by D. E. Morris
Cavalon looked down at her hands and gave a small nod. “I do care. Differently now than I did then, but I care.” They met gazes and he continued after a moment. “I know this past year has been horrible for you. I know what it feels like to lose the other half of yourself. I was there so many times that I just didn’t have any more of myself to give. But somehow being here with you and with Lucien...I feel old wounds healing. I don’t know how else to describe it, but it feels good. It actually feels like I’m wanted.”
“And needed,” Nuala added tenderly. “Lucien loves you dearly. I see how his face lights up when you come into a room.”
“That’s part of what I’m afraid of.” He scratched his forehead in a nervous gesture. “I really didn’t want to have this conversation right now.”
“What conversation?”
Pulling his arm free, Cavalon paced a few steps away, then turned around to face Nuala across the distance now between them. “I love Lucien. I love that boy so much you could swear he was my own, but he’s not, and I don’t want there to be any confusion.”
Nuala’s brow wrinkled. “No one is confusing...”
“I am.” He walked back over to her. “Nuala, I spend almost every day with him. With you. I’m starting to feel like you’re my family, and not in the same way I feel Ashlynn is family.” His tone softened. “I don’t want to make you decide anything until you’re ready, you know I don’t...but I don’t want to stay here like this, let Lucien in anymore if it will only end up hurting all of us in the end.”
She took a shallow breath in and looked down. Cavalon, regretting cornering her, grabbed her gently by the arms. “I love you. I don’t know when it happened, but I woke up one day and realized my feelings for you had changed. That means I would do anything for you, even if that means leaving for awhile so you can think straight.”
With panic in her eyes, Nuala looked up. “No!” She folded herself into his chest, wrapping her arms under his and holding tightly. “I do not want you to go. I could not stand it if you left.”
“Why?” he asked heavily, holding her looser than she held onto him.
“Because...I do not know how to handle anything without you. I do not know how to be alone.”
Cavalon felt a weight in his chest and spoke before he could start rationalizing. “Maybe that’s why I need to go.” Gingerly, he pulled Nuala free and held her at arms length. “I can’t be the person who keeps you together, Nuala. I’m just a man and not perfect. Eventually I’m going to fail in some way or another, and things will get messy.”
“You will not fail,” she argued, but stopped short when she saw the frustration on Cavalon’s face.
“Even if I don’t, which I inevitably will so don’t get any illusions, I don’t want that kind of pressure.”
Now Nuala took a step back, her brow wrinkling. “I have never put any pressure on you.”
Lifting both hands, Cavalon scrubbed them over his face and decided to try a different approach. “Listen to me for a second, all right? I have loved every minute of being here for you. It has done things to my soul that I could never begin to explain, but I have come to realize over the past few days that this is unhealthy, the way we have been living.” Nuala opened her mouth to speak, but Cavalon raised a finger. “Just let me speak. Please. Before the war began last year, before Mei Xing died and when we were all looking for Badru in the jungle, she and Luella were getting me back to the point where I realized what my mission in life was supposed to be.
“For the longest time the only person I was living for was myself. It was easier that way. I picked my battles and managed to stay alive a lot longer than I should have. I knew, at least for the first few centuries of my life, that I was in a bloodline of people descended from the chosen, the first Elementals, and what that meant. It meant that I was supposed to spread the good news, to tell people about the Giver and His teachings. And for awhile I did that, but in the country I grew up that was no easy charge.”
He turned away, frowning. “Monotheism is not exactly an accepted form of religion in the Sandlands. Down there, there are gods for every little thing, and each generation is taught that to be true from birth. Then here I come with my message of one God and all these different rules and teachings than what anyone publicly believed before. My mother was the Light Elemental before me and she admitted to being too quiet in her quest. I was bound to be ten times more bold than she, thinking I could somehow make up for her missed opportunities. I was very public with my beliefs for awhile. I didn’t care what anyone said about me or thought.”
“You must not have made very many friends.”
“No,” Cavalon answered darkly. “I made a lot of enemies and I paid for every word I spoke against their gods and idols.”
He was silent for a moment and Nuala saw something in his face she had never seen before: pain. Not even during the war when Mei Xing had been killed had he looked so wounded. This pain was something more tangible for him and Nuala came to a quiet understanding. “They hurt you.”
His head moved in a small nod and he draped his arms over the banister. “I was a belligerent pain in the backside back then, though. I could take whatever they gave me. Plus I healed more quickly because of what I was, though no one knew that. The beatings were never anything I couldn’t handle. Being imprisoned was tolerable, as was being deprived of food for days, sometimes weeks at a time. What I couldn’t take was when they involved my family.” He swallowed with difficulty, the muscles in his jaw moving as he fought against emotion.
“They killed my family in front of me three weeks after my last arrest. I had been in and out of their dungeons over a period of years at that point, with nothing ever having too long of a lasting effect on me. The Pharaoh at that time tried to make it easy for me. For a few years I’d been part of his military and I was one of the few men who’d told him things like they were. I think he respected that about me. But he couldn’t let me slander and come against everything he believed in, and he did what he felt he had to do.
“I was asleep when they came down and dragged me up from my cell. This was back before I knew I could move through my fyre; my mother never told me about that you have to understand, or I would have been out of there before the guards had even left the dungeon.” He paused, his gaze far away. “That night was so clear, I swear you could have counted every single star. They were all outside, my wife, my son, and my two daughters.” He could still feel the humidity in the air when he breathed in the memory.
Nuala touched a hand to her lips, knowing what was coming and feeling a tightness in her chest. “No.”
“As soon as I saw them I knew what was going to happen. I tried to get away and managed to knock out a few of the royal guards before they killed my wife.” Cavalon paused, his voice wavering uncharacteristically in heavy emotion. “My girls screamed and clung to each other, crying. My son tried to attack the soldier who killed my wife while I fought even harder against those trying to stop me from getting away, and he was killed.”
“Oh, Cavalon...” Tears filled Nuala’s eyes, spilling quietly down her cheeks.
“I fell then, not because I was wounded, but because I just couldn’t think. The Pharaoh told me if I did not renounce my singular God he would kill my daughters.” He looked away, feeling his own tears on his face. He wanted to stop but couldn't. This was a story he'd kept to himself since it had happened and now that it was coming out, he felt like it had to all be purged.
“They killed Acenath first, probably because she was older. Nailah was left standing there, a two-year-old with the blood of her family pooling around her feet. She was screaming for me.” His shoulders shook and his hands balled into fists. “My child was pleading for me to save her life. So I denounced my God, and I saved her. I saved both of us.”
“Cavalon, it was the right thing to do.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He turned around to face Nuala, anger and sorrow etched into every line of his face. “Do you remem
ber what they did to the early followers of the Great Dragon? They tortured them, imprisoned them, killed people they loved and some of them died themselves because they clung to their beliefs. It is what we are called to do as his messengers. We are supposed to love no other above Him, and I chose my life and that of my daughter’s instead of staying true to my mission.”
Nuala shook her head, crying freely. “How many people can you reach if you are dead?”
“That’s not the point.” He sagged, his head in his hands. “I told them the Giver didn't exist.”
“To save your daughter,” Nuala reminded fiercely. “Surely the Giver would forgive you that selfishness. She was your child!”
“Doesn’t matter.” His voice had become softer, a low, quiet rumble. “I’ve already asked for forgiveness.”
“Then you are forgiven if the scriptures are true.”
“Not until I forgive myself,” Cavalon argued dispassionately. “I’m still a long way from that.”
“What happened to her?” Nuala asked after awhile, “To Nailah?”
Cavalon took a deep breath in and looked out into the forest shadows. “She grew up. She was the most beautiful little girl I have ever known...looked just like her mother.” He shook his head. “But she hated me.”
Nuala looked at him in shock. “What? Why? She could not have remembered what happened.”
“She didn’t remember it all, but there were some things she remembered. When it sank in that she was all I had left she became the center of my life. I turned my back on the Giver and everything that had to do with Him. I was angry at what He’d allowed to happen and relied upon Nailah to make everything better.” He shook his head. “I made her into an idol by the way I treated her and she resented me for it. I didn’t realize all the pressure I put on her to meet my emotional needs until she left me. Because I felt like she was all I had left, my daughter became my god, and that was wrong.”
“Where did she go?”
Cavalon shrugged. “She went back home, fell in love, got married and started a family. I always watched from afar, but we never spoke again.”
“Oh, Cavalon...”
He looked worn. “It was my own fault. For years after, I just wandered. I existed, but I wasn’t living. I didn’t care about anyone or anything, and when I started to, they were taken away from me in time anyway so I began to figure there was no point.” He turned his face in Nuala’s direction. “I think that’s why I need to go. I’m finally getting back to the place where I realize the Giver comes first and I don’t want to start putting a family before that.”
The panicked expression came back to the winged queen and Cavalon straightened. “See? That look right there tells me you’re leaning on the wrong person to keep you strong. It’s not me who can hold you up and heal you, Nuala. It can’t be me.”
“I will fall apart.” Tears blurred her vision once more.
“Maybe,” said Cavalon gently, “that’s exactly what you need to do.”
“I am scared.” The admission was a whisper. “I am scared because I am so angry, and I do not want to be angry.”
“Why not?”
“It is wrong to be angry at the Giver.”
Cavalon smirked and reached over to brush a hand against her cheek. “He’s the Great Dragon. He can take your anger. You just have to give it to Him. Let Him take it and replace it with something else.”
A knock at the door startled both of them. Nuala turned quickly to look out into the forest while Cavalon peered inside. Lilia stood there with her long brown hair in tangles, breathless. “Forgive me my intrusion, Your Majesty. I bring word from the High Queen of Siness.” She looked specifically at Cavalon. “She needs your help.”
Cavalon recognized the girl as one of Ashlynn's three ladies. She was of noble birth and a distant cousin to Nuala. Sending her as a messenger meant something was wrong and rose the hairs on the back of his neck. “Is Ashlynn all right?”
“She is far from all right.”
Nuala subtly dried her tears before turning to her cousin. “What is it?”
Without waiting for an invitation, Lilia joined the couple on the balcony and told them everything that had occurred since Ashlynn and Jaryn's return, right up to that morning when she'd spoken with Ashlynn herself.
“She won't allow her husband up to see her, refuses to see her own child. I sat with her briefly and she is not herself. The fire is gone from her eyes.” She shook her head, brows drawn together. “I have not seen her like this before.”
Cavalon frowned. “I've never heard of anything like this.” Before Lilia could ask if he would go to Siness, Cavalon turned to the young girl. “I’ll leave right away.”
Swallowing, Nuala offered a weak, albeit genuine, smile to Lilia. “Will you be staying?”
“No, Your Majesty. I will be returning to Siness once I catch my breath.”
“Be safe on your journey home.” The girl bowed, knowing she had been dismissed, and left them alone once more.
Cavalon walked into his room and pulled a leather rucksack out from under his bed. He scowled, shoving clothing into his pack. “I knew things were going too well.”
“Do not say that,” Nuala chided in worry. “Will you come back? Will you let me know how Ashlynn is?”
Cavalon tied the pack closed and slung it over one shoulder. “If I don’t, someone will.” He took her face in his hands, feeling the heat from her skin on his palms. “I’m not leaving you because I want to. I’m leaving because I think it is what we both need.”
She nodded, placing her hands on top of his. “Please be careful. I do not like the sound of any of this.”
“I will.” He kissed her softly. “Promise me that you’ll take this time to really think about things.”
She nodded again, determination on her face not to cry. His hands let her go and she watched him take a few steps backward away from her. Blue and gold flames sprang up from the floor and engulfed him. When they died, Cavalon was gone and Nuala was left to stare at the scorch marks on the stone where he’d been standing.
Chapter Seven
Perfumed summer breezes blew the curtains from the windows in Lochlainn's room. The sweet saffron-like smell of the crocosmia mixed well with the more floral scents of begonias and hydrangeas and made the baby's nose wrinkle every time he caught draft of it. Jaryn couldn't help but smile each time it happened; it was definitely a face Ashlynn had made a time or two before.
The day had grown long and hope of seeing his wife again before bed was dimming by the minute. When Lilia had come to him asking permission to go to Braemar, Jaryn nearly slapped himself. He'd been so focused on the return of the messengers and trying to will them back to Altaine that he'd completely ignored the fact that one of Ashlynn's own attendants was a Volar herself. Had he been thinking straight he would have sent her the moment Ashlynn locked herself away.
Lilia had gone from the castle with the promise of reaching Cavalon before the day was out, but the sun had long since set and still there was no Cavalon. For a little while Jaryn had been irritated, even angry at the girl for not coming through. Then he couldn't help but wonder if something had happened to her. They were in a time of peace, however. War was ever a shadow upon them, but there were weeks of travel between them and the closest that any of the Celtique nations that would battle; neighboring nations who had no business with any of them and had not yet come to them asking for help. There should be no reason why Lilia would be anything less than safe. Still, Jaryn avoided going to his room to sleep as he had the last two nights and decided to take the nursery, and his son, for himself.
“Your nannies tell me you are a sad boy,” Jaryn said, scooping Lochlainn up from his cradle. He was awake and looked up at his father with squinted blue eyes. “You cry for your mother even when the wet-nurse has you close. You miss her, don't you?” As if in reply, Lochlainn squirmed and made a cooing noise. It made Jaryn smile. “I miss her too, and I just know she misses you. You a
re so precious to her.” The baby cooed again and drew a quiet laugh from Jaryn. “I suppose I sort of like you too.” He kissed Lochlainn's face and held him close. “Soon, my boy. She will be with us again soon.”
For awhile Jaryn stayed with the baby, talking to him, telling him stories, singing him the lullaby Ashlynn sang to him every night, the very one she used to sing to Kenayde and the one her mother had sung to her. Lochlainn fussed before the first verse was through and Jaryn stopped, wounded. “What's this? You cry at my singing? I'll have you know, son of mine, I've had many a woman swoon at the sound of my voice. Perhaps it would be best if you quieted down and took note. Women love a man who can sing.”
Lochlainn only cried louder and it didn't take long for someone to appear in the doorway. “I didn't do anything to hurt him,” Jaryn quickly confessed. He looked up and was surprised to see Mairead approaching. “Sorry. Thought you were one of the nannies.”
The girl smiled sweetly and offered to take the baby from Jaryn. He obliged and stood to watch how she handled the situation. “Babies cry for different reasons.” Her voice was soft and calming, and she looked down at the child in her arms with fondness. “He could be hungry, he could be tired, he could be in need of a change...” She looked at Jaryn. “Cavalon is here.”
“Where?”
“I had your squire take him to your private library. Though it is late there are still eyes and ears everywhere.” Lochlainn was quieting in her arms. “Rumors of Ashlynn's illness being more than simple sickness are beginning to spread. You know how court gossip can grow from nothing to something overnight.”
“Aye. One of the many reasons I never wanted a life in a castle.”
“And now you are a high king.” Mairead smirked at him before setting a sleeping Lochlainn back in his cradle. “Do not worry about the baby. I will stay with him until one of the nannies comes back.”
