Voices of Blaze

by H. O. Charles

  “You should be with Romarr or Dorlunh. Or better, both,” Morghiad said.

  “They had other business. I came looking for you.”

  “Oh,” was all Morghiad could say. Betrayer to his wife, and now a poor protector to his son. What else could he fail at this evening? “I need some sleep before the signatures take place.”

  In the event, he did succeed at sleeping, and when he awoke the next morning, he found Kalad up and already dressed in his finery. “You slept very deeply,” his son said with a grin.

  Morghiad sat up on the settee. He had, now that he thought about it, slept better that night than any since Artemi had left. That had nothing to do with Dorinna, he told himself.

  “Are you ready to see your son get married?” Kalad asked.

  “Yulia may be pretty, but you cannot judge her on looks alone…” Dorinna could have demonstrated that much. “– and to marry her…” Morghiad thrust his face into a bowl of water. It felt like ice on his skin, even though his eyes told him it was steaming.

  “I like her,” Kalad said firmly.

  Morghiad towelled off the water. “Enough to love her?”

  “I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility. I owe Calidell that much. A marriage to a pretty girl is not a high price to pay.”

  “But Kal-”

  “My part of the bargain. I’ll marry her. I’ll find my happiness. Write it on your big piece of paper.”

  “Stubborn as your bloody mother.” Morghiad hissed a sigh. It was a great shame that Kalad had to be tied to one of the daughters of the Hirrahan queen, and Morghiad would have much preferred a match with the High Priestess Parfal. At least she would have guaranteed him the protection of a whole temple-full of experienced wielders. Worse, what little Yulia had said during the talks had not impressed Morghiad in the slightest.

  “Father – I, ah, I wanted to say,” Kalad began, “I saw Cass running though the hallway yesterday, and I realised what you must have said to her. I’ve never seen… I didn’t believe that anyone could love a woman – my mother – so completely. I saw Silar and The Hunter, and even though they were soft on mother, it wasn’t the same. They loved her, but not the way you do. I just… I wanted to say that I admire your dedication to her.” He cleared his throat. “I misjudged you, and I hope that one day I will be able to know the sort of love that you do.”

  Did he know? Was this… was all this designed to chew his heart up and spit it out in tiny pieces? No, Morghiad thought, he couldn’t have known what had happened. But there it was: words of kindness and respect from his youngest son. His eyes were growing moist, and he could think of nothing to say to it.

  Kalad shrugged. “I see why Silar always called you an old lump of rock. Do you always turn to stone when there are emotional things to be discussed?”

  “It’s… I do love your mother.” That much was undeniable.

  “I know.” His son embraced him suddenly. “I was always jealous of what Tal and Medi had – they always used to speak of you and how it was. I should have understood that the man who took me hostage in Gialdin had been through enough to make him do bad things. I am glad to call you father.” Kalad released him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Today we will make history.”

  Morghiad nodded. “Today we make history.”

  When Morghiad had bathed and dressed himself in clothing equally as extravagant as his son’s, they departed for the Grand Hall. Dorlunh was already there with the treaty when they arrived, which was just as Morghiad had instructed. Though Morghiad had written it in his own hand, the wording had been mostly Dorlunh’s, and he had asked that Dorlunh proof it again to ensure that nothing was omitted or misleading, nor any loopholes left that future rulers could squirm through. He had also wanted someone less likely to be the target of assassins to guard it, and someone with keen eyes to ensure the Hall was clear of such assassins before the dignitaries arrived.

  Who had sent Ulena? Morghiad wondered.

  He left Kalad’s side to look over the document – this product of his labours – for himself. And it was a fine thing to regard. It was written in five languages. At the top was the Frontier Union common tongue and in four smaller columns were translations in Old Fordan, Sunidaran, Hirrahan and Tegran, which Morghiad had to admit he had a poor command of. He had to hope that Dorlunh’s instruction on it would be satisfactory. Then again, the Tegran Queen would probably have something to say about it if it was not.

  At the bottom was the Calyrish seal in deep red wax and Morghiad’s own sigil of a bird in flight at the centre of it. He recalled that he had chosen that sigil as his own private joke at Artemi’s expense. Little wren, Gilkore had called her, and so Morghiad had chosen a wren as his personal symbol to cage within his lidir. But his little bird had flown free, and he found little humour in that joke now.

  The cage is where that one belongs.

  Morghiad cast his eyes to his signature, but immediately saw another next to it. There was an indecipherable scrawling, and below it was written: Paolin I, King of Sunidara

  “He’s signed it already?”

  Dorlunh nodded. “Well, after you expressed your worries about his queen to me, I thought I ought to extract it myself. I went to his rooms last night, and really, it didn’t take a great deal of extracting.”

  “What?” Morghiad looked back to the signature, and blinked, but it was still there. It could not be! He had broken his promise to his wife, and her trust… for nothing. He had gained nothing!

  Should have killed. Should have buried them all in fire, the monsters sang.

  The double doors to the Hall opened, and a stream of royal men and women poured through it, surrounded by bowing eddies of servants and lackeys in their multi-coloured silks. The rest of the signing ceremony passed as a blur before Morghiad’s eyes. He knew that he ought to have been smiling and swollen with pride at what had been achieved in those two weeks, but he could not feel an ounce of warmth within himself.

  He was aware of Dorinna’s presence at the signing, but he kept his line of sight set firmly on other things and other people. Whether her lips carried a smug smile, or her eyes a piteous glance, he did not want to have to witness it.

  Before he was able to properly collect his thoughts, it was time for the many marriages that would serve to seal the treaty properly. Morghiad drifted through to the Banquet Hall, shoulder-to-shoulder with the many nobles, pretending to listen to their inane comments and declarations about the momentous nature of the event. If this was what making history felt like, he prayed that he would be born into small and insignificant households in every one of his lives to come.

  There were twelve couples to be wed simultaneously, each with their own ideas on how the business of becoming married should be conducted. The Fordans wanted great flower wreaths woven into ten-foot circles, the Jurinians wanted a huge bonfire, the Quidarhans desired Blaze forms to physically tie the couples together, while the Tegrans had been very eager to get out their tattoo needles. Queen Irannya had insisted that since everyone was to be wed in her castle, the rites should be entirely Hirrahan, and for once during the talks, she had her way.

  “Don’t look so bloody grim,” Kalad said to Morghiad as he went to stand beside him. “This is a happy occasion. And if you can’t be happy for me…” He leaned forward to nod toward Qeneris and his bride. “At least find some cheer in your brother’s good fortune.”

  Qeneris did appear to be quite pleased with his haul. His betrothed was not a daughter of Hirrah, but a russet-skinned noblewoman from Tegra, and her hair was as red as the sunsets in her nation. “He got his Edilea, it seems,” Morghiad said quietly.

  “Who?”

  Morghiad very nearly smiled, but it was snuffed out before it reached his lips. “I’ll tell you another time, Kal.”

  Abruptly, the Hall’s chatter quieted, and Queen Irannya clambered onto a small dais at the front. She held a brand new, leather-bound tome in her hands, coloured wine-red to match the burgundy of her dress. �
��Would all grooms and brides face one another?” she asked in her sing-song voice.

  Kalad turned to look at Yulia, who smiled nervously at him. She was brown-haired, petite and slender, but those big, doe eyes of hers seemed to give the impression of stark fear more than any other emotion. Even when she laughed.

  “Time has come to this moment, and this moment is for union,” Queen Irannya began.

  “This moment is for union,” Morghiad and the other Hirrahans in the Hall echoed.

  “Time has risen from the fires, has wrought the past and has brought about our present. It will thrust us into the future, and in time, we shall return to the fires. But time has also brought together these men and women of Sennefhal in the name of peace.” She read out their full names and titles, one-by-one. “Today we all become a single family, and the fires will forge our bonds for eternity.”

  Morghiad’s father, Yarrin, and his wife were acting as witnesses for Qeneris, who was by now grinning as broadly as a hyena who’d found a fresh carcass. How different his expression was from the one Morghiad had worn at his own wedding. Even then, when he had been torn between admiration and loathing for his wife, even then he had promised to remain faithful to her. Blazes, he could never tell her. It was his burden to bear.

  “…And it is declared that each of you are joined with our family. You are married,” Queen Irannya finished.

  The new couples variously kissed and embraced each other, and Kalad seemed unafraid to draw his new wife into a very passionate kiss indeed, which forced Morghiad to look away and clear his throat. Was that how it looked when he kissed Artemi like that - in private, of course? The woman appeared as if she were about to be eaten whole!

  With the ceremony complete and the peace treaty signed, the banquet hall was filled with tables, and shortly afterward, a great deal of food. Morghiad found a seat between his son and his father, and they were soon joined by Romarr, Selieni, Anadea and Dorlunh. The air remained fairly cool between Romarr’s group and Dorlunh, but after a few flagons of ale between the Kusurus, the chatter about the old times started to flow between them. Most of it was conducted in a language that Morghiad did not understand, though he had heard Artemi speak it often enough on some mornings.

  Kalad spent the first course of the feast asking many questions of his new wife, but it soon became apparent that she was no match for his wit. His jests passed over her pretty head, and her anecdotes were about nothing more adventurous than the trouble she had in locating the right lace for her dress. Kalad indulged her as well as he could, but it was clear to Morghiad that this was not the right woman for a man who had seen so much of the world.

  By the time the second course had arrived, Kalad had turned to Morghiad and was eagerly asking questions about the time Artemi had been benay-gosa at Cadra.

  “…and then she took off one of her slippers and threw it Lady Collibry. I had to drag her away and hide her from the Collibry household guard for three days while I apologised on her behalf. Ah, your mother does like to start trouble.” Morghiad sighed and looked at his goblet. He had barely touched the wine in it, and truly, he did not feel as if he deserved to enjoy himself at all by drinking it. Perhaps Artemi would slit his throat or tear out his eyeballs in retribution for what he had done, if she ever discovered it, and then they could both be happy again. Oddly enough, the thought cheered him, and he took a gulp of wine to celebrate.

  Around them, the music was loud and the many guests were well on their way to becoming too drunk to walk. Qeneris was still grinning idiotically at his new woman, Priestess Parfal was smiling dizzily at her silver-haired consort from Wilrea, and even Queen Valizia seemed quite content with her new daughter-in-law. But before Morghiad could close his eyes, they landed on Queen Dorinna. Her mouth was downturned, her gaze unfocused and her shoulders slumped. She appeared to be speaking with neither of her sons, two of whom were now wedded.

  She is not sad because of me, Morghiad thought to himself, it is because she will miss her children. And no surprise, given the only other company she had.

  Just then, his eyes landed on a face beyond Dorinna. It belonged to one of the servants, a petite lady with a headscarf covering her hair. There was something very familiar-

  As he watched, the servant moved toward the light of the feast table and leaned over Dorinna’s shoulder to whisper into her ear. Something flashed in her left hand, and Morghiad recognised who it was.

  Click, click, went the monsters. Take away the pain.

  Kalad was still talking about his mother, but his words ceased the instant Morghiad reached for his blade. Morghiad leapt onto the table, scattering flagons and meat and silver dishes everywhere, and charged toward Mirel with his blade still singing in his hand. Musicians and dancers and guests darted out of his way as he pushed through their hot bodies, their drums thumping and goblets clattering to the floor.

  One more click of the claws, sang the monsters.

  Mirel smiled sweetly at him as he neared, and pressed the blade of her long-knife into Dorinna’s slim neck.

  “No!” Morghiad bellowed at her, but his protestations might as well have been whispers in a storm. Mirel sliced the Sunidaran queen’s throat through to the bone, and tore the rest of her head free from her body in a single, elegant stroke.

  Click, click, click.

  The Banquet Hall erupted in wails and shrieks so loud that Morghiad’s ears rang from the sound of it. Loudest of all was Dorinna’s youngest son, a warrior with experience of at least two battles, but even his hands lay fixed in horror against his face.

  By now the path was clear for Morghiad to sprint toward Mirel. His boots thudded against the flagstones and his sword continued to sing, but she had already turned and darted toward the one of the servants’ doors. He sprang onto the bloodied table where Dorinna had been seated, vaulted over her twitching body and tore after Mirel as she vanished into the shadows.

  Of all the people she could have killed, why Dorinna? Had Mirel seen them together? It was the only explanation Morghiad could think of, but he had been sure that no one had seen them. He would have felt it… the Shades inside him would have known.

  Should have killed them all when you had the chance. We should rule!

  And why would Mirel risk keeping this life when she could have ended it and been born again with her powers intact? She did not even have her gale swords anymore; she was vulnerable to him like this - weaker. She must have known that.

  Morghiad hurtled on through the gloomy, cramped corridors and down into the kitchens. There was steam and flame and noise and heat everywhere he looked, and the air was thick with the smells of smoke and butchered meat. The staff, who were just hearing about the murder upstairs, were rapidly running about the place and screaming wildly, which only would have helped to hide Mirel better.

  He stepped forward carefully, and noticed a few drops of blood lying beside his boot. They could have been from a hog, but… he could not recall seeing Dorinna’s head with her body. Morghiad looked ahead of him, and saw more drops of bright red blood. He followed them round the side of a huge brick oven, and there, perched upon the end of a roasting spit, was the missing head. Dorinna’s expression of moroseness was still fixed to her features, as if she had not felt the pain of the knife that cut her at all. It was a message, he realised.

  Mirel knew, and that meant everyone would soon know. Artemi would know.

  Click, said the monsters. Click goes the cage door, and she will never run again.

  He had not realised how much he missed wearing fine clothing until now, but blazes, did these silk shirts feel soft against his skin! Kalad shrugged into a thin doublet – the height of fashion in these parts and sleeveless for the summer – and grinned at his wolf. Danner appeared unimpressed by the new clothing, but then, he always had liked things that smelled revolting.

  “If you could wear silks and gilt buttons too, then you would have far more to say about this,” Kalad told him, but the wolf merely lowered his
head to rest upon his paws.

  “Fine, be in a mood then. I don’t care.”

  Danner harrumphed in the way that only a wolf could.

  “Is this about Yulia?” Kalad asked, but his wolf did not respond. “Are you jealous? Because it will always be you and me first. You know that.” He ruffled the fur on Danner’s head, but it did not seem to cheer him up at all.

  Kalad sighed and went back to packing his things. Marriage was a concession he was willing to make for the sake of peace and tranquillity and the survival of all nations. After all, many men and women at Calidell’s court had married for politics, and then carried on with all the affairs they wanted. It was not that he disliked Yulia – she was pleasant enough – it was more that he found her distinctly uninteresting. She would be permitted her lovers too of course, though any children born from such relationships would never be legitimate, and Kalad did not plan to give her any of his own.

  Medea would have to work on that particular problem, assuming she still considered the Jade’an line important enough to preserve. Why make an entire person, or even half of one, just to preserve a blazed name, or even that fool Shade panther they all had inside them? That thing would surely have been better extinct. No, Kalad would not be a part of that.

  “Are you ready to go?” his father asked, sweeping into the room with a heavy fur cloak that touched the ground.

  Kalad nodded. “You come as far as Irmain with me, but no farther.”

  “You need my protection, Kal. Mirel is still out there-”

  “No, father. I don’t want to argue with you now that we finally have an accord. Please, this is my decision. It’s more important that you find mother. And it will give you the opportunity to check on Med – she is at risk too.”