by Claudia King
His palms were sweating by the time they reached Atalyn's chamber. It was not the usual room on the first tier of the temple, but the Dawn King's domicile itself. That might mean he had nothing to worry about, for Atalyn rarely used his personal room for formal meetings, but his sense of unease lingered all the same.
Entering into the spacious, fur-dressed chamber, Thakayn saw his cousin standing by one of the windows with his back turned. His grey hair hung free from its circlet that afternoon, twisting lightly in the breeze. He took his token back from the servant and sent her away, then beckoned Thakayn over.
“The girl said you called urgently, Cousin,” Thakayn said.
“You rarely answer my summons unless they are urgent.”
Thakayn tried to shrug indifferently. “Should I?”
“I wonder, Thakayn, whether you have become complacent to my authority. You have always been popular with the laypeople, but those who dwell here in the temple think differently of you. I still hear rumours.” He turned to look at him. “Rumours of things I thought you had grown beyond.”
“Rumours are like honey to these people, Cousin. You know they lap them up till it makes them sick. They cannot control themselves.”
“Not all rumours. I spoke with the girl Netya this morning.”
Thakayn swallowed uneasily. What had she said to him?
“Tell me again,” Atalyn said. “What was it that you did to her?”
“I gave her a cut with my knife,” Thakayn replied stiffly. “A fair punishment, I'm sure you'd agree, for lying to a high priest. She might have meant harm to us.”
“A little cut, hm?”
“Yes.”
The Dawn King shook his head, but he did not look angry. He just seemed weary and confused, and that bolstered Thakayn's confidence. When he spoke, however, it was with a severity that caught the high priest off guard.
“The wound you gave her was no mere cut. You left her scarred. Without healers to tend her injury she might have bled and died.”
“I knew we had healers nearby,” Thakayn said, trying to wave off the Dawn King's concern. “So perhaps my hand was too eager this time. Could the same not be said of any of your warriors?”
“You are not a warrior,” Atalyn rumbled, rounding on his cousin with a fearsome glare. “And this is not the first time you have been overzealous. When was the last time, Cousin? Five years?” Atalyn strode forward, making a swiping gesture with his finger. “Five years since a bleeding woman came to me with fear in her eyes, the same fear I saw today on Netya's face! You promised me it would not happen again, Thakayn. You fell to your knees and wept for forgiveness from the spirits! And I believed you. I believed you were repentant. Will you weep before me again now?”
Thakayn's mouth was dry. The Dawn King had not grown so old and toothless as he had thought. For the first time in many years he felt a familiarly cold fear slithering up his spine, paralysing him until he struggled to breathe. What if Atalyn stripped him of his authority? What if he was humiliated in front of the others? He hated how quickly the fear took hold. He was not a boy. He should be beyond such things. Forcing himself to take a breath, he managed to respond in an even tone.
“Believe me, Dawn King, it was nothing but a mistake. Concern—fear—overcame me. I was desperate to make the woman speak the truth. I did this for you, for the temple, for the spirits we serve.”
Atalyn regarded him heavily. His poise was like granite, his gaze a mountain's weight upon Thakayn's shoulders. This was the man who had claimed the heartland plains with a ruthless fist, not the feeble sympathiser who sat in meetings with the temple conclave.
“Your words ring true, much as they did the last time. And the time before that. And before that.” Atalyn regarded him with a dismal stare, and the fear it revealed on Thakayn's face was genuine. “Cousin,” Atalyn sighed, “you are a troubled man. I have always known this, but you have also shown remorse for your misdeeds, and you have served me dutifully. Perhaps this is a darkness you will struggle with all your life. For most men that might be forgivable. But for a high priest...” He shook his head. “Swear to me now that you only did this out of love for our temple.”
“I swear it, Dawn King.”
Atalyn bowed his head. Tangles of grey spilled over his brow. Whether he believed Thakayn or not, he seemed to have reached a decision.
“I think it best that you meditate on this for a few days. Do not worry about your other duties, I will see to it that they are taken care of. Ask the Sister for her guidance. I know you have the wisdom to serve as my high priest. Perhaps when I am gone you shall even become Dawn King in my place.” He raised a warning finger. “But believe me when I say this, Cousin, that if I learn of any more needless cruelty by your hand, you will be neither of those things. Do you understand me?”
Thakayn swallowed and nodded. He was glad no one else was there to witness this. The shame would have been unbearable.
“Don't think me an empty-headed old man, Thakayn. This is still my temple, and you are still my priest.” The Dawn King's demeanour gradually softened, and he gestured toward the doorway. “To your meditations now. Spirits' blessing upon you.”
Thakayn did not meditate after leaving Atalyn's domicile. Quiet reflection had never been enough to stifle his doubts, nor the anger that he felt welling up inside him the moment his back was turned. Everything he desired was being kept from him! First there had been Jarek's meddling, and now Netya had gone to Atalyn behind his back. How dare his cousin threaten to take away his power! He imagined what it would be like to sink his knife into Netya's soft neck, see her blood spilling, witness the look of shock on her face as the life left her eyes. His loins stirred at the thought, and he turned towards the concubines' domicile. The sound of harsh footsteps punctuated his stride, announcing his presence long before he yanked aside the crimson drapes. His eyes alighted upon one of the younger girls sitting by the pool. Yes, her dark hair reminded him a little of Netya. Before he could approach her one of the senior concubines, Arunae, stepped into his path.
“May I join you this evening, High Priest?” she asked.
A smirk touched the corner of Thakayn's mouth. Yes, Arunae was a wiser choice. She was one of the ones who knew better than to say anything when he was in a vicious mood. She'd stepped forward boldly to try and protect the younger woman from Thakayn's wrath, but there was still a hint of apprehension in her cloudy blue eyes. That would be enough to satiate him. By the time he was done, he would have forgotten how small and helpless Atalyn had made him feel.
“Yes, you'll do,” he said. “Bring some cord. I want you bound.”
Once Arunae had done as instructed he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her toward his domicile. She only resisted a little.
—29—
Uncertainty
Adel had thought about leaving many times since they came to Atalyn's temple. At first these had been ideas of escape, practical thoughts that were necessary to refine Kiren's wild notions about slaying the guards and climbing down the hillside to freedom. After she had made up her mind to stay those thoughts had turned instead toward the inevitable journey home: what they might need, how much time it would take, whether they would be able to cross the mountains before the weather grew too harsh. She was a woman who understood the importance of making such plans, but it was not pragmatism that stirred her desire to leave that morning.
Jarek's kiss had wounded her more deeply than she'd thought herself capable of being wounded. It brought back insecurities she had spent years trying to suppress, splitting her soul like a crack in an old boulder. She'd been faced with a decision like this once before, but this time it was far more complicated, and the outcomes far less enticing. To stay with Jarek, or to leave. Back then it had been a choice between a life of power and status as a den mother, or a simple existence as a woman alongside the man she loved. Compassion, responsibility, and even honour had made her turn away from her love back then. In a way, that had been easi
er. Now her choices were tangled.
If she went home she could begin dedicating herself to the next great task of her life. Perhaps the most important task she ever faced. The one the spirits had birthed her for. It was an undertaking that might consume her until her dying day: the task of bringing peace between the Sun and Moon People.
The thought of returning to the studious duties of a den mother comforted her. It would be a refuge from the turmoils of love. Those duties had kept her focused and determined for many years. Had she not met Jarek again she might even have been able to forget about him and find contentment in her life as den mother, perhaps even taking a new mate and carving out her own small niche of happiness. Yet now she realised that would not happen. Not for many more years, at least. She would throw herself back into the single-minded focus that had kept her strong during her time as Khelt's den mother. She would grow cold and fearsome again, and she would lose sight of all the things Netya had helped her to remember. That was the only way she could cope with losing Jarek again.
It was her only real choice. In her heart she knew it would have to happen eventually. The alternative would only end up hurting her even more deeply. If she resisted the urge to leave and remained here in the temple then Jarek would be in her thoughts every day, a constant reminder of the past, of the kiss, and of everything else that they could not have. Part of her wanted to stay, if for nothing else than the sweet tinge of melancholy that coloured each moment she spent with Jarek. Even if they could not be together, being close to him was like feeling the touch of a distant fire on a cold winter's eve. Yet every day she spent indulging that bitter fantasy would only make her inevitable departure all the more difficult. She had to leave now before it got any worse.
She felt that she had convinced Atalyn to be her ally. They would find a way of sending trusted messengers back and forth as they worked toward their goal of peace, but they might never meet again in person. She'd done enough. Her work here was finished. She had to put Jarek behind her before he worked his way any deeper into her soul.
All of these thoughts occupied a full day of meditation for Adel after the night Jarek kissed her. At least, meditation was what she told those who came to her domicile. She could not let the priests see her when she wept, nor show such weakness to Netya and Kiren when they were relying on her to bring them safely home. After another night's sleep she felt more composed again, though the memory of her evening with Jarek still followed her like a pebble in her moccasin. It would have been easy to stifle those feelings with anger, the way she had often done in the past, but it was difficult to find things to be angry about without making herself hate Jarek. She did not want to hate him, not even for his foolish kiss.
Netya and Kiren were still in their domicile when Adel went to meet Atalyn shortly after dawn. She arrived in the small meeting chamber before him. After he arrived they shared a morning meal of honeyed grain before settling down to talk. Adel spared no breath on pleasantries.
“I wish to return home to my people.”
Her request took Atalyn by surprise. “So soon? There is still so much for us to discuss, so many plans we might make. I had hoped you would remain with me until the spring. You would be welcome to more comfortable domiciles, servants of your own, men who would please you like concubines,” he continued on, offering her enticements that he must have known she would never be able to enjoy back in the lands of the Moon People. Adel had anticipated this, and she also knew that Atalyn would not find her answer about Jarek a satisfactory reason for her leaving.
“I have been away from my people for a long time now, Dawn King. The last they saw of me I was being taken captive by your warriors. My pack will be in chaos. By the spring they may have even chosen a new den mother.” She pressed on, not allowing Atalyn to interrupt. “The tale of what your men did to us may have spread, too. The Sun People have never been so bold before, nor have they inflicted so grave a dishonour upon any of the great packs. If I can return before winter, I may be able to cast a softer light upon what happened.”
Atalyn stroked his beard in consideration, but he did not look thoroughly convinced. “It would be difficult for tales to spread in winter, surely? I thought your people only came together for the great summer gatherings? Whether you spend winter here or not should make little difference. I feel for the troubles of your pack, of course, but you told me of a wise and fair alpha who you trusted to lead in your place. Ours is a delicate meeting, Seeress. We stand upon a great crossroads of fate. If one of us leaves before we are certain of our direction, it may haunt us for years to come.”
“All the more reason for us to decide our course swiftly so that we may begin pursuing it.”
“I am unsure, Seeress. There is another idea I have not yet discussed with you that might change your mind.”
“Then discuss it with me.”
Atalyn shifted in his seat, as if worried that he might be about to offend her. “It may be best if we wait for Netya to arrive first. It concerns her most of all.”
“Netya has no part in this. I am the one who holds influence among my people.”
“Yet she is what you call a sun wolf.”
Adel stiffened. She had been willing to give much of herself in the pursuit of peace, but involving Netya had never been part of her plan. The Dawn King's tone made her wary. Whether he had intended it or not, the uneasiness in the room was an implicit reminder that she was still his captive. If she tried to leave against his will, would his warriors drag her back by force?
To her relief they did not have long to wait before Netya arrived. She looked pleased to see Adel, but Atalyn's stern expression told her that there were more important things to discuss. He explained the plan of sending Netya back to her village in detail, adding that Adel might even be able to accompany her if she wished. The den mother's first urge was to deny him outright—Netya had suffered enough without being forced to confront the family she had spent so long trying to forget. It would do to her what the reunion with Jarek had done to Adel, and in that moment she could think of no worse torment she might inflict upon her apprentice. To her dismay, Netya did not seem to agree.
“I want to go, Adel,” she said. “Perhaps there is a chance to undo all the wrongs of the past.”
“And what if they accept you again, hm?” Adel asked. “What if all goes as wonderfully as you imagine and your family embrace you as their daughter? Will you abandon them again to be with us?”
Netya looked distraught at the idea. She'd not yet given it much consideration.
“Daughters often leave home to begin new families,” Atalyn said. “It is not unusual among our people. The comfort of knowing they are safe and happy is enough for most parents.”
Netya nodded in agreement. “I know it would be hard. They may shun me again and leave me more heartbroken than before, but I think that is a chance worth taking. If they accept me and I have to say goodbye again afterwards, I would still leave knowing I had done some good.”
“What if no one remembers you? What if your family are dead by the hands of the Moon People and you find only misery in your village?”
Netya looked away, her lip trembling. That was another possibility she had not considered, but she needed to be prepared for it. The world did not remain fixed in place just because you looked away. Netya's village might have become unrecognisable in the years since her departure.
“You mean well for your acolyte, Seeress, I can see that,” Atalyn said. “I have no doubt that your compassion is what makes others follow you. I saw it for myself two days ago in the feasting hall. Perhaps compassion is enough to lead a small pack, but we are here as guardians of an entire people. Woman's compassion is why men must lead in times of great strife.” Adel gripped the edge of the table and began to rise indignantly, but Atalyn gestured for her to sit. He was not yet finished. “Adel, Netya, you are but two women. In one hand I hold my compassion for you, and in the other the future of all our people. If I were forced
to sacrifice the smaller for the larger, I would do it willingly. That may seem harsh to you, but I hope you can see the wisdom in it. As leaders, these are the choices we must make. We must look beyond our own hearts in the way few people can.”
I would rather seek a better choice, Adel thought, but she knew—oh how keenly she knew—that sometimes the only choices to make were difficult ones.
“I want to do it, Adel,” Netya said. “Not just for our people, but for myself.”
“It could be done soon,” Atalyn said, “once I have gathered the men I trust and explained to them the great work we have been discussing here. If Netya's village is on the western edge of the forest then the journey there may take less than a moon.”
And the journey back just as long, Adel thought. Travelling on foot with large groups was always slow. That would take them well into the wet season. By then it would be too late to consider travelling home. Adel regarded the Dawn King through narrowed eyes, wondering whether he had planned for this too. Compassionate or not, he was shrewd in getting what he wanted. Perhaps on any other day Adel might have been persuaded over to his side of thinking, but one dismal thought pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, overshadowing everything else.
