Lormac leaned upon the opposite side of the window and reached for her hands; this time, she let him. “That’s your only memory of your time before the doja?”
“Yes,” she replied, then shook her head. “No. I…I remember many things, but nothing important. I shouldn’t trouble you with my ramblings.”
“You’re not troubling me,” he assured. “I want to know.”
Asherah glanced at his face, and then resumed staring out the window. “Well, I remember how to walk and ride and speak. I can speak the old language as though I studied it for many years. I can wield a sword with a measure of skill. What I don’t know is how I learned these things. Did my father teach me swordplay? Did my mother teach me ahm’ri?” She continued staring out the window, her gaze focused far beyond the faerie camp. “It’s as if I’m a book and someone has ripped out the important pages. No, they made me a blank page, filled with nothing but emptiness.”
“Then the only life you have ever known is that of slave or fugitive.” Lormac traced her cheekbone. “How do you find the strength to go on?” Asherah stepped back, out of his reach.
“I cannot let this happen to others,” she replied. “If I don’t stop him, who will?” Fire leapt in the dark depths of her eyes, and while Lormac couldn’t be certain of her noble blood, it was her strength of character, her conviction to protect others that made him want to discard his crown and follow Asherah to the very edges of this realm and beyond.
Her.
Lormac no longer willed the Sala to silence; instead, he acknowledged his desire for Asherah, for the Sala’s urges were merely a reflection of the king’s own. There was a noise below; as Asherah looked toward her people Lormac saw a scar against her hairline. This further evidence of what she had endured strengthened his conviction, and Lormac grabbed her hands and drew her close.
“I will,” Lormac declared, his voice raw with emotion. “No elf or faerie will be so treated, not if I can prevent it, and Sahlgren must be made to pay for his crimes. Who better to bring the fae king to justice than an elf?” he added with a wry grin. Asherah returned his smile, and Lormac realized that she had doubted his aid.
Very well, he thought, I will prove to her that an elf’s word is law. He was about to swear an oath, proclaiming him her savior just as she had saved her followers, when Asherah again glanced to the camp. Several individuals had noticed the king and Asherah speaking, their faces as close as lovers, and were intently watching the two. Lormac had quite forgotten that they were in front of the window. She stepped back and out of his reach, and the Sala protested their lack of contact.
No! rumbled the voice in Lormac’s mind, so loudly his head throbbed. He winced at the sudden pain and rubbed his eyes as one would do after drinking too much rum, when he felt a soft touch against his forehead and the pain vanished.
“My lord, are you unwell?”
Lormac opened his eyes, and saw that Asherah had placed her hand alongside his temple, her face a mask of concern. Her simple touch had ended his pain as if it had never existed.
Her, the Sala claimed smugly. Mine.
“I’m fine,” Lormac assured. He grabbed her hand, holding it before him as he continued. “My lady, will you accept my offer of aid?”
“Of course, my lord,” Asherah replied in that same formal tone, smiling so brightly her dark eyes sparkled. Lormac kissed her hand, and tried not to notice how uncomfortable it made her.
“Then it is settled,” he said. “We will journey to the Seat of Tingu. I’ll have Aldo determine what you’ll need.”
“I have a request to make of you, my lord.”
“Another?” he asked, though he didn’t mind her requests. He would relocate the World’s Spine if Asherah asked it of him.
“Please stop sending me dresses.”
Lormac’s brows peaked. “You don’t like them?”
“Each has been more beautiful that the last, and I appreciate them all. However, if we’re going to war I need to dress as a warrior should, not like a pretty maiden studying embroidery or the harp. I’m afraid your elfin custom of wrapping women in bright colors and using them to adorn your halls like so many gems is not for one such as I.”
Lormac chuckled; here she was, worried that she had offended him, when her statement had pleased him beyond measure. “Any other woman would be thrilled with gowns and jewels, but not Asherah. Very well, my lady, no more finery.” Lormac strode to the door and summoned a saffira, instructing them to retrieve riding gear for Asherah.
“My lord, I did not mean you needed to replace what you have offered me,” Asherah said, but he chuckled again.
“I’m not offended,” said the king, “but you will need the gear. We will leave on the morrow for the Seat of Tingu. I’ll summon my lords to the Seat, and we will plan what’s to be done next.”
“How long will it take to reach the Seat?”
“Three days, if the weather holds.” He observed her expression, and answered her unasked question. “I’ve never marched with an army of fae, but I imagine it will take your Ish h’ra hai at least ten days, possibly longer. I’ll leave a contingent to guard your followers and guide the way.”
“I’ll travel with them,” Asherah proclaimed.
“No.” Lormac watched Asherah’s eyes flame, but she held her tongue. “Asherah, I’m doing this on your word. You will accompany me.” His tone made it evident that he was issuing an order, not making a request.
“As you wish, my lord.”
Asherah speaks…
Despite Lormac’s insistence that he and I should travel on ahead, we all made the journey together. The logistics of splitting up the king’s guard, half to escort him while the other half made the much slower march alongside the Ish h’ra hai proved more troublesome than Lormac had anticipated.
And so we marched across the semi-frozen plains and mountains. When I commented that we might have made better time if we had waited for the spring thaw, Lormac laughed. He said that the cold and snow were something you learned to appreciate when you lived in the north, not things to be avoided. He went on to say that if I remained in Tingu long enough, I’d grow to enjoy the cold just as much as an elf.
The march took twelve long, cold, wet days. To his credit, Lormac never once chided me for declining his offer of the two of us traveling on ahead, even though my miserable state was plain to see. He understood that I couldn’t leave my people behind, my Ish h’ra hai, not even for a few days, since all we had was each other.
Every morning, I rode among them as they readied themselves for the coming march, breaking down their tents and rolling up their bedding, and every morning I was amazed by their fortitude. While I knew that they must have hated the journey as much as I, not one of them complained (at least not within my hearing), and we all trudged on to our goal of the Seat of Tingu, the ancestral home of the elves.
Lormac remained cloistered with his commanders for the first few days, and I saw precious little of him. On the fourth evening, I received an invitation to sup in the king’s tent, delivered personally by his saffira-nell, who made sure I understood that the invitation was for me alone.
“Torim may not come?” I asked.
“My lady, I assure you that she will be well fed in your absence,” Aldo replied, and so I readied myself to dine with the king.
After a minor wardrobe crisis, which involved me searching through my trunk and wondering if I should wear one of the dresses I so disliked, to which Torim told me I was being foolish and Harek called me something slightly more colorful, I arrived at Lormac’s tent wearing the cleanest riding gear I possessed. I was surprised to find him alone with the makings of a feast.
“Do you always eat so well while traveling?” I asked upon my entry.
“Of course,” he replied with a smirk. “Actually, the table is set for my commanders and me, but I sent them away for the evening.”
“Why?”
“They distract me, and I wish to give you my full attentio
n,” he replied. Lormac didn’t expand on his statement, and after a moment I joined him at the table.
“I’ve seen you walk among your people every morning,” he continued. “You rally their spirits. You inspire them to go on, even after such horrible experiences as they, and you, have endured.” He leaned toward me, searching my face. “I ask you again, my lady, how do you find the strength to continue?”
“I’m not strong,” I replied. “Far from it.” I meant to continue, but memories chose that moment to well up in my mind. Memories of burning pain and fear and starvation. Trying to distract myself, I looked to the food spread before me and saw a plate of roasted meat. The memories the smell evoked were even worse, and I almost retched right there at the king’s table. Instead, I got to my feet and walked away from the table.
“What’s wrong?” Lormac demanded.
“Nothing,” I replied, but my voice wavered with the lie. Lormac was suddenly behind me, so I elaborated, “The meat, the smell of it reminds me of…things.”
Lormac didn’t ask what I was reminded of, but summoned an attendant to clear away each and every morsel of meat. Once the stench of flesh was gone, I took a deep breath, and vowed never to consume meat again.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I said in spite of my silent oath. “What will you eat?”
“Something else,” he replied. We returned to the table and he poured wine into my goblet, then filled his plate with assorted fruits.
“You’re very kind.” I stared at the table.
“You amaze me more every day.” His compliment caused me to look up. “You’re like no woman I’ve ever encountered. You don’t want gowns and gems, preferring instead leather tunics and boots. You turn away the finest foods, you refuse to let my healers cosset you—” I hadn’t known he was aware of my refusing to let his healers examine me, but I was loathe to disrobe, even for them “—and rather than travel at the king’s side, you march along with the masses.” Lormac leaned forward and when he continued, the teasing tone was gone from his voice. “I will admit, Asherah, I don’t quite know what to make of you.”
The rest of our meal was passed amicably, with Lormac being polite enough to pretend that I hadn’t ruined his dinner. I surreptitiously studied his face while we ate. Lormac wasn’t what you would call a handsome man, far from it in fact. His eyes were set a bit too deeply beneath his brow, his nose and chin jutted out a bit too far, and he was taller than any elf should be. Yet, despite his flaws, or perhaps because of them, I found it difficult to look away. Perhaps it was his innate charisma that I was noticing; perhaps it was his kind and generous nature that was plain for anyone to see.
“Asherah?”
That roused me from my contemplation of his features. “Yes?”
“Is there something you wish to ask me?”
I fixed my eyes on my plate and examined the remains of a pomegranate. “I was wondering how you procured such fresh fruit this late in the season.” I couldn’t care less where the king obtained his fruits!
Lormac, not fooled by my ruse, laughed deep in his chest. “If you’d like, I’ll have a basket of them waiting for you in your room at The Seat.”
“Thank you, my lord, but that won’t be necessary.” I didn’t even like pomegranates, with their many seeds crammed into pithy compartments. Blissfully, Lormac let the issue drop and our conversation returned to the much more pressing matter of our journey to the Seat.
Eventually, I retired for the evening. When Torim and I emerged the next morning, we found Lormac waiting outside our tent, wearing the most ridiculous cloak I had ever seen. It was brown and coarse, so much so that I assumed it was caked with dried mud but no, that was how it was supposed to look. He merely smiled when I commented upon it, which I felt I had the right to do since he had spent the better part of the prior evening criticizing my taste in riding gear.
Then he made a request of me. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to walk among your followers with you.”
And so we slogged through the mud, the redeemed slave upon the king’s arm. At least half of the fae didn’t recognize Lormac, while those who did dropped to their knees in supplication. Lormac tried to keep as many out of the mud as he could, and he helped to dry off those who were too quick in their praise of our benefactor. As he walked among them, helping break down their tents, pack up bedrolls—once I even caught him stirring a cooking pot—he proved to the fae that he thought himself no different than they, regardless of his noble birth.
Once fae and elf alike were prepared to march onward, Lormac made another request of me: would I consent to ride at his side?
“I believe it will hearten your people to see their Asherah riding at the head of our procession,” he explained. “Also, this fight now belongs to elf as well as faerie; should we not approach it together?” His tone was jovial, but his gray eyes implored me to accept.
We mounted up and made our way to the front of the procession, the mud sucking at the horses’ hooves. While I wondered how long we would be able to travel before we would need to stop, Lormac called out to me.
“We may have a dry day,” he said, indicating the parting clouds. “It is too late to help overmuch today, but with any luck the roads will improve tomorrow.”
As I watched the elder sun’s rays break through the gray haze, and then the child sun follow suit, I smiled. Yes, things would be better; I was free, Torim was free, all those behind me were free. Surely better days lay ahead.
Chapter Twelve
It was a lovely day, the air crisp with winter’s promise, birds singing in defiance of the coming cold. Caol’nir didn’t notice any of it as he wandered throughout Teg’urnan, ignoring his assigned tasks. His beloved was sequestered in the vaults for the second day, and he could think of nothing else. Atreynha’s descriptions of the trials which Alluria would undertake rang in his ears. He should have forbidden her from the vaults, pleaded with Atreynha to dissuade her; hells, he should have grabbed Alluria and forcibly removed her from the temple.
Caol’nir uttered a short, mirthless laugh as he gazed at the sky. His restless feet had brought him to the northern tower, and he leaned against the crenellated edge. How can I have let her do this? He cursed himself, cursed his oaths and the con’dehr, but stopped before he cursed the gods themselves. Alluria had been confident that she would find a way for them to be together honorably. Caol’nir hoped she was right.
He smiled, imagining a home all but overrun with his and Alluria’s children, sobering when he realized what a far-off dream that was. Caol’nir turned to watch his ancestor, Solon, ascend skyward in the guise of the child sun, and asked for guidance.
His prayer complete, Caol’nir ran his hand over the stone battlement, and wondered if the vaults were made of the same stone. He doubted it, and imagined Alluria kneeling on a rough floor of packed dirt while she shivered.
Maybe if I speak with Atreynha she will halt Alluria’s trial. Maybe I’ll just follow her into the vaults and retrieve her myself. Caol’nir spun about but stopped short when he saw Rahlle standing an arm’s length from him.
“To enter the vaults unpurified is not advisable,” Rahlle opined.
Caol’nir stared at the sorcerer, wondering how long he had been standing there, how Rahlle knew what he was thinking, if he knew how to help Alluria. Before Caol’nir could give voice to his questions, Rahlle spoke again.
“The floor is stone, not dirt, and while it is cold she’ll not freeze to death.” Rahlle moved to stand next to Caol’nir and gazed across the northern plain. “Alluria will return to you unharmed.”
“You know much of the ways of the temple?”
“More than I ought.”
Caol’nir realized that the Rahlle might be the only one who had the means to discover who—or what—had visited the temple the night of Ethnia’s death. “Master Sorcerer, do you know what happened in the temple recently?”
Rahlle turned to the warrior. “You speak of the girl who claims she was take
n by a man, and of the girl that was killed.” Caol’nir nodded, and Rahlle bowed his head. He was silent for so long that Caol’nir didn’t know if Rahlle was contemplating his answer or if he had forgotten what they were speaking of. “The girl who claimed a man came to her spoke true. As for the other, it was likely a demon that killed her, possibly even a mordeth.”
The words shocked Caol’nir; a man entering the sacred space without leave was blasphemy enough, but a demon set loose in the Great Temple was a horror beyond reckoning. “Is Alluria in danger?”
“No, no, she’s alone in the vaults. Neither man nor demon can reach her.”
Caol’nir exhaled a great sigh. “How could a man enter the temple after nightfall? Sarelle seals the doors at night, and they remain so until morning.”
Rahlle attended the brocade trim of his sleeve before replying. “You’ve been told that the four doors of the compass are the only entrances,” he said at length. “There is another.”
All temples had four entrances, no more, no less, in honor of how the fair folk came to be. Olluhm came from the east and carried Cydia to where they lay together in the west. Once Cydia was heavy with child, she went to the north to gain the knowledge to teach her firstborn of the world he would inherit, then to the south to gain the strength to bear him. Anything different would negate the temple’s sacred geometry; a fifth entrance not only made the Great Temple vulnerable to intruders but also compromised the integrity of the space.
“It was through this entrance that a man came and violated Keena,” Caol’nir stated, but he received no acknowledgement from Rahlle. What if that man had taken Alluria instead? And demons—what if they had entered Alluria’s cell? Caol’nir regarded the ancient fae before him, and asked his next question. “My lord, you say Ethnia was killed by a mordeth?”
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