by T. G. Neal
Jorvig looked down at his new bride. His lover, the young woman whose plans were driven by power, power he could give her. Power she enhanced. A power she made greater for him. He pressed his lips against her forehead and smiled “My father and mother were fools and Wraith, like your Saitig, was a specter of a bygone age. Your Denevim will replace Saitig, and we can begin our greater plans.” He pressed his lips against Miliria’s with fierce passion. “My sister and her guard dog Vaelen perished in the fall, and all of the mercenaries who pursued them were slain by your fire.” Jorvig grabbed Miliria and lifted her up on the table. “I want to feel your fire.”
Vaelen climbed the ladder in the boathouse slowly, his body aching with each pull. There was a small window that looked back toward the house from the upper loft. Had it been any other time of the year, it might have been an uncomfortable place, but here, now, in the dusk of spring, when the nights were still cool, it was pleasant. Once up top, Vaelen rested his back against a storage crate.
The loft had been organized by their rescuer, Robert, who put one pallet on the side closest to the window – this one Vaelen had given to Aurelia, as it had to most privacy – and the other pallet was close to the ladder, so that Vaelen could react quickly to anything that might come their way.
Right behind Vaelen climbed Aurelia, who sat down right beside Vaelen. She looked at him blankly. At first, she realized she was still in shock. Then as she allowed the protective barriers in her brain to shut down, she cried. She was silent, but the tears came in a steady stream. Only once did she say something almost completely intelligible but sounded to Vaelen like she said “bastard”. He could only ascertain that she referred to her brother.
Instinctively, Vaelen embraced Aurelia. He brought her closer to him. In the darkness, where neither could see the other well, they both cried. Where Aurelia streamed tears, one right after the other, Vaelen held his back, but still wept for his slain father.
A flood of white-hot pain washed over him as Aurelia's hand brushed against the stump of an arrow shaft in his shoulder. He winced in pain and grunted.
Aurelia stopped crying and stiffened. She kept her head low and used her sleeve to wipe away her tears. “Vaelen, you're hurt. Worse than I thought.”
Vaelen said nothing at first, he was still collecting himself from the pain. Finally, he choked out “I took one arrow, though I don't think it sunk deep. It passed through the leather straps on my armor.” He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulder, as if trying to discover just how deep in had sunken. “The wound on my side...” he trailed and lifted his shirt “has stopped bleeding, at least.”
Aurelia reached for it and touched the red puffy edges. Her bare touch pushed a small amount of watery blood from it. “It needs to be cleaned. And we need to stitch this one on your side shut. And we need to see if we can remove the arrow.” Aurelia sniffled and moved toward the ladder “I'll be--” but was cut short by the young man who climbed the ladder.
Davet looked at her, then hoisted a leather satchel up onto the floor of the loft. “Da says you needed food, water, wine, and medicine things. Ma got you together her best injury things and herbs and things. Da put in two skins of water and wine... I took a sip of the wine...” the boy hung his head low a moment, then looked back sheepishly “And I put in cheese, salted fish, and some of Ma's bread. Oh, and a sweet roll. Those always make me feel better. Oh, and take care. Oh, and Maker be with you.” After that the boy started the climb back down.
Vaelen leaned over the edge and called after him in a low tone. “Davet.” To which the boy looked up, “Thank you.”
The boy nodded and scampered off, closing the door behind him.
As the boy left, the silence of the room filled only with the faint sounds of the water lapping against the underside of the dock inside the boat house. Vaelen leaned back against the crate. “I won't protest, but are you sure you're up to it?” He asked Aurelia.
“You're damn right you won't protest. And if I can do a running cross-stitch, I can sew up a wound. Besides, I've done it before.” Aurelia said, pulling out the small medical kit they'd been given.
“Okay.” Vaelen answered matter-of-factly. He pulled out the wineskin and pulled the cork from it with his teeth. After spitting the cork aside, he took several big gulps of the honeyed wine.
The wine didn't do much good. Aurelia used Yarrow to stop the blood and combined several herbs to clean the wound before stitching it up. The wound she was most worried about causing trouble was the arrow. Knowing full-well that she would have to remove the remaining shaft and the tip with varying difficulty, depending on if it stuck in the bone, she wasn't looking forward to it.
Vaelen was writhing in pain with each new thing she did in the name of helping him. It wasn't the first injury he'd received. It wasn't the first stitch he'd had, but it was the first he'd gotten under such circumstances. He was biting down on a piece of wood he found on the floor of the loft, and that was his only real reprieve from the pain. Glad, though he was, that she was tending to the wounds, he was not looking forward to removing the arrow. Part of him even considered asking her to leave it. He grunted a muffled grunt as she used a pair of iron-forged thongs to grasp at the arrowshaft. Too late... he thought and braced himself.
Lucky for Vaelen and Aurelia both, the arrow spun freely in the wound, which meant it wasn't lodged in bone. By the size of the wound, they used small armor-piercing arrows, which were intended to hit organs, rather than to cause widespread damage to flesh. Lucky, indeed. Aurelia found her grip on the shaft of the arrow, gave it a feign tug twice, then on the third pull yanked the remaining two inches of shaft and tip from the meat of his shoulder. A steady stream of hot blood poured down his back.
The pain it produced was blinding. A white light tightened around his vision and he gasped for breath, then collected himself, exhaling sharply. He braced himself to keep from falling over and looked at the arrow as Aurelia showed it to him.
Vaelen nodded. “We're done, right?”
“Almost.” She smiled.
As she treated the wound with Yarrow, and cleaned this one the same as before, she closed the wound from the inside. Each time she passed through a chunk of flesh, Vaelen winced, but he held up. When she finished closing the wound and tying off the stitches, she closed both of them with an herbal sap mixture that sealed the herb oils in and kept the bad stuff out.
When all was done, Vaelen pressed his back against the crate that separated their two beds and looked at her. Sweat beaded up on his brow from the pain, and his eyes were tired, red and weak. “Thank you, Milady.” He breathed, a tone of defeat to his voice she had never heard.
Aurelia sat all the supplies to the side and sat up on her knees. She looked into Vaelen's eyes, and into the blue orbs that stared back at her. Her heart ached for her loss, but it also ached for his. She shook her head at him and placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you, too. We'd have never made it had it not been for your sacrifice.”
His strawberry blond hair was now bronze, and it was matted to his forehead from the water. Vexed, he answered, “I was just doing my job, Milady.”
“Aurelia. Please call me Aurelia. There is no more station to keep...” She said, darker in tone than she intended.
The revelation of her words quietened the room for several minutes. Both reflected on what had happened just prior to their arrival here. The celebration that was a ruse for a ground-shaking betrayal. Aurelia lost her mother, father and gained an insatiable hatred for her brother and his new wife. Vaelen lost his father and the family he swore to protect, only saving one of those he pledged his life for.
The rest of the night was spent brooding. Both ate for the strength they knew they would need later. When they grew too tired, they slept. That night was full of nightmares for both Vaelen and Aurelia; nightmares and tear
The next morning came far too soon and the sounds of the nearby Giltshore marketplace roused Vaelen up with a jolt. He reached for his blade at h
is side and rolled to a sitting position. The wound on his side ached, as did the one on his shoulder. His sudden movement sent electricity through his body from his shoulder. He clenched his jaw and exhaled deeply, a combination of his body tolerating the pain that was washing over him, and relief to know the sounds he heard was a marketplace, not soldiers seeking him.
Once he caught his breath, he turned to look for Aurelia who was waking up as well, likely because of the sounds he made. He still did not wear his shirt, and her first instinct was to look at his wounds. Still in a waking haze, she slid across the floor on her legs instead of standing and ran her fingers over each wound. The redness had faded already, and the puffiness around the edges had gone. That meant he would heal soon, and the sooner he healed, the better.
Vaelen turned to look at her, pursed his lips a moment, then stood. “I'll go out and speak with Robert. I'm much less likely to be recognized than you.”
Aurelia gave a weak smile. “With my hair looking like this, and wearing a dirty under-gown? I doubt anyone would recognize me in passing.”
“Still, if you don't mind, I'd rather make sure no one has been looking for us.” Vaelen started down the ladder and looked back at her. “I'll return shortly.”
Once Vaelen was gone Aurelia stared at the floor. She could feel what seemed like a stone rising into her throat as she fought back tears. Finally, she let them go. For a moment she sobbed, almost hysterically, covering her face. From between her hand and face, tears streaked down her arms and dripped on her legs. All she could see was the betrayal that happened the night before. She saw so many people die, people she knew and loved. Her parents never stood a chance. Guardsmen who she had spoken to about their families. Highborn whose children she played with as a small girl. It was bad enough that it happened, what made it worse was that it was her brother who orchestrated it all. Her own flesh and blood killed her parents in cold, calculated, blood.
Then, as if it were the wind changing, she stopped crying. My parents wouldn't want this, she thought, they wouldn't want me wrapped up in pain over something I didn't do. Yes, they would expect me to mourn. They would expect me to be safe. They would expect me to make it, and move on. But... and she paused in her own thoughts on this one, all emotion leaving her face, I will make Jorvig pay for what he's done. He is not my brother. He is a liar and he is dead to me. Only the monster who killed my parents remains.
She wiped the tears that moistened her cheeks away and gazed at the dagger that Jorvig had given her. She tucked the dagger back into her corset and sat and waited for Vaelen to return.
Vaelen stepped out of the boat house carrying a net. Anyone that had not been around for long would think he was just a helping hand for Robert. He quickly crossed the yard to what he believed was Robert’s house, a small wooden cottage not thirty paces from the boat house, and just on the edge of the road across from the market. From what Vaelen could see, Roberts house was on the very edge of town, and the forests were easily accessible.
He walked up to the door that faced the boat house and knocked on it firmly, but not excessively. He said nothing, just in case he had visitors that need not know his name. Just when he thought he would turn and go back to the boat house, Robert opened the door and ushered Vaelen inside.
Robert looked him up and down. “Yer a fast healer, boy. You don't look like you fell off a mighty tall cliff.” He laughed and nodded his head. “The Maker truly had a hand on ye.”
Vaelen nodded. “And so he did. I wanted to come to you and speak with you now that my mind is in a better place.”
Robert agreed and gestured back out to the boat house. “Would you like to bring the lady in? I'm assuming yer her guard, yes? We went to the market this morning and sold the whole lot of our fish; fetched a right nice price for them all. I'd say yer my good luck.” The man chuckled. “But we bought you and the lady some more clothes. Nothing fitted, mind you. But something to get you on your way.”
Vaelen was taken aback. He didn't expect such kindness from the man. “I--”
Robert placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Son, the world is a hard place. I'm sure ye know it. Ye look hardened yerself for a man as young as ye are. The Maker gave me a blessed load of nightfish, a truly rare pull. Ye think I wouldn't repay the debt in any way I could. Now, think nothing of it and go fetch the lady for breakfast! We can talk when ye return.”
Still unable to really speak or answer, Vaelen just nodded and gave a curt smile in response. He then turned and went back to get Aurelia from the boat house and bring her back in.
Overnight, Heralds inside Drachenara woke everyone and made announcements that the Bren had passed, and that his legacy had been passed to his son, Jorvig Drache and his new wife Miliria Drache. Unaware of the changes that would befall the two nations as part of their joining, Jorvig called a meeting that all who were interested could come and listen at the Main Hall, the place of the massacre the night before.
Sitting in the hand-carved golden-stone chair was Jorvig. Beside him, his new wife, Miliria, and behind them, a scarred Denevim whose face he hid in shadow. Before them was the hall in which dozens perished the night before. The floors were now nearly spotless and clean, and only one worker continued scrubbing the floor to remove a speck of blood. The young woman scrubbed as hard as she could, finally getting the spot and running off. Jorvig looked over at a standing herald and nodded his head, “Bring them in.”
At just his order, the herald and several guards rushed to open the large main hall doors. Several hundred guests flooded the gargantuan main hall, their voices more than a low rumble, but short of shouting. Miliria lifted her hand and Denevim shouted “Silence!” The crowd went mute.
Jorvig rose to his feet. “Good people of Drachenara, I--” he closed his eyes and turned away from them. After a deep breath, he turned back, “Good people of Drachenara, I know that in just a matter of hours many changes have taken place. I want to start with the bad...” he trailed and cleared his throat, feigning emotion to gather himself back up. “In the midst of a celebration, Crimson Hood Mercenaries, disguised as Winemakers and Vintners, infiltrated and murdered many innocents last night.”
A gasp was heard around the room. Surely, with the highborn that escaped, rumors had begun to circle, but this was still a grave announcement.
“Yes. My father and mother were murdered, as were many Drachen guards, and both the captain of the Drachen guard and the captain of the guard of Stormvale. Many guards, who pledged their lives to service of my father, the Bren, were slain. My father will have a bust to memorialize him in the hall of legends, and the names of all those lost will be inscribed on a plaque behind his bust.” Jorvig was still feigning an emotion that truly did not exist.
The people cheered and clapped.
Jorvig raised his hand to quieten them. Denevim began to unsheathe his sword, only to have Miliria place her hand on his wrist and mouth the words Not Now to him. Jorvig continued, “My father and mother will be buried on the morrow, entombed with all family that has come before them in the garden tombs. Now, this is a dark time indeed, and a shame that it eclipses the good news that came before.” Jorvig ushered Miliria forward. “I was married before coming home, joined to Brenness Miliria Drache. It was originally intended that I move to Stormvale, but under the circumstances, our two great brendoms will become one.” They had not been married, but who dare protest? In their web of lies, why not connect one more strand?
The crowd seemed uneasy at this announcement, but silent nonetheless.
“I'm sure that many of you may feel that this is a poor decision, but many a brendom has joined in the history of our great Empire. Ours will be just another. We have decided we will rule from here, in Drachenara, though we will travel between the two at times. You have no fear, good people of Drachenara. I will ensure that as a people you are cared for and protected. Just know that any changes that may occur in the future are for your own good.” Jorvig started to turn away, then turned ba
ck. “No questions. I am far too burdened by the passing of my parents.” And he waved them away.
A herald stepped up to speak “Citizens of Drachenara! Hear, hear! Announcements will be made across the city the day after the morrow. Any citizen wishing to come to the funeral of the great Bren Saden Drache and Brenness Seera Drache are welcomed tomorrow evening at the gardens beyond the wall of the Keep!”
As the herald finished and ushered the crowds back out, Jorvig looked to Miliria and smiled. “Such dark secrets do we keep.”
Miliria, too, turned away from the crowd and developed a smirk, “Don't we, though?” And a darkness settled in her that was unsettling even for Denevim to see. From where he stood, he lowered his head and shrunk back from her.
Aurelia clothed herself in the new garments that Robert and his wife had purchased for her, and again she had shoes. Her bare feet would have quickly bothered her. When she came out, and before breakfast was even ready, Robert's wife Delia styled Aurelia's hair up in a simple braid that spun into a bun.
While Delia styled Aurelia's hair and finished cooking breakfast, Vaelen dressed in a simple, cleaner version of what he was wearing under his armor before. He came out of the dress room, his sleeves rolled up and pushed his reddish blond hair back off of his forehead. As he stepped into the kitchen, he looked at Robert and reached to embrace his forearm. “I appreciate what you've done for us here, more than you know.”
