by Matt Thomas
A thunderous YES! hammered through the air. Shocked to stillness, he watched the name take flight through the streets again. Sighing, he turned to face them and stayed incredibly still. That name haunted him, punished and pursued him. And still they insisted on using it. SIREN. SIREN. SIREN.
The rallying cries nonetheless made something rouse within him and awaken. Shaking at the forces searing through him, he finally raised a hand. A feeble greeting, but all he could manage knowing the enemy’s counterstrike would be soon in coming—terrible, swift and sudden. Glancing at his mother, he gestured at the dominating structure ahead. Nodding, her face was like frost when she finally turned and led him towards the home of his ancestors.
CHAPTER 10 — OVERTURES
Striding deliberately, eyes fixed forward, Luc’s measured paces echoed across the cool marble halls. Ariel Viamar led him through the vaunted palace at a stately pace, expression unchanged. Servants they passed paused and bowed or curtsied in greeting. The White Rose acknowledged them all. She had a singular charm and grace, movements sedate, regal. The seat of House Viamar’s power and authority was so enormous he found himself beginning to panic. He was already cross, angry the city had been bold and overzealous in making its enmity against the Furies known so impulsively, recklessly. Few understood the pain they would know if Naeleis called their bluff. That one would not hesitate to retaliate against those he felt had given insult. Now the entire nation was at risk.
Hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword, he did not allow himself to become distracted by the opulence of his mother’s home. She took him through halls still attended even with the city in the grips of celebration. He had no idea where she was leading him; at the moment she certainly did not seem inclined to share it with him. At least he no longer had to face the masses. He simply was not used to a city the size of this one. Perhaps a stroll through the grounds would alleviate some of the tension.
Leading him to a section of the palace in a somewhat centralized location, he detected sudden aromas in the air. Ariel moved to side chamber, a carpeted room with colorful tapestries on two of four walls. Framed portraits of the First City hung on the others. Motioning him to sit at a circular table decorated with a floral arrangement, she left for a few moments. When she returned she closed the door and took a seat opposite him, still not speaking. Finally forcing himself to look at her, he was struck again by the woman’s exquisiteness. While others no doubt found her compelling, he saw only the face of his mother, recalling the days when he had wondered if she even lived.
The ragged sigh that left him only rekindled his anger. She simply did not understand. Feeling thunder tolling, he found he could barely contain himself. They had no right! He had already lost one city—he would not have the blood of this one staining his hands.
Ariel Viamar took one look at him and crossed her arms sternly. “You’re angry,” she said evenly. Seeing him shrug in answer, she rearranged the hoodless white cloak hanging lightly on her shoulders, folding her hands neatly, waiting. “Out with it then.” She was not asking. “Best not to brood on it. I’ll admit I first found your father’s changing moods fascinating—he is what he is, after all—but in recent years they worried me more often than not. There were times when he grew . . . distant. It’s no secret why. We were exiled. Friendless. And we knew we had left the best part of ourselves in the forgotten north. So you see, I am no stranger to anger and acrimony. Speak and tell me what you will. I can assure you it will be no less cutting than when we were forced to leave you.”
When she finished, still with her hands folded neatly and her face composed, he leaned forward, not allowing himself to waver. “You planned this,” he said, keeping the emotion out of his voice. Just a pleasant chat between mother and son. “I should have been consulted. You don’t know what they’re capable of, what they would do to you, to the people. These are creatures without conscience. They could wipe the city out in a heartbeat. Don’t you see that?”
He studied her features for some acknowledgement, some sign she had heard him. That absent look made him wince, though. “I’m told I almost died when you were born,” she whispered. Staring at her, he muttered an oath. “Your father was off rallying the Nations for the Stand at Imdre. Your grandfather, too. You were born in these very halls.” Odd having a woman who appeared no more than five to ten years his senior speaking to him about his birth. “The midwives and physicians could find nothing wrong. What they did not understand was your spirit burned so fiercely, so keenly, bearing you, giving birth to you, almost killed me.” She continued to look at him calmly. “I was willing. That was my purpose. The birth of Sirien, who the fates chose me to bring into existence. Had it ended that way and the news reached your father, it likely would have been the end.”
Pausing, she breathed deeply, caught up in the recollection. “Those few who were there will take the knowledge and memory of what they saw with them to the grave. I was ready to die knowing Penthar had its heir and some hope for a future. Then the Foresight took me. I summoned my aides to record it. I knew I was near death. This is what I’m told I said:
“ ‘He comes. The Storm burning within me, of the Children and not. He will be outcast and forgotten, but will come with a fury that will shatter the Nations. One hand to redeem, the other to bring vengeance. He will rule the Winds and the Tides of Memory and Existence. Fear him. Follow him. Give him strength and succor. As he heals me, he will mend the hearts of all men. And our foes will finally know fear. Weep for your souls, for the chaos he will sow and the blood he will spill will bring the final darkness. The World-Spire repaired or in ruin beyond mending. The Unmaker unseated or The Tides of Infinity ended.’ ”
“I slept then, spent.” Tears spilled down her white cheeks. “The midwives tended you, but your cries were so fierce they feared something would take you from them as well. Not knowing what else they could do, they brought you to me. I’m told when they put you in my arms I gasped and took one more breath. Our eyes met. In that moment my sight perceived the truth. Something in you burned my soul. But it was not the burning I had imagined. It was the Lord of the Dread City willing me to recover. Do you see now? I gave you my life and you returned it. Why would I not do the same for you? I have but one child. Now I am letting you go. Giving you back to the winds that sent you. Giving you back to the Nations that must follow you.”
Sighing, she started to look away, then stopped. “You are many things,” she added. “You will undoubtedly become more. One thing you are not is a mother. As I live and breathe, all that I exist for is you. Would you do any less in my place?”
Raising a hand to his head, he rubbed his forehead. Feeling the rage dissipate into a whisper of its former fury, he sank back into his chair. He needed to feel the open air. He had no idea what to make of her tale. It sounded too similar to the tale the old man in the Landing had recounted. Done was done. They could not undo it now. Maybe it would make their enemies fearful or a touch wary. Either would be worth it.
“I’m afraid I made a poor first showing,” he said finally, a weak smile upturning his lips. He was tired and his head hurt some. Something dreadful in him had been poised to unleash. He shuddered to think what would have occurred had he allowed it. “I’m sorry. Will there be time to see some of the city?”
She nodded, this time warmly. The delight was immediate and lit up the jewels carefully arranged in her hair. “I am sure of it. Perhaps a little later. You had a long road, I’m told. Riven gave me some indication of when you would arrive.”
“What is this room, Mother?” he asked curiously.
“Some of us come here when we do not wish to trouble the staff with a formal seating. I thought it best to give you a bit of time to get readjusted and something warm and filling to eat. You look tired. Maybe you can refresh and get some rest after. I will spare you the worst parts of what still awaits, the tedious parts anyway, but there are documents you must sign and some preparations to make. Decisions too.”
“Thank you,” he said simply. He did not mean it for just these small things. He meant it for everything.
She smiled again.
Before either spoke a soldier in ceremonial garb pulled back the door, admitting Trian. The young woman glanced between them, searching their eyes until she exhaled in obvious relief. “I was afraid our young lord here might have said something unkind,” she said, turning to Luc’s mother. Ariel stood and extended her arms warmly. Something about seeing the two of them together made him feel slightly off balance.
“Amreal taught him to mind his manners,” the White Rose responded with a rich laugh. “A good thing. He’ll sway men more with his words than his . . . other talents.” She looked the young woman over then. Plainly something passed between them. Taking several moments, eventually the two embraced. That put an end to any resistance he might have been able to muster. Done was done.
“Sit, please,” Ariel said after a moment, taking the young woman in with a note of some pride and wonder. Some might have found it surprising from a woman of her rank, but then if anyone could rival the fame of the White Rose, this one could. “I see there have been changes already,” Ariel added. “I’m afraid we won’t have much time after this to be alone, but it would be my pleasure to show you each some of our home. Of your home.”
“That would be delightful, my Lady,” Trian murmured. Moving to sit between them, she undid her coat and set it on the back of her chair. “The last time I was here there was a noticeable feeling of bleakness in the air. It’s amazing how much has changed. What the Lord Viamar said, though. It was perhaps the noblest thing I have ever witnessed. In Val Mora men are loathe to give up power or positions of high rank.”
Ariel waved that aside. Servants entered then, coming and going swiftly, bringing sweet teas, spiced wines, breads, trays of roasted fowl and shoulder, and steaming meat pies. Looking the setting over, he suddenly felt famished. But he was too engaged in the women’s interactions, in the current conversation as well.
“Was it difficult?” Trian asked pointedly.
“No,” the woman answered, taking a plate. “I exist. I am. A moment and then I am gone. I told myself I would not wait one more second. Prior to our arrival in Peyennar, I last saw Luc when he was fourteen. I will not wait fourteen more years with the world about to claim him.” She said it in that even tone of hers, dignified. But he did notice her hands tremble.
“From all of us,” Trian whispered.
Luc cleared his throat, but the two women went right on. Some sense of forewarning told him their arrival would temporarily fill a void, one his mother would be forced to revisit when their thoughts turned to leaving. He tried not to think about it. For the moment the White Rose continued to fill a plate until it was overflowing. Setting it in front of him, she waited. Both women just waited. Muttering under his breath, he picked up a fork and broke into one of the meat pies. The first bite almost burned his mouth. Only then did the pair of women move to serve themselves.
Discussing matters of minor importance, he allowed himself to indulge in the meal. It was nothing short of superb. He favored the steaming beef pie liberally seasoned and paired with fresh peas and carrots. The wine was surprisingly light and only slightly on the bitter side. He wondered if the servants ate this well.
After ensuring they both ate their fill, the Lady Viamar led them through the extensive halls of the citadel, a seemingly impenetrable fortress. Well, it had been until the Earthbound assault. His mother avoided those areas and gave them a tour she said represented little more than an eighth of the Viamar estate, excluding the grounds of course. They met the First Clerk and Mistress of the Holdings, two officials who administered the palace and its grounds. Walking between the two women, he did not pay much attention to the imposing halls. He was with the White Rose and Elloyn. That was mind-shearing enough. There seemed scores of high ranking officials, but most still being outside, the halls were relatively free of movement. His mother took it as an opportunity to show him everything she found noteworthy, every hall or passageway of some significance, exploring memories of her childhood and virtually every moment of import.
Later she told them her escort had taken a direct route to Alingdor, sending only a briefing party to the Landing with orders for the factor to join them. Word of Imrail’s company’s engagement with the Earthbound had made Ivon and Ariel cautious, but news that Vandil and the Companions were safe had generated a great deal of optimism. They had made all speed for the First City, preparing for Luc’s arrival. Ariel admitted she was uncertain if he would hold to his word. His father had cautioned her against being overly extravagant, but the decision had been hers to make. She had already explained why, so no sense going over it now. Trian expounded on events to the south. Word of Ronan Thresh and their meeting made his mother blink. She was pleased with the outcome, however, and agreed to support his decision to aid the Ancaidans.
Once done with the tour, she led them to the royal wing. She had given Trian and Luc apartments in the same corridor. Odd that. The Val Moran blushed at the size of hers. Luc just stared. “I’ll give you children some time to settle in,” Ariel remarked, looking at the two of them fondly. “Please ask for me if you have any needs.”
“Mother,” Luc said when she took a step towards the door. The sitting room itself was easily four times the size of his own in Peyennar. That was not to mention the bedroom or private dining and bathing facilities. Crossing the room to the woman, he hesitated. “I . . .” No easy way to say it. “Mother, I’m sorry. Truly. It’s just . . .”
“Your mother knows how you feel, Luc,” Trian said.
“She does indeed.” The Lady Viamar studied him. “Though a mother does like to hear it now and then,” she added.
“Others as well,” Trian noted.
He glanced at them, scowling. They were making sport of him. Ignoring the smiles the pair exchanged, he enfolded the woman in his arms. Her return grip was no less fierce. An eternity to make up for in only a few short days. In Peyennar he had been fortunate enough to get to know her on a more personal level, but here she was someone else entirely. He knew what the years had cost her, had cost him. He doubted there was any force under the One that would allow either of them to forget. Looking at her, the trace of her power was evident. He realized then he was becoming attuned to the Tides in some newfound way. In the end he settled for kissing her lightly on the cheek, turning before she could see his expression. After she departed he felt strangely numb.
Glancing at Trian, he sighed. “This may mean trouble.”
“Perhaps.” At the moment her porcelain-like features were unreadable. “What now?”
He shrugged. Taking in the room and its finery, it was impossible not to notice they were alone. Finally alone. The thought made his knees weak. He realized she had taken notice of the same thing. Her eyes widened, and her face, suddenly flushed, grew hesitant, then firm. “Sometimes you make me feel . . .” She shivered. “Maybe it’s best to get it over with.” Crossing the room, she planted both hands on his chest. With a sudden warmth spreading through him, he took her by the forearms, grip tight. He tried to push aside the memory of the night in her tent, but failed miserably.
Looking down into her eyes, he touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Any regrets? You think you could be . . . happy here?” he finished.
“Luc,” she said seriously, pulling him nearer, if that was even possible, “I have never been happier. I thought you knew that.”
“No, I mean . . .”
She was still looking at him. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
He did that. Not roughly as before, but gently. There were bleak times ahead, but one or two days might not matter. In the end he settled for gripping her in his arms for several seconds. Minutes perhaps. Then he led her to a balcony with an overlooking view of the palace grounds. He had some trouble finding the latch to open it; the terrace window appeared to move on wheels and hinges. Finally fi
guring the contraption out, they stepped out into the open air, the sky still clear and a lustrous blue. The day was bright, but the night would bring changes. Seizing the railing, he took in the view. Neither moved for some time.
* * * * *
Exiting the apartments, Ariel Viamar left with a dread weight settling into the pit of her stomach. She made straight for her rooms, anxious, disturbed. She had refused the First Clerk’s suggestion that they convene a formal hearing to discuss the succession. Doing so was neither required nor a matter for public debate. These matters were entirely too private in any case. The world was hardly ready to understand what they had done, the choices they had made. No need to publicize it.
Acknowledging a pair of men in formal livery, Malik and Kirran, both First Rank Protectors under the Crown’s direct authority, she continued down the hall to her rooms. They were not far. Her father had been adamant about relinquishing his quarters to Luc, or failing that to her. She had dissented, knowing full well he meant to make the transfer of power immediate. He was preparing for his death, she knew. The ride from Peyennar had been far from easy on him, but there was no sense in making any lasting changes until they sealed her son to the First City. She was reluctant to do so unless Luc willingly assented. She had other reasons of course.
You cannot leave us. Not yet.
Amreal’s death still weighed on her. Surely her father’s would likely cripple her.
Reaching her apartments, Malik held the door open and peered inside. Satisfied it was safe for her to proceed, she entered. Ivon and Imrail were waiting. Reading something in her expression, her husband stood. Imrail, absently swirling the contents of a wineglass, bowed without quite seeing her. He’s not quite the same either, she thought. Searching the outer room, she saw the three of them were alone as she had requested.
