10,000 Suns

by Michelle L. Levigne

  He kissed her, softly to avoid waking her, trailing his kisses from her lips down her chin and the golden line of her neck, down to the curve of her breasts, just visible under her arm. Elzan stopped and drew back. Waking Challen by making love to her had its attractions, but he owed her some consideration. Knowing they had to go on with their separate lives, would Challen welcome his touch again?

  Elzan wanted to stay forever curled around Challen, warm in their blanket nest, listening to the storm howl beyond the dome.

  The Dome of Ten Thousand Suns. Elzan lay down and drew the blankets up around Challen and himself, and grinned at the dome. It amazed him to realize he was part of the Prophecy. It made him feel very small, and very grateful. Shazzur was right, when he maintained that those who obeyed the Mother were rewarded in ways they could never imagine.

  Challen had been a surprise, eager for his touch, to learn his body as he learned hers and follow his lead in lovemaking. She clung to him, when he expected a virgin to shy away after the first passion had passed and they lay exhausted and drowsy.

  She wanted to stay with him. Elzan prayed Challen didn't really know what she was saying when she agreed to be his concubine. If he ever became king, he would be required to accept the “diplomatic gift” of concubines. No matter how much he loved Challen, her position would be precarious even as First Concubine. How long would they have to wait even for that? The concubines’ hall was little more than a private brothel for the princes to share. He couldn't do that to her. Only the king had private concubines.

  But wouldn't the Prophecy make a way? If they were right, they would produce a child, the Flame of the Prophecy, and the Flame would restore the Three. If they were meant to have a child, Challen had to remain with him. But how? Or was the child already conceived? Would they have to content themselves with the joy they had shared these few hours, the satisfaction of knowing they had served the Mother well, and never be lovers again? If she were pregnant, would she be forced to marry quickly, to protect herself and their child? The enemies of Bainevah would hate Challen for bringing blessing to their land. If they learned she carried Elzan's child, she would be in ten times as much danger. How could he protect her? A husband who would claim her child was the only answer; an answer Elzan loathed even contemplating.

  Tradition and ritual stood against them marrying. It had been different when the High Priestess was queen and only her son could become king. No foreign nations sent concubines, in the hope that one would become Queen Mother. There were no competitors when the Queen carried the Mother's power.

  Challen had blushed when he called her his priestess and then made her moan with most unholy caresses.

  They had talked about so many things in the quiet, drowsy hours, curled up together. Odd talk for new lovers. About Court politics and schemes, what her vision of the enemy threat could mean, and how the Prophecy could affect their lives for years to come. Challen smiled when she reminded him of what her father had always said—Trust the Mother's words, trust the Prophecy, obey and all would be well.

  Trust the Prophecy. Elzan wrapped his arms tight around Challen and smiled up at the dome. The Prophecy had brought them together for a day of pleasure and discovery. Was that their only reward? Was this all Mother Matrika wanted, or did more tasks wait for them?

  A gong shimmered in the echoing halls beyond the chamber. Elzan groaned. That signal meant they had two hours until sunset. Their escort approached, to take them to the sacrifice.

  Challen sighed and rolled over, stretching. Her arm rested across his chest as her eyes flickered open. She froze, staring into his eyes. Then she smiled, making him melt inside.

  "Good morning."

  "Very good morning.” He pushed his worries aside and gathered her close for kisses that made his sore mouth throb.

  "It's still afternoon,” she whispered against his lips.

  Elzan held Challen tight and they laughed together.

  "You are nothing like what I expected,” he said with a chuckle that ended in a rueful sigh.

  "What did you expect from Shazzur's daughter?"

  "Not—” Elzan sat up. “Well, I suppose you're exactly what I should have expected. A reward of pure joy for the obedient."

  Bells rang in the corridor. Challen looked away first. Elzan wanted to say many things, but every word caught in his throat. He slid the blankets aside and crossed the room to the racks holding their second set of clothes. Green and gold robes; fertility for the crops and sunlight to warm the land. Solstice had passed and now the days would lengthen.

  He hesitated, nearly dropping the robe. What if the sun did not shred the storm burying the city, when the cloth touched the flames? What if the days didn't lengthen, the snow didn't melt?

  "No. We succeeded,” he muttered. Elzan winced as he jerked the sash of his robe too tightly. Even if they had only imagined the words Mother Matrika spoke through Challen, the power that had swept them away was all too clear a sign that the Mother approved and blessed them for their obedience. Nothing could negate what had happened between them that day.

  The bells sounded again as Elzan handed Challen her robe. She looked pale and didn't meet his eyes as she took it, nodding her thanks. Elzan turned his back, letting her climb out of bed and put on the robe with some semblance of privacy.

  "They'll be here in another moment,” she said.

  "Yes. Too soon. An entire moon alone with you wouldn't be enough,” he said, turning. She blushed, but she also smiled.

  The doors swung open, stopping his next words with a wave of bells, drums, and trumpets. High Priest Chizhedek entered, followed by an entourage of priests and priestesses.

  Elzan smiled when the look the old man gave Challen held nothing priestly and holy, but only love and concern for his grandchild. Challen held out her hand, displaying the ram's head ring. Chizhedek went still, then slowly turned to look at Elzan. He inclined his head slightly, his smile just as slight, but Elzan wanted to let out a war whoop of exultation.

  The High Priest approved of his claim on Challen. Suddenly, nothing seemed impossible.

  * * * *

  Wind heavy with snow and ice whipped down into the sheltered palace courtyard, threatening the sacrificial flame. Elzan shivered despite the fur-trimmed cloak wrapping him head to foot. The fire on the altar flickered and sputtered, the wood hissing as globs of icy wet threatened to douse it despite the thread of sacred oil trickling in from the side of the altar. The growling storm snatched at the torches lining the courtyard, dousing two as he watched. Elzan stood at attention at the east side of the altar. High Priest Chizhedek stood at the north side. The west side was empty, waiting for Challen to appear.

  The costumes of the Court crowd were bright with color as if defying winter to worsen. The heavy gray sky drained color from everything. The wind blew louder with every heartbeat.

  Where was Challen? He had a sudden vision of finding her slaughtered by their unseen enemies on the way to the ceremony.

  Just as he thought it, Lady Mayar entered the courtyard. His mother would have stayed with Challen while she bathed and dressed for the ceremony. Elzan was glad for that. He caught sight of the big eunuch, O'klan, and knew the man would have let nothing happen to Challen.

  Challen entered the courtyard, arm-in-arm with the King. She held her face in a solemn, unreadable expression. King Nebazz beamed with delight, nodding to the courtiers he passed as he led Challen to the altar. He carried the gold box and bowed as he handed it to Chizhedek.

  Elzan stared, remembering how pale the King had been just last night. Lady Mayar had confirmed the King was not ill from natural causes, but they could not determine the unnatural causes. Elzan had feared when he finished the ritual he would find the King dead and Bainevah in chaos, and whatever good he had managed to do for the kingdom would all be for naught.

  "Your Majesty is well?” Chizhedek asked.

  It wasn't part of the ritual, but Elzan could understand why the priest would ask.
Just a day ago, the King had been unable to leave his bed, sweating and aching and his head threatening to burst. Now, he walked with a spring in his step and ignored the icy air and the churning clouds trying to bury the kingdom in snow.

  "Most well. Mother Matrika entered my dreams and touched my head and heart and gave me back my strength. Blessings on you, my son,” King Nebazz continued, turning to Elzan and raising his voice above the wind and the whispers. “Mother Matrika is pleased with you, and with the Bride who carried her spirit.” He raised Challen's hand and kissed back and palm in blessing.

  Elzan longed to bellow loud enough to crack the lowering gray bowl of the sky. Challen trembled as she bowed to the King and wrapped her arms around herself.

  The King had addressed him as “my son” in public, at a holy ceremony, in front of more than half the Court. Short of announcing he would marry Lady Mayar, or publicly taking the onyx crown from his head and putting it on Elzan, King Nebazz could have taken no surer step to designate him Crown Prince.

  Elzan barely heard the ritual words as the High Priest chanted blessings on Bride and King, on land and sky and water. He stared into the flames, struggling to calm his thoughts.

  "Take this sacrifice!” Chizhedek shouted, rising to a climax in the ritual chant Elzan had not heard. He took the gold box and flung it open. He raised the bloodstained cloth high.

  Silence filled the courtyard, every eye focused on the cloth. Chizhedek let it fall. It fluttered down like a bird, caught in the storm winds. Elzan feared it would sail past the altar. What evil omen would his enemies find in that?

  Then, as if guided by an invisible hand, the cloth flew into the exact center of the sacrificial fire. It burst into flame before it landed on the wood. Bright light exploded up in a pillar, reaching to the steely sky.

  The clouds split as if sliced by a knife. Light poured down and the clouds rolled back like an orange peel. Sunset filled the sky in obscenely luxuriant waves of purple and scarlet and gold. Warmth cascaded in a waterfall and the snow melted under the blast.

  Exultant shouts rang through the courtyard. Elzan reached for Challen, but she was already snatched away in O'klan's arms. The big eunuch whirled her around. Shazzur appeared from the crowd—where had he been all this time?—and O'klan handed Challen into her father's arms.

  "You have done well, my son. You have always made me proud,” the King shouted through the clamor. He clasped Elzan's shoulders. “Come. We must talk."

  Elzan hesitated, wanting to find Challen. But she was nowhere to be seen and the King held out his hand and beckoned for him to escape the already loud celebration.

  "Elzan?” His mother appeared at his side and linked her arm through his.

  "Challen,” he blurted.

  "Shazzur and O'klan have already spirited her away. She is safe.” Lady Mayar brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Come. The King requires your presence."

  He nodded and cast one more glance around the courtyard. Then he let his mother lead him to join the King. He was Crown Prince. There was work to do.

  CHAPTER 16

  Winter returned by nightfall, creating ice everywhere from melted snow, but people didn't seem to care. There was always bright sunshine and a blast of unseasonable warmth at the winter solstice ceremony, just as a rainbow-streaked cloudburst drenched the city the entire day at summer solstice. This year, however, the warmth lasted twice as long and the clouds were mere shadows of their former thick darkness.

  Elzan had a private moment between the ceremony naming him Crown Prince and the feast. He retreated to the Council chamber and shut the door. He could be alone here to think. For years he had dreamed of the moment he would wear the onyx circlet now sitting heavy on his head, a simpler version of his father's crown. Elzan ignored it for far more important matters.

  All Bainevah feasted and celebrated. In the Sanctum, Challen celebrated with the other Brides. Elzan smiled at the thought of the ring she wore, marking her as his though they might have to wait years. She would wait for him. He could hardly believe his good fortune.

  No, not good fortune. He had been obedient, willing to risk his dreams for the sake of Bainevah. Willing to risk losing Challen for the sake of what he knew was right. This was not his reward, but his recompense—his and Challen's—for what they had suffered already and would suffer in the future.

  And so Challen was his, completely, as Matrika had said. Elzan thought back to those sheltered hours and knew she had given herself to him, just as he planned to give the rest of his life to her. He knew he glowed, with a smile so broad it was almost fatuous, giddy with relief. He had come here so he could lower his guard and bask in the glory.

  "Did you have so little faith in yourself, Highness?” Shazzur asked as he entered the room.

  "Faith? A man would have to be dead not to...” His face burned as he realized what he had been about to say about Challen's beauty and sensuality to her father.

  "Ah, so that smile is for my daughter's sake and not your crown. Well, I am pleased."

  "I love her. I swear I will make her my queen."

  "I believe you.” Shazzur chuckled. “May I make one request of you?"

  "Anything."

  "I would like at least one granddaughter. Have as many sons as you wish, but I want a granddaughter to spoil, as I wasn't permitted to spoil Challen. We had so little time, and so much training and preparation ahead of us."

  "Sons.” Elzan had to sit. That twisting in his gut had nothing to do with the ache he felt when he remembered Challen, flushed with pleasure, responding to his every touch. “The Flame is our child. Challen is the pure blood of the wise, and I'm the young ram."

  "Most assuredly."

  "The Flame is our son?"

  "Or a daughter.” Shazzur sat and nodded slowly. “Two of the Three are women, after all."

  "You've known all along?"

  "I've guessed. Even I don't realize the true meaning of visions until their fulfillment occurs before my eyes."

  "How long will we have to wait?"

  "Until the child of the Prophecy comes—or until you can be together?” Shazzur's eyes twinkled when Elzan could only bow his burning face and grin. “You will not know what is possible until you ask. Do not hesitate to ask. Those who seek first to serve Mother Matrika are unable to ask for what will harm the kingdom, even if they seek their heart's desire."

  Elzan kept those words in his mind during the banquet. He ignored the raucous words of praise for his manhood, the flattery that grew more explicit as the hours passed and the wine flowed freely. He listened to the music and the singing and watched the dancers, content to be an observer. This celebration tonight was in his honor, and yet he felt no pride. Elzan was content to be a vessel. He was tired. When could he retire to his rooms and fall asleep dreaming of Challen?

  "My son, my heir!” the King cried as the troupe of dancers left the open floor surrounded by banquet tables.

  King Nebazz stood and held his goblet high. He was not drunk, Elzan was pleased to note. Perhaps in a little while, the King and Lady Mayar would leave the feasting and then those with any sense and decorum remaining could leave as well. Elzan hoped it was soon.

  "Ask anything of me, Prince Doni'Nebazz. I wish to give you your heart's desire this night, to show to all the Court my pride in you. Elzan. My firstborn.” He bowed to Lady Mayar. “Son of my dearest love. My Queen."

  Heart's desire.

  Elzan stood slowly from his place at the King's right hand. Silence rippled through the hall as the feasters realized something was about to happen. He stepped down from the table on the raised platform, and walked into the open square, where he could see everyone and be seen and heard by them. He bowed to his parents. He bowed to Shazzur. He glanced around the feasting hall. The kingdom was his this night. He was their hero. He could have anything and no one would fault him.

  Could he really arrange for Challen's safety and their happiness so quickly?

  "Majesty.” Elzan bowed
again, deeply, in a gesture of total obedience and subservience to the King. “Grant me two requests, small things which will not shake the kingdom.” He grinned when a ripple of laughter met his words. “But which mean more to me than I can express."

  "Ask, my son."

  "Grant me one concubine. All my own. As inviolate as my own mother."

  King Nebazz laughed, setting down his goblet to brace his hands on the table. Elzan saw vicious grins as opponents and detractors among the Court—including three half-brothers—waited for his fall from favor for such a foolish request.

  "My son, that is already yours as heir! Seven suites of rooms wait for your concubines. Ask something harder."

  Laughter rippled around the room again and it was warm, perhaps touched with relief. Elzan thought his knees would fold. He glanced at Shazzur and his teacher shook his head, eyes brimming with laughter.

  "I ask that you send Doni'Hobad'Shazzur'Conia to the Sanctum to ask his daughter to be my First Concubine."

  "Ah, I understand now. It is a wise king, my son, who loses his heart to the maiden the Mother blessed.” King Nebazz caught up Lady Mayar's hand and kissed it before he turned to Shazzur. “My loyal Seer, I ask as a proud father and not a king ... Will you give your daughter to my son?"

  "I cannot, Majesty."

  Silence crackled through the room. Elzan thought everyone had caught their breaths at the same moment. Every gaze stayed on Shazzur as he stood and reached for his cloak.

  "My daughter has already given her heart to him. There is nothing left for me to give.” He bowed to the King as laughter rumbled through the hall again.

  * * * *

  Challen sighed and wished she could retire to her rooms. This feast was in her honor, and it would be extremely bad taste to abandon it. The Brides were the only revelers. They laughed and danced and played ridiculous games, feasted, then told stories. They teased her constantly to know what Elzan had been like. Challen kept her silence, knowing she would lose the sweetness of those memories if she shared them.