes for so many yearshad centered on Toren, as foolish as they had been. She had always known that,but her feelings were stronger than her reason. Just a brief moment in hiscompany was all it took to fan them back to flames. And now would the flames goout? She didn’t know. She hoped that they would-and that they would not.
Rising, Llyn went inside and found Lord Carral sitting by anopen window. Without a word she slipped into his lap and pressed her faceagainst him, her eyes closed.
Neither spoke for some time, then Llyn said; “What is it youdo?”
“I am letting the night air wash over me and indulging sentiment,to be honest. Memories have been finding me this evening. Memories of my wife,but of Elise most of all. With a little effort I can recall any number of moments-muchof her life, I suspect.”
“She is still alive, Carral. You must remember that.”
“But if I’m never with her again, is she not dead to me?”
“You will be with her again. I’m sure of it.”
“Why are you so sure?”
