“Go,” Lisen encouraged him, and with the cane giving him balance, Nalin left Lisen alone with her spouse. “Korin?”
“What?” he asked absently.
“Wine?”
“Uh, no. Not now.”
She pulled a single goblet from the tray which sat on the cabinet behind her desk and poured herself a full glass of the pink wine. She was not an expert on spirits. In fact, she couldn’t name one wine she liked, even though she liked quite a few. But this wine, this pink wine, she believed, was a Tuane product, and it was one of her favorites.
She pulled Bala’s letter from the desk drawer, then returned to the table, taking a sip as she walked. The liquid flowed down her throat, leaving a pleasant warmth behind. She sat down and placed her head on Korin’s shoulder.
“I got this letter from Bala today.” She held the letter up, but Korin made no attempt to take it from her. He respected the sanctity of private correspondence.
“And?” he asked.
“And…she doesn’t want Nalin to go to Thristas. She asked me to tell him to stay here. Or in Seffa. I can’t say that I blame her.”
“Then you must order him to stay home. If I could keep you away, I would.”
“But didn’t one of the Elders expressly request the presence of my Will?”
“We simply explain that your Will’s previous injury precludes him from traveling that far.”
Lisen nodded. It made sense. Perhaps it would be possible to keep Nalin home for Bala. “He hasn’t been keen on going, you know.”
“I am well aware.”
“He’s spoken to you?” She couldn’t believe Nalin would voice his concerns to Korin.
“No. No. He hasn’t. But he goes pale every time the topic comes up.”
Lisen nodded. “He came up with what he called a ‘mad thought’ the other day.”
“And what was that?”
“That I let Thristas go but keep Rinli here.”
“That’s not madness; that’s sanity.”
“We’d be dumping the Treaty and declaring ourselves liars.”
“I know. Which is why we must remain mad.” He cupped his hand to her chin and gave her one of his looks—the one that said he believed she needed a reminder. “The Thristans’ trust in you is paramount. Without that, everything disintegrates between our fingers.” He dropped his hand.
“Yes. That’s what I told him.”
“And how did he respond?”
“That he and Bala made the decision to have another baby in case he didn’t come back.”
“Well, now that’s solved. He stays home, Bala’s happy, and the investiture goes on as planned. It wasn’t as though he had a part in the ceremony anyway.”
“I…I had sort of…,” she hesitated. “I’d been counting on his company out there.”
“What about Holder Mira? He’s a friend.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t so much Nalin or no one; it was the absence from her life of the man in front of her right now. She’d said it earlier. And it had already begun to feel like forever, like today was the end of their world and there would never be another day like it. She wanted nothing more than to nuzzle into him, a show of affection and desire she’d never felt the need to express before.
“All right, all right,” she conceded. “But I don’t need a substitute for Nalin. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“With the appropriate contingent of guards.”
“Yes, with the appropriate contingent of guards.”
He fingered her hair and hooked it behind one ear. “It won’t be forever, you know.”
“No,” she said with a passionless smile. “It won’t be forever.” She heard the hopeless self-deception in her words and wished she didn’t know what it meant.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NEVER FOREVER
Korin paced. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but he paced, anxious to get on the road. It was a journey he’d been loath to take, but it was time to accompany his oldest child into her future. Korin had summoned only one hand to assist them in the stable. He, Lisen and Rinli had purposely kept the exact day of departure quiet, and a single servant alerted but warned to keep his tongue carried with it the least risk to the success of this trip.
Once again, he checked the condition of the ropes and the knots tying Rinli’s chosen belongings to the packhorse. It wouldn’t do to have everything fall off halfway through their first day on the road.
Rinli arrived before her mother, her Thristan robe covering her riding leathers, an affectation that didn’t surprise him. He would have to find a way to dissuade her from continuing to wear the robe as they rode through Garla whose inhabitants might take insult at her attire or even make the connection between her clothing choice and the royal child about to steal Thristas away from them.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked her. A month ago, Lisen had followed his advice and revealed her deepest truths to the girl, some of which, Korin suspected, even he didn’t know. Yet, in that month, Rinli hadn’t wavered; her refusal to drink of the magic cup had remained intact.
“I don’t know. She doesn’t inform me of her comings and goings.”
Korin sighed. “I’m sure she doesn’t, but she was nearly dressed when I came down and made me promise not to leave without—”
“I’m here,” his spouse’s familiar voice rang through the stable. She strode in and headed straight for Korin. She stopped in front of him and gave their three horses a quick, approving glance. “Looks like everything’s ready.” She sounded cheery—too cheery—and Korin suspected that as soon as they were out of sight, she would deflate like a no-longer-threatened scinto. The little desert lizards could puff up to twice their size when faced with a predator, a trick which worked more often than not if their high population in the desert sand was any indicator.
He smiled as he noticed her orange tunic. She always wore the Rosarel orange when she felt the need to acknowledge him in some way. The color clashed with her hair—she said it, not he—but she wore it anyway.
“Yes, I was just about to have us mount up,” he said. “You barely made it.”
Lisen drew close to him, Rinli standing aside with her sorrel, forgotten. She reached out her palm to rest it on his chest. “I love you,” she said softly in his ear, and he experienced his usual slight arousal to the tickling of her breath.
He pulled away slightly but put his hand to her chest this time, holding her in place. “It’s time, Rin,” he ordered. “Up you go.”
Foot in the stirrup, Rinli was up on her horse before Korin could blink. Then he turned back to Lisen, his heart full, his palm aware of the beating of hers. He leaned in to her ear, paused there to drink in the scent of the body oil she often used. “Lavender,” she called it, though the Garlan word for the plant was dotel.
“I love you as well,” he said, then jumped up on his horse and grabbing the packhorse’s lead, he urged his horse out of the stable, Rinli right behind him. He turned back as he stepped into the sun, smiled at the woman who had wrenched his heart from him all those years ago and reminded her firmly as only he could, “Remember. Never forever.”
“Remember. Never forever.”
“Never forever,” Lisen echoed under her breath, so quietly no one could hear, especially Korin. She didn’t know why she said it because she didn’t believe it. She’d said good-bye to him once before, in the Khared, when she thought their paths might never meet again. She’d been wrong then, and she hoped she was wrong again. But still, something felt wrong. Very wrong.
She wrapped her arms around herself and sniffed back the tears. She watched as he turned away from her and kicked his horse into a canter, and to the rattle of Rinli’s belongings on the packhorse, he and their daughter rode off down the path through the park and on to the road to Thristas. She turned and headed back to the Keep, wiping the tears from her eyes. She hated sentimentality, and usually she could avoid it. But this time…this time was different.
S
he mounted the steps to the portico two at a time, hoping that determination alone would release her from the unbearable sadness that seemed to have lowered its pall over her soul. Why, damn it, why? She didn’t have time for this. Hopefully soon they’d have Akdor Ba in custody, and she’d have that to concentrate on. And Elor’s investiture was closing in, less than a month away now. Wouldn’t do to have a weepy Empir amongst those attending. Dors would likely be there, and she definitely didn’t want him seeing her as vulnerable as she felt at this moment.
She stepped through Jazel’s empty office into her own. The sun was but a hint in the sky, and Jazel and her trainee had yet to arrive. She stared around the room—no great piles of paper, no critical items to be attended to. What the Destroyer was she doing here?
Breakfast. I should have breakfast. No one will be there, and even if the children come down before I’m finished, it’ll just be the two of them.
No, breakfast wasn’t a priority. Instead, she headed into the sitting room off her office. Its east-facing window would allow her to watch the sun rise over the park. Being summer, even the deciduous trees were fully leafed, and although the chaos of autumn color wouldn’t manifest for a few months yet, the gradations of green provided a palette any artist would envy.
She pulled a chair over from the sitting area and set it directly in front of the open window. A fresh breeze blew in, and she closed her eyes to appreciate it fully. When she opened them again, a scene of tree tops lit with brilliant sky light and their deep shadows enraptured her. Had she ever given a sunrise so much attention? She had in Thristas, but so long ago she could barely remember.
Top of the mesa. Rinli conceived and I didn’t even know it. She hadn’t slept at all that night, and when the sun had come up over the horizon and grabbed the desert in its heating gaze, she’d realized she had gained far more than she’d lost. I was an innocent idiot. She’d had no concept of the possibility of conception.
She slipped out of her sandals and pulled her feet up onto the chair, folding her legs tightly against her body. She leaned her head sideways on her knees and allowed her mind to wander, a luxury she rarely, if ever, allowed herself anymore. She closed her eyes to rest them and to allow her thoughts to flow freely.
A world of rocks, the rocks covered with snakes, the snakes sliding around. Lisen wondered how she’d ended up with the snakes. Maybe thoughts of the Farii? Not at the top of the mesa. No, a place she’d seen before but couldn’t remember. But none of this surprised her the way her lack of fear in the presence of these slithering representatives of Mantar did. Are these manta? she asked. She had no memory of what they looked like.
“My Liege?”
Lisen jerked awake—I was asleep?—and popped her eyes open. She turned in her chair to see Jazel’s apprentice standing at the sitting room’s door. Lisen struggled to recall her name.
“Chesa?” She remembered. “When did you get here?” She turned back to look out the window. Bright. It was officially morning. “Never mind.” She stood up and moved the chair back to its usual position in front of the fireplace. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“Holder Corday is here. He’s on his way out and wanted to say goodbye.”
That lump—the lump she hated because it presaged more emotional embarrassment—grew in her throat. Another goodbye. How many more could she face today?
“You’re not going anywhere later, are you? You or Jazel?” she asked as she headed towards her at the door.
“No, my Liege. Oh, no. Never.”
“Never forever.” Korin’s words. Lisen shook her head.
“He’s in my office?” she asked pretending that she was fine, just fine.
“Aye, my Liege.” And Chesa led the way but detoured to the office she currently shared with Jazel, leaving Lisen and Nalin alone.
Nalin stood tall and proud, a noble’s noble. A twinge of relief captured her heart.
“My Liege, I’m on my way.”
She stepped behind her desk, took her place there and gestured to the chair directly in front of her. “Sit down, Nal. I need a moment before you go.”
Nalin moved with ease from where he stood over to the chair and sat down, silent and waiting.
“After serious discussion between Korin and myself, we have decided that your presence at the investiture is unnecessary.”
“Oh, I never meant to—”
“No, no, Nalin. It’s a long trip, and we really don’t need you.”
“But…”
“That’s the end of it. Go home. I’ll see you in October.”
“And Akdor?”
“If we find him and there’s time for you to get here before I leave, I’ll invite you to come in to join us in questioning him. Otherwise, Tanres and I will do fine.”
“Yes, my Liege. My spouse will be grateful. As am I. Thank you.” He rose.
“I’m sure she will. Now go. Before I come up with a reason to keep you here.”
Nalin started to leave.
“Safe journey,” Lisen added. “Best to Bala.”
He stopped at the door and turned back. “Safe journey to you as well. And you’ve already given your best to my spouse.”
She nodded, knowing as she did that despite all the years she’d done so, he couldn’t help but criticize her for it, albeit silently.
Once he’d left, she pulled out paper, inked her stylus and began to write.
Dearest Bala,
I hope your pouching-in continues to go well.
After discussing Nalin’s importance to the investiture—or lack thereof—with Korin, I have released Nalin from his commitment to travel with me to Thristas for the ritual. His presence was never actually required, and everything will proceed just as well without him as with him.
Needless to say, he was much relieved when I told him. By the time you get this, he will have already arrived back in Seffa and no doubt informed you of my decision, but I wanted to write to you directly.
Yours,
Lisen
She set the stylus down, folded the note up and set it aside to give to Jazel tomorrow.
She’d never wanted to go without him. It was a long journey to undertake with only a contingent of guards as her companions; however, Nalin’s survival and presence here in Avaret might prove a critical component in a dangerous venture. And so, she would let him stay.
They’d ridden all day through the Pass, he and Rinli, and they would likely ride most of the night down the desert side of the Rim. It was the way they always approached the desert—twelve days or so of a ride in the light in Garla, life at night in Thristas. The transition had become so ingrained, they no longer spoke of it. They had, in fact, spoken very little during this journey from Avaret to the Pass, and now they neared the desert side with the sun close to setting. Since they’d never come here in the middle of the summer—only in the late summer and the early spring when the nights were longer, he wondered what Rinli would see in the light of sunset that she hadn’t seen in the dark.
As always, the approach to the final bend before the descent brought down the veil behind them that cut off moisture and, in the deep summer of August, any semblance of cool. He said nothing, allowing Rinli to feel for herself, or not.
“Descend into the pit,” he said in Garlan, the way he’d said it to Lisen long ago, and Rinli, riding in front, whipped around to look at him.
“What?”
“‘Descend into the pit knowing you know nothing.’”
“‘The first knowledge is ignorance,’” Rinli responded in Thristan.
“Indeed.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before.”
Korin nodded. “Only once. It’s what I said to your mother the first time I brought her here.”
“Getting sentimental, Fa?”
He smiled. No matter how many times he and Lisen tried to explain, no matter how they defined their lives together in front of their children, none of them would ever understand what al
l those moments before Bellin Plain meant. He and Lisen had been drawn together like magnets, then pulled apart at great cost—attracted, distracted. And through it all they had adamantly denied to themselves that either one meant anything to the other. Well, except of course for that moment in the Farii when just before he’d lost all reason to the manta’s venom, he’d told Lisen he loved her. He’d regretted it immediately, but words cannot be obliterated. They live on in memory and will struggle for attention, and he knew every time he looked at her from that moment on that she would never forget. No, their children would never, could never, understand.
“Just savoring a sweet memory,” he replied. He paused to look at her, halted there and gave one derisive cluck. “Well, come on, let’s get going.”
She kicked her horse, urging it forward. They both left the reins loose, as horses tended to know better where and how to set their feet. They rode around the bend, and the full vista spread out below them. That’s when he heard the gasp, the gasp so like her mother’s seventeen years earlier. The shadows of the mesas stretched out to the east, Terses’ shadow nearly touching Mesa Eres. The myriad hues of dull-to-brilliant browns could steal one’s breath away.
“This is mine,” she whispered as she pulled up again. “I’m its Protector.”
“Not yet, but you soon will be.”
“Can I? I mean, will I be able to…” she asked, unable to take her eyes away.
“Only you can answer that, and only when you’re ready.”
“I’m not ready.”
Korin pulled up beside her and putting his hand on her shoulder said, “You will be.”
She kicked her horse, and they headed down, a night’s ride tonight and another tomorrow night before they’d reach their destination. And Korin worried. He worried for Rinli. He worried for Lisen. He worried for Thristas and Garla. And realized that he hadn’t made a list of worries for himself, but not one to center his concerns inward, he wasn’t about to start now.
Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel Page 18
