Caol’nir chuckled as Lormac tormented Drustan the Dark; it was well known that Lormac’s father had struck a bargain with Drustan’s grandsire so that the dark fae might retain their lands under Tingu’s rule. Tor shot his son a quieting glance.
“No matter,” Lormac said, waving away Drustan’s apologies. “Come sit beside me, Drustan, I’ve much to tell you.”
Lormac did indeed tell Drustan many things, from the appearance of Ehkron in Tingu to his mating with Asherah. Before long, Drustan was swearing fealty to Asherah, in such an embarrassing display that Lormac had him removed to the farthest table in the hall.
Once the king and queen had eaten their fill, they rose and made their way down opposite sides of the table, Asherah accompanied by Torim as she spoke with the elfin noblewomen while Lormac accepted congratulations from his lords. Caol’nir noted that others were leaving their meals behind as they called for more of that strong elfin brandy that made one’s gullet burn. Once the king stepped down from the dais, it would signify the commencement of Madoc’na, and Caol’nir was of a mind to depart the hall long before that happened.
“Enjoying yourself, Prelate?” Lormac asked once he made his way to Tor’s side. “I trust you and your boy will avail yourselves of all the pleasures Tingu may provide,” he added. Normally Caol’nir would express his displeasure over being referred to as a boy with the back of his hand, but he had come to like the elf king. He understood why his father held Lormac in such high esteem.
“I think we’ll depart long before we have the chance,” Tor replied.
“I was sorry to learn of Iseult’s passing,” Lormac said with a kindness Caol’nir had not expected. “She was a good woman, a true warrior’s mate.”
“As is your mate,” Tor said. “Look at how she glides among your people as if she has been their queen for many winters. They already respect her.”
“Mmmm,” Lormac nodded in agreement, gazing at his mate. “Do you recognize her?”
“Should I?” Tor asked with a raised brow.
“The mordeth that took her did something to her mind,” Lormac replied. “He took her memories.”
“Does she remember what part of Parthalan she’s from?”
“She does not, but suspects she came from the east.”
“Alluria may know of her,” Caol’nir offered. “My mate was a priestess in the east for many winters and had dealings with much of the nobility.”
“Your mate was a priestess?” Lormac said with a sly grin. “As con’dehr, aren’t you supposed to keep them virgins?” Caol’nir felt his anger rise, mostly with himself for divulging such a detail, but Lormac clapped him on the back and called for more brandy. “Boy, I grow to like you more than I ever thought I’d like the stodgy Prelate’s son. Come; let us drink to your mate, lovely she must be!”
###
Lormac grinned as he quaffed the brandy with Tor and Caol’nir; to think, the Prelate’s son took a priestess as his own! He had never understood why the fae valued virginity as they did. Elves saw the pleasures of the flesh as pleasures to be had, and availed themselves whenever they had the opportunity.
As the thought crossed Lormac’s mind, he watched Asherah, pale and lovely as she made her way among the elves. Despite his earlier sentiments, he knew that he would never seek another’s bed, not so long as Asherah deigned to stay with him. His loins practically groaned as he imagined her beneath him, her hair fanned out around her head as she called his name.
“What of your mate?” Tor was saying, and Lormac turned to him. “Will she ride beside you in this war?”
“She will,” Lormac assured. Tor commented but Lormac hardly heard him as he turned back to Asherah. He was transfixed by her, the way her slender limbs moved beneath her impossibly thin gown. The Sala called to him, maddening in its insistence that he claim his mate, shouting inside his mind that until the union was complete the power of the Seat would falter and he would be unable to hold his kingdom together. Moreover, he physically needed her; his hands shook, his throat was dry and raspy, and the Prelate asked him if he was well.
Lormac muttered a response to Tor as he rose, well aware of what would cure his affliction, nearly salivating at the thought of getting it. Lormac strode across the hall to where Asherah stood, surrounded by admirers—Who would not admire her? She is perfect!—who declared their loyalty to their new queen. He caught a saffira’s elbow and gave a few quick instructions to be carried to Lukka, detailing that she was to take Leran to the nursery immediately and keep him there until first dawn. As she scurried off Lormac saw Asherah conversing with his lords as easily as if she had been born into royalty.
She is loved already, Lormac marveled as he caught her eye. No one had loved Leran’s mother; not one of his subjects, none of her fellow saffira, and least of all Lormac. He had regretted getting her with child every day, wondering how he could have been so foolish as to tie himself to one such as her, until the day she bore Leran. When Lormac first beheld his son, who had his father’s eyes and his mother’s fine-boned beauty, he resolved that he would do anything for her, she who had bestowed this great and wonderful gift upon him.
What she had wanted, however, was to be away from Lormac and their son. So once Leran was weaned he let her go, sending her off with all the gold and jewels she could carry to fund her new life, along with his solemn oath that she was forever welcome in Tingu. Lormac had never missed her, not for a single moment.
Now, as he gazed upon his queen he knew why. Asherah was what he had always desired, a true warrior, not one to shy away from sharp steel or the call to battle. His subjects flocked to her like moths to the flame, entranced by her quick wit, her charm, her pale beauty. In every way, she was the opposite of Leran’s mother, and Lormac wanted her in every one of those ways.
“My king,” Asherah said as he approached, that mischievous glint dancing in her eye. She bowed her head, those around her amused by her supplication.
“My lady, there are things I must discuss with you,” Lormac began, then leaned close as he continued, “in my chamber.”
Fear flashed across her eyes, gone in an instant. “As my lord wishes,” Asherah replied and took his arm as they walked from the hall. Lormac took note of her rigid shoulders, her stiff gait.
She cannot still be frightened of me, Lormac mused. She must realize how much she means to me, that I value her life above mine. As the thoughts crossed his mind they were all but drowned out by the growing need in his body, a need so great he knew that he must claim her that evening.
“What would you like to discuss?” Asherah asked.
“What I would like to discuss,” he replied as the arm that linked with hers traveled around her waist, “is the completion of your queenmaking.”
Asherah speaks…
Queenmaking.
He said it as if it was some sort of a ceremony performed in a hall, complete with guests and wine and a crown, but that’s not what he meant. I wore the Sala, I had publicly acknowledged that I would be his queen, and now he meant to claim me and make me his.
I glanced at his face and saw a hunger that would no longer be placated by my halfhearted excuses. Lormac had been both patient and indulgent as I fended him off. In hindsight, I wish I had not done so but jumped into his arms. I now realize how much time I wasted being foolish, refusing to relinquish my fears, the many moments gone that I could never reclaim.
And why was I so afraid of him? Of all the men I have since met in my long life, Lormac was certainly the kindest, gentlest soul one could hope to meet. One can hardly expect to meet two men like him in one lifetime.
I stopped to gaze out a window into a walled courtyard; the thaw had come to Tingu and multicolored petals and leaves poked through the melting snow, all outlined in the rich, red moonlight. I began to say how lovely the scene was, how I had never imagined that the cold, frozen north could generate such beauty, when Lormac’s hands slid around my waist.
“Asherah,” he murmured, h
is breath hot against my ear. I turned and looked up, up at this elf that was impossibly tall thanks to his mountainous heritage, and tried not to tremble.
“My lord?” I was relieved that my voice held steady. Lormac drew me against him, tangling his fingers in my hair, crystals tinkling to the floor as he covered my face in kisses.
“I need you tonight,” Lormac said against my skin. “Tell me it will be tonight.”
Tell him? What choice did I have since he had publicly proclaimed me his mate? It irritated me that he (again!) decided that I was his mate without first asking me, that he not only stuck the Sala on me (again!) but that he had done it before the whole of elfdom. Luckily, my irritation burnt away just enough fear for me to answer him.
“Tonight,” I began, but his mouth was on mine before the word was fully spoken. I hadn’t realized how much he held himself back until that moment, and for the first time, I was fully awash in his passion. His desire ignited some of my own, and as I kissed him back I thought that Tingu was where I was meant to be, that I really was Asherah of the north, that my past no longer mattered…
Until he tried to lift me and I screamed. I shrieked, I kicked, I yelled, then there was pain, pain so great that all I could see was red, and then darkness took me.
###
I awoke in Lormac’s chamber, ensconced in his enormous bed with a head that throbbed as if the troll king had used me in place of his anvil. Someone, most likely Lormac, had tucked me under the heavy velvet coverlet and drawn the curtains that encircled the bed, making the interior dark as a moonless night. My lovely white gown was gone, and I wore only the Sala. I lay still for a time, straining to hear movement outside the curtains. When I was certain that I was alone I sat up and stretched.
Apparently, my hearing is not as sharp as I imagined, for as soon as I moved I heard a wooden chair scrape across the floor. In another instant, Lormac snapped open the curtains and sat at my side. He had removed his ornate coat and sword belt, and he looked exhausted and harried. With a pang of guilt, I wondered if he had been watching over me for half the night.
“How do you feel?” he asked as he smoothed back my hair, concern mingling with confusion across his face. I relayed my analogy of my head and Grelk’s anvil, and he chuckled.
“Why am I in your bed?” I asked. While I understood that this had been our ultimate destination, Lormac remained clothed and I remembered nothing after kissing him in the corridor. Before he could answer, the force of nature that was Leran burst into the room.
“Da,” Leran cried as he bounded into bed with us. His nurse, who was proffering her usual apologies for Leran’s behavior, closely followed him.
“He’s been waiting up for the two of you,” Lukka was saying. “As soon as he heard your voices, he ran faster than I could catch him.”
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Lormac asked as he ruffled the boy’s hair. Leran pouted, for not only had he been forbidden from attending Madoc’na, he had been sent to sleep in his own bed for the first time in more than a fortnight. I had expected him to be cross, but what he said next took both Lormac and me by surprise.
“This can’t be mine anymore?” he asked, and I realized that he was staring at the Sala. It had never occurred to me that I was wandering around the Seat with Leran’s birthright on my arm. Me, one with no claim to the elfin throne, one who really did nothing except convince the king to fight in a war that shouldn’t be his.
“Maybe he should have it,” I blurted out, only to have Lormac glare at me as if I’d suggested we leave Leran out for vultures to pick at. Thoroughly abashed, I shrank back against the cushions and let Lormac deal with his son.
“It belongs to Asherah now,” Lormac said gently. Leran continued to pout and Lormac continued soothe, reassuring him that he would still rule Tingu one day. Once the boy had been sufficiently placated, Lormac nudged him toward Lukka and extracted a promise that he would remain in his own bed until sunrise. Then Lormac turned back to me and tried drawing me into his arms, but I remained stiff.
“You haven’t told me how we ended up here,” I reminded him. “Did you make love to me?”
“Do you really think I’d take you unawares?” he asked, hurt evident in his voice and on his face.
“No,” I said truthfully, “I don’t.”
“Good.” Lormac reached for me again, and again I evaded him.
“Then why am I naked?” I asked, full of irrational shame when I realized that Lormac was likely the one who removed my gown. Irrational, because we had seen each other naked before, and hells, it wasn’t as if I was the first woman to wander into the king’s bedchamber. “And why does my head ache so?”
“I was trying to be gallant and carry you to bed, but you fought against me and struck your head on the door,” Lormac said with a smirk. “Once I got you up off the floor and made sure you weren’t bleeding, I settled you here to rest. I thought you’d be more comfortable without your dress.” His brows knit together as he took in the image of me cowering under the bedclothes, and he removed his tunic. For a moment, I thought he would remove the rest of his clothing and climb into bed. Instead he offered me the garment and went so far as to turn his back as I pulled it over my head.
“I hate being carried,” I said as my head emerged from the too-large neck; his tunic would likely reach my knees when I stood. “They never let us walk to our torment; they took even that small dignity from us.” I shuddered as I recalled how the demons would carry me down the dark corridor, their disgusting hands and hoofs and claws raking over my skin and tearing away my pathetic shift even before they chained me to that table.
“I’m so sorry,” Lormac said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
I hadn’t realized that I’d been speaking aloud, and a new wave of shame washed over me. While Lormac was well aware of my time as a slave, and of the many atrocities that I endured, there were still details I did not want him to know. I realized that Lormac was still speaking, and I wrenched myself from my horrible past to my confusing present.
“You know I would never… force you,” Lormac was saying. He had taken my hand and was tracing the scars on my wrist. “I could never hurt you.”
“I know,” I replied. We sat in silence then, neither of us looking at the other, and I sighed. While my captors were long dead, they were still ruining my life. “I should go.”
“Stay.” He pulled me into his arms, and I was just on edge enough to be annoyed.
“Lormac, I’ve already ruined your evening,” I said as I squirmed free. “I’ll return in the morning.”
“No!” Lormac said, tightening his arms.
“Lormac! Don’t hold me down!” I shrieked. Being naked and unable to move threw open the deadbolted gates of my memories. I fought him as I’d fought against my captors so many times before. I must have shocked Lormac to immobility. I tore myself from his arms and scurried to the far side of the enormous bed, my back against the wall and the coverlet yanked up to my neck. The crystals that had taken Torim almost a full day to weave into my hair sprayed across the bed, catching the light and refracting patterns across the darkened velvet. I drew my knees to my chest as I broke out in a cold sweat, willing my limbs to stop shaking.
Lormac’s saffira clambered into the bedchamber, having heard my hysterics, and Lormac quickly assured them that all was well. Once he had quelled the commotion and we were alone again, he returned to my side, this time keeping a careful distance from his crazed bedmate.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, “I did not mean to shout at you. It’s just…” I didn’t trust myself to finish my thought, since I’d already shared things I’d never wanted Lormac to know. Hesitantly I glanced at him; his lip was swollen, and blood darkened the corner of his mouth.
“Gods,” I croaked as I covered my face, screaming having roughened my voice. While I’d never gotten a demon off me, I did succeed in giving the only man I cared for a bloody lip. That, coupled with my earlier outburst, left me t
ruly mortified.
“It’s all right,” Lormac soothed. “May I take your hand?” I barely nodded as he did so, holding my fingers lightly so I could withdraw it at a moment’s notice. I stared at the Sala, the symbol of Lormac’s kingship, symbol of our mating, and I sighed again.
“You should not have given this to one like me,” I said as I traced the green stones. “I remember little of my life, and what I do remember seems intent upon ruining the lives of those around me.” I leaned back against the bedpost and stared at the ceiling. “Hells, I can hardly let you touch me without going into a panic.”
“You don’t need to remember anything,” Lormac said. “We can make new memories. Once you are fully my mate—”
My mirthless laughter rattled between us. “When is ‘once’?” I asked. “Once will never come. Can’t you see that this need you have to possess me will only destroy you? You should find someone whose memory and mind is whole, not a hollow shell of a woman. A hollow shell, and even the shell is cracked and crazed.”
“I don’t want another,” he insisted for the hundredth time; this wasn’t the first discussion we’d had on the subject. “I want you.”
“How could you want me? You don’t even know me! Do the gods themselves need to tell you that this does not work? We do not work!” Before he could stop me, I removed the Sala and placed it on the coverlet between us. “This is not meant to be mine.”
Lormac looked from the Sala to me, fury boiling behind his eyes. “I have bestowed upon you the greatest honor my people can give, and yet you only want to give it back.” He growled the words, anger making his voice low and thick.
“You never asked me if I wanted it,” I retorted. “You just expect me to be yours until you tire of me! Your faerie mate, proof that an elf could destroy an evil that the fae could not! You only want to thumb your nose at my people!”
Heir to the Sun Page 24
