Heir to the Sun

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  “Lormac is promising his people a victory,” Tor stated.

  “Does every custom in Tingu involve Lormac kissing her?” Caol’nir asked.

  “The longer the kiss, the swifter the victory,” Tor said with a gleam in his eye. Caol’nir shrugged and wished for them to get on with it; the sooner they were done with their elfin rituals, the sooner they would be on the move, and the sooner he would be kissing his own mate.

  ###

  “Da!” shouted Leran. Lormac ended his kiss to Asherah far earlier than he had intended, but his warriors shouted and cheered nonetheless.

  “My boy!” Lormac swept his son into his arms and squeezed him against his chest; every time he left Leran at the Seat, he missed him so dearly he swore he would never be apart from him again. Leran, however, was used to his father’s long absences, and was much more distraught with the departure of his new mother.

  “Don’t go,” Leran pleaded, staring at Asherah with mournful eyes.

  “I’ll only be gone a short time,” she assured the boy, smoothing back his hair. Leran leaned forward and wrapped his arms about Asherah’s neck, so tightly she could hardly breathe. Asherah took him from Lormac and gazed worriedly at her mate over the boy’s head. Lormac shook his head; despite Asherah’s pleading and Leran’s pouting, he would not take his son from the safety of the Seat. They were all just going to have to miss one another, which would make them appreciate the reunion all the more.

  “Don’t worry,” Asherah soothed, rocking Leran back and forth as if he were still a baby. “Soon, Da and I will return and we will never leave you again.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Asherah speaks…

  Most kings ride in the center of the march, with strong warriors on either side to protect them from unforeseen foes. Not so Lormac, who proudly rode at the front, almost daring his foes to strike. I’d heard many tales about his prowess in battle (mostly from Lormac’s own lips, but a few came from Balthus), and I wondered if my mate believed himself invincible.

  His prowess was also the subject of another topic within the camp, which involved our sleeping arrangements. I couldn’t bear the thought of Torim alone in her bedroll, and adopted the habit of sneaking out of the palatial tent I shared with Lormac and into her bed. I always intended to return to him before dawn, but I did tend to oversleep while in her embrace. After Lormac had awakened without me a few times, and Belenos complained that there wasn’t room for him in Torim’s bed, Lormac followed me to my not-so-secret encounter and proclaimed that our bed was more than large enough for three, and thus we became the most discussed bedmates in Parthalan. Belenos, to his great disappointment, was not invited.

  Others tried not to speculate on what went on in the king's tent within our earshot, but when Lormac heard such comments he merely joked that whether we were home at the Seat or marching to war, he couldn’t manage to sleep alone with his mate.

  Our newest bedmate created another small but manageable problem in that we needed to find someplace to make love. Lormac spun a yarn about needing to bed me often now that we were outside Tingu’s borders (as if he had let me alone while we were in them!) so he could freely draw upon the power of the Sala. While I didn’t think his reasoning was sound, neither did I protest, and we became adept at finding secluded locations to share a few moments.

  Initially, I’d been reticent to be intimate with him out of doors, fearful of someone happening upon us, but the cool air and warm sun on my skin was an aphrodisiac like none other. I also learned that Lormac had handpicked his most trusted, closed-mouthed soldiers to set up a discreet perimeter and keep anyone from disturbing us. Despite his warriors’ skill, on one such day I couldn’t escape the sensation of being watched.

  “I do hope you’re mistaken,” Lormac murmured after I’d shared my suspicions with him. He had found a sunny clearing for us to while away the afternoon and had even brought furs and cushions, lest anyone wonder what we were up to. “If anyone looks upon my queen unclad, the punishment is to have their eyes struck from their skull, and we will need all the sighted warriors we can manage.”

  I had laughed as he described a bevy of blinded elves trudging toward Teg’urnan, and we languidly passed the afternoon together. We returned to the same spot the next day (a bridge needed fortification to allow our massive force passage, and it ended up taking eight days to complete). As I sank into the soft grass with Lormac, I again felt an uninvited presence.

  But who could have evaded Balthus? Whoever it was needed to have unsurpassed tactical knowledge to know where the sentries would be stationed and how they moved. It had to be someone stealthy enough to evade...a demon.

  “Love, would you fetch me some wine?” I asked.

  “Now?” He gave me the most frustrated of faces, to which I smiled sweetly. “I’ll be back in an instant.” I watched Lormac disappear through the trees, and then I turned toward the opposite side of the clearing.

  “Are you going to come out?” I asked, and Harek emerged. “How many days have you skulked about, spying on Lormac and me?”

  “Only since yesterday,” he replied “And I wasn’t spying.” His eyes were downcast, and I suspected that there was more to this than simple curiosity.

  “Here,” I said, indicating that he should sit beside me; he did, and I wrapped the thick fur about me in spite of the warm day. Of all people, Harek should have known not to watch me during such a moment. “If not spying, then what?”

  “As always, I watch over you,” he replied.

  “I’m surrounded by those sworn to die for me,” I stated. “Further, if Lormac or his warriors had seen you, you would have been punished first and questioned later.”

  “Those boys cannot catch me,” he scoffed. I pursed my lips, and waited for him to explain himself. “I just wanted to know that you were safe with him.”

  “Of course I am. He’s my mate.”

  “I had to know for myself,” Harek said. “It’s unlikely for the Lord of Tingu to take a faerie to bed, let alone as his mate.” I took no offense at Harek’s argument, for I’d thought the same. Lormac, however, had proven me wrong. “I had to know you were well cared for.”

  I heard the softest of footfalls and saw Lormac on the edge of the clearing, cask of wine in hand; Harek was deep within his contemplation and hadn’t noticed him. I motioned for Lormac to wait and questioned Harek.

  “Care of me concerns you so?”

  “I’ve always sought to care for you, even when I could not,” Harek said quietly. “I remember the day they brought you to the doja. You were so young, the youngest taken at that time, but you fought against them like a caged animal. No one had ever fought the way you did. I couldn’t move but I silently praised for you, hoping you would wound one of them and escape…” Harek fell silent, staring at the ground.

  “Then what?” I prompted. While I’d known that Harek was present when I was brought to the doja, I did not know that he had witnessed my first agonizing day. I hoped his recollections would stir my own long-buried memories.

  “It became clear what they were going to do... First, you pleaded with them to spare you… You claimed to be maiden still, and promised to another… Your claim only angered the mordeth; he wanted you for his own, but he thought you were lying. He choked you until you fainted and left you for the lessers.” Harek turned to me then, his face that never betrayed emotion now drowning in anguish. “I’ve never felt as helpless as I did in that moment, watching them…”

  His voice broke, and he turned away. When he continued, he had regained the stoic timbre that only comes from years of observing such torment. “Afterward, I carried you to Torim’s cell. I couldn’t do anything else for you, but I hoped the two of you might help one another.”

  I smiled wanly as I remembered waking in that cell for the first time; Torim, filthy and huddled in a corner, terrified of the new woman that stared at her from across the tiny room. Disregarding my own plight, I
had coaxed Torim from her hiding place behind the straw and… and you know the rest.

  “I’m glad you left me with her,” I murmured, realizing that he had placed us together because he worried that neither of us would have survived alone. “Thank you, for the care you took with us.”

  Harek grunted. “You call that care? I returned you to them, time and again!”

  “You had no choice. But you were as kind as you were allowed to be, and we wouldn’t have lasted long without you.”

  Harek faced me, and I flinched under the weight of his gaze. “We of the Ish h’ra hai have you to thank,” he said gravely, “you alone.” Then he pulled me toward him and kissed me; I was too shocked to evade him. “I’m yours to command, deliverer.” Then he rose and walked away.

  I touched my fingers to my lips and momentarily considered following Harek, but not for the reasons he would have wanted. I worried that he saw me as something I wasn’t, someone to be placed upon a pedestal…but I was only Hillel. I put my concerns aside when I heard Lormac approach, having left his hidden spot at the edge of the clearing. He sat next to me, and I opened the fur, wrapping him in its warmth as he wrapped me with the comfort only he could give.

  “Did you hear?” I asked at length.

  “I did.”

  “Now, you know how it began,” I said softly. “Now, we both know.”

  He squeezed me against him, and I could sense that his mind was filled with the images Harek had described. “Do I tell you that I love you often enough?”

  “You could tell me every moment of every day, and I’d never tire of it,” I replied. “Are you angry with Harek?”

  “I’m certainly not pleased,” Lormac snapped. “If Harek had kissed you in front of my warriors, any one of them would have struck him dead for the affront. I will deal with him.” I looked up at him, pleading without words. “You don’t want me to?”

  “Many of the guards were made eunuch,” I explained. “We suspect that he was as well.”

  “If he wasn’t, I will arrange it,” Lormac muttered. He went on to mention nearly a hundred arguments for Harek’s punishment—that in Tingu he would be put to death for touching me, that as queen I could demand his torture and eventual death, that being cut was a lesser punishment than he deserved—and I declined them all.

  “Please, ignore it this once,” I asked. “If not for Harek and his brother, I’d likely be dead in that doja. The least I can do is spare him for this single transgression.”

  Lormac’s eyes softened. “For giving me the gift of my beloved queen, I will suspend action against him. However, I still wish to speak with him.”

  “Lormac,” I began, but he held up his hand.

  “As you wish,” he grumbled. “The traitorous bastard who dared touch my mate will escape all retribution.”

  “Now, none of that,” I scolded. “I expect pouting from Leran, but not from his regal father.” I rose, and tugged Lormac along with me.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, and saw the mischief in my eyes reflected in his. “I’m suddenly of a mind to take a swim.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  On and on they marched, until Torim wondered if she would ever see the world framed by aught but her horse’s ears. Every joint in her body ached, every muscle was sore; no, she had transcended beyond sore days ago. What was more amazing was that the Ish h’ra hai had walked all the way to Tingu, herself included, and she didn’t recall being in such discomfort when they arrived at Lormac’s keep.

  This creature hates me. She glared at her horse, all but convinced that its uneven gait was merely a tool to cause dull, throbbing pains across her body. Torim glanced over her shoulder at the marching warriors and sighed; it was an honor to have use of a horse, but she would be so much happier moving under the power of her feet and nothing more.

  Her opinion was strengthened when camp was made that evening; her bones audibly creaked as she dismounted. Torim handed the reins to a handler, then Asherah approached her.

  “The Prelate wishes to speak with us,” Asherah murmured, “all of us.”

  Asherah laced her fingers with Torim’s, and together they entered the Prelate’s hastily-erected tent. Torim blinked at the darkened interior, then observed that everyone of note was in attendance. In addition to herself and Asherah, Tor Caol’nir, Lormac, Balthus, Belenos, and Sibeal were present; even Drustan the Dark was there. A moment later Harek slipped inside the tent, narrowly evading the daggers thrown by Lormac’s eyes. When all were present, Tor spoke without preamble.

  “There is one matter we’ve yet to consider. What is to be done with Sahlgren once he’s been captured?”

  “He will be judged,” Lormac said, as if the matter was obvious, but a quick glance at the faeries that surrounded him said otherwise. “How else do you propose we deal with him?”

  “It’s not a question of whether or not Sahlgren should be judged, but who shall judge him,” Tor replied. “He has ruled Parthalan for three thousand winters, none are his equal.”

  “I am his equal,” Lormac replied. “I haven’t ruled near as long, but Tingu is a larger land than Parthalan. Drustan is fae and king of his land. And,” he added, placing his hand on Asherah’s back and drawing her toward him, “my queen is fae. We three may act as a council and decide his fate.”

  “Aye,” Drustan agreed, “we will hear his crimes, right on Teg’urnan’s steps so all may know what he’s done.”

  “Well and so, once he is judged, what do we do with him?” Tor pressed.

  Lormac eyed Tor. “I would sentence the traitor to death, but your manner makes me wonder what you aren’t telling me.”

  “Rulership of Parthalan is passed by blood, either through birth of an heir or the spilling of the king’s blood,” Tor explained.

  “In three millennia, Sahlgren has not managed a single heir?”

  “No,” Tor replied flatly.

  “Does he have a cock?” Belenos demanded.

  “As far as I know,” Tor replied. “We fae don’t get children as often as elves.”

  “Apparently not,” Belenos grumbled.

  Lormac ran a hand through his hair; the situation had just become unbearably complicated. “I wish you’d explained this to me in Tingu,” he grumbled. Balthus and his men still did not understand, and Lormac gestured for Tor to explain.

  “Since Sahlgren has no heir, whoever spills his blood will become the next king of Parthalan,” Tor stated.

  “What if he’s killed without bleeding, say strangulation?” asked Balthus.

  “Then there is no king, and Parthalan will remain without a ruler until Solon appoints a new one.”

  “You cannot fight for the throne?”

  “No, and I am beholden to stop anyone who tries. As Solon’s heir, I cannot work against him” The elfin warriors stared at the Prelate, as did Torim and Asherah. Sahlgren had ruled longer than most had lived, so the rites of succession weren’t widely known.

  “This is the most foolish custom I have ever heard,” grumbled Belenos as Drustan muttered a similar opinion. “Among elves, if there is no heir the strongest warrior becomes king.”

  “We aren’t like you,” Tor said. “Parthalan was given to us by the gods, and they choose the ruler, not we. Therefore, per their design, the old king must be beheaded by the new.”

  “Why don’t you behead him?” asked Balthus, but Tor shook his head.

  “I’m sworn to defend the king. I cannot break my oath.”

  Balthus threw his hands up in the air. “You fae have effectively hobbled yourselves,” he said. “What are we to do? Capture Sahlgren and hold him somewhere until we find a suitable ruler? Or is there an oath to keep that from happening?” A sharp look from Lormac silenced Balthus.

  “While I do not condone such outbursts, Balthus is correct,” Lormac stated. “If rulership is passed by blood, we need to find Parthalan’s next ruler.” Lormac looked to Caol’nir. “What about you? Wh
o holds your oath?”

  “My father,” Caol’nir answered. “As con’dehr I’m bound to the Prelate.”

  “You could rule, Solon-son,” Lormac stated gravely. “The scion of a warrior god’s line is a good choice.”

  “No,” Caol’nir replied without hesitation, then elaborated, “My mate, she would not be pleased.”

  “Your priestess will mate to a warrior, but not a king?” Lormac asked with a raised brow, chuckling as indignation rose in Caol’nir’s eyes. “Calm yourself, I mean no ill will. But the question remains: who will take Sahlgren’s head?”

  “Asherah will.”

  All eyes turned to Harek, heretofore silent during the deliberations. Fury rose in Lormac’s eyes, and he opened his mouth, but Harek had the audacity to speak over him. “There is no better choice,” he insisted. “Dojas burn because of Asherah, slaves are free because of Asherah. Who better to rule Parthalan than she who has saved it?”

  “She is Lady of Tingu,” Lormac snapped.

  “That she may be, but she is also a faerie,” Harek continued. “If she is to rule, it should be over the fae, not elves.”

  “Who are you to decide where she should rule?” Lormac demanded. “You merely wish to separate her from me, her mate!”

  “That is preposterous!”

  “Is it? I heard what you said to her, you pathetic gelding—”

  “Enough!” Asherah glared from Lormac to Harek. “If you consider me fit to rule not one, but two lands, show me enough respect to not discuss my fate as if I were not standing before you!”

  “Forgive me,” Lormac said, “but the idea of you in Parthalan and while I remain in Tingu upsets me greatly.” Asherah’s eyes widened, then she walked out of the tent. Lormac moved to follow her, but Torim stayed him.