by Cas Peace
Baron Gaslek turned to him and bowed low. Descending the dais, he came to stand beside Sullyan. She neither reacted nor raised her eyes, but kept them modestly downcast. The little man spoke up.
“Most Noble and Exalted Majesty, may I present Master-elite Lady Ambassador Major Sullyan, Envoy from High King Elias Rovannon of Albia.”
She heard Commander Vanyr stir as her full titles were revealed. The Hierarch leaned forward in his chair, eagerly studying her as she afforded him the reverent brow-lips-heart salute due to her superior in the Artesan craft. Robin, who had never seen her make this obeisance before, was gaping at her, and she had to remind him to follow her lead.
When they were done, the Hierarch rose and stepped forward. Holding out his right hand, he spoke in a deep, smooth voice that belied his age. “Ah, Lady Brynne Sullyan! You are very welcome here, my dear. I have long wondered when I would have the pleasure of beholding you once again.”
Caught in the act of kissing the dynastic ring, Sullyan gave a start. She glanced up for the first time into the Hierarch’s golden yellow eyes.
“Why do you name me so, Majesty? And we have never met, to my knowledge.”
He frowned and withdrew his hand. “But are you not Brynne Sullyan, daughter of Morgan and Bethyn Sullyan?”
She felt the blood drain from her face and saw Robin’s look of concern. Her voice wavered as she replied, “I ... do not know, Majesty. I never knew my parents.”
The Hierarch’s frown deepened and his eyes narrowed. “No, but ....” He hesitated, and then beckoned to her. “Come here, child.”
She rose and approached him as he seated himself once more on his throne. Holding out a veined hand, he asked, “Will you permit?”
She realized he was asking to read her, to look inside to where her private power rested. This was a very intimate thing for an Artesan, a request never pressed on anyone unwilling. Yet something urged her to comply, and bowing her head, she gave him her left hand. He took it gently and she watched in silence as the Hierarch’s yellow eyes focused on her face. She felt him attune to and mesh with her psyche, and her own eyes dilated widely as she allowed his scrutiny.
After a few moments, he smiled and let fall her hand.
“I was right, child. You are indeed Brynne Sullyan, daughter to my very good friends Morgan and Bethyn. You are so like your mother that I could hardly fail to know you. You even wear her jewels, although there was also a ring?” He looked questioningly at her hands.
Sullyan was silent, although her heart was pulsing so violently she felt sure they all must hear it. She was unable to take this in. After twenty-three years of not knowing her origins, she had just learned more of her life history than she had ever thought to hear. Her head spun with it and she began to tremble.
“Yes, Majesty,” she managed, “I still have it.”
The Hierarch’s eyes took on a far-away look. “The last time I saw you, my dear, you were a tiny babe in your father’s arms. Oh, you are so like your mother! She was extremely beautiful too.”
Suddenly, it was all too much. The control Sullyan was exerting over the pain in her belly—pain she had managed to conceal from the Hierarch’s scrutiny—slipped as she desperately tried to assimilate what she had heard. She could feel herself fading and fought for composure. Yet the shock of the Hierarch’s revelation, coupled with the effects of Rykan’s poison, was just too strong.
“Dammit, not now!” she gasped, mortified as pain ripped through her, sapping her strength and shearing her control. Helpless, she sank to her knees, clutching her belly.
The Hierarch looked startled. “Are you unwell, child?”
Robin, forgetting protocol, leaped to his feet, only just managing to catch her as she lost control over her body. She slumped into his arms, her vision blurred, her hearing muffled. Strange sounds roared in her mind and she barely heard the Hierarch rapping out an order for Vanyr to fetch a physician. As the sullen Commander left the room, his footsteps resounded through her head. She felt Robin stir as he looked up at the Hierarch from where he sat cradling her. Even through the suffocating fog in her mind, she could hear the fear harsh in his tone.
“I doubt your physician will be able to help, Majesty, unless he is also an Artesan.”
No, Robin, she thought, desperate to stop him uttering her secret. Please, no!
“How so?” demanded the Hierarch, his voice sounding distorted, strange.
“This is demon induced poison, Majesty, and it’s killing her.”
She sagged as Robin sealed her fate, pain and nausea roiling through her gut. The guards crowded forward, concerned despite themselves, and Baron Gaslek wrung his hands.
The Hierarch came down from the dais to crouch beside Robin. He took one of her hands, his skin warm against the ice in her veins. “What do you mean?”
Robin lowered his voice, and Sullyan retained just enough sense to be grateful. “It’s Lord Rykan’s doing, Majesty.”
The ruler glared at him. “Rykan? How has he done this?”
Through the terrifying pain and sickness that swamped her, Sullyan could feel the power of his anger. She knew that Robin could never have resisted it, even had she been able to command him to silence. The information she so desperately wanted to hide was about to be revealed. Robin was compelled to answer, and there was nothing she could do. The pain finally overwhelmed her as Robin harshly ground out the words.
“He took her captive, Majesty, and he ... he raped her.”
Chapter Thirteen
Robin could hardly contain his anguish as he felt Sullyan’s spirit once more slipping away. He knew she didn’t want him to do what he had just done, but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t sit back and let her die, not if there was the slightest chance this Andaryan ruler could help. So he stayed silent, helplessly hugging Sullyan’s unconscious form to his chest, while the Hierarch took charge of the situation.
Calling to his guards, Pharikian rapped out orders. One of them came forward to take Sullyan, but Robin waved him away. “I can manage.” He stood and lifted her, then followed the Hierarch through the doors behind the dais. The Hierarch led him to a lavishly appointed suite and told him to lay Sullyan on the huge canopied bed. The pages who had accompanied them bustled around, doing the Hierarch’s bidding. Robin ignored them. He sat on the bed beside Sullyan, holding her hand and smoothing the perspiration from her face.
One of the pages brought a cloth and a basin of cool water smelling of fresh herbs, which Robin used to soothe Sullyan’s overheated skin. Her face was white and bloodless, but she was burning underneath, and Robin was thankful when the sound of hurrying feet heralded the arrival of Pharikian’s physician. He was a short, extremely thin man with a hooked nose and a long face. His name was Deshan, and he was a Master Artesan as well as a Master Healer.
Deshan moved to examine Sullyan and Robin stood back to give him room. He was relieved that the Hierarch’s pages had closed the door after Deshan’s arrival. He had caught sight of Vanyr’s disapproving face out in the passageway and knew Sullyan would hate being stared at. He soon forgot the sullen commander, for the Hierarch demanded to know everything Robin could tell him concerning Rykan’s abuse. The Captain related what Marik had said in the drovers’ hut, and both Andaryans wore thunderous expressions by the time he was done.
Sullyan showed no sign of regaining consciousness. Deshan sat with his hand on her brow, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Finally, he shook his head and rose.
“I am sorry, Timar, but I don’t think there’s much I can do. The poison has been there too long. It has eaten into her soul and there’s much damage.”
Robin leaped to his feet and pushed between them. “But there must be! She said you would be able to help her, Majesty, she said you were the only one who could! Marik was able to help her and he hardly has any power, so why can’t you?”
The Hierarch put his hands on Robin’s shoulders, choosing to ignore rudeness born out of desperation and
love. “What was it that Count Marik was able to do?”
Robin shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know, sir, I wasn’t involved. He sang to her or something. I didn’t understand it. I only know that he was able to seal the poison off because he was Andaryan. Why don’t you ask him?”
Pharikian snapped an order and one of his pages ran for the door. “We’ll do just that.” He moved around Robin and sat on the bed beside Sullyan. Taking one of her pale hands, he clasped it in both of his. “This would be a tragedy indeed,” he murmured, “to lose you before I have gotten to know you properly. You look so like your mother, yet in your strength and power you are much more like your sire. They would both be so proud of you, to see what you have achieved and how beautiful you have become.”
Sullyan lay still and silent.
Robin dared to ask, “Majesty? Where are her parents?”
Pharikian looked up, his eyes full of sadness. “It grieves me to hear she’s lived all these years never knowing who they were. I can’t imagine what went wrong. Morgan was going to leave her with relatives to be brought up. That’s what he told me he’d done.”
For some reason, Robin felt defensive. “She was found abandoned as a baby by some villagers, brought up an unwanted orphan.”
He was startled when moisture suddenly appeared in Pharikian’s eyes.
“Unwanted? Ah, no.” He turned his gaze on Sullyan’s pallid face. “She was never unwanted. Her parents tried for years to conceive and carry a child to term. She was her mother’s dearest wish.”
He looked up again and Robin saw memories filling his eyes. “Brynne was conceived here, and later born here, in this very room. In this very bed, in fact.”
“Here?” Robin stared at the old man. There was such care in Pharikian’s tone, such sadness. He swallowed. “And are they ... are they still alive, sir?”
The Hierarch’s voice was so low that Robin strained to hear it. “Alas, no. I can’t tell you how much I wish they were. Poor Bethyn died bringing her baby into the world, and Morgan couldn’t live with the loss. So the one thing they both wanted above everything else finally killed them.”
Robin thought he was going to say more, but at that moment the page returned, ushering a bewildered Marik into the room. When the Count saw who Robin was talking to he fell to his knees, bowing his head to the floor.
With a heavy sigh, the Hierarch rose, crossed the room, and raised Marik by the arm. “Get up, man, there’ll be time for all that later. Right now we need you. We have a crisis here, and this young man thinks you might be able to help.”
Marik allowed himself to be drawn to the bed. When he saw the color of Sullyan’s face, he gasped in dismay. Robin gripped his arm. “Tell his Majesty what you did to help Sullyan seal off the poison.”
Marik glanced at him and nodded, but his nervousness caused him to stammer when he tried to describe what he had done.
“Show us,” commanded Deshan and the three Andaryans crowded round the bed. Robin could sense them concentrating the power of their minds on suppressing and walling off the creeping poison of Rykan’s seed. Redundant and fearful, he retreated to the side of the room.
* * * * *
It was daylight when Sullyan woke. She lay still, unwilling to move. Her body seemed so heavy she felt like never moving again. Slowly, she opened her eyes. There was a canopy over the bed, and what she could see of the ceiling was white, completely unlike the suite she and Robin had been assigned. She frowned, knowing without turning her head that she was alone in the huge bed. She couldn’t hear any sounds and wondered where Robin was.
Coming fully awake, she suddenly realized that the heavy ache in her bones was the only pain she could feel. For the last few days she had lived with the constant, nagging cramp in her belly caused by Rykan’s poison. Now that pain was gone. She considered this, unwilling to use her metasenses to probe for the reason. She left it alone, grateful for the respite no matter its cause. Briefly, she entertained the thought that the lack of pain was a sign the end was near, but apart from aching as if she had fought an entire army single-handed, she felt remarkably healthy. In fact, she felt better than she had since her capture.
She even felt hungry and very thirsty. Where was Bull with his fellan when she needed it?
Thoughts of Bull brought a tiny, sobbing breath to her throat. Now she heard a sound. Someone was moving toward her. Too weak to turn her head, she stretched out her senses and touched a familiar presence.
“Marik? What are you doing here? Or have I been arrested too?”
She heard a noise which could have been either laughter or a sob. Then Marik leaned over the bed, and she saw care and strain etched into his melancholy features. Sudden fear clenched her heart. “What is it, Ty? Is it Robin? Is he hurt? Where is he?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll fetch him. Don’t move!”
He disappeared. She heard him open a door and caught the break in his voice as he called Robin’s name. There was a flurry of movement, and then the warm and comforting presence of her lover was beside her on the bed. He covered her face with kisses and looked down into her eyes through a blur of tears. He was saying her name repeatedly. She moved one hand, surprised when she could actually raise it to his face and brush her fingers over his lips. He moaned and buried his face in her hair, and she couldn’t imagine what was causing his grief. Very worried now, convinced some tragedy had befallen one of their friends, she reached out to his mind. It was so clouded by conflicting emotions that she couldn’t touch him. She began to panic.
“Calm down, Robin,” urged Marik. “You’re frightening her.”
The Captain drew back, taking a deep breath to bring himself under control. He smiled down at her, letting her into his mind, showing her that it was only his love and fear that had upset him so. She relaxed and tried to smile back, amazed when she found that she could.
Robin sat straighter on the bed and his breathing slowed. “How are you feeling, love?”
She thought about it. “Good. Robin, I feel good.”
His emotion overflowed again and she frowned. Marik approached and sat on the other side of the bed. He was grinning.
“Oh, stop it, you great turkey! Can’t you see you’re confusing her? She’s been asleep for nearly twenty hours. She hasn’t got a clue what’s been going on.”
Sullyan struggled to sit up. “Twenty hours? What do you mean?”
Robin put a hand on her shoulder to prevent her rising. “It’s alright, love, just lie still. You gave us a bit of a scare, that’s all.” She stilled, hearing the raw emotion in his tone. “We nearly lost you, you know. It took the combined strength of the Hierarch and his physician to save you, but if it hadn’t been for Ty here telling them what to do, they’d never have done it.”
The realization that Robin and Marik were now on first name terms made her smile. Then she turned her attention to what Robin had said.
“I remember feeling very ill. I remember being so angry that it happened when it did. But I remember nothing after that. Robin, where is this place?”
He snorted. “Only the Hierarch’s private apartments! He wouldn’t have us put you anywhere else.”
He regarded her narrowly, trying, she realized, to gauge her mental state. She stared back, wondering what was on his mind. Before he could speak, however, Marik stood up. “We’d better let his Majesty know she’s awake.” He winked at Sullyan. “He was very insistent about that, you know. He’s been sitting here beside you most of the time you were asleep. And Robin’s only had a couple of hours sleep himself. You’ve worn us all out.”
She hung her head. “I am very sorry.”
Marik just grinned. He crossed to the door, opened it, and spoke to someone in the hallway. Then he returned and sank into a chair by the fire. Robin settled himself against the pillows beside her and helped Sullyan to sit, cradling her body against him. She was grateful, for she knew she couldn’t have managed it by herself. She had just gotten comfortable when the
door was pushed open and Pharikian entered the room.
He was wearing a more functional robe this time, plain dark blue trimmed with gold, and belted with a purple sash. His aging face looked strained and his yellow eyes were full of concern. He walked to the bed, took Sullyan’s hand, and studied her face. Then he smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. She responded shyly, not at all sure how to react. It was outside of her experience to conduct an audience with such a powerful man from the bed in one of his own chambers. His relaxed and casual manner, however, soon put her at ease.
“Well, my Lady, I am very pleased to see you so much improved. You gave my physician a very difficult time.”
She ducked her head. “I thank you, Majesty.”
“Your Captain has told me the circumstances of your ... malady.” His voice grew harsh. “You did well to come to me. Rykan shall pay for what he did to you.”
“Majesty, I did not come here to present a complaint of the Duke’s maltreatment. I came because I carry important knowledge of his battle strategies and other ... plans. My illness has wasted yet another day, so it is imperative that I speak with you concerning his challenge.”
Pharikian held up a hand. “All in good time, child, there is no immediate threat. My generals are well aware of the position of Rykan’s forces, and for the past few days he has not advanced. We are fully prepared. My senior commander, Lord General Anjer, has all the information he needs to direct the Caer’s defenses. You can rest easy.”
Sullyan shook her head. “He does not have the information I carry, Majesty! Rykan would never have revealed it had he suspected for one moment I might survive his brutality. His own vicious nature will be his undoing, for I will not see him overthrow your reign if I can prevent it. That is why I am here, Majesty, to play as large a role in his defeat as I can. I owe him that much for the premature ending of my life.”
Pharikian raised his brows. “He hasn’t ended it yet, child, and if we overturn his challenge you may yet cheat him of your death.”
