Hillel pursed her lips as she considered Sarfek’s answer; she knew, that Rahlle was an ancient and powerful sorcerer, one of Olluhm and Cydia’s original twelve children, each so great in their power that they were treated as gods themselves. Their divine parents feared for the safety of all their progeny, for gods were never meant to walk amongst those who were earthbound. As such, the children were bound to serve the rulers of Parthalan, unable to act against them.
It seems they forgot to put such a restraint upon the kings, Hillel thought bitterly, then said, “You’re saying that Rahlle remains bound to the king, just as the gods decreed.” Sarfek nodded. “If he is, then why speak to you, why give us this cottage? Is that not acting against the king? His actions make no sense.”
“These are questions for Rahlle, not I,” Sarfek replied as he helped himself to the food. Hillel moved to continue her interrogation, but Torim stayed her with a hand on her elbow.
“Can we not just accept this small piece of fortune?” Torim asked. Hillel looked from Torim to the rest of the survivors, all of whom were watching her exchange with Sarfek; they’d gone so far as to put down their food. She knew they were starved, weary, and possibly dying from their wounds, but still they waited on her word.
“It must bode well that the Master Sorcerer favors us,” Hillel said, and the tension abated. Some descended upon the food, stuffing themselves until they could no longer speak or move, while others crawled on to the cots and succumbed to sleep untroubled by demons. Still more searched for clothing, rifling through the baskets as they searched for items untainted by their long imprisonment. Hillel looked at her slave’s garb: it was filthy and torn, caked with blood, and decided that she must shed her outer appearance before she slaked her hunger.
As Hillel approached the baskets of clothing, the rest made way for her. This supposed leadership has its advantages, she mused as she selected a tunic and leggings, and sturdy leather boots. She was about to discard her ruined shift in favor of her new clothing, when she turned to Sarfek.
“Is there someplace to bathe?” Hillel asked Sarfek, and he replied through mouthfuls of food that there was a stream nearby. Once he swallowed, he went on to say that it emptied into a pool just past the tree line. Armed with basic directions, Hillel found a cake of soap and left to have her first bath in longer than she cared to consider.
Sarfek’s directions left much to be desired; nevertheless, Hillel soon stood in upon the edge of the most inviting body of water she had ever seen. She shed her filthy dress, silently promising to burn it lest it disgrace her flesh again, and stuck a toe in the pool. It was cold, so cold she jumped back before gathering her resolve and flinging herself into the icy water. The small cuts on her feet and the larger wounds across her back and abdomen protested the cold, but her bruises and calluses welcomed it. Hillel made her way to the center of the pool where the water nearly reached her neck, then floated upon the surface, bobbing along with the water lilies.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a water sprite.”
Hillel opened her eyes as Torim entered the pool, showing none of the hesitation Hillel had as she submerged herself in the cold water. Torim surfaced and made her way to her friend, cake of soap in hand.
“I brought more soap,” Torim said. “I fear we may be too filthy for just the one.” She swam toward the opposite edge of the pool. Torim climbed onto a boulder along the edge of the water, and with her golden hair plastered against her head and water droplets clinging to her thick lashes, she graced Hillel with a grin that shone like the suns. Hillel could not remember the last time she saw Torim smile, and as the grin reached her eyes, Hillel thought that she had never beheld a lovelier sight.
They remained at the pool until the child sun rose, scraping away untold moons of grime, then they set about tending each other’s wounds. Hillel thought it odd that none of the others came to the pool to wash, to which Torim offered the answer.
“Harek sent them to wash downstream,” Torim explained. “He wanted you to have your privacy.”
Hillel laughed; after what the demons had done to her, she felt that modesty was a luxury she could no longer afford. “And you just barged in on me,” Hillel teased while she gently tugged at a knot in Torim’s hair. They sat upon the grassy shore, trying to salvage as much of their tangled tresses as they could. Luckily, the cottage had been stocked with combs as well as with food and clothing.
“Someone had to wash your back,” Torim answered. She grimaced as Hillel raked the comb through her hair, only to snap off a few of its teeth. Hillel sighed and began to cut the out the snarl.
Now clean, Torim’s golden tresses reflected the light as if they had been polished, and had dried against her back in heavy waves. Hillel regretted every strand she cut as if she was severing rays from the sun. “It’s a shame to have to cut this.”
“Worry not about something as insignificant as hair,” Torim chided as she turned to face her friend. “You did it. You freed us all.”
“I didn’t do it alone,” Hillel reminded her. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” She grasped Torim’s hand and held it against her heart. “I mean it, Torim. If you hadn’t befriended Harek, if he hadn’t taken pity on us…” Hillel’s voice trailed off as she recalled their too-recent torment. “I shudder to think what would have become of us.”
Torim’s only answer was to nestle herself against Hillel’s shoulder, and for a time the two sat together as they had on many occasions. “It is unusual, isn’t it?” Torim asked after a time.
“What is?”
“This lack of fear,” Torim answered. “Fear has been my constant companion for so long, I almost feel for its loss.”
“I do not,” Hillel proclaimed. “Now that we know we can kill the demons, I will never fear them again.”
Chapter Five
A few days after their outing to the meadow, Caol’nir woke with a smile on his face, having dreamt of a pair of deep blue eyes. At length, he rose and made his way to the hearth. Once the fire was blazing, Caol’nir sat back in his chair and rubbed the bruises on his arms, evidence of Alluria’s slender fingers gripping him, and wondered if he could spirit her from the palace a second time. A sparkling object caught his eye; it was Alluria’s jeweled clasp, resting on the ledge where he’d placed it two short days ago.
He picked up the clasp and held it for a moment; then he remembered the prior morning, when he had given the herbs to Alluria. Nothing had been amiss in her appearance, her hair restrained as it always was, however he had only seen her for a brief moment before Fiornacht appeared and gave him a new assignment. Caol’nir had wondered if his brother suspected their venture, but dismissed the thought. Fiornacht liked nothing more than the sound of his own voice, and that was likely all there was to it.
Caol’nir dressed quickly, concerned that Alluria might be reprimanded for not wearing the proper attire. As he made his way across the palace, he was pleased to see his brothers enter the Prelate’s chamber. While they were occupied with their father, he could hope for a few moments alone with Alluria. He was so intent on his journey he mistakenly entered the temple from the east, which was the door used only for the bindings ceremony, which unites those in love.
“Sometimes the heart makes itself known when the head would quiet it.”
Caol’nir spun around to the source of the voice, and found that it belonged to the king’s sorcerer, Rahlle. As the last of the original fae, first born of the gods and far older than even King Sahlgren, his great power and prophetic visions were balanced by the occasional bout of madness.
“My lord?” Caol’nir inquired, unsure if Rahlle was speaking to him or just walking about the palace rambling away as he was wont to do.
“Your heart, boy,” Rahlle replied, “it’s trying to get you to come to your senses. All you need do is listen.” With that, the sorcerer turned and left, fading to nothingness as he hobbled down the corridor.
Caol’nir shook his head,
unsure if he had just experienced a brush with greatness or lunacy. He looked about the temple, grateful that no one else had witnessed his entrance, and found Alluria at the rear of the central chamber, quietly sorting herbs with her sister priestesses. Caol’nir caught her eye and she motioned for him to follow her to the small rooms in the rear of the temple, which were reserved for patrons requiring private counsel. Once inside the room, Alluria knelt on the floor and gestured for Caol’nir to take the chair before her.
“What brings my herb-gathering warrior to temple this day?” she asked brightly.
“The plants you were sorting, are they the ones I brought you?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I must say, the others are quite impressed by the quality of the herbs you obtained for me. You may receive more requests for your services—however, please try not to crush them so badly,” she added with a smile.
“My companion, she wasn’t accustomed to being on horseback,” he explained, grinning as he remembered how she had clung to him while the bundle rested on her lap. “She didn’t mean to damage your sticks and leaves.”
“Perhaps, if you take her to gather herbs again, she’ll be more cautious.”
“Perhaps.” He then remembered the object in his hand, and the purpose of his visit.
“I came to return this to you,” he said as he held out the clasp. “I found it in my chamber.” Alluria’s eyes settled on the object as she murmured that she thought it was lost to her, and then drew free the ribbon from her hair. Caol’nir saw that the ribbon was the one he had created and tied about her wrist.
“Thank you, for bringing this to me” she said softly. She looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place, a mixture of gratitude and longing that made Caol’nir’s heart ache. He became acutely aware of the fact that they were alone, that it was forbidden for any man to look upon one of Olluhm’s women with lust in his heart, and that he could not deny how he yearned for her.
“I should go,” he said suddenly as he rose to his feet. Alluria also moved to rise, and Caol’nir offered his hand. To his surprise she accepted it, and once she had pulled herself up she stood a mere finger’s breadth from him, her eyes staring into his. He snatched away his hand.
“You cannot be so casual with me,” he hissed. “I won’t risk you being reprimanded, or worse, because of my foolishness!”
Alluria shrank back and bent her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, staring at the floor. “I think…I think I became accustomed to you, after being with you at the meadow. Forgive me.”
“Please don’t be sad,” he said softly, “I’m not angry with you, only with myself for putting you in such a situation. Alluria, look at me.” Her gaze remained on the floor, so he tilted her chin upward. Unable to resist her soft skin, he traced her cheekbone with his thumb.
“You may touch me, but I cannot touch you?” she asked, arching her brows. “What rules do you abide by, warrior?”
“If I’m seen touching you, it’s my head that will roll, not yours,” he replied. He meant to comfort her, reassure her that he would not let her shoulder any of the blame for their encounters. Instead, her eyes hardened as she grabbed the front of his jerkin with such force she pulled it open, and dragged his face close to hers.
“They will not harm you,” she said, her fierceness taking them both by surprise. “I wouldn’t allow it.” Alluria twined her fingers in the thick cords that fastened his jerkin and leaned her forehead against his chest. Caol’nir, far more distraught at the thought of Alluria being upset than any possible punishments, placed his arms about her shoulders. She sobbed, and he stroked her hair.
“Hush,” He said, his face pressed against her shining hair. “No one will harm either of us, you have my word.” Alluria clutched Caol’nir’s arms, and he felt tears against his skin. “Dea comora, don’t cry. You know you’re safe with me.”
“I don’t know why I’m weeping,” she whispered. “I was so happy to see you this morning, happy to have you return my clasp to me….” They held each other for long moments before she raised her head. Her eyes shone as if ablaze with blue fire, her cheeks wet with tears. “I must look like a fool,” she said as she dabbed at her eyes.
“If you weren’t a priestess, I’d kiss your tears away.” He wiped her cheek with his thumb.
“Then for the second time in as many days, I regret taking my vows,” she said, holding his gaze until he could no longer bear it. Caol’nir drew her back to his chest, this time holding her as tightly as he dared while he wished they were somewhere, anywhere but in the Great Temple of Teg’urnan.
“How long before you’re missed?” he asked.
“Not long,” she replied. “Why? Are we off to the meadow again?”
“Not today, but hopefully soon,” he replied. He didn’t tell her that he needed to be close to her, more so since they had been to the meadow. In truth, he would have taken her that instant if his brother hadn’t suspected them already.
“Maybe you’ll teach me to ride a horse.”
“The most patient horse master in Parthalan couldn’t teach you to ride,” he retorted. He felt her laugh against his chest, and smiled as he wound his fingers into her hair. “My lady, you may always ride with me.”
Alluria raised her head and smiled at her favorite guard, then she wiped her eyes and straightened her robes. “I must return,” she apologized. “Do I look like I’ve been crying?”
“You’re beautiful, as always,” he replied, and to his great delight she blushed. Caol’nir realized that he still clutched her clasp, so he pulled back her hair and fastened the jeweled bar at the crown of her head. “I regret to tell you, I may not be able to see you for a time.” He drew her hair between his fingers. “My brother, he suspects there is something between us.”
“Why ever would he think that?” she asked. “Fiornacht is more bother than brother, if you ask me,” Alluria observed as she tied the blue ribbon about his wrist. “So you will think of me whenever you see it.”
Caol’nir took both her hands in his and kissed her knuckles, then turned them over and kissed her wrists. “Be assured, my lady, I am always thinking of you.” Before Alluria could speak someone called her name, and she frantically looked to him. “Go,” he whispered, and Alluria darted from the room. Caol’nir leaned against the doorframe as he watched her bare feet disappear around a corner, and then he turned to exit in the other direction. Once Caol’nir was outside the temple, he nearly bumped into Rahlle.
“The heart knows,” intoned the sorcerer, once more fading into the mist.
“The heart knows what?”
Caol’nir turned and saw Fiornacht glowering at him. “What did he mean, little brother?” Fiornacht demanded.
“Rahlle himself doesn’t know what he means,” Caol’nir mumbled. “He wanders the palace, rambling on to whoever will listen to him.”
Fiornacht glared at his brother, his gaze settling on Caol’nir’s open jerkin and tear-stained chest. “I’ve seen you look at her. I’ll not have you disgrace our family.”
Caol’nir opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. If he tried disputing Fiornacht’s words the two of them would end up in an argument, and he knew their voices would carry into the temple. Where Alluria would hear them.
“Yes, brother. I won’t.” With that, Caol’nir bowed his head and walked away, leaving Fiornacht alone before the temple door.
Alluria speaks…
Gods, what is wrong with me? All Caol’nir said was that he would not let me be punished if we were seen, and in the next instant I became a raving madwoman, only to cry in his arms the next. He must think I’ve gone mad, running the extent of emotions in the space of a few heartbeats.
I must say, I thought I was insane the way I grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward me. I cannot explain why I did it, other than I have never felt so…strongly. And then these ridiculous emotions overwhelmed me and I wept like a baby. If any other man had seen me cry I would have fled from the roo
m to wallow in shame, for what priestess would ever allow herself to be so vulnerable before a man? But the way Caol’nir held me, the way he stroked my hair and told me that we would both be safe…well, I’ve never felt as safe in my life as when he holds me.
Then he called me sweetheart and my heart sang, and he said that he wanted to kiss my tears away and I so desperately wanted to let him. Just once, I would like to have the luxury of being a normal girl, with normal desires, who may kiss whomever she wished. Of course, I would only wish for Caol’nir.
I shook my head, confused and irritated by the thoughts that coursed through it. I set out to locate the one sister who would understand my plight: Alyon. She made no secret of the fact that she had taken lovers, and yet she had escaped all punishment. I found her alone in her cell, and she smiled as I explained my dilemma.
“Little Alluria, caught up in love’s web,” she said, not unkindly. “So Caol’nir is as smitten as the rumors say.”
I glanced sharply at her, then relaxed my gaze. I could deny that it was Caol’nir of whom I spoke, but to what end? “Yes, and I may have become smitten in return.” She was silent, and I asked her my real question. “How is it that you may take lovers without fear of being chastised?”
“Ah, an accident of fate,” she replied. “I was born barren, so Olluhm wouldn’t accept me as his mate. That is why I was always called upon to perform the fertility rites; my coupling with a priest meant that no other sister need break her vows.” She laughed shortly. “A barren woman, ensuring the lands fecundity! It’s a wonder we haven’t starved!”
I smiled at her self-depreciating comment, but she hadn’t answered my questions. “So Atreynha allowed your encounters?”
“She had no choice. I’m not the god’s mate; I may lie with whomever I choose.” She regarded me for a moment, and her nature became grave. “It will be different for you, since you were accepted.”
Heir to the Sun Page 5
