Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1]

by Michelle L. Levigne

  It was good her mother looked so radiant and strong and happy now. Appearances were half the battle facing them this evening. If Lady Arriena looked worn or unhappy, it would be a sign Maxil had beaten them, even if only momentarily.

  The cream-colored, flowing gown with rose flounces and sleeve linings and collar suited Lady Arriena, enhancing her golden and rose coloring. Andrixine knew her mother was fit to appear in the king's court.

  In contrast, Andrixine wore black pants, white shirt and black vest. It would enhance the cream-brown of the scabbard, making her seem like a vision from a troubling dream—hopefully her uncle's nightmare.

  "Well, I believe we are ready.” Lady Arriena stood and held out her hand to her daughter.

  They went downstairs arm in arm, supporting each other. Andrixine felt the slight trembling in her mother's arm, and that comforted her, somehow. If her mother was nervous even slightly, then it was permitted for her to be edgy, too.

  They stopped on the other side of the heavy tapestry that served as door and draft-block into the hall. Through the thick wool full of battle scenes and hunts in bright colors, Andrixine heard the clatter of dishes and the scrape of benches as servants finished putting food on the tables and the guests took their places. She smiled, imagining her uncle's puzzled frown when he was told to sit somewhere new tonight.

  Until today, the seat to Lord Edrix's left was Lorien's, as heir. The seat to his right belonged to Lady Arriena, but Lord Edrix had permitted his brother to sit next to him at meals. Tonight both seats were empty, with Lorien two seats down on the left, Derek two seats down on the right—and Maxil at another table entirely. The sudden, unexplained change had to gall the man. Andrixine liked considering it.

  Her sworn warriors were among the guests, strategically placed to ward off trouble if anyone chose to side with Maxil.

  The scraping, rattling and rumbling of voices quieted in the hall as Lord Edrix stood to invoke the evening blessing. Lady Arriena released her daughter's arm and put one hand on the tapestry to push it aside.

  "Bless me, that I may serve fully and well,” Andrixine whispered, resting both hands on the hilt and scabbard of the Spirit Sword. She felt stronger touching it.

  "We have been in mourning,” Lord Edrix said, his voice clear and ringing through the heavy tapestry. “The absence of my lady wife has been hard, but our sadness fades. Hope, as the sages have said, is the greatest elixir of all."

  "Brother.” The smooth, deep voice of Maxil of Faxinor broke in. “Do not raise our hopes, only to have them dashed."

  "Dashed?” Lord Edrix laughed, the sound sharp and bright.

  "You have the ransom money ready. The men who kidnapped Arriena will contact you soon. But can they be trusted?"

  "No, they can't,” Lady Arriena whispered. She shared a bitter smile with her daughter.

  "It doesn't matter,” Lord Edrix said. “We have proof Yomnian does indeed work among us.” His voice grew louder as he stepped off the dais and approached the tapestry.

  Lady Arriena pushed it aside and gave her hand to her husband. A unified gasp rose from the guests as they recognized her. Andrixine pressed one hand over her mouth and bit it to stifle a laugh of triumph. Her uncle's face paled, mouth dropping open, eyes glazing in what could only be confusion.

  With all attention focused on her mother, Andrixine could enter. She slipped past the tapestry and stayed against the wall in the shadows cast by the torches in their sconces. Every eye focused on the returned Lady Faxinor, most faces smiling as Lord Edrix explained how Jultar's warriors had rescued his wife.

  "With my lady's return comes news that nothing was as reported,” Lord Edrix continued.

  "Brother, you raise our hopes too much,” Maxil interrupted. His voice cracked. His face assumed its usual slight smile that always seemed to hold a trace of mockery.

  "Do I?” Lord Edrix said.

  Andrixine stiffened, chin rising in response to the strength in her father's voice.

  "There is no real proof of my daughters’ deaths."

  "The bones, brother. The men found five skulls among the ashes. The two grooms, the maid, Andrixine and Alysyn."

  "I have my doubts.” The platform creaked as Lord Edrix stepped forward. “Your men didn't report to me. Why?"

  "To spare you.” Maxil gave his brother a shallow bow, his wine-colored festival tunic shimmering with his movement.

  "I should thank you for that courtesy. I should. But I have other news. Five burned bodies. The two grooms, yes. The maid Lily, yes. Another maid, Cedes, who joined my lady at Snowy Mount. Ah, you never heard of that addition, did you?” He paused, tilting his head to one side as he studied his brother's face. Maxil stood a little taller. “And the fifth, a bandit killed by Andrixine. Curious—no one found my daughters’ bodies."

  "The report is a lie. I demand to question the one who brought it!"

  "Here,” Andrixine called, stepping into the light. “I brought the report, Uncle.” She smiled at the gasps and murmurs that moved through the hall at her appearance.

  "My dear Andrixine,” Maxil gasped. His legs shook so he had to lean against the table. His narrowly handsome face paled.

  Andrixine tugged on her belt to bring the sword into view. “Would you sit? We have much to say, and our meal grows cold."

  Maxil closed his gaping mouth and sat heavily. Beside him, Feril stared, his mouth open, a glow filling his face that made Andrixine's stomach twist. Could it be her cousin had mourned her? Did he still want her, after she blacked his eye last fall?

  Andrixine fought an urge to flee, until she saw how Kalsan glowered at Feril. She wanted to laugh, and hug Kalsan in thanks.

  "There will be a festival,” Lord Edrix began, his smile widening. “To celebrate the return and rescue of my dear ones. But of higher importance is the sword Andrixine wears."

  Andrixine stepped up onto the dais. She bowed to her parents, Lady Arriena now seated in her proper place. Lorien and Derek dragged Andrixine's chair forward and set it facing the guests. She stood before it, clasping the scabbard in both hands.

  "A great honor has been given to Faxinor,” Lord Edrix continued. “Our firstborn, our daughter, Andrixine Faxinor has been chosen as Bearer of the Spirit Sword. There will be war with Sendorland perhaps in a year, and Andrixine will lead all our armies."

  "You can't leave until you marry me!” Feril roared. He struggled up from his place at the table, nearly kicking Kalsan as he pulled his fat leg over the bench.

  "The Sword Bearer's husband must be a warrior worthy to fight at her side,” Jultar boomed from the back of the room. “You are no warrior. You are no fit husband for her.” He strode down the aisle between the tables to stop before the dais, facing the astonished guests, one hand resting on his sword.

  "Who gives you the right to make that decision?” Feril stomped around the end of the table to face Jultar.

  "Lord Jultar of Rayeen, Oathbound warlord to King Rafnar, has sworn fealty and is my war chief,” Andrixine said.

  "Father promised you would marry me. This old man doesn't have the right—"

  "Kalsan, silence this fool!” Jultar gave a negligent wave of his hand.

  Kalsan leaped like a pouncing hawk, wrapping one arm around Feril's stocky chest and yanking him off balance. He bared his teeth in a fierce grin. Feril struggled, bleating. Kalsan flung him to the ground. He slid until he fetched up against the wall, when he finally chose to fall silent.

  Turning to bow to Andrixine, Kalsan met her gaze. The fire that burned in his gaze, his grin, made her feel giddy.

  Silence resumed in the great hall. Andrixine swore she heard the breathing of each person, the beating of every heart in the room. She waited until everyone focused on her, then she slid the sword from its scabbard. Against the black of her clothes, the bright blade's light was like the moon on a cloudless night.

  "Let us do what is right and honorable,” Lord Edrix said. “Let us, her own people, swear loyalty to the Spirit Sword a
nd the Bearer."

  He moved over to stand before Andrixine. She sat, the naked blade resting across her knees. Then her father knelt before her and laid his hand on top of hers. Andrixine hated the sight of him kneeling before her, but this had to be done.

  He swore fealty and all his honor to serve the Sword Bearer, the Spirit Sword and Yomnian who had sent them. Lord Edrix went further than required, swearing the most dire of punishments should anyone break their oath while under his command.

  "Who will be next to swear?” Lord Edrix called. He surveyed the people before him, ending with his brother.

  As if someone moved his arms and legs like a marionette, Maxil stumbled up the two steps to stand before Andrixine. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his long nose as he reached out with infinite slowness to rest his hands over Andrixine's on the hilt.

  "Let justice be first in my heart and mind,” Andrixine whispered, her voice harsh, penetrating the quiet of the room.

  Maxil gaped. Sweat flowed until his pointed beard glistened and his shoulders shook.

  "What do you fear, Uncle?” she said.

  "Nothing.” His voice came out a dry rasp. A smile jerked at his lips and he finished reaching for her hand.

  Andrixine moved her hand aside so his palm touched the hilt of the sword. The silvery blue light flared, turning crimson with black streaks. Maxil tried to pull away. His hand stayed fast against the sword.

  "Maxil of Faxinor,” she said in a steady voice. “You are accused of plotting the murder of the heir of Faxinor. First by poison, then by the hands of bandits.” She gestured at the angry twisting of colors around the blade. “The sword testifies you knelt to swear falsely. It testifies to the hatred in your heart. As Sword Bearer, I command you to speak truth."

  "No—I—” Maxil twisted, straining to free his hand. Sweat rolled into his eyes, down his face, leaving dark, spreading spots on his rich clothes. He gasped and collapsed into himself. “They lied to me,” he moaned. “They said they killed both girls."

  "They did, but we had a new maid with us, with hair as dark as mine. I saw them rape her. Did you give orders that we should be tortured before we were killed?"

  "Yes,” he whispered, a sob shaking him.

  Andrixine bit her lip against asking for his reasons. It said much about her uncle's hatred for her, that he wouldn't allow her a clean, quick death.

  "Who poisoned me, and how was it done?"

  She waited while he swayed, whimpering so softly only she could hear. Finally, Maxil raised his head. Paralyzing terror leached the color from his eyes.

  "Aldis. In a box of sweets."

  "Aldis?” She lost her breath a moment. Of her two cousins, she actually loved poor, lack-witted Aldis. He had always seemed so harmless, so childlike. The feeling of betrayal hurt. “Did he know what he was doing?"

  "No,” he whispered. “He wanted to give you a present because he thought you were angry with him. We knew you would never suspect him."

  "We? Feril and you?” She looked for her cousin, who wore unfeigned horror on his face. Andrixine spared a moment to be grateful Aldis was dining with her younger brothers and wasn't present to see his father humiliated. His adored Maxil, who oddly enough doted on his damaged son.

  "No. He wanted to own you. He would have warned you, the idiot!” The light flared pale blue to testify to the truth.

  "There! You see?” Feril bleated from his spot on the floor. “I adore you, Andrixine. I want to spend the rest of my life in the light you cast."

  "That's what he told me this morning!” Lorien said with a giggle. “Can't you think of any new lies, Feril?"

  "I would never hurt you,” he whined, sweat beading his face as it turned bright red. Several people chuckled.

  "No. You just wanted to break her like a horse,” Kalsan said. “What were the words you used? Something about taming her, breaking her on your wedding night?” He took a step closer, and Feril cringed away from him.

  "Feril of Henchvery, unless you wish to be considered a threat to the Sword Bearer, never speak of marriage to me, is that clear?” Andrixine said in a deathly quiet voice. Her odious cousin went pale and nodded. She turned her attention back to his father, the real source of her troubles.

  "Maxil of Faxinor, as heir of Faxinor I cut you from the family name and bloodline. For your treason against your lord and his heir, you are condemned. Your confession before so many people cannot be denied. Know that the Spirit Sword cannot lie. Not even to please its Bearer,” she added, dropping to a whisper.

  Maxil collapsed as the sword released him. He lay still, not a fold of cloth moving. Andrixine signaled for two of Jultar's band, who were waiting. They caught him under his arms and in that position of shame they carried the pale, voiceless man from the great hall.

  Silence. She didn't want to look and see fear on the faces before her. The light surrounding the blade faded to its normal silvery, soft glow. The hilt felt cool in her hand, soothing. Andrixine wished she could run from the hall and hide in her room, but she had a duty to perform.

  "Those who have committed no crime have no reason to fear,” Brother Klee said in the silence, startling and relieving her.

  She watched him approach the dais. The holy man had never appeared so mysterious and yet such a source of strength and shelter before. When he reached her, Brother Klee rested his hand on her shoulder and looked out over the silent people.

  "Let all who are not divided in their hearts and loyalties,” he continued, “come now and swear oath to the Sword Bearer. Yomnian calls us all to protect our land."

  * * * *

  "LORD JULTAR SAYS you worry about Andrixine's marriage,” Brother Klee said, coming upon Kalsan in the stables.

  The younger man had gone there the moment the interminable meal had ended. Several of Lorien's suitors had come to offer condolences to the family, and in what Kalsan thought extremely bad taste, two had switched their suits to Andrixine—during the swearing ceremony, of all the inappropriate times. The fact that the sword hadn't flared and burned them for their gall irritated Kalsan to no end.

  What sickened him more was hearing his neighbors talk at dinner. He felt more comfortable with Fala and Grennel than in the castle. Everyone was delighted and thankful Lady Arriena had been returned, and stunned to learn Andrixine had not been killed. Half the people Kalsan heard cared more about who would dare to marry Andrixine with such odd adventures behind her, rather than the implications of the Spirit Sword waking.

  It was small comfort that Grennel permitted Kalsan to groom him when he had finished brushing Fala's coat to a high gloss—and plaited her forelock besides. Kalsan tried not to think how ironic it was that the finicky stallion accepted him, when the lady who owned him moved further from his level and higher above his reach with every passing day.

  "I'm her oath-friend,” Kalsan said, putting down the brushes. He didn't want to look at the man, but he was leery of the slightest rudeness. After all, Brother Klee had once been the mystical warrior, Rakleer.

  "Is that the only reason?"

  "You should hear them talk, as if everything she endured has made her—” He wished he hadn't put the brushes down because he wanted to throw or pound something. “It's like she carries some horrid disease."

  "I assume you don't agree?” A chuckle hung at the back of his voice. “Andrixine must marry before she leaves to meet with the king, to guard against the slightest scandal. She will have an honor guard from the Sword Sisters, of course. We have sent to the chapter house for that. Her need for an heir before she goes to war demands she marry quickly."

  "How soon?” Kalsan asked, his mouth dry.

  "By full moon."

  "That's not fair! Where will she find a suitable husband in only two weeks?"

  "There are eight noble sons, second- or third-born, within half a day's ride. Four are here now. They have all expressed interest in Andrixine."

  "They're not right for her!” He began pacing within the confi
nes of the aisle outside Grennel's stall. “None of them can handle a sword well enough to save their own lives, let alone protect her."

  "Andrixine needs no protection. Her husband will be there to support her, to guard her honor and act as intermediary.” Brother Klee paused, tilting his head to one side to study the younger man. Kalsan hated how everyone seemed to study him that way lately, as if they saw something that fascinated them.

  "They can't even decide what to have for dinner, let alone help her lead armies and navigate court."

  "You know a great deal about their flaws."

  "After seeing her maid raped and considering the available husbands, it's no wonder she loathes the thought of marriage."

  "Does she?"

  "Yes!” Kalsan halted, turning to stare. Something in the man's voice sent a chill up his back.

  "Lord Jultar says you have listed the proper qualities in the man who can marry Andrixine. Who here fits?” He waited, but Kalsan could only stare at him, something choking him silent. “A warrior who likes Andrixine, whom she likes, who understands her position, and who carries noble blood so her children will be acceptable to the nobles. There are several men in Jultar's company who fit those criteria,” the holy man continued, again with that infuriating little smile.

  "They're all too old,” he muttered.

  "Now age is a factor? Who does that leave?"

  "Me!” He caught his breath, suddenly light-headed and too warm—yet he felt incredibly better. “And I don't care what anyone says against me."

  "Do you truly want this, or does your sense of honor push you against your will?"

  "Brother Klee—” Kalsan's face grew hot, yet he felt like laughing and weeping. “What am I going to do?” How could he feel such hope and despair at the same moment?

  "We are to meet with Andrixine and her parents shortly to discuss this little requirement.” Brother Klee chuckled when Kalsan choked over his choice of words. “Come with me. I'm sure her parents will agree that you are the most suitable choice."

  "They don't know me."

  "I know you, Kalsan of Hestrin. Jultar of Rayeen will stand for you. Andrixine counts you among her closest friends. And consider this.” He waited, as if he could hear Kalsan's heart thudding in his ears and wanted it to calm a little. “You and Andrixine are oath-friends. You have bound your souls together before Yomnian. Like a man and woman betrothed."