Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (25 page)

The king let his people visit and marvel a while, but whilst his reanimated subjects were still a subject of marvel and fascination, he commanded them back to the earth - a prudent action, Lyssia thought.

The level of chatter had increased as relatives had said their goodbyes, and had receded as people respectfully witnessed the re-interment of the dead. Once the ground was still and calm once more, and a moment of respectful silence had passed, there was a great rush of whooping, cheering and clapping as the crowd celebrated their monarch. The king's expression was wide and bright, his love for his people evident. Lyssia watched him absorb that love as it was given in return, and understood his need to keep his people safe and happy at all costs. To hurt them would be to hurt a part of himself.

The tide of goodwill was still surging when Kavrazel leaned down and whispered to Lyssia to turn around. She gave him a perplexed look, but he would not elaborate and stilled her questions with a finger against her lips. Mindful that to those present she was still acting the part of a slave, she turned obediently, and wondered what in Teema's name he was up to.

She felt his fingers brush the exposed skin of her neck, just underneath her collar, sweeping away imaginary tendrils of her hair. She had been aroused and denied relief for hours. The brief touch felt like much, much more. Lyssia bowed her head and inhaled as much air as she could, and tried to keep from swaying. Kavrazel ran the rough, warm pads of his fingers underneath her collar, a touch more intimate than might appear to any who observed. Lyssia forced her mind to comprehend the present, rather than the imagined, and realised that the crowd was quietening with expectation.

The heat of Kavrazel's fingers was replaced with cold, indifferent metal. She jerked, but then his hand was back. He lay his palm over her shoulder, his long fingers brushing her collarbone, wordlessly bidding her to remain still. Lyssia started to plan all the ways that she would berate him for whatever exhibition he was performing now without having forewarned her.

Her collar was pulled tight against her throat until choking became a distinct possibility. Snick-clack. The pressure eased.

As she tried to make sense of the sounds and sensations, to understand what it was that the king had done, his hands returned to her collar, but now they took hold of the delicate metal band, and pulled it wide. Lyssia let out a sound - half gasp, half agonised sob - as the sigil of her preference and use to the king fell carelessly at her feet.

She whirled without waiting for permission from the king, and found Kavrazel holding a stunted pair of sheers. He had been smiling, but at her evident look of shock, his face fell a little. He dropped the bladed tool and took hold of both her arms, as if fearing that she would bolt.

"No slave to me, remember?" His hoarse plea barely penetrated her fog of confusion, but then, as sunlight shining through parted clouds, Lyssia comprehended his meaning and his intention. The crowd was hushed now, and watchful. Fear was a cold dash of water to her blood. She hoped that Kavrazel knew what he was doing. His timing was either perfect, or ludicrous.

He dropped to his knees, better she supposed for the crowd to see their actions, although she sorely missed the solidness of his presence. He reached into his coat, and brought out something... it seemed as though he held a live flame in his fingers, and the awed gasp from the members of the assemblage close enough to see

suggested that she was not the only one who thought so. Then Kavrazel was slipping the ring onto her finger, and kissing her hand, and saying something... she wasn't sure what. There were tears in her eyes, and how it should be that they interfered with her ears, she didn't know. Perhaps it was the blood pounding through her veins, driven by love and fear and happiness. The king was looking at her expectantly, pleadingly. She gave the response that she had already given him, but that she knew he needed to hear again, that the crowd needed to hear.

"Yes."

The single syllable was drowned under a deafening cacophony of congratulatory madness, before it had even finished leaving her lips. Thankfully Kavrazel stood and folded her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. She was sure she would have fallen otherwise. Her knees were suddenly weak with the myriad emotions, and her lungs were refusing to perform their function properly. She was as sure of him as she had ever been of anyone, and yet it was something, it was everything to hear him speak the words, to make the request and accept her answer in public as he had in private.

She was a slave no longer; she was betrothed now, to a king no less. His status meant little to her, except for the extra security it afforded her. No longer would she have to fear forces beyond her control. She would have loved him even if he had been a fellow slave; she might have come to accept those sentiments more readily if that had been the case. This, a partnership, the beginnings - maybe - of a family, was a dream that she long since reconciled herself to never knowing.

Kavrazel caught her lips for a kiss, but as they were both smiling broadly and halfway between laughing and crying, such an endearment was impossible.

"Did you plan this?" Lyssia asked, and stopped to cough a chuckle that ended in a sob. "So that your army would be readily available if it went badly?"

"Perhaps." Even though his own voice was tight, it was a warm comfort to her.

"You're devious."

"Just as you like me."

"You have competition, my lord."

Kavrazel cocked his head at her, not catching her meaning. Lyssia steadied herself, and pushed away from his embrace. He was reluctant to let her go, but since her happy expression was still in place, he did not appear to be worried. His expression faltered when she pulled her slim blade from its place at her hip. His questioning look became an outright frown when she shook the cuff of her sleeve back and laid the knife at her wrist. He almost called out to her to stop as she made the shallow cut. She saw his hand begin to rise and heard his half shout, but then she held out her bleeding wrist to him with a coquettish switch of her hips, and his expression turned to one of wonderment.

"Blessings to Taan."

The crowd roared again as Kavrazel caught her wrist and pulled it to his mouth. The mass of people were keeping a respectful distance, and Lyssia wondered whether it was some magical effort on Kavrazel's part, certainly there were no guards to form a cordon, or whether it was simply respect for their monarch that kept them from mobbing him. And then she thought no more on the practicalities of the moment because Kavrazel's mouth was at her skin, his lips and tongue were working against the sharp sting of the cut, and his eyes were promising dirty deeds done in dark hours.

When he had finished, he lifted his ceremonial blade from his belt, rolled back his cuff, and made a cut to his own wrist before holding it out to Lyssia.

She wasn't sure whether anyone heard her say "Blessings to Taan," because the crowd was shouting and yelling again. She brought the king's skin to her mouth, and paid it the same intimate attention that he had devoted to her. Perhaps she lingered longer than she needed to, but he tasted delicious. Now that she had tasted all of him, she knew that the effervescence that tingled across her tongue was not peculiar to the fluid that beat through his heart. She felt her own body respond to the call of his eyes, to the taste of him, with a hot rush, and wished that they were anywhere other than an open field surrounded by thousands of people. Although, if she had cause to drink from him again, it was a possibility that she might disregard their massive audience.

It gave Lyssia pause to think that every member of the assembled crowd had partaken of the blood toast, that they might all feel it as sensually as she and Kavrazel seemed to. Perhaps for some it was a mundane act, boring, nothing more than a duty. Lyssia did not see how they could truly be honouring their god if they felt that way. Certainly, for her, it felt as if they were indulging in the deepest intimacy in front of all those seeing eyes. Perhaps a few people knew that sensation.

Kavrazel pulled her into a breath-stealing embrace, and then kissed her until she saw stars at the edge of her vision. As she tried to recover the momentum of her heart, he murmured against her lips. "You, my queen, are a minx."

"It would not do for you to be bored, Sire," she teased. "Who knows what trouble you might find yourself in without someone to watch over you."

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the breath of Taan he needed to spend some time with Lyssia, alone in his chambers, preferably without interruption, for the better part of a day, at least. She had astounded him again. He had known that she had an inherent ability to act as a queen, to know what her people needed to see her say and do, but for her, a former save - freed from her collar for not even half a day - to offer her own blood in toast to Taan... The people had lapped it up as surely as Kavrazel had laved his own tongue against her skin, and that was a sweet memory that he would not soon forget.

It was unlikely that he would get his wish anytime soon. Even as he had been Lifting Lyssia down from Sensha's saddle, as he had been thinking about that trim waist between his palms and the flare of her hips and the delights below... even then, Tethva had dared to approach him. Now he found himself in a meeting with his cabinet of advisors. The Grand Master was puffing himself up to make a speech, and Kavrazel couldn't have cared less about what the pompous priest had to say.

Lyssia, if she had chosen to be at all obedient for the moment, should be in his chambers as he had asked. His mind ran to wondering what she might be doing to occupy her time. He wondered whether she was in a state of undress, perhaps she would be pleasuring herself, relieving her own frustrations... in his bed... without him... Kavrazel took a deep breath, not bothering to try to hide his frustration. By Taan, this meeting needed to be over.

Impatient to be done with all formalities and royal duties, he removed his crown and set it on the table before him. It was a delicately horrifying piece of art, but he did not need to wear it to command the appropriate respect. It was a bauble, embellishment, nothing more. He held up his hand for silence, and then gave Tethva permission to speak.

"You cannot have a blood slave for a queen, Your Majesty."

Kavrazel had anticipated some resistance to his choice of bride, and had suspected that Tethva would have something to say on the matter, but for him to demand a meeting such as this and to voice his objection in so bald a manner was a clumsy insult. Kavrazel had thought the priest to have more of a political mind.

"Fortunately for you, Grand Master, that is not your decision to make." Kavrazel felt Girogis, stationed behind him, take a half step closer. He knew Girogis saw no threat in Tethva; it was a warning for him to keep his own temper under control.

"But the people of Vuthron... your subjects..." Tethva spluttered. "They will not tolerate this insult."

"From what I saw this afternoon, they seem remarkably tolerant of her." Kavrazel steepled his fingers under his chin. "I would go so far as to say they were enamoured of her. She made quite the impression."

A chuckle rippled around the table, but Tethva was not deflated. "Your Majesty, it is not the best decision for Vuthron. You lead with your... heart, when you should lead with your head. Think of the royal bloodline. Please, for your people..."

Girogis actually went so far as to lay a calming hand on Kavrazel's rigid shoulder. Tethva, if he had had any sense of self preservation, would have stopped speaking as soon as he saw his king's face turn to stone. Apparently the priest thought he was untouchable; perhaps he thought Taan would protect him from the king's fury. Kavrazel was willing to put the fire god's mercy to the test. He would have grabbed a blade and made for the priest, if Zella had not pushed her chair back, by way of announcing her intention to speak.

Zella was the minister that he had charged with overseeing law and order in the country. She was a diminutive woman with silver hair and amber eyes, a combination that gave her a slightly elf-like air. To listen to a description of the woman would not have incited respect, but only an ignorant person would have treated her without the proper consideration. Kavrazel had chosen her for the position because of her iron will and steadfast values, so the words that she spoke shocked him, enough that he did not think he entirely kept his surprise from showing on his face.

"Your Majesty, since I saw you at the Field of Tears today, you and Lyssia, I've been thinking. I've been thinking on your reaction on the day the giants took her."

Kavrazel's breath caught at the awful memory of that moment, but he tried to maintain an unaffected countenance so that Zella could continue.

"When she was taken, you were adamant that she meant as much as any of us, because her blood honoured Taan. You spoke of treating the slaves with equality. I'll admit, at the time I thought you enamoured of a pretty pair of eyes and a trim figure, but now I see something else."

It took some effort to hide his fury at the Zella's revelation, but Kavrazel thought he managed adequately. "What do you see? I sense this has more to do with my choice of bride."

"Indeed it does," Zella agreed. "First, let me say, I don't dispute your choice. Lyssia is perfectly suited for the role of queen, her humour and patience is an excellent foil to your... quick temper." Zella held up a hand to quell the nervous sniggers that sounded round the table. "But it's more than that. You spoke of her blood being a worthy sacrifice for Taan, even though she was not Vuthroan. I don't disagree, but I think we defraud our god. Why do we not offer our own blood? What are we afraid of?"

Zella looked round the table, refusing to shy away from the challenge she had issued. Kavrazel followed her gaze. There were several pairs of raised eyebrows, but no disagreement, so she continued.

"Our own blood, the blood of Vuthroans born and bred, that is the proper sacrifice, the proper way to honour Taan. We demean Taan by placing ourselves above the magnitude of his tribute." Zella took a deep breath. "I think we should end the trade in slaves."

Perhaps, once upon a time, not many moons previously, Zella's statement would have been greeted with roars of disapproval. She would have been shouted down, and possibly hounded out of office, likely even out of Vulc. Now, a thoughtful quiet greeted her proposition.

Kavrazel cast his eyes around the table, observing the reactions of those people that he trusted so implicitly to help him run his country. No one appeared in contest, not that it mattered - he agreed with Zella completely - but it gave him ease that he spoke for them all.

"I agree. We should not make our offering from people we deem as less in every other way. It would please me greatly to end the trade, for the security of our country, as well as my own peace of mind, and, of course, that of my bride. However," Kavrazel let his gaze turn hard. "I still prohibit the involvement of children in the toast. I do not mean that they should not partake of it, but in the same manner that we do not acquire children as blood slaves, I see no reason why our own children should be made to proffer their life fluid. I'm sure Taan can wait for them to reach maturity. Their blood is better used in growth to become strong and capable citizens than in offering."

A chorus of agreement, and an encore of thumping fists banging on the smooth, worn wood of the table, signalled agreement with his directive.

Zella had not yet retaken her seat. "I agree. In such an instance, I propose this: We should mark the coming of age of our children. When they are of age to provide the toast, it should be a thing to be celebrated. There should be gatherings at the temples. Their first toast should be made in the holy houses of Taan. Perhaps once a year? I suggest the king's birthday, since it is under his rule that such momentous change might be introduced."

Kavrazel had no particular view on the date to be used, although he thought it prudent that the celebrations be confined to one particular date rather than recurring in a never-ending rotation. It would add a sense of prestige and expectation to the ceremony, which in all would make it more attractive and a more acceptable proposition to lay before his subjects.

Multha stood, his chair scraping loudly on the floor. "We should announce this soon. We should proclaim it tomorrow. We should ride the tide of feeling from this day, and use it. Let that goodwill fuel this idea."

Divna appeared subdued, preoccupied by thought, but in no way adverse to the agreements being made. "Can such a thing be done? The king's birthday is two moons hence. Could a proclamation be issued and acted upon in so little time?" To focus on the practicalities of the discussion was a trait that the financier often exhibited, and one that Kavrazel relied upon when grand rhetoric poured forth.

"Absolutely," Multha asserted. "If the king agrees, I'll set my hawks and my men in motion immediately to spread the word."

"And what to do with the slaves we have?" Divna asked. "Do we free them? Are they entitled to be compensated in any way for their service?"

Kavrazel knew that if he did not call a halt to proceedings, or at least excuse himself from them, he would still be in this room in the dusky hours of the morning, arguing the finer points of new legislature. His betrothed would be fast asleep and neglected. There were important issues to be discussed, but Kavrazel did not want, or feel the need, to debate the finer points. He had a cabinet of advisors for that very reason. It was their duty to hash out the arguments, and then to present him with their advice and the reasoning behind it.

The king motioned for attention. "I will leave the details in your capable hands. For now, all that needs to be proclaimed is that the trade in slaves will end, and that we will sacrifice ourselves to Taan to honour our god, as we should have done these many generations past. I think we should proclaim that as soon as possible, lest anyone forget they are dealing with a monarch who can raise the dead as I can." Kavrazel gave a half shrug. "I dislike the use of fear as a weapon, but it can be a fine blade, and I would deploy it now."

Not one person offered any word of disagreement. Kavrazel began to hope he might reclaim some of the time that he had hoped to spend with Lyssia.

"It is late." It was stating the obvious, but it was as good as sentiment as any to make his exit from the meeting. He rose and pushed his chair back with a loud fanfare of wood on stone. "I wish to return to my betrothed, unless anyone has any further major matters of state and realm that require consideration?"

There was a ripple of bawdy sniggering, but no dissent.

"Very well. In that case, my friends, I bid you good night."

There were some uttered wishes to rest well, but he did not attempt to address them all; he simply walked out of the room. It was not his usual habit, but he was impatient in a way that he couldn't remember since being a small child. He knew that Girogis had followed him, his faithful shadow would not neglect his duty, but he didn't realise that Otal had also accompanied him from the room, until after the door had closed. The moment he had risen from his seat, Kavrazel's mind had been on other matters.

"I won't keep you. You've more pressing matters at hand" Otal's eyes twinkled with amusement. If it had been anyone else, Kavrazel's frustration might have gotten the better of him, but for Otal, he could find patience. He nodded, and Otal continued. "I wanted to congratulate you. In barely a year you've secured the future of Vuthron beyond all doubt. It has always been a strong nation; it's wealth, the cohesive nature of its people, your ability to raise a limitless number of soldiers, all of it made Vuthron a force to be reckoned with, but it has always been vulnerable in the court of public opinion. You negotiated a firm entente with Felthiss. You cowed the giants, the only force that might have troubled you in all-out war. You have removed any excuse for other countries to wage war." Otal clapped his hand on Kavrazel's shoulder. "I'm proud of you. So very proud. You might have bent or buckled under the weight of the crown, having borne it from such a young age, but you let the furnace test you, you let the heat strengthen you. You have become a worthy king."

Kavrazel swallowed the lump that had suddenly blocked his throat. There was dust, or sand, or something in his eye. Taan be damned, he wasn't crying. It took a great effort, but eventually he managed to speak. "Thank you. If I have excelled at all, it because of the knowledge and experience freely and honestly offered by others. None more so than yourself. Whatever I have done, it was not achieved alone."

Otal nodded, his lips set tight. There was an accumulation of dust in the corridor; it seemed to be affecting Otal's eyes, too. "My king, with the end of the trade in blood in sight, I think my use here also comes to an end." He held up his hand when Kavrazel began to object, so the king allowed him to finish. "If it please you, I would like to stay here in Vuthron, in Vulc. I see no need for me to continue as liaison with Felthiss if the reason for their antagonism is removed completely, but I should like to stay in this country, this city, that I now call my home without hesitation."