Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion (19 page)

“Well, my Lady, I am very pleased to see you so much improved. You gave my physician a very difficult time.”

She ducked her head. “I thank you, Majesty.”

“Your Captain has told me the circumstances of your ... malady.” His voice grew harsh. “You did well to come to me. Rykan shall pay for what he did to you.”

“Majesty, I did not come here to present a complaint of the Duke’s maltreatment. I came because I carry important knowledge of his battle strategies and other ... plans. My illness has wasted yet another day, so it is imperative that I speak with you concerning his challenge.”

Pharikian held up a hand. “All in good time, child, there is no immediate threat. My generals are well aware of the position of Rykan’s forces, and for the past few days he has not advanced. We are fully prepared. My senior commander, Lord General Anjer, has all the information he needs to direct the Caer’s defenses. You can rest easy.”

Sullyan shook her head. “He does not have the information I carry, Majesty! Rykan would never have revealed it had he suspected for one moment I might survive his brutality. His own vicious nature will be his undoing, for I will not see him overthrow your reign if I can prevent it. That is why I am here, Majesty, to play as large a role in his defeat as I can. I owe him that much for the premature ending of my life.”

Pharikian raised his brows. “He hasn’t ended it yet, child, and if we overturn his challenge you may yet cheat him of your death.”

Robin hissed in shock and Sullyan froze. She felt the blood drain from her face. “How so, Majesty?”

He cocked his head. “Surely you are aware that Rykan can cleanse you of his poison?”

Her flare of hope died instantly and her reply was bitter. “Oh yes, Majesty, if he wills it! Can you see Rykan, once defeated in his challenge, agreeing to spare my life?” She snorted. “How he would enjoy that! By then he would have lost everything. What could possibly persuade him to be merciful to me?”

Pharikian began to speak but she stopped him. “I will not beg him, Majesty, not again. This I have sworn. I will never lie helpless before him or put myself in his power again. Not even to save my own life.”

The Hierarch chose not to argue with her, seeing how even this small discussion had tired her. “Very well, child, do not distress yourself. We will discuss this later.”

She began to protest, but he held up a hand. “No, my dear, no more. If it will calm you, I promise to keep you informed of any change in the Duke’s position. Otherwise, you are to forget him for now.” He rose to leave and turned his stern gaze on Robin. “Young man, you are to keep her in bed for the rest of the day. Deshan will come by later to check on her, and I will send for some food for you both. Which do you prefer, spice-tea or fellan?”

Sullyan replied for them both. “Fellan, please, Majesty, as strong as possible.”

He stared at her, a slow smile coming to his lips. “Fellan, as strong as possible? Yes, of course.”

His evident amusement puzzled her, but he continued before she could ask.

“I am also having your things brought here from the other suite. I want you close to me, here in my private apartments.”

Sullyan was touched and thanked him earnestly, but he caught the wistful tone of her voice. “What is it, Lady?”

She lowered her eyes. “Majesty, does this suite have a bathing pool?”

He laughed, a sound of genuine pleasure. “Ah, you enjoyed that, did you? Yes, child, all the Palace suites have pools. We’re very civilized here! And the private apartments have the largest pools.” His eyes took on a distant look. “Your mother loved bathing too.”

Shortly after his departure, a servant brought fresh food and fellan. The brew was easily as strong as Bull’s, and tears came to Sullyan’s eyes as she drank it, remembering his big, comforting presence. She glanced over at Robin, who sat in one of the chairs by the bed. Marik was still there too. As the Hierarch passed him on his way out, he told the Count he was released to Sullyan’s custody. He cautioned Marik to remember it. The Count was more than happy to obey. Now he sat across the room from them, quietly drinking fellan and thinking his own thoughts.

“What would Bull make of all this, Robin?”

The Captain chuckled and looked around the lavish room. “He’d never believe it. Mind you, I can hardly believe it myself.” He smiled shyly. “Do you remember that you have a name now? Does it feel like it fits?”

She hadn’t really thought about what she had heard in the Hierarch’s audience chamber. Her memory of that time was mingled with the pain of her illness, and she wasn’t entirely sure she had heard correctly. Robin told her what Pharikian had said about her birth and her mother’s death—here in this very room—and her soul was in turmoil, desperate to know more.

She glanced down at her hands and tried the name on her tongue. “Brynne ... I hardly know, Robin. I have had only one name all my life, so to suddenly have another seems somehow ... superfluous.”

The Captain laughed aloud and Marik grinned. Robin took her in his arms.

“Oh, my love, only you could think that having such a lovely name was superfluous!”

Later that evening, after a page had shown Marik to his rooms across the hall, and Deshan had come by to check Sullyan once more, Pharikian returned. Despite his orders and Robin’s protests, Sullyan was not in bed. She had risen shortly after eating, yet she only went as far as the bathing pool. The warm water did wonders to ease the deep ache in her bones, and she reveled in the clean, buoyant feel of it, her tawny hair floating out around her.

Worried she might overtax herself, Robin sat by the pool and watched her closely. She emerged feeling much improved. Now, wrapped in a soft, voluminous house robe, she lounged on a settle by the fire, spreading her damp hair to dry.

A discreet knock sounded at the door and Robin went to open it. Three servants entered, bearing trays laden with food, wine and fellan. A page came behind them, and then to Sullyan’s amazement, the Hierarch appeared. He looked strained and tired, but his tension eased when he saw her. He did, however, point a stern finger at Robin.

“Young man, I thought I told you to keep her in bed.”

Robin was about to explain but Sullyan got there first. “Do not blame the Captain, Majesty. I could not resist the bathing pool. Once I have eaten a little and drunk more fellan, I will be more than happy to return to my rest.”

The servants laid their trays on the low table near Sullyan and departed. Pharikian’s page, a young lad of about twelve who reminded Sullyan strongly of the Manor kitchen boy, Tad, closed the door behind them. His master approached Sullyan and indicated the space beside her. “May I?”

She blushed. “Majesty, you need ask no leave of me!”

He sighed and wearily lowered himself to the settle. “Child, I have had people bowing and scraping and generally fawning over me all day long. Would you do me a very great favor?”

Her eyes widened. “Anything, Majesty.”

“Then, when we are alone, will you do me the courtesy of using my name and forgetting that I am Andaryon’s sovereign lord? That is how it was with your parents, and I found it very refreshing. Your father was one of my closest friends, Brynne. It would give me inestimable pleasure to think of you in the same way.”

She stared into his yellow eyes, and as she offered metaphysical contact, her pupils dilated wide. “It would give me great pleasure also, Timar.”

He accepted her offer with a pleased grin that took years off his face. She smiled shyly. “Dare I ask you a favor in return? Not that I do not already owe you everything for saving my life.”

His eyes flashed. “That was just due recompense for what you suffered at the hands of one of my so-called subjects. An accounting will be sought, of that you can be sure.”

Her smile vanished. “May we talk of that later?” He gave a terse nod and she broached the subject that had been filling her heart and mind since his astonishing revelation in the throne room. “Timar, will you tell me about my parents? Robin has told me what you said concerning my birth and how my mother ... died, but I would love to hear more. I always hoped someday to find someone who could tell me about them.”

Pharikian reached for a plate of meat and offered it to Sullyan. She took some and he helped himself before passing the plate to Robin.

“I will tell you while we eat, but I don’t want to tire you. Deshan thinks you will feel much better tomorrow, and we will discuss then what can be done about my rival. I should warn you, though, that your arrival and the news that you carry information concerning Rykan’s plans have already spread throughout the Caer. It has stirred up my generals, Brynne, which may be no bad thing!”

Her heart gave a lurch as she heard her given name. It would take some getting used to.

“Please, Timar, I would rather that the details of my ... circumstances do not become public knowledge. I want no pity, only the chance to play my part in thwarting Rykan’s challenge.”

“I know, child, rest easy. No one else knows but Deshan, and he is very discreet. Have no fears on that score.”

Companionably, they sat together and consumed the fine food provided by the Palace kitchens. As they did so, Pharikian told Sullyan about his friendship with her parents.

“I
first met Morgan Sullyan around forty years ago. He was a well-respected bard and a gifted storyteller. His fame reached us even here. For this he was made welcome by my father, the previous Hierarch. Morgan became a regular visitor at Court. At that time, I had an elder brother, Selmar, who was my father’s Heir. Many of the higher ranking nobles had sworn allegiance to my brother and were pledged to support his succession. But Selmar died unexpectedly in a dueling accident, and I became the Heir. The nobles, judging their oaths annulled by Selmar’s death, rebelled, for they felt no loyalty to me.

“You may be aware that in Andaryon, an Heir’s right to the throne is only as strong as his power, and much of that power depends on the support he has gathered around him. Such support in turn depends as much on his physical strength as his metaphysical prowess, for the death of a Hierarch almost always results in a bloody scramble for position, and no one will support an unprepared or physically weak candidate. Many an Heir has been ousted by a noble with greater power, and I had been thrust into the position with no time to prepare.

“My father was still alive, of course, but he was weakening, and he could see the nobles circling like tangwyrs above a corpse. Their rebellion infuriated him, and his efforts to whip them back in line put a strain on his aging heart. He died with the situation still unresolved, leaving me facing a serious challenge to my succession.

“Partly out of respect for my father, and partly because the strongest of the nobles was a man known to be hostile toward Albia, Morgan, who was then about twenty-five, offered me his aid in suppressing the insurgents. I was happy to accept. In addition to his bardic skills, he was a powerful Artesan, a talented swordsman, and a gifted tactician. Such qualities persuaded the nobles still loyal to my House to respect him, and his counsel proved invaluable. Together, we defeated the rebels and secured my right to the throne. Morgan’s selfless endeavors on my behalf earned him my deepest gratitude and undying friendship.

“Three years after my coronation, I married the Lady Idriana, daughter to the Lord of Selkiar, one of our southern provinces. Morgan was my guest of honor and groom’s man. He played for us that day, music he composed especially for the occasion. I remember it still so clearly. The melodies come readily to my mind although I have not heard them for many years now ....”

“What instrument did my father play?” Sullyan was reluctant to interrupt, yet desperate for any knowledge that would bring her closer to her sire.

Pharikian’s gaze sharpened and he smiled at her. “He was accomplished on many instruments, child, but mostly he favored the harp.”

She flushed with pleasure. “I have some skill with the harp myself.”

Pharikian was delighted. “I shall have Gaslek unearth his scores, child, and you shall have them. But only on the condition that you play them for me.”

Her heart too full for speech, Sullyan nodded. She closed her eyes as Pharikian went on.

“Two years after our wedding, I learned that Morgan had married his long-cherished sweetheart, Bethyn. He had spoken of her many times, but I had never met her. Once they were wed, I insisted he bring her to Court. I had to see her for myself, as I could scarcely believe his descriptions of her beauty. But when she came, when I saw her walking beside him with the light in her tawny hair and the love shining bright from her eyes, well, I could see he had spoken the truth. She was a gentle beauty indeed and well suited to Morgan’s generous heart. I gave her a wedding gift of four rare fire opals set in gold. It gives me immense pleasure to see you wearing them, Brynne. They sparkle as brightly on you as they did on her.”

Sullyan still could not speak. Her throat was too tight. Pharikian squeezed her hand, his own voice unsteady.

“My lady Idriana took Bethyn to her heart, and we found much pleasure in each other’s company. After that first meeting, Bethyn often accompanied her husband when he came to Court. The following year, Idriana gave birth to twin daughters. One of them died within hours. Morgan and Bethyn grieved with us, for Bethyn had recently suffered a miscarriage, and she and my lady comforted each other.

“Two years after that, my son Aeyron was born, but Bethyn had miscarried twice more in that time. She was very brave about it, but we all knew how sad she was. A child was her heart’s wish, and she felt incomplete without one. But that sorrow aside, they were happy. Over the next six years, our friendship deepened and I was pleased to be able to help Morgan achieve his potential as an Artesan. We held a lavish celebration here when I acknowledged him as Senior Master.”

Sullyan finally found her voice. “Was my mother gifted too?”

Something flashed in the Hierarch’s eyes, but his voice remained level. “Bethyn was an empath, child, as my dear late wife had cause to know. It was your mother’s deep understanding of Idriana’s sorrow over the death of our child that helped her overcome her depression and enabled her to conceive our Heir. We were all distressed when Idriana didn’t live long enough to see Bethyn carry a child to term.”