Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  “I’m over here, Baera-Ni,” her father said from the general vicinity of the bed. His voice was tremulous and uncertain, as though he had been unsure what to say to her, or perhaps whether to speak to her at all.

  “What are you doing up?” she said.

  “Waiting for you, of course. Come, it’s late. Go to sleep.”

  “Not yet, Father. I’d like to clean up first.”

  There was a long pause in the darkness.

  Then he said, “Of course. I’m sorry. I should have thought.”

  She forced a smile into her voice.

  “No, it’s all right, Father. Go to sleep. I’ll be along shortly.”

  “I’ll wait if you don’t mind.”

  As Waeh-Loh’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she made out her father’s form in a chair by the bed. She cast her gaze about for a few moments.

  “Where’s Mother?” she said.

  “Hmph,” he said. “She went to the Warlord’s room. Looking for you, she said.”

  “But I left there hours ag—oh, I see.”

  He didn’t respond. He just sat there in the dark: a tiny figure who had once ruled an entire kingdom.

  “I’m so sorry, Father.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I never should have married her.”

  She walked over beside him, peered down at him.

  “You can’t blame yourself for everything, Father,” she said. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he covered it with his hand.

  “You’ve grown up while I wasn’t looking,” he said.

  So he realized it, too!

  “I think we’re all growing up faster than we want to,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

  She started to pull away, but he held her hand to his shoulder.

  “Baera-Ni, was it … was it …?”

  “What, Father? You can say it. You can ask me anything.”

  “Was it … terrible?” She could make out his eyes now, large, wide, and full of fear and shame.

  She squeezed his hand.

  “No worse than Master Mal’s fencing class,” she said with a smile she made just for him.

  Chapter 88

  In as much as anything could become routine in a world where rapes and savage beatings were commonplace, Waeh-Loh’s life became routine. With the exception of her nightly marital duties with the Warlord—which rarely took more than an hour—and dinner, which she had to take with her new family, her days were completely her own.

  Fazzle had his governess to keep him company. The Warlord had his duties and frequent trips to outposts. Her father had his thoughts, and Tee-Ri had Tee-Ri with which to occupy herself. So Waeh-Loh roamed the castle, to which she had complete access. There was no room to which she could not be admitted; no activity she couldn’t watch.

  As long as she was careful, that was.

  The Warlord was a difficult man to read. His moods and actions were so volatile. One moment he might be smiling, and the next, smashing a serving wench’s face against a stone wall until she died.

  So Waeh-Loh simply avoided him whenever possible. Problem solved. And since she was invited to all his affairs, she knew where he would be, and therefore where not to be. With this new cloak of discipline in which she shrouded herself, it was possible to withstand almost anything. Even Tee-Ri’s jibes more or less bounced off her carapace.

  No, the only thing that she dreaded, other than her nightly meetings with the Warlord, was when he had guests.

  The Warlord was a generous man with his guests. He shared his food with them. He shared his home with them.

  He shared his wife with them.

  His guests were given free access to her, were encouraged to touch and fondle her as they chose. She was instructed to perform various services for them; activities she never even knew existed before her marriage to the Warlord.

  She was often passed from guest to guest, from bedroom to bedroom, like a tray of appetizers.

  Only one thing did he reserve for himself: the act she performed nightly for him. He would not risk her producing a child sired by anyone but him. Of this, he was adamant, and when one of his guests even hinted at his desire to do such a thing with her … well, that was the end of that particular guest.

  No, as much as it could be said of a child whose body was open to any man to touch, probe, or taste as he desired; as much as it could be said of a child who was raped nightly by the man who was destroying her homeland; as much as it could be said of a child to whom these things regularly happened, it could be said that Waeh-Loh kept herself pure.

  She kept herself pure, and every day, she worked on making herself stronger, on increasing her discipline. The results were gradual; nobody but she noticed them, which was probably just as well. If she were to save her father, she would need every advantage she could get, especially the element of surprise.

  But really, what gave her the most strength, the most confidence, was the simple realization that no matter how badly her body might be abused and mistreated, it was simply too young to conceive and bear a child.

  Chapter 89

  Waeh-Loh sat on the floor in her father’s old library. Spread out before her was a pair of books, weighted open with silver bookends. Waeh-Loh looked from one book to the other and then back again.

  It was impossible. There it was before her, inked onto the parchment of the book to the left. Elven women simply did not conceive before the age of fifty or so. Or, putting it into more apropos terms, girls of sixteen years old could not get pregnant. End of story.

  That’s what the book on the left told her.

  The book on the right told her a different tale, however. Nausea: yes, she had that. Increased appetite and cravings: yes. Sleepiness: yes. Swelling of the breasts and darkening of the nipples: yes.

  Yes, yes, and yes. She had all the primary symptoms of pregnancy. Every last one of them. Every primary one, and many of the secondary ones, too: the crabbiness, the headaches.

  It was impossible. There had to be some mistake. Again and again, she combed through the books in the library, looking for a explanation; and preferably one that assured her that she was not pregnant.

  What had she gotten herself into? How could she escape the Warlord if she were carrying his child? How could she hide from his soldiers? How could she feed her baby if she were a fugitive?

  She lowered her face into her hands, too exhausted even to cry. The depths of her despair were so great that her limbs felt like they were made of lead. Merely continuing to breathe was exhausting enough; she had no energy to spare for tears.

  Waeh-Loh lifted her shirt halfway and felt her belly with the palm of her hand: the swelling was so slight that only she could possibly notice it. For now.

  The irony of it made her almost want to laugh. It was nearly impossible for an elven woman to get pregnant. Many spent centuries trying to conceive. And then Waeh-Loh does it at the age of sixteen.

  Just wonderful.

  She rubbed her tired eyes and wished she could just go to sleep and stay asleep until the end of time. Let the world go on around her if it had to, but free her from the ardor of her miserable existence.

  It wasn’t fair, she lamented. It just was—

  There was a knock on the doorframe. She slammed the books shut and spun to see who it was.

  “Excuse me, Waeh-Loh,” the barbarian said. “The Warlord wishes you to join him in his bedchamber now.”

  Waeh-Loh’s head sagged.

  “Give me a few minutes,” she said with no spirit in her voice whatsoever. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Once the barbarian left her, she arose and returned the books to their proper places on the shelves.

  What was she to do?

  Chapter 90

  She stared at the ceiling, lying on her back on what had once been her parents’ bed. Beside her, the Warlord Rackal lay naked and snoring, his passion spent, and with it his interest in her.

  Waeh-Loh
ran her finger along the upper part of her breast where the deep scratch still bled ever-so-slightly. As she did, she noticed the yellowness of the faded bruise on her forearm.

  She couldn’t continue like this. She just couldn’t. To be this man’s plaything would destroy her eventually. He had no morals, no empathy, and no restraint. Whatever he wanted he did, be it having a dress made for you or breaking the arm of a courtier who displeased him. His volatility accounted for a lot of the intimidation Waeh-Loh experienced around him.

  Take now, for instance. Here he was, completely naked and unconscious beside her. How difficult would it be for her to climb out of the bed, creep to his desk, find one of his knives, and return to his side? All she would have to do is lift his head by the hair and slit his throat. Doing that would avenge her father and possibly even save her kingdom. It would be so easy.

  And yet …

  And yet, she never knew what to expect from the Warlord. Sometimes, he appeared to be sleeping or distracted, and he wasn’t. Sometimes, he’d be snoring and when she was about to leave his chambers, he would say, “I haven’t finished with you yet,” as though he had been wide awake the entire time.

  So was he sleeping now, or merely pretending? And even if he were truly sleeping, what if he awoke before she could strike the blow? Or what if she tried to cut him, but did it incorrectly? Or what if …?

  And that was the secret to his strength: you never knew what he was capable of, and thus, you were always too scared in his presence to dare cross him.

  She was looking across the room at the desk again, when the Warlord Rackal rolled over, looked her square in the eyes, and said, “You’d never get away with it.”

  Waeh-Loh screamed, and the Warlord laughed and laughed.

  * * *

  “Then what about me?” her mother was shouting. “Have you thought about that? Well, have you? What happens to me if you get caught?”

  From outside her family’s chambers, Waeh-Loh could not make out what her father said in reply. But she heard her mother’s response to it.

  “That’s your answer? That I’m being selfish? I’m being selfish? And how about you? I’m not the one who’s about to go creeping around at night, risking your wife and daughter!”

  This time, Waeh-Loh heard her father’s reply: “For pity’s sake, Tee-Ri, will you please keep your voice down?”

  Waeh-Loh rested her head against the thick wooden door. It was too much. This couldn’t go on. She turned her head from side to side, pivoting on its crown. It was too much.

  “I don’t understand you,” Tee-Ri was saying. “We have things so nice now. We have servants and guards, we have food and clothing. We’ve found a husband for homely Waeh-Loh, and frankly, I’d given up hope of ever finding one for her. So if you’re not going abandon this childishness for my sake, do it for Waeh-Loh’s sake.”

  Waeh-Loh sighed and pushed open the door. Tee-Ri gawked at her as though caught in the act of committing a perversion.

  “Hello, Mother,” Waeh-Loh said.

  Tee-Ri’s lips moved for a few seconds and then she recovered. She pointed her thumb at King Kral-Sus who was pulling a dark cloak and mantle over his dark brown hunting attire.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Waeh-Loh,” she said. “Talk some sense into your father.”

  Waeh-Loh looked at her father, her eyes gentle. “What’s happening?”

  King Kral-Sus knelt before his open trunk beside the bed, withdrew a large serrated hunting knife from it, and placed it on the bed. Waeh-Loh stared at the knife.

  “What are you doing, Father?”

  He met her gaze.

  “I have something important to do tonight,” he said.

  “Does it have something to do with that note?”

  His eyes widened. “Note?”

  “The one the man handed you on the night of our return from Kardán.”

  A smile bloomed on his face, one of embarrassment, yes, but also of pride. “You saw that, did you?”

  “Yes. That’s why I pretended to faint. To distract the barbarians.”

  The smile broadened. “You’re a remarkable girl, Baera-Ni.”

  If you only knew, Father. If you only knew that your sixteen-year old daughter was pregnant.

  When she didn’t respond, he nodded. “Yes, it has to do with that note. A number of elves have formed a resistance, and that note was to establish contact. They want me to meet with them tonight.”

  He returned to his trunk, fishing around inside.

  “It’s a trap,” Tee-Ri said, then added to Waeh-Loh, “Tell him it’s a trap. It’s so obvious.”

  “Why would it be a trap?” Waeh-Loh said. “The Warlord could kill father now without an excuse. He doesn’t need to manufacture one.”

  Her father placed another knife on the bed next to the first one. “That was my point. Unfortunately, your mother doesn’t seem to agree.”

  Tee-Ri crossed her arms in front of her chest. “If you try to sneak out, I’ll cry for the guards. I’ll inform on you.”

  There was a long, cold, and silent moment when Waeh-Loh and her father stared at Tee-Ri. His hands tightened into fists, and rage shone in his eyes. His breath came and went in long, deep inhalations and exhalations.

  “You bitch …” he started.

  “I’m pregnant,” Waeh-Loh said.

  The effect was galvanizing. Both combatants stared at her, their eyes wide. Both were immobilized by shock.

  Tee-Ri recovered first. She laughed.

  “Ha!” she said. “I knew it! Just like my mother.”

  The room seemed to tilt abruptly.

  “Your m-mother?” Waeh-Loh said.

  “Waeh-Loh, is this true?” her father said.

  “Yes,” Tee-Ri said. “She conceived at seventeen, although the poor thing was stillborn.”

  “Waeh-Loh,” her father said. “Tell me: is this true?”

  But Waeh-Loh was staring at her mother. “You knew this could happen? You knew that I might conceive?”

  Tee-Ri tossed her hair. “Of course.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Tee-Ri rolled her eyes. “What possible good would it have done you?”

  “Baera-Ni, is this true?”

  With effort, Waeh-Loh tore her eyes from her mother and met her father’s gaze. She nodded silently.

  King Kral-Sus’s shoulders sagged and he sighed.

  “I had hoped to spare you that at least.”

  “Another failure,” Tee-Ri announced brightly. “Why not take the hint and abandon this foolish enterprise of yours tonight?”

  “No!” He sat on the bed and began lacing up his boots. “This only increases my resolve. If Waeh-Loh’s expecting, the time to act is now. Can you imagine what will happen to her when her baby’s born? She’ll be locked in this prison forever! No, I’m not going to listen to you, Tee-Ri, and I never should have in the first place. It wasn’t the barbarians who took my manhood away: it was you. You’re a castrating, cuckolding monster, Tee-Ri and you’ve sabotaged me for the last time. You’re not going to stop me this time.”

  As her father spoke, Tee-Ri’s face grew redder and redder, and her lips drew back from her teeth to reveal a feral sneer. She looked as though she wanted to lunge at King Kral-Sus and claw his eyes out with her fingernails.

  “I’m going to meet with the resistance,” King Kral-Sus said, bending over to tie his other boot, “and you have absolutely no say in the matter whatsoever.”

  “Oh no?” Tee-Ri said, and then leapt onto the bed.

  “Father!” cried Waeh-Loh, but it was too late.

  Tee-Ri grabbed the hunting knife from the bed and plunged it into King Kral-Sus’s back.

  He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His fingers fumbled behind him, trying to reach the handle of the knife.

  “Father!” Waeh-Loh ran to help him, but Tee-Ri’s fist exploded into her face, knocking her to the ground.

  “Stay out of this, Waeh-Loh,”
she hissed. “This is between your father and I.”

  Her father was still trying to grab the knife that protruded from his back. He fell to his hands and knees. Tee-Ri grabbed the other knife from the bed.

  “No!” Waeh-Loh tried to climb to her feet, but Tee-Ri’s foot drove the wind from her.

  “I said stay out of this,” Tee-Ri said.

  She came around in front of King Kral-Sus, pushed him backwards towards the bed, and then stabbed him in the chest with the second knife. His eyes widened so much that Waeh-Loh thought they might explode.

  King Kral-Sus nodded his head as though in violent agreement, and he kept saying, “Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!”

  Waeh-Loh managed to climb to her feet. She grabbed Tee-Ri by her long blond hair, and she half-threw and half-drove her mother’s head into the wall. Tee-Ri stumbled a few steps, and then collapsed into a pile on the floor.

  “No,” Waeh-Loh whispered, aghast at the spreading circle of blood on his chest. “What do I do?”

  She reached to pull the knife from his chest but he shook his head emphatically.

  “What do I do? Tell me!” her voice was getting more shrill by the second. Tears streamed down her face. Her heart felt as though it would burst. “Father, I don’t know what to do! Please, tell me!”

  King Kral-Sus fell onto his side, and his knees curled up towards his chest. Blood seeped into Waeh-Loh’s skirt from the circle of blood that was spreading on the floor.

  “Father, please! Tell me what to do!”

  King Kral-Sus grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her ear next to his lips. When he spoke, his voice was more of a croak than a sound that ought to come from the throat of an elf.

  “Be strong,” he wheezed. “Save yourself. Save us all.”

  And then he died.

  “No, please,” Waeh-Loh said. “Please don’t leave me, father. Please.”

  She was sobbing. Sobbing and shaking her father’s shoulders. His head lolled lifelessly.

  “Please, Father. Don’t die. I can’t make it without you.” She looked at her mother, who was trying to shake her head clear. “Please, Mother, help him. I’ll do anything you want, but don’t let him die.”