Griffin's Destiny (10 page)

Leaving the baby with Sonoe, Jelena hurried down the steps toward the prince. “Uncle!” she called out. Raidan paused with arms outstretched as Taya placed his helm in his hands. Jelena brushed his horse’s shoulder with her fingers and said, “Please tell my father-in-law my prayers are with him.”

Raidan nodded sharply. “I will,” he replied. “Remember all that I’ve said to you, Niece.”

Jelena backed away from the restless white stallion then ducked through the cluster of horses to where Mai waited. He had not donned his helmet yet; instead, he had hung it from the pommel of his saddle. He smiled as soon as he caught sight of her. Jelena reached up to lay a hand on his knee.

Before she could speak, Mai shook his head. “No, Jelena. You don’t need to say anything more. I know how you feel.” He covered her hand with his gloved fingers. “I’ll keep you and Hatora in my heart, I promise.”

“And I’ll keep you in mine, Mai. I promise,” Jelena whispered.

The prince gave the order to ride, and Jelena retreated to the castle steps as the entire mounted contingent wheeled about and took off at a trot toward the castle’s main gates. She moved to stand between Sonoe, still cradling Hatora in her arms, and Taya, who stood rigidly erect, hands clenched into fists at her side.

Can it be? My aunt is…yes, she’s afraid!
Jelena glanced at Taya from the corner of her eye. Never had she felt any tenderness for her formidable aunt until now.
It’s so easy to forget she’s a wife and mother as well as a powerful mage. She wants her loved ones to return home safe, just as I do.

Jelena raised her hand as if to touch her aunt’s arm. “Aunt, I know how…”

“Jelena, Sonoe,” Taya snapped, cutting her off. “Come with me. We have much to do.” The princess turned on her heel and marched off toward the yawning doors of the castle entrance, not bothering to look back.

***

Late that evening, Jelena kept watch at her father’s bedside, as she had done every night since he had fallen ill. After a quick meal, Sonoe had gone with Taya and Amara to work on the preparations for the Sundering. Only Society business could tear Sonoe away from the king’s side, but Jelena had noticed her friend seemed especially distracted of late.

Conflicted seems more accurate
, she thought.

Keizo’s Companion kept her mind carefully shielded at all times but Jelena needed no special ability to recognize that Sonoe appeared locked in a fierce, inner struggle of some kind.

Jelena sensed it had something to do with Keizo, but mostly with
her
. She would catch Sonoe watching her, an expression of what seemed like regret on her face and yet, her friend exuded an aura of anticipation.

Maybe Sonoe feels conflicted over her role in the ritual of the Sundering. After all, she’s always believed that she, not Aunt Taya, should be head of the Kirian Society.

As Mistress of the Society, Taya would gain control of the Key once they separated it from Jelena and installed it in its new, inanimate vessel. Taya would have the final say over what the Society would ultimately do with the Key. Perhaps Sonoe worried her counsel would be belittled or ignored altogether by the princess.

Would Taya be so petty
, Jelena wondered.
Surely, she’d put aside any rivalries between her and Sonoe for the greater good! I must choose to believe my aunt will act wisely, for what else can I do? My life rests in her hands, in the hands of all the Kirians. They have promised to see me through the Sundering, and I trust in that promise.

Keizo stirred against his pillows and moaned softly. Jelena leaned forward to peer into his face, searching for any signs of consciousness, but saw none. With loving hands she stroked his hair, once as lustrous as newly minted silver, but dulled now with sickness. His body had wasted with shocking swiftness, leaving behind a shrunken remnant of a once strong and vital man.

Jelena had never before scanned her father’s mind without his permission, nor could she have done so with him fully conscious. She did so now only out of her desperate need to connect with him, even if only on a subconscious level. She wanted him to feel her presence and know she loved him.

She entered her father’s mind with ease—none of the usual shields stood in place to guard it—and drifted like a feather on a soft breeze down into Keizo’s once meticulously ordered mental landscape, now made chaotic by sickness. Pieces of thought and memory flashed by like small lightning strikes. She found them difficult to read because of the quickness of their comings and goings, but one thing remained stable—a glowing thought form hanging stationary amidst the confusion. Jelena steered toward it, knowing this was what she had come looking for. She had found her father’s core sense of himself, his unwavering knowledge of who he was, unaffected by the ravages of the plague that had so devastated his physical body.

Without hesitation, she merged with her father’s consciousness as easily as she slipped into the warmth of his corporeal embrace. The rush of recognition and love which greeted her acted as a balm to her soul, easing the terrible fear burdening it since Keizo had fallen ill.

I’m here, Father.

Jelena…I’ve left you alone, but I don’t know why. What has happened to me? Why am I so confused?

You’re very sick, Father. Uncle Raidan has been caring for you, but he had to go south with the army. Sonoe and I are looking after you now.

Sonoe?

Yes, Father. Sonoe has hardly left your side. She’s been wonderful.

Sonoe…my beautiful one. I love her so very much.

I know, Father. She loves you, too.

Jelena, I loved your mother, truly I did.

I know that Father, and I understand why you two couldn’t be together.

Whenever I look at you, I see her. I’ve carried the pain of our separation with me all these years…my child! If I’d known about you, I never…

No, Father, don’t. Please don’t blame yourself.

But I do, and I always will. You are my first and only born child. By right, you should be queen of Alasiri after me.

You and I both know that’s not possible, Father. Your duty as king is to always do what’s best for the elven people. My uncle and his sons are the rightful heirs to your crown, not me. All I’ve ever wanted is to live a quiet life with my family, and that’s what I intend to do.

You’d have made a great queen, my daughter.

You rest now, Father.

Gently, Jelena severed the connection and withdrew from Keizo’s mind. She could feel him slipping away into sleep as she emerged from the trance, and upon opening her eyes, she checked the pulse at his throat, as she had been taught by Raidan, to reassure herself her father remained stable. In the soft light of the little oil lamps hanging above the bed, Keizo’s face appeared peaceful.

Jelena got up from her chair and raised her arms above her head in a long stretch, wincing at the tightness in her shoulders and back. She glanced out the open window at the night sky. A full moon hung round and brilliant in the gap between two peaks of the castle’s roofs.

Sonoe should be returning soon with a report on the preparations for the Sundering
, she thought.

Jelena had deliberately shielded all thoughts about the ritual from Keizo, wishing to spare him unnecessary stress. Her father needed to focus all his energy on recovery.

As the days passed and the time for the Sundering approached, Jelena’s apprehension had melted into calm. The Kirians had prepped her as best they could. She felt strong and determined to survive. The Nameless One—that malevolent ghost of her centuries-dead ancestor—would be defeated and the Key safeguarded forever. They had no other options, after all.

A sudden craving for a sweet snack sent Jelena over to the pull-cord that would summon a servant to her father’s bedchamber, but before she could lay fingers on the rope, the doors flew open and Sonoe rushed in. Jelena turned to face her friend, a question about the ritual on her lips, but it died before she could utter it. Sonoe’s face gleamed white with shock.

“Sonoe, what…” Jelena whispered, but Sonoe cut her off with four astounding words.

“Jelena, Ashinji is alive!”

Gods…
Magnes
!”

Magnes stopped staring into the ashes of the dead fireplace anchoring the north wall of the keep to turn and face his sister.

“Hello, Thess,” he murmured.

Thessalina rushed toward him, then stopped within touching distance and simply stared, dark eyes shimmering with tears. Her mouth trembled and her nostrils flared. He couldn’t tell whether she wanted to sob or scream.

She did neither. She asked him a question. “Where have you been?”

Magnes raked his hands through his thick curls.

“Can we go somewhere and sit, Thess? This is going to take awhile.”

Thessalina turned and led the way in silence, up the stairs to the second floor study that had been their father’s. Magnes hesitated at the threshold. All the memories of that terrible night when last he had passed through this door—sick with fear and horror over what he had done—came flooding back, threatening to breach the walls he had thrown up to confine them and sweep him away.

Perhaps returning home was a mistake after all.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, shaky breath, then entered the room. Thessalina already sat at the desk, hands folded before her. Magnes approached with hesitant steps then took the chair opposite.

Thessalina remained silent, in complete charge of her emotions now, her eyes neutral. Magnes studied his sister’s face and in that moment, he understood just who she had become. The little sister and childhood playmate had gone, replaced by a woman with the authority to order him imprisoned or executed. She was the duchess in all but name only, his living body her only obstacle to attaining all their father’s titles and wealth.

He opened his mouth to speak but found his voice had deserted him.

“You must be thirsty. I’ll call for some cider,” Thessalina said. Magnes nodded, grateful for the momentary reprieve. She arose and pulled the service cord by the fireplace. While they waited for a servant to arrive, Magnes allowed his eyes to wander about the study. Thessalina had made few changes; their father’s presence remained very much a part of the room, infusing the atmosphere with the residue of his personality. Magnes felt a flush creep over him; sweat prickled his brow. Against his will, he found his gaze drawn to the fireplace and it seemed as if no time had passed. The vision of his father’s face, slack-jawed in death, the smell of blood and urine, the metallic taste of fear in his own mouth…

Gods, this is all too much!

Abruptly, he leapt to his feet, stumbled to the open window behind the desk, and vomited.

Thessalina appeared at his shoulder, murmuring soothing words. Magnes hung in whey-faced misery over the casement until his stomach ceased its spasms, then raised up to face his sister, stubble-roughened cheeks red with shame. Thessalina took his hand in hers, and for a few moments, became his little sister again. She pressed a cloth into his fist—a handkerchief of fine white linen embroidered with tiny yellow flowers—which he used to wipe his mouth. Grimacing with renewed embarrassment, he started to return the handkerchief, then instead wadded it up and tucked it into his waistband.

A soft knock at the door signaled the arrival of the servant. The man entered the study and bowed. “Yes, my lady?” he inquired.

“Bring a jug of cider and two mugs please,” Thessalina ordered. The servant bowed again then exited the room. Brother and sister waited in silence until the servant returned, bearing a heavy pitcher and two ceramic mugs. He deposited his burden on a side table, then departed. Thessalina poured for both of them and handed Magnes a mug. He took a sip, swished the tart liquid around inside his mouth, then spat over the casement. Thessalina raised her mug to her lips, and together, they drank.

Feeling refreshed and a little more in control, Magnes returned to his chair and sat, cradling the mug between both hands. Thessalina remained by the window, waiting for him to speak.

“I don’t remember attacking him, Thess,” Magnes began. “That part is a blank. We were arguing. He said some things about Livie. Gods, it was ugly!” He paused to take another swig of cider. “Something came over me. I don’t know what. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was…horrible, like a red fog. I understand now what some men mean when they speak of the berserker madness.”

He looked up at Thessalina and found, to his surprise, a measure of understanding. “I remember a struggle, then the next thing I knew, Father lay at my feet with…with…” He could not make his mouth form the words. He shook his head to loosen his tongue.

“A maid came in and she must have seen him. She screamed and I panicked. In hindsight I know now pure cowardice made me run. I wish I’d had the courage to stay, but at the time, all I could think of was that I’d be blamed for his murder. So I ran and I didn’t stop until I’d made it all the way to Darguinia. Where better to go, if one wants to disappear? It would be as if Magnes Preseren had never existed.”

His mouth twisted in a bitter smile at the flood of memories. “I changed my name and joined a holy brotherhood of humble healers, of a foreign god, no less! I thought by serving the poor and living as a simple healer, I could somehow make up for what I’d done.”