10,000 Suns

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "So did I,” Cayeen said. “They always proclaim that their fair coloring reflects the purity of their spirits. How could such a dark-haired, dark-eyed man rise to so much power?"

  "Magic,” O'klan murmured. “Magic is more important to the Drevans than even their whiteness. He is powerful and dangerous. Stay away from him."

  "Please,” Ashur said, breaking his customary silence. The icy blond eunuch traded somber glances with O'klan.

  "What do you two know?” Challen demanded.

  She turned away from the long procession of pale, square-built Drevans. They wore leathers and furs trimmed in gold and bristled with spears and arrows dipped in gold, as if their armies were for show instead of defense. She knew better, after moons of reading history and politics with Mynoch and Haneen.

  "Rumors only, Lady.” O'klan opened the door into the palace. The four Host soldiers assigned to Challen and Cayeen divided up, two going ahead and two staying outside. Ashur followed the soldiers, then the two women, then O'klan brought up the rear with the soldiers behind him.

  Challen almost smiled, realizing that after nearly three moons as Elzan's concubine, she was used to this constant attendance. No one had vanished in two moons, and no one had been attacked by people whose eyes were black, and she had grown so used to checking for shadows that she did it without thinking. All seemed peaceful and the spring rains promised flourishing crops. Elzan had warned her and the Council often enough, their enemy would strike when they began to relax their vigilance. Challen glanced back over her shoulder, as if she could still see the Drevan party arriving at the palace gates. Had the enemy come to them? Should they prepare for an attack, or would the attack come from a totally different quarter?

  "When the Drevans came to arrange for Anbis’ arrival, some of their servants said he would come in search of a bride for their Priest-King,” O'klan continued after the door had closed.

  "Oh, no, not again,” Cayeen moaned. “Be grateful you are a concubine, Challen. The Drevans consider concubines unworthy of notice. He won't even look at you during the feast tonight."

  "You could feign illness and not attend,” Challen offered.

  "He would send one of his healers.” She gasped. “Especially if he's interested in me. Oh, why did I have to be fair like my mother? He'd pass me by if I was dark like the King!"

  "I can't change the color of your hair, but I can make you ill.” She muffled a chuckle when Elzan's sister stopped short and stared at her.

  "You can do that?"

  "Healing is often a matter of changing the balances in the blood. If I push them in the wrong direction ... you will be ill and not even another healer will be able to tell I did it."

  "Make me so ill I can't move until long after he's gone!” Cayeen pleaded, mischief in her eyes despite the long-suffering note in her voice.

  * * * *

  Challen found she had pushed herself past her limits, making Cayeen ill after spending the entire day in healing. She dosed herself with a hot herbal tonic and lay down for a nap, after O'klan promised to wake her in time to dress for the welcoming feast for Anbis and the Drevans.

  Elzan woke her. Lines of strain creased his forehead and shadowed his mouth. When she started to apologize and explain, he pressed a finger to her lips.

  "You are too ill to attend the feast,” he said, and brushed a kiss across the back of her hand.

  "No, I'm—"

  "Too ill, after spending the day serving our people and then worrying about my sister. O'klan told me you offered her your help,” he added, one side of his mouth quirking up. “My love, your timing is perfect."

  "Elzan?” A chill passed over her. Challen struggled to sit up. “What has that Drevan done or said already? He's only been here a few hours."

  "He is just a shade too proper in all things, like every Drevan ever sent here. But for one thing.” He swallowed hard, as if fighting nausea. “He made a point of announcing that he has come on the guidance of a vision from his god, Skataeroz. He is here to bring unity and friendship between the Bull and the Ram, between Skataeroz and Matrika. To counter the snows and darkness of Dreva, he seeks a priestess of royal blood and fire, to marry their Priest-King."

  "None of your sisters have any gifts to serve in the temples.” She shivered, knowing what he would eventually say.

  "But as the Chadrasheeri ambassador pointed out, you are in essence an adopted daughter of the King. Your father's status makes you royal. You are a priestess because the Mother's power flows through you. You have the fire talent, inherited from your mother, and you are a healer, serving in the temple."

  "And because this was all stated in Court, with regal phrasing and surrounded by political ramifications, they couldn't name me outright and you couldn't refuse them outright.” She sighed and closed her eyes and decided that yes, she certainly did feel too ill to go to the feast.

  "They don't even like to acknowledge concubines exist,” Elzan murmured as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto his lap. “They will have to swallow a great deal of pride to even broach the subject of you. And then there's the rudeness of demanding I hand over the woman who is practically my wife."

  "There is precedent, unfortunately. King Banpolissar, in the Fourth Dynasty, had a concubine who was a distant cousin. She was the only living female of royal blood at that time, so he gave her as wife to King Handracharach, who conquered him in battle, to form an alliance."

  "Dreva has not conquered us in battle ... and I would be very happy if you weren't so cursed conversant with Bainevah's entire history,” Elzan said, ending on a growl. He kissed her before she could retort.

  "He will demand me, eventually."

  "Not during this visit. Your father and grandfather were at the welcoming ceremonies and they both refused. Politely, of course. With heavy, formal language. Basically they said there would be no marriage unless Matrika spoke directly and clearly. We don't worship Skataeroz, and the Bull has no power in Bainevah. Why should we bow to his prophecies and commands?"

  "Easier to say than to support."

  She shuddered as a dream image snapped into her mind. “Dreva instigated that trouble with Chadrasheer last fall, didn't they? How hard would it have been to kidnap me, on the journey to Chadrasheer?"

  "Even then, they were aiming for you. From the man who attacked your household at the oasis, your journey—that night you went wading in the fountains.” He shook his finger in her face, but the teasing fell flat. “Skataeroz knew, somehow, that you would be a vessel for Matrika. I'll wager his minions tried to prevent your participation in the Sacred Marriage."

  "They failed."

  "Yes, but that doesn't mean they'll give up. If they could turn you to their profit, like changing the status of a Draktan piece, imagine the disaster that could befall Bainevah. And how the loss of you will destroy me.” Elzan cupped her cheek in his hand. “The Mother has spoken through you, and she will speak again in the future. She warned me to listen when you speak for her. How can I listen if you aren't here, safe and cherished?"

  "He'll use all the political tricks and nastiness he can find, to force you to give me away. How many nobles in the Court and the Council would agree, just to harm you? How many hope you'll choose one of their daughters as a concubine, and they could end up as grandfather of your heir? How many are more fearful of Dreva than they are of displeasing the Mother?"

  "You are too wise. But, fortunately, your father is the Seer and your grandfather is the High Priest, and the entire Host of the Ram will stand in your defense. All the priests know you are the vessel and voice of the Mother, and the scribes will search night and day for ways to counter the Drevans’ claims. They will not have you. I swear it."

  "But until they have given up and gone away?” She blinked to fight tears, and smiled in the face of Elzan's intensity.

  "Until then ... As you love me, Challen, stay away from Court while Anbis is here. Have Haneen and Mynoch do all your running and never let O'klan ou
t of your sight."

  "And I so much wanted to show off my new dress tonight,” she whispered. “You know how much I love catching up on the gossip and seeing all my friends among the nobles."

  "You love confounding everyone by playing games with their simple little minds.” Elzan held her at arm's length and studied her face. “I know you only play at being a Court lady to support me, and I love you for that. It won't be that great a hardship to stay in your rooms for a few quarters, will it?"

  "I should thank Ambassador Anbis for giving me the excuse. But I won't even mention his name, from this day forward,” she hurried to add.

  Elzan kissed her, and she felt his worry for her in the hardness of his mouth.

  CHAPTER 19

  Spring Equinox

  Elzan woke with a shout choking him. He shuddered and wrapped his arms tighter around Challen. She moaned, her face wrinkling in reaction to her dreams.

  Bad dream. That's all it was. What did he expect, after too much wine, too much fancy food, and the pressure of the equinox ceremonies and festivities in Court?

  Life had been so much simpler before he became Crown Prince. He had duties in the Temple now, often standing in the King's place. Court festivities that he had avoided before were now required. Despite needing to keep Challen hidden from and forgotten by the Drevans, she still had to make public appearances as First Concubine to the Crown Prince. Shazzur, Queen Mayar, and other friends helped keep Challen constantly under surveillance, surrounded by friends and protectors. There was always a healer priest or priestess available, to check Challen every time a Drevan came close, to ensure they hadn't managed to drug her by touch or with perfume.

  Challen tried to face the challenge of her safety as a game, much as she faced the day-to-day demands of the Court. Cayeen had rallied the other two princesses to join her in helping Challen deceive and stun the courtiers. Elzan himself sometimes laughed to see his three half-sisters, who usually agreed on very little, united in a common purpose and enjoying it. With the help of all three princesses, Challen played the games of Court with aplomb, even if she didn't enjoy them.

  She usually let people assume she was lost among the Court gossip and innuendoes, blending into the surroundings. And then she would make an observation or come up with a witty retort that no one expected. Challen had many admirers both because of her wit and beauty, and because she never attacked. Elzan depended on her powers of observation to catch reactions and comments that he missed; she overheard what people would never say outright in Elzan's hearing. She was his second set of eyes and ears. Often, she was the better half of his mind.

  Elzan had been proud to have her walking at his side last night during the equinox festivities. Only two things could have made last night perfect—to link her arm with his as his wife and to bid farewell to the Drevans.

  They had stayed up late after retiring to his quarters, making love with a passion and energy that echoed the power of the Sacred Marriage. It was no wonder they had bad dreams, after the wine and food and exhausting themselves with pleasure.

  Elzan took a few deep breaths now to calm his racing heart. Sweat glued the sheets to him. He unwrapped Challen from his arms with a sticky sound, sat up and peeled back the sheets.

  Too hot for so early in the spring. As if he stood inside a burning house.

  Shazzur's house. Flames licked up the walls and smoke gathered in thick, suffocating clouds at the ceiling.

  Shazzur. He had dreamed of Shazzur, attacked by faceless, black figures who cast no shadows. He had fallen, bleeding from multiple wounds. Fire gusted through the house. Servants lay in limp piles on the floor.

  Elzan closed his eyes, trying to drive away the images. They grew stronger. He could actually smell the smoke, the scorching of cloth, the stink of spilled wine, the iron and copper tang of Shazzur's blood filling the air.

  "Father,” Challen whimpered.

  Elzan felt the hot, sticky sweat turn to ice down his back. If Challen also dreamed of her father...

  He barely had his belt fastened to hold up his trousers when he reached the door out into the hallway. The two guards on duty stiffened to attention.

  "Wake the palace,” Elzan snapped as he ran down the hall. “The Seer is in danger!"

  There were no servants moving about so early in the morning, as Elzan dashed into the wide, paved plaza of fountains and trees between the palace and the courtiers’ homes. He shouted to raise the alarm and kept running.

  Smoke sent a few questing tendrils out the windows of Shazzur's home. Flames crackled softly inside, barely licking above the windowsills, like serpents’ tongues. Thudding feet behind Elzan echoed with metal toecaps on stone—soldiers. Breathing a prayer of thanks, Elzan slammed into the door. It flew inward, shattering like tinder.

  Sparks rained down his back, but he didn't feel the scorching. Elzan pressed his hand over his mouth and nose to block the thick smoke that sucked air and moisture from him. He stumbled into the main room where Shazzur had taught him as a child. The marble floor was smeared with blood. Elzan saw a pale hand sticking out from a tangle of cushions that glistened with oil. As if someone had prepared it for a bonfire.

  "Shazzur!"

  Elzan clawed at the detritus covering his beloved teacher. He shouted for the soldiers to get a healer. No one answered. Then he uncovered Shazzur and saw the flowing wounds in the man's chest.

  "Mother Matrika...” He pressed his hands flat over the blood and closed his eyes to concentrate.

  There was no time to wait for a healer. Elzan had enough experience with wounds, he knew moving Shazzur from the burning house could kill him. As if he wasn't dying already.

  He pushed aside his desperation and fury, saving all his energy for this supreme effort. Closing his eyes, he called up everything inside himself and focused on sealing the wounds, forcing the life back into Shazzur's body.

  Challen had taught him some healer discipline and now Elzan was glad for those quiet hours of study, when the energy flowed almost effortlessly. He would save Shazzur. He could feel the life growing steady again in the old man's body.

  Elzan heard a rattling sound. Like Draktan dice bouncing across the board. A sudden cold brushed across his bare, sweat-streaming back. He opened his eyes.

  Something moved in the black whirlpool of smoke. Elzan couldn't break contact with Shazzur to face it.

  Firelight flashed off a sword streaking down out of the smoke at him. Shouting, he threw himself across Shazzur's body to evade the blow. Flames streaked across the roof beams. Armor rattled as soldiers stumbled into the room and the sword came down again. Elzan kicked at the hand holding the blade.

  His assailant emerged from the smoke. A man in a guard uniform, his face a mask of sweat. He leaped at Elzan, yanking a dagger from his boot sheath. The soldiers lunged to stop him.

  Through streaming eyes, Elzan saw the burning ceiling beams shatter and reach flaming arms to embrace him. The knife slashed through his thigh as he rolled aside. His attacker screamed.

  "The piece is mine!” a shattered voice whined.

  "The play is not finished,” a laughing voice said.

  Elzan knew that laughing, mocking, rich voice. It battered at him as flames enfolded him and dragged him into darkness.

  "The piece is mine! My forfeit!"

  "Yes, but a higher piece has risked its rank to rescue it. Our opponent is either an idiot or far more canny than we thought.” The laughing voice sounded subdued. “We must choose. We can remove one piece and separate the two destined to rule the board. They may rejoin stronger. Capture the priestess while it is alone. And risk retribution. The choice is difficult."

  "Take the piece. I want it,” the whining voice snapped.

  "Take the priestess piece,” a dry voice whispered. “Take it soon or the game is lost. Rally all and take it. The opponent has made another move toward the higher game. We must capture the piece and make it our own. We need it to win."

  * * * *

&nbs
p; Elzan heard his mother's voice. Gently, it drove away the darkness, turning it to black cloth that muffled every sense, then gauze that turned gray and shredded. He couldn't open his eyes, but that didn't matter. He felt heavy, tired. His tongue swelled and when he swallowed, fire raced down his throat.

  "Can you hear me, my hawk?” Queen Mayar whispered. Cool wet touched his lips. Elzan flinched, then pried his lips open, greedy for moisture. “Slowly. Slowly. We must not cause more harm with the healing.” The cool wet vanished after only a trickle down his throat.

  "Te—tem—” His lips didn't want to form the words.

  "Yes. You are in the Healers Temple. We have wrapped you like a newborn, to hold ointments against your skin. Do not move. Let us attend to all your needs.” One finger stroked his bottom lip, then the cool wet returned.

  Elzan swallowed greedily at the trickle—sweet water, with fruit pulp and honey. His mother had given it to him as a child when he was ill with fever and oozing spots, and couldn't keep anything in his stomach. Fear tried to settle into his body, but Elzan refused to listen to it.

  The liquid seemed to vanish in his throat, evaporated by the heat of his body, which felt like cracked baked clay, screaming for moisture. He didn't have the strength to move—why did his mother have to caution him to hold still? It was almost funny. Before he could try to laugh, he fell asleep.

  When he woke, Challen was there. He heard tears in her voice, but it turned to choked laughter when he demanded kisses with the water. Demanded with whispers, his throat crackling, the effort draining him of all energy. She kissed him as he fell asleep and kissed him every time he woke.

  How many times he woke to drink and then sleep again, Elzan didn't know. He only knew Challen or his mother were always there, enfolding him with their love and soothing his thirst. They refused to let him speak or move, but he knew Shazzur was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  * * * *

  "Father?” Challen stroked his cheek as she tipped the cup of sweet water to his lips.