by R. J. Grieve
She smiled. “Don’t worry, Gorm, you are perfectly safe. Vesarion just wants to ask you something.”
Vesarion sat on his heels to bring his head level with the small Turog’s.
“Do you remember the last time we were here?”
Casting a suspicious glance sideways at the Keeper, Gorm nodded.
“Do you remember out in the woods, Sareth and I had a disagreement?”
This evoked less response. Scenting a trap, Gorm said nothing but remained staring back stonily at his interrogator.
“Sareth set a ring on a log in the clearing that day,” continued Vesarion. “Do you know what happened to it?”
Still Gorm said nothing.
Feeling she might have more luck, Sareth intervened. “Please, Gorm, we need the ring back. Vesarion and I are to be married and we need the ring.”
Gorm’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t have ring.”
“Are you sure it’s not amongst your treasures?” Sareth asked.
“Perith-arn emptied out all Gorm’s treasures,” he replied evasively.
“Except one, is that not correct?” Vesarion persisted. “Your most prized treasure was not kept in your pouch, was it, Gorm?”
The Turog still remained sullen. “Want to go now,” he announced.
But there was something in those yellow eyes that told Vesarion he was on the right track. Realising that his victim was likely to prove obdurate, he tried a more subtle approach.
“If you give me back the ring, Gorm, I will give you something even better in exchange.”
“What?” demanded the Turog, interested but suspicious.
Vesarion reached into his pocket and withdrew the little silver box. “This.”
Gorm’s eyes glistened greedily, but he was still wary. “This a trick?”
“No, I promise. I will give you the box in exchange for the ring.”
“Not lend?”
Vesarion repressed a smile. “No, not lend. It will be yours for ever.”
Gorm looked at the coveted silver box and visibly weakened. “All right. Give ring back.”
With that, he drew his hunting knife and using the tip, he carefully slit the stitching on his belt and began winkling something out. In a moment the ring lay sparking in his hand, but he refused to give it up until he got the box first.
The moment the desired item was his, he held it up to the light and began to caper delightedly. Losing interest in the ring entirely, he dropped it into Vesarion’s waiting hand.
“Belongs to Gorm now!” he cried joyfully. “No more Vesarion saying ‘if you please’. Ha-ha!”
Observing this performance, Eimer asked Iska: “Do you, by any chance, get the impression that he’s pleased?” He turned to her and for the first time took her in. He saw her as he had never seen her before, dressed in feminine attire, in a silk gown of pale blue. Her jet black hair was still only chin-length, but was prettily held with a blue ribbon.
“Blood and thunder!” exclaimed the tactless Prince. “What a transformation!”
Iska gave a smile reminiscent of Kel’s. “Sometimes, Eimer, you cannot see what is under your nose.”
Gorm, who had been sloping off towards the door with his prize, in what he considered to be an unobtrusive manner, unfortunately encountered Bethro coming in from the garden.
“Ladies, gentlemen and…er…Turog,” the Keeper of Antiquities announced grandly, “I have something to show you. Follow me, if you please.”
Intrigued, everyone followed him along the narrow passage to the door and out into the sunshine. There, a wonderful sight met their eyes. For the thick, protective hedge, armoured with vicious thorns, was completely covered in soft, pink roses. Some were merely in bud, while others had fully opened into luxuriant blooms, but none had faded. A heady scent was issuing from them, filling the whole garden. Everyone stood awestruck for a moment, scarcely able to take in such a miracle.
“The legend of the rose of Teltherion has come true,” declared Bethro sentimentally. “It was said that when a true and selfless love returned to the tower once more, the rose hedge would bloom again, and now, my dear friends, it has.”
He crossed to the hedge and carefully avoiding the long thorns on the branches, picked a bunch of the finest roses and handed them, with a flourish, to Sareth.
“Princess Sareth, it is only fitting that you should have a bouquet on your wedding day. I give you these pink roses, the colour of your dress, and I know that should the spirit of Teltherion be watching over us, he will bless your union with so worthy a man.”
She took the flowers from him, her eyes shining. Vesarion held out his hand to her and without hesitation she placed her hand in his.
“You once told me that this journey had taught you that every moment is precious,” he said, “and as you see, I have taken your words to heart.”
Looking at the old man, who was smiling mistily at him, he said quietly: “Keeper, it is time.”
And so, in the heart of the old tower, with the light descending upon them like a benediction, Vesarion and Sareth were married. For the first time in an age, the old Sage read the beautiful words from the Book of Light. Watched by the friends that had become so dear to them, the rings were exchanged and Sareth and Vesarion repeated the vows that they had already made in their hearts in the cavern of Sirindria Eleth.
When the simple ceremony was over, Iska showered them with rose petals and Eimer, secretly delighted, shook Vesarion painfully by the hand and informed him that along with a bride, he had also acquired a rather erratic brother-in-law.
The Keeper, although he ate little himself, considered no celebration complete without substantial quantities of food, and conducted them all to a table once more groaning under the weight of a truly royal repast. For once, Bethro and his rival were in complete accord. Two sets of eyes, one yellow and the other brown, gleamed at the sight. Gorm had been a little bemused by the ceremony and had stood at the back with the appearance of a fish out of water, not at all sure what to do with himself. However, he knew what to do with a chicken. Diving across the table, he purloined an entire roast chicken before Bethro could get to it, and thumped it down triumphantly on his plate.
It was a merry party and the old tower rang that afternoon to the sound of laughter and conversation. Even Kel joined in, after the Keeper had insisted on a place being set for him. He was seated beside Iska, who was inspired to take off her hair ribbon and tie it around his neck in a becoming bow – a humiliating process he endured with surprising good nature. The Keeper told anecdotes of the Golden Kingdom in his faint voice, listened to only by Vesarion, and brother and sister mercilessly teased each other in their customary fashion. Only once during the course of the afternoon was Eimer serious. Under cover of the general hub-bub, he leaned towards his sister and whispered in her ear: “Don’t tell Vesarion this, but he is the only man I have ever felt I could entrust you to. I wish you joy, Sarry.” Then, embarrassed by his lapse from frivolity, he added in his usual manner: “I hope you don’t mind if your brother wears out a trail to Ravenshold.”
She gripped his hand under the table. “I’m depending on it.”
But the day had not done with surprises. Bethro, who after his initial assault on the food, had become a little withdrawn, finally arose to his feet and to everyone’s astonishment, crossed to Vesarion and went down on one knee before him.
“Lord of Westrin, “ he began formally, “I feel that now, on this your wedding day, it is a propitious moment to ask a great boon of you.”
Mystified as to what was coming next, Vesarion replied equably: “I will do my best to oblige you, Bethro.”
The librarian swallowed, feeling queasy with anxiety and wishing he hadn’t eaten that last enormous piece of cake.
“I….I want to beg your forgiveness for betraying you,” he blurted out.
“Betraying me?” Vesarion repeated in surprise. “Bethro, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Beth
ro’s guilt at last spilled out in a torrent of words. “It was me that brought upon you all that you suffered in Adamant. I was the one who couldn’t control his greed and went to the bakery in direct contravention of Iska’s orders. I was the one who was so careless that I handed the baker a coin of Eskendrian mint. I brought the guards down upon us, which led to your arrest and…and all you underwent at the hands of Prince Mordrian and that brute, Ursor. My conscience has given me no peace ever since, and I hoped that, today of all days, you might find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Vesarion was looking utterly nonplussed. “There is nothing to forgive, Bethro. I know that you did not intend any harm to me. I have never held against you any of the things that happened, but if it would set your conscience at rest, then I forgive you freely and without reserve.”
Bethro looked up in wonderment, the tears pouring down his plump cheeks. “You would do this for me?”
“Of course I would. You see, I remember a man who once belittled you and humiliated you with cutting remarks, so believe me, there is no debt between us.”
Bethro rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been lifted off him, and pulling out his handkerchief, noisily blew his nose.
“This journey has changed you,” he said in wonderment
Sareth leaned forward. “It has changed us all, Bethro.”
As the shadows of evening began to fall and the tall candles in their silver holders were lit, Eimer folded his arms and fastened his attention on his brother-in-law.
“Cousin,” remarked the Prince dulcetly, “would you mind telling me, in the name of all that’s holy, what you are still sitting there for?”
Sareth, catching his meaning, to everyone’s amusement, suddenly went as pink as her dress.
But Vesarion was unruffled. Rising to his feet, he held out his hand to her. “For once, your irritating brother is quite right.”
Still a little flushed, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her from the table.
When they reached her room, they discovered that it was lit by a single, tiny candle. Vesarion leaned back against the door and she turned to discover that he was chuckling.
“You never cease to amaze me,” he laughed. “I have seen you tackle bands of screaming Turog, cut slices out of an aggressive bully and take risks that would turn most people’s hair white, and yet when your brother makes a slightly suggestive remark, you go the colour of a beetroot.”
“Eimer is the outside of enough,” she declared.
He reached behind him, and turned the key in the lock. “Just in case he takes it into his head to come up here and give me some more advice,” he explained.
She drew closer to him and slid her arms round his neck. “To think that when we arrived this morning, little did I realise that by the time the sun went down, all I have ever wanted would be mine.” She then smiled mischievously. “I will never again doubt your determination, for I have rarely seen anyone who so clearly knows how to get his own way.”
He returned her smile, but there was an intimacy in his look as he drew her closer. “I am relying on that.”
He gently brushed back a stray strand of her hair before running his fingers deep into its softness. “You hair always has a mind of its own,” he murmured.
“A bit like its owner,” she agreed. “I can be pretty determined, too, when I want something.”
Their eyes met, and reading his mind, she drew down his head and kissed him with such need, that desire ignited and he caught her hard against him. He began to unfasten the tiny buttons of her dress but they were fiddly and losing patience, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the room. As he lowered her onto the bed, her hair fanned out across the pillow, bringing to pass his dream which had foreshadowed this moment so long ago.
When she raised her hand to his shoulder, the soft glow of the candle caught the diamond on the ring he had given her that day for the second time, and he realised that his state of mind and heart could not have been more different to the first. Their betrothal in Addania had been a cool matter of logic, but this time, he simply couldn’t contemplate life without her. For a heartbeat, that might have been eternity, their eyes met and held.
“I once promised that I would love you to my very last breath,” he said quietly, leaning over her. “Those words were not part of our vows but I make that promise again to you now.”
Then he reached across and snuffed out the candle. A soft, intimate darkness descended and in a moment, they were lost to everything else in the world except each other.
Chapter Thirty-four
The Usurper of Westrin
The morning sun, peeping shyly in at the little windows of the Tower of Teltherion, awoke Sareth by touching her face. Slowly, with a deep sense of well-being, she opened her eyes to discover she was laying on her side facing the room. The window was open and the sweet fragrance of the rose hedge was being wafted towards her, borne on a soft breath of air. The breeze also carried with it the pleasant sound of birds calling to one another in the golden forest beyond. Although Vesarion was not touching her, Sareth sensed that she was not alone by the comforting feeling of warmth creeping across the bed. A tingle of remembered pleasure passed through her like a sudden ripple of wind across a wheat field, as she relived the previous night. Turning over, she discovered that he was still asleep, lying face down with one arm thrust up beneath the pillow. Propping herself up on her elbow, she looked down at him tenderly, remembering the gentle touch of his hands and lips, knowing that he had allowed her to glimpse a depth of emotion in him that was hidden from the rest of the world.
Unable to resist, as softly as descending thistledown, she touched her lips to the nape of his neck. He stirred slightly in response, but did not wake. Slowly, she drew down the sheet a little to reveal his back and marvelled, yet again, that his wounds had healed so well. There was scarcely a mark on his skin, barring a few small scars on his side where the steel tip of the Scorpion’s Sting had bitten deep. Little visible evidence remained of all that he had undergone, and she hoped that all it had done within him had also healed so completely. She recalled the blaze of white-hot anger she had seen in his eyes that day in the swamp when Prince Mordrian had come so close to them. The line of Westrin had a tendency towards vengeance, and although she had thought that Vesarion lacked the emotion, the look in his eyes had proved her wrong. She understood how he must feel towards his tormentor, but could not rid herself of a niggling feeling at the back of her mind that no good would come of pursuing such a course. Hastily she dismissed the thought, banishing the tiny cloud impinging onto the brightness of the sunny morning.
Giving in willingly to temptation, she pressed her lips to his back and slowly began to move down his spine, placing lingering kisses as she went.
He sighed contentedly and rolled over. “I would like to wake up like this every morning,” he said sleepily.
She smiled down at him. “I don’t see why you can’t.”
“It’s just possible I might never get out of bed.”
“That’s Eimer’s philosophy – except that he’s not so picky about his company.”
He laughed and catching her in his arms, rolled her over. “Picky, am I? It just so happens that I have always had a preference for tomboys with unruly hair.”
Her lips twitched. “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”
“I wish we didn’t have to leave today,” he said regretfully, “but we must. It is our misfortune to live in perilous times.”
But in response to this dampening statement, she looked up at him mischievously. “I think Eskendria can spare us a few more minutes, don’t you?”
When they emerged some while later from the tower, they found the others in the stable saddling their horses. Vesarion’s mare, now fully rested, had not forgotten him and the instant she heard his voice, began to whinny and push against the stable door in an attempt to reach him.
Both the Keeper and Kel had
been absent at breakfast and it was assumed that the old man was tired from all the festivities of the day before. But when they had loaded all their belongings onto the horses and led them round to the tiny door of the tower, there the two of them were, awaiting them on the doorstep.
“Kel and I are going to miss you,” he said in his usual faint voice. “This old tower will seem very empty without all you young people. Perhaps, if all goes well, you will return and stay for a longer visit. Kel and I would like that. But for now, I know that time is pressing and you must make haste to return. I wish you a safe and speedy journey.”
Fastening his wise old eyes on Vesarion, he said: “My blessing on you, heir of Erren-dar. No longer do you stand in the shadow of your great ancestor. Remember, in the time of greatest peril, all that you need is within you.”
To Sareth, he said: “Have faith, my dear, for in the end the only thing left to fear, is fear itself. Always remember, even in the darkest hour, that love has the power to overcome anything.”
Eimer, listening with unusual solemnity, was surprised to find that the Keeper had a word for him also. “Young Prince, no longer in bitterness play the role that others have assigned to you. Have the courage to be yourself and the results may surprise you.”
Eimer nodded, not trusting himself to speak, for some deep emotion had closed his throat.
“Bethro, my dear fellow, you are always too hard on yourself. You have weaknesses, like all of us, but you have strengths, too. Perhaps your desire to be part of one of the great stories of romance told in the Chronicles of the Old Kingdom, is closer to fulfilment than you realise.”
The Keeper passed on to Iska, and here he lingered longest, looking at her with his deep, dark eyes. “You have lost much, my child, in your pursuit of that which is good and true, but you have also gained much. Let that which is past be done with, and hurt you no more. In the time of greatest need, trust your instincts, Iska, for they will not lead you astray.”
