The Broken Blade

by Anna Thayer

  “Alessia –”

  Without even a glance at him, she swept from the hall. It seared him in two.

  Would she not even –?

  There was a light touch at his shoulder. “Eamon?” Anderas said quietly.

  Eamon realized that he stood in the hall, gaping. The others waited for him.

  Eamon shook. Anger began seeping into him – it was his only defence against his sorrow. He shook off Anderas’s hand.

  “I’m coming,” he said.

  The climb up to the Right Hand’s quarters seemed long to him, and fraught with memories he could not shake. Almost, when he looked up, he saw Arlaith going before him, howling vicious taunts.

  The doors to the quarters stood open. The rooms rang to the sound of voices and a small pile of things lay to one side. The black bedcovers lay in a crumpled mess on top of it.

  Eamon’s heart was heavy as he stepped through the doors into the chamber. Many of its decorations, such as its tapestries and hangings, had already been taken down, and some of the eagles had been brought down too; the stones were marked where the chisels had been employed against them. Some of the furniture had been gathered into the main hall and a couple of men carried one of the smaller tables across to stand it by the chaise longue.

  “These were your quarters?” Anderas whispered. His eyes were wide with awe.

  “Yes,” Eamon answered. There was a touch of grief to his voice, for all about him the emblems of the Right Hand fell away from the walls in a wash of noise.

  “Perhaps being Right Hand was not as terrible as it appeared,” one of the wayfarers commented lightly.

  Eamon rounded on him. “Not as terrible?”

  Hearing latent anger in his voice, the wayfarer looked at him in confusion. “I meant, sir, that the quarters were comfortable –”

  Eamon did not hear him. The grief that had been building in him since he left the hall erupted. “Not as terrible? Do you think that being Edelred’s Right Hand, or the road that led there, was easy, or comfortable?”

  The wayfarer didn’t answer him.

  “I took oaths that could never be reconciled, I was the pawn and prodigy of the Hands, who groomed me to evil. Those closest to me were killed, tormented in the Pit, or pierced by the rage of my enemies. This I had to suffer, never grieving or mourning, else I would have been discovered.” His hands shook. “When I tried to feed the city I was ridiculed, when I tried to save innocent men I was reviled; I was baited and caged and made a fool; I was made Right Hand and dressed at Edelred’s whim like a doll, watched and steered and touched by him. Whether he chose to love me or to hate me, I bore it, and at the end I was betrayed nigh to death.” His voice had grown to a raging volume and the whole room stared at him. “Not as terrible?” he laughed bitterly. “I know terror when I see it and I tell you, King’s man, that this is the most terrible room you have ever seen.”

  The wayfarer met his gaze fearfully. “Yes, sir.”

  Regret flooded through Eamon at an instant, but no more words came to his mouth. His anger had taken all his speech.

  Giles and Anderas exchanged glances.

  “There’s work to do,” Giles said, leading the other men away.

  Eamon watched them go in a daze.

  “Eamon,” said Anderas.

  “Andreas,” he began, “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I know,” his friend answered. There was a brief pause. “What happened in the hall?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t think you would have spoken to him like that if that were true,” Anderas replied firmly.

  Eamon fell silent.

  “You were looking at the women in the hall. Was one of them… her?” Anderas asked more quietly.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  Anderas laid a hand on his arm. “Perhaps you should let us deal with this,” he said, gesturing to the room.

  “There’s only a small wooden trunk of my things,” Eamon told him. “It was in the bedchamber.”

  “I’ll recover it for you.”

  “I should apologize to that man,” Eamon began.

  “Yes, you should, but I think you must have other priorities to deal with first,” Anderas told him. “I will speak to him for now.”

  Eamon looked at him sorrowfully. “You shouldn’t have to do that for me –”

  “But I will.”

  The gaze of his friend comforted him.

  “Eamon – go and find her.”

  Anderas was right. Nodding silently, Eamon left the room.

  He went slowly back down to the hall, his head spinning. The place was filled with people going about their business. Eamon’s eyes wandered back to the place where he had seen Alessia, and he stared as though he saw her still.

  Without the shelter of his anger, he felt only pain – pain that she would not hear him, that she would not let him seek her forgiveness. How could he forgive himself without it?

  He took the door that she had taken from the hall. He followed the sound of women’s voices, thirsting after the sound of hers. He did not hear it. When he found the women, she was no longer among them.

  He asked the women as to Alessia’s whereabouts, but they could not tell him: she had taken her leave without giving any indication as to her destination. He combed the palace, searching through nearly every room and hall without success. He realized that she might not even remain in the palace. And if she had chosen to retreat to the streets of Dunthruik?

  Then he would never find her.

  In desperation, he went to Aeryn.

  His old friend was enjoying some moments of quiet in her chambers – to which he was readily admitted.

  “Eamon,” she smiled, “it’s good to see you.”

  “Thank you.” He bit his lip. “Aeryn, have you… can you… do you know where I can find Lady Turnholt?”

  Aeryn looked at him in surprise. “Perhaps,” she said.

  “Please… I need to speak to her.”

  “You haven’t yet?”

  Shame rushed through him. “No.”

  “When exactly were you planning to make time for her?” Her face was inscrutable.

  Eamon’s mind whirled. So much time had already passed since he woke… how could he not have sought Alessia already? She was the one thing that could not wait, and he had allowed himself to be led from distraction to distraction. What reception could she give him, after so long?

  “Aeryn, I…” He pressed his hands over his face.

  Ladomer was right: he had always been a fool. “I’m sorry, Aeryn,” he said.

  “You shouldn’t be apologizing to me!”

  “You must have other business to attend to –”

  “She’s here, Eamon.”

  His heart stopped.

  “What?”

  Aeryn gestured to the adjoining room. She looked to him again, her face unreadable. “I’ve just remembered some business I must attend elsewhere,” she said softly. “You may remain here if you wish.” Without another word, she slipped from the quarters.

  Eamon gazed at the door, felt the stillness of the air. He heard the stifling of breath in the silence.

  He moved towards the room. His search ended.

  She was there.

  Their eyes met. They were trapped, suspended in each other’s gazes.

  A shiver ran through his spine – his fear, his shame; his memory of her touch, gentle as the petals of a rose – and sweat pricked his brow.

  “A… Alessia?”

  She flushed scarlet, her eyes dropping to the floor. She neither stepped towards him nor moved away. He watched the fall of her hair about her face, ached to gather her to him. Ached at what he had done to her.

  Ached at what they had lost.

  He did not dare to move lest she dart away. He had longed to seek her out, to tell her –

  What?

  That he was sorry? That he had wronged her? That he had answered love with wrath – unjustly? That he had been a fool?


  That he loved her? Yes, despite all the lies and anger he had harboured in his heart, he loved her. His passion for her had stoked his hurt. Anger had been his only defence against despair. Perhaps she would understand that, perhaps –

  And if she should scorn him?

  Slowly, so very slowly, he walked towards her. They scarcely breathed. She held still, like a doe in the dew. He stopped. She was an embrace away.

  For what had passed between them, it might have been the universe.

  “Alessia.” He breathed her name – for it was as vital to him as breath itself. How could he have forgotten that?

  She shuddered. Tears appeared on her cheeks. He reached out to comfort one he knew more intimately than any.

  She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Alessia?” He ached to hold her. “Alessia, I –”

  “How dare you.” She looked at him now, eyes darkened with grief and anger. “Did you once seek me, Eamon? Even once?” She trembled, as if neither her body nor her words were able to contain what she felt. “Did you even once think of what I bore for you? You knew how the Hands used me. Did you even know what I carried – what he took from me? Can you imagine that grief?”

  He could not. Stunned, he could only be silent.

  His silence was damning.

  She shook her head in anger and in sorrow. “I knew that you would not be able to seek me until after the city was taken… I waited. I waited and waited for you. Still you did not come. I was forgotten, ignored, spurned. It hurt me more than everything I suffered at Arlaith’s hands, for I realized then what worth I was to the man whom I had suffered to protect.”

  She bit her lip hard. “I don’t even know why I should say this to you. I don’t know what I can expect of you now.”

  He prayed that she spoke because she loved him still. “Alessia, please –”

  “You did not hear me when I pleaded.”

  It cut him to the heart. It was true. It shamed him.

  “Will you not even let me say –”

  “There’s nothing you can say, Eamon,” she sobbed. “I loved you, I gave everything for you. You left me.” Her sobbing became anguished cries. “Your time to speak and do has passed. You should have protected me, us. You did nothing. So there is nothing left that you can say. Do you understand? Nothing.”

  He reached out to her again. She inclined towards him – almost she let him take her in his arms. But with a cry she snatched herself away.

  “I said don’t touch me!”

  She turned and ran, weeping, from the room.

  Eamon gaped after her, everything he longed to say burning in his heart. Anger and sorrow flooded him. He could not bear it.

  There was only one to whom he could go.

  He staggered dizzily through the palace to find Hughan.

  Hughan’s meeting room was guarded by two grim-faced Easters; they fell back before Eamon as he burst into the chamber.

  Hughan stood alone at the long table, gazing thoughtfully at a map of the River Realm. There was a collection of papers in his hands. He looked up and cast the papers down at once.

  “Eamon,” he breathed. He swiftly crossed the hallway to him. Eamon could not breathe, could barely think, and did not feel the King’s hands as they set themselves to his arms. “Eamon, what has happened?”

  Eamon stared at the King for a long moment. His voice and sobs loosed in his throat.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he roared. “When I came with Edelred’s terms before the battle and you told me she was alive – that she loved me! – why didn’t you tell me what Arlaith had done to her?”

  Hughan looked on Eamon with compassion. Eamon was vaguely aware of the gentle pressure of the King’s hand on his arm.

  “How would it have served you to know all of it on the eve of battle?” Hughan asked gently.

  “I would have hurled Arlaith’s bloody, lying, murderous corpse over the walls!” Eamon spat, screaming with fury.

  “Yours would have been next.”

  “You kept this from me!” Eamon yelled.

  “Yes,” Hughan replied evenly. “All you needed to know then was that she was safe.”

  Eamon tore himself away from Hughan, his mind filled with fury. “But she wasn’t!” he howled. “She was in his hands the whole time! The whole time!”

  “She was not in his hands, Eamon, when you came to me,” Hughan answered, “nor is she now, nor will she be again.”

  “Bloody bastard!” Eamon cried. He stared at Hughan. “While he lied, and fawned to me, me and my little heart, he was…” A wordless sob leapt out of his throat. Had he chosen to return to this? “She won’t let me speak to her! I wish he’d killed me, Hughan!”

  Hughan fixed him with a firm gaze. “Do not speak such things over yourself, Eamon.”

  “He might as well have killed me!” Eamon cried. “Look at me, Hughan!” he howled. “Look at me! Even dead he webs me in his schemes!”

  His words struck up at the ceiling of the hall as though they might shatter it.

  “He will have no victory over you, Eamon,” he said.

  “No victory?” Eamon stared at him in outrage. “Will you mock me too?” he cried. “No victory? He beat her, breached her…” The word came in disgust from his mouth, for suddenly he knew that in breaching Alessia, Arlaith would have sought and seen anything that she and Eamon had ever shared. It filled him with horror that threatened to make his knees buckle. He imagined Arlaith’s snide, laughing face, a voyeur of his every moment with the woman he had loved.

  “He killed my child!” he cried. “And he stoked my hatred of her. And now she and I will never have peace. I should rather be dead than bear this. No victory? He has destroyed me, Hughan!” he howled. “He knew what he had done and knew even as he died that I could never undo it. There is his victory!”

  “It is not his victory until you are defeated,” Hughan answered.

  Eamon laughed bitterly. “Do I not look defeated to you?”

  “Angry, grieved, anguished – yes. Defeated?” Hughan shook his head. “You are not that.”

  Eamon stared at him, then gave another clipped laugh. “You don’t understand,” he snarled. “How could you? I was a fool to come to you.”

  “Those are his words you speak, Eamon,” Hughan told him, “and not your own.”

  “Words? Words!” Eamon yelled. “You don’t understand what he did to me!” A sob caught in his throat. “After all he had done to me, I couldn’t even kill him –”

  “How old are you, Eamon?” Hughan asked quietly.

  Eamon stared at him. “You know how old I am,” he said.

  “I think you may have forgotten it,” Hughan answered. “How old are you?”

  “I will be twenty-four in the summer,” Eamon replied.

  “And how long did you train with the Gauntlet before coming to Dunthruik?”

  “Three years,” Eamon answered belligerently. He had been more than three years under Ladomer’s watchful eye. “You know that, too!”

  The King looked at him firmly. “Lord Arlaith had the experience and strength of long years, beyond the lifespan of men, and Edelred’s mark,” he returned. “He was trained, and he was deft and sly, and he was swift and powerful. He had defeated many and his hands were well versed in battle.” The King’s gaze searched Eamon’s face. “And yet in you he met his match, because unlike any foe before you, Eamon, you held against him with your whole strength. That is no defeat! Your hope he never touched. He sought your life and you withheld it to the very last. He sought your courage and you held that, too. If he sought or took your heart, you may yet reclaim it.”

  “How can I?” Eamon cried in anguish. There could be no words of apology and no forgiveness. There could be no undoing of the years of scheming and treachery wrought against him, no bringing back of dead babes or murdered fathers, nor any unweeping of tears. Eamon shook his head. “He took me to the grave with him. A dead man cannot serve you.�
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  Hughan watched him, then reached out and touched his shoulder. “Do you remember what I said to you, before we went into Edelred’s chamber?”

  Eamon swallowed. “That our houses… would stand or fall together.”

  “We stood,” Hughan told him, “and I tell you, Eamon Goodman, that neither Edelred’s power nor Arlaith’s schemes have conquered you. To choose another First Knight would be to disown you – that I will not do, nor will I let you disown yourself by bowing to Arlaith’s curses and treacheries. He will have no hold over you.”

  “But he does,” Eamon sobbed, his aching voice a whisper.

  “No hold but what you grant him.”

  Eamon stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. “What?” he whispered.

  “This is Arlaith’s last trap for you,” Hughan told him gently. “He knew you, and he hoped that when you learned what he had done, the depth of your great heart would undo you. That is why he did not want you to see his memories.”

  Remembering Arlaith’s shrieks, Eamon shivered. “I don’t understand.”

  “At the end, Arlaith realized that the truth could also set you free. And it will.”

  Eamon began to shake. “How can it?”

  “Truth in a loving heart is more powerful than curses or death.” Hughan took him by the shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. “Dear and beloved friend,” he said, “if you think that I will stand and let you fall into the jaws of this, then you know me not at all.”

  Eamon shuddered tearfully. Hughan steadied him.

  “You will overcome this,” he said. “You are my First Knight, Eamon, and I need you more now than ever. So does this city. Who would speak for the Gauntlet or defend the Hands? Who would set his whole heart with mine on the long and difficult road to peace that we now must face? Arlaith knew that it would be you. I say to you, arm your courage with the truth, and stand against him. Then you can make your house a house of peace.”

  “I have no house!” Eamon cried, and he wept bitterly.

  Gently Hughan reached out and drew Eamon into his arms, embracing him as he quaked and sobbed.

  “Eamon,” he said gently, “speak to her.”

  “I have tried. She will have none of me!”