“This is from the most recent,” Asherah replied, indicating a raw burn, then turned her hand over to expose a badly healed abrasion. “This is from the second.”
“And this?” Lormac asked as he traced a jagged scar on her inner wrist.
“That is from…earlier,” she replied. By her reticence, Lormac understood that she had gotten that wound during her captivity.
“Do you have many such injuries?” he asked gently, to which she nodded. Lormac rose and went to the door, where he instructed Aldo to fetch salve and bandages for Asherah and her companions, and to make rooms ready for them.
“You will help us?” Asherah blurted out.
“I did not say that,” Lormac stated. “You will mark on a map where these dojas are located, and I will send out riders to verify your words. If it appears that what you have told me is true, we will speak again. Until that is done, I cannot have you skulking around my keep like a filthy urchin, and while I’m sure you have tended your injuries as well as you are able, my elfin healers are without equal.”
“My lord, words cannot express my gratitude,” Asherah said as she rose.
As hope burned away some of the weariness in Asherah’s eyes, Lormac realized she was beautiful. Not only in face and form, for that had been apparent the moment she entered his hall, but in character as well. To have endured such torment without breaking was achievement enough, but most would have taken their freedom and been done with it. Not Asherah, for she had made it plain that she would not be content until every faerie was free, and the king made to answer for his crimes. She was a delicate beauty with the soul of a warrior, the kind of woman Lormac had ever hoped to meet.
“The way you’re looking at me is thanks enough for now,” Lormac said. Asherah’s cheeks darkened, but her happy glow remained. “Once we have word from the riders, we will discuss what is to be done. Now gather your companions and rest while I find lodging for a half thousand fae.”
Asherah speaks…
I had initially refused Lormac’s gift of lodging, attempting to convince him that it wasn’t right for the four of us to sleep indoors while the rest remained out in their bedrolls, but the man was stubborn (Torim said he was almost as stubborn as I) and insistent. He claimed that once his riders returned he would want to speak with us immediately and didn’t want the inconvenience of slogging through mud in order to do so. To my surprise Torim also sided with the king, claiming that since we had asked for Lormac’s help the least we could do was accept what we were offered.
I was again surprised when Lormac’s own saffira-nell was tasked with finding each one of us a private chamber; even so, I elected to remain in Torim’s for the time being. And what well-appointed rooms they were! Lormac’s well-trained saffira drew us a bath, the first bath, both hot and indoors, that we’d had in longer than either of us cared to dwell on. They politely acquiesced when I refused their assistance, for as a grown woman I was quite capable of bathing myself. Even so, they shook their heads while murmuring about this strange faerie as they left us to our bath.
“Hillel, the elfin custom is to have attendants,” Torim soothed once we were submerged in the enormous tub. The saffira had strewn flowers across the surface of the water, and Torim batted them toward me.
“It’s different for you,” I murmured as I scooped up the petals. “Your wounds healed cleanly.” I glanced at the unmarred skin of her breast, now pink from the water’s heat. My own breasts were crisscrossed with scars, some silvery pale while others remained red and thickened, like blood soaked twine against my flesh. My disfigurement didn’t end there, as my belly and thighs also bore similar marks of cruelty. Torim leaned forward and traced a silvery line that followed my collarbone.
“All gotten on my behalf,” Torim murmured. I protested but Torim hushed me. After I had begged to take Torim’s place in the doja, the mordeth punished me for my kindness by slicing first my flesh and then his own, letting his caustic blood drip into my wounds.
“And I’d get them all again,” I affirmed as I leaned back and closed my eyes, and let myself succumb to the small luxury of the steaming water. Our repose ended all too quickly, and when I allowed the saffira back into our chamber they brought with them armloads of clothing, more clothing than Torim and I ever could have imagined, in more colors and fabrics than we had thought possible. Torim was drawn to the fine silks and deep colors of the dresses, but I was only interested in basic leggings and tunics, not wishing to take advantage of our host’s generosity. Torim laughed as I proclaimed my feeling, and assured me that Lormac wouldn’t have sent the items if he didn’t want them worn.
I suspected that Torim’s assurances were driven by a motive other than her quest to not offend our host, and she flitted from one lovely dress to the next like a hummingbird unsure of which flower to alight upon. The saffira fawned over her, draping her in one vibrant color after the other, and it warmed my heart to see her so enjoy herself. While I gazed upon Torim’s loveliness, the saffira-nell gently suggested that I might want to choose at least one dress. No sooner had she laid out a few perfectly awful creations than there was a knock at our door, announcing Aldo’s return. He advised us that Lormac had requested our presence in the hall that evening, thus damning me to a night spent wrapped in finery and lace.
I was surprised by the invitation, since I’d gotten the impression that the elf king wouldn’t suffer our presence again until he verified our tales as true. I also couldn’t comprehend why Lormac was treating us as if we were visiting nobility rather than the fugitives we were. Before I could share my feelings with Torim, the saffira-nell proclaimed us suitably attired to appear before the king and we were whisked back to his hall.
So there they we were, standing in the entrance, being stared at by every elf in Tingu as they wondered if we were the same filthy faeries that had shown up on the king’s doorstep earlier that day. Torim was resplendent in pale orange silk edged with gold. Against her golden hair, it made her resemble a midsummer sunset. Lormac (or the saffira-nell he sent) had thought to bring jewelry along with the clothes, and sparkling blue drops dangled from her ears. As Torim moved through the hall all eyes turned to her and the assembled guests murmured of how lovely she was.
I, however, felt (and looked!) like a fool. The kindly saffira-nell insisted that my pale coloring meant I was suited for darker hues, and she ended up stuffing me into a heavy velvet gown dyed such a dark purple it was nearly black. The bodice was cut so low that I worried my scars would be visible, but she brushed off my concerns and quickly stitched in a lace edging, black and stiff and impossibly scratchy for such a small bit of fabric. The saffira-nell had then taken it upon herself to select further adornments for me in the form of ruby eardrops and a matching pendant, which felt cold and alien nestled in my cleavage.
At least Torim is enjoying herself. It gave me such joy to see my dear friend happy. As she laughed and shyly offered thanks for the many compliments she garnered, I could have believed that Torim was never a slave. I scanned the room and found Harek near the center of the hall, Sarfek close beside him, speaking with the commanders of Tingu’s legion. Harek certainly seemed destined to avoid women for the rest of his days. I wondered if a similar fate had also been thrust upon his brother.
Satisfied that they were suitably entertained, I turned my attention back to Torim, intent upon following her to the women’s hearth. I didn’t understand why elves would divide genders within the hall, since faeries did not view women and men as anything but equals, but I was in no position to question our host’s customs. As we neared the hearth, I saw that all of the women in attendance were bedecked in finery that matched our own, and I later learned that elfin women were always expected to dress as if the gods themselves may appear at their table. How glad I was to have been born a faerie and not need to concern myself with such foolish customs.
Chapter Eight
“And you believe her?”
Lormac glanced at his second, Balthus, who
withered under the king’s icy glare.
“I believe I should at least look into her claims,” Lormac replied. “What if they prove true? I’d prefer engaging Ehkron in Parthalan rather than risk my own lands.”
Balthus voiced his agreement, but something at the far end of the hall distracted him. Lormac turned and saw that Asherah’s entrance was the cause of the disruption. While Asherah and Torim had been attractive when they first arrived, now that they were bathed and attired as women should be, they were radiant. Most of the whispers centered on Torim, but Lormac’s attention fixed upon Asherah as she walked with her back straight and head held high.
Lormac left Balthus and strode toward the women’s hearth, causing a few confused murmurs. Men didn’t approach the women’s hearth until after the meal, and even then, the king would never deign to do so. Many eyes watched in amazement as Lormac approached this taboo portion of his hall, not to speak with a lady born of a strong elfin bloodline, but a homeless faerie in a borrowed dress.
“My lady,” Lormac said. Asherah looked behind her. “Yes, I’m speaking to you.”
“Forgive me,” she said hurriedly, bowing her head, “I’m not accustomed to being referred to as a lady.”
“Surely I’m not the first to address you as such,” Lormac commented, noting her formal language and dignified gait. “Your bearing marks you as one with noble blood. But then, all you fae think you’re nobility, don’t you?”
Asherah’s head snapped up, only to relax once she saw his teasing smile. “If you say so, my lord,” she replied, and moved toward the smaller hearth.
“Lormac,” he corrected, “and as my guest, you’ll sit to my right.”
“What of Torim?” Asherah asked.
“She is welcome as well,” Lormac assured. “Come, my lady.” He extended his arm and Asherah took it, glancing at their many observers.
“Should a king have a slave on his arm?” Asherah whispered.
“Afraid you’ll sully my honor? I’m told I have very little of that left.” Lormac’s merry eyes once again put her at ease. He leaned close to her ear and murmured, “I told no one what you shared with me in my chambers. I thought you’d prefer that.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Asherah said. “Again, I am indebted to you.”
As they crossed the hall to the main hearth and the king’s table Lormac shot a look toward Aldo, and jerked his head toward Asherah. Aldo, long accustomed to Lormac’s ever-changing temperament, set a chair and plate beside the king’s.
Lormac nodded to his thanks to Aldo, and as he and Asherah took their places he informed her of the state of her followers. Harek had led Balthus to their encampment, and five hundred faeries were now camped upon the plain before the keep. Before Lormac could continue, Balthus took his place at the king’s left, intent upon discussing a matter concerning the trolls.
After a time, Torim took her seat next to Asherah, and Lormac noticed how Asherah’s agitation calmed. He also noticed that the women had managed to captivate every man in his hall; even Balthus commented on Torim’s lovely golden hair. He also noted that Asherah had only consumed a bit of bread and none of the meat.
Once the meal was complete and the platters had been removed, dancers and musicians came forth to entertain those seated with the king. Lormac ignored them and turned again to his guests.
“Have a look at this.” Lormac placed a map in front of Asherah and Torim. “Harek has marked the locations of the dojas. Does this seem accurate?” Asherah nodded as she traced their route with her fingertips, lingering over the southernmost mark.
“This is where we were held,” she murmured, mostly to Torim, “and this was the next to burn.” Asherah touched each mark in turn, explaining to Lormac how they had lived since their escape, until she settled on a mark close to Tingu’s border.
“That was the most recent?” Lormac asked, and she nodded. “How long did it take you to reach my keep after you burned it?”
“Ten days,” Asherah replied. Lormac leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers together; if it had taken hundreds of faeries ten days walking to reach the keep, a host of demons could be upon them at any moment.
“Very well.” Lormac rolled up the map and handed it to Balthus. “Riders will leave on the morrow, and we should have confirmation of your claims shortly.” Asherah thanked him again, when one of Lormac’s commanders begged the king’s attention.
“My lord,” began Belenos, “by your leave, I would like to ask your guest to a dance.” Lormac’s initial reaction was to deny him, for how dare he ask to take Asherah from his side, when he realized that Belenos’s eyes rested on Torim.
“That leave is not mine to grant,” Lormac said with a sidelong glance at Torim. Belenos looked expectantly at Torim, who ignored him and whispered in Asherah’s ear. Lormac chuckled softly; Belenos was counted amongst the most powerful of his warriors, and yet he seemed unable to find his tongue.
“My lady?” Belenos asked awkwardly. Torim finally looked at him, then smiled coyly and followed him before the musicians. Asherah and Lormac watched the two for a time, graceful Torim trying to navigate around Belenos’s awkward movements. Eventually, Lormac leaned close to Asherah.
“My lady, if you would accompany me, there are things I must discuss with you,” Lormac said as he rose.
“What sort of things?” Asherah asked as she took his arm.
“Things you have kept from me.”
“I have kept nothing from you,” she said tightly, her fingers tightening on his forearm.
Lormac said nothing as he led her amongst the assembled elves, most of whom bowed to the king as he passed while others just stared at the faerie on his arm. He ignored them all and did not speak again until he and Asherah were atop the battlement.
“My lord.” Asherah spoke louder now that they were alone. “I have done nothing to—”
“Hush.” Lormac swept his free arm toward the plain. Asherah looked over the edge of the battlement and saw her followers camped before the keep; not the muddy, disorganized camp they usually set up but an orderly affair with rows of tents and fires.
“Oh,” Asherah gasped at the hundreds of tents and small fires that occupied the plain. She reached out as if to touch one of the tents, then let it fall to her side. “My lord, you are a kind and generous man.”
“What you kept from me,” Lormac began as he moved to stand next to her, “is that they call themselves Ish h’ra hai. The delivered ones.”
“Do they?” Asherah asked. “I had no idea.”
Lormac explained that many were sleeping three and four to a tent, for they only had so many stored at the keep, when Asherah shook her head.
“This is more than they have had in a long, long time,” she whispered, her voice low with emotion. “In giving them this, a warm place to sleep, you’ve shown them more care than our own king.”
“And me, nothing but an elf.”
“Why do you make such comments?”
“You fae are full of yourselves. ‘Born of gods’, you claim, and remind all within your hearing.”
“We are born of gods. Olluhm—”
“I am aware of the tale,” Lormac interrupted with a dismissive gesture, “and I do not dispute. However, being born of the earth has its own merits.”
“By your actions this day, you have shown that to be true.” Asherah turned to Lormac, her black eyes shining in the ruddy moonlight, and Lormac was unprepared for the effect her gaze had upon him. For the first time that evening, he allowed himself to look at her. Seeing her freshly washed hair and ornate gown, he felt something stir within him.
“Come.” Lormac took her arm, this time not waiting for her to accept his invitation. “I will see you to your chamber.”
“Does the king often escort his subjects?”
“Only my honored guests,” he replied. “I must say, you look like an elf in that dress.” Asherah pursed her lips. “You don’t like the compliment?”
“No,
no, I appreciate your words. The dress is just heavy, and dark… I’m not used to such a garment. I will, of course, return the jewels.” Asherah moved to unclasp the pendant, but Lormac stayed her hand.
“Keep them,” he said. “At the Seat of Tingu, there are rooms full of jewels with no one to wear them. Would you like me to send you a dressmaker?”
“Again, your generosity knows no bounds, but I have little use for dresses.”
“Then what will you wear when you sit beside me?”
Asherah looked at her hands. “I will sit beside you often?”
“As often as you wish.” Lormac’s eyes moved to the pale skin of her breast, and an even paler line beneath her collarbone. “Do not misinterpret my words, but I hope that your claims about Sahlgren prove false. Going to war on a beauty’s whim never ends well.”
“They won’t,” she whispered. She turned her face up to his, but before Lormac could speak again, there was the sound of movement inside Asherah’s chamber.
“Who waits for you?” he demanded. “Harek?”
“No, it is Torim.”
“My instructions were for you to have a private room,” Lormac stated.
“Oh, I always sleep with Torim,” Asherah replied. Lormac’s expression told her that he was not satisfied with her answer, so she elaborated. “We shared a cell in the doja.”
“Ah.” Lormac stepped back. “We will speak again in the morning.” With that, the elf king turned on his heel and left. He resisted the urge to look back at Asherah, and didn’t know that she watched him until he disappeared from her sight.
Chapter Nine
Heir to the Sun Page 9
