Sorrows of Adoration (56 page)

I heard the door to the
hall open but did not look to see who entered. I prayed that they
would see me in sorrow and leave me be.

I realized it was Jarik
as he sat beside me on the couch and put a gentle hand on my back.
His touch was so kind and warm, I could feel the heat from each
finger through my dress. I was tempted to revel in the warmth of
his hand, but the guilty thought made me feel even worse.

“I cannot talk about it
now, Jarik,” I whispered, trying very hard to prevent my voice from
quavering.

“I don’t care if you
wish to speak or not,” his voice rumbled softly. “But I am not
about to leave you alone in here to suffer without comfort.”

I tried to brush the
tears of shame from my face, but new ones kept replacing them. I
hated myself for being so pathetic. “I am alone,” I muttered.

“No, Aenna, you’re
not,” he whispered. Though I tried to shrink away from it, he
pulled me into an embrace, wrapping his warm, strong arms around
me. I wanted him to go, but I felt so safe and loved in his arms
that I could not tell him to leave. Again, the miserable guilt of
enjoying his touch while so missing the man to whom I was wed
combined to turn the knife further into my heart. I burst into
body-wrenching sobs against Jarik. The more I wept, the greater
shame I felt, and the worse the tears became.

He pulled me up
into his lap to cradle me against him as he might
a child, rocking me slowly and
whispering kind words. He kissed my forehead frequently, resting
his cheek against my hair the rest of the time.

Soon fatigue wore down
my sobs into a numb flow of quiet tears. He lifted his head from
mine and looked at me with tender concern, gently stroking my wet
cheek. I tried to escape his gaze, but my eyes were locked to his,
and I could not break the hold he had on me.

“He struck me,” I
blurted out.

Jarik nodded sadly.

“I knew I couldn’t stay
in the palace. I knew I could not remain there, sporting his
bruise, causing scandal and demonstrating that he broke his own
law. I had the presence of mind to come here, but, Jarik, whatever
do I do now?”

“I don’t know, Aenna,”
he said softly. His voice was very deep with the late hour and his
sorrow for me. “I wish I did. Truly, Aenna, I wish I had all the
answers for you. All I can tell you is that you are not alone in
this. I shall not leave you alone. I shall not let further harm
befall you. I shall remain at your side and do whatever you need of
me.”

I rose from his lap and
poured myself some of the water that Pirine had thoughtfully placed
in a pitcher on the dresser. I took a sip of it, letting the
coolness soothe my sore throat. Then I pressed the glass to my
burning cheeks. It ached, and the minor physical discomfort of it
was oddly soothing.

After a moment, I set
the glass down and sighed. “I can’t help but feel awful for pushing
him to this,” I whispered.

Jarik was suddenly
behind me, his hands on my shoulders, turning me about rather
roughly. “No!” he said loudly. His face was stern as he repeated,
“No. Aenna, you did not cause this. I will hold you, I will support
you, I will do what I can to soothe you, but I will not abide you
to blame yourself! You will cease such thoughts immediately,
Aenna.”

I closed my eyes and
tiredly tried to explain. “You don’t understand. I wanted to get
through to him, but instead I infuriated him and—”

“Stop it, Aenna,” he
commanded, giving me a slight shake. I opened my eyes and looked at
him in exhausted sorrow. He pulled me to him in a tight embrace and
declared, “There is neither justification nor reason for what Kurit
has done to you this night. The only just provocation of violence
is defence against violence, so unless you physically threatened
him, he had no right to strike you. And I very much doubt you
threatened him, did you?”

“No, I did not,” I
whispered sadly into his chest.

“Of course you didn’t.
You earned his wrath as much as that woman you rescued in the
market earned the wrath of her husband.”

“That was different,” I
said.

“How so?”

“He kept her locked up
like a slave and beat her maliciously and frequently.”

“The difference is only
in duration and severity, not in morality,” Jarik said. “Only a man
lacking in honour would strike his wife.”

“Stop, please,” I
whispered as I pulled out of his embrace. “You may be right but it
only breaks my heart to hear it.” I was so tired and upset, I found
myself needing to lean on the back of a chair to keep myself
upright. “It does not help me to hate him. He’s still my husband.
And he’s still your King.”

Jarik nodded and said
no more against Kurit. Instead, he softly said, “It is quite late,
Aenna. You are barely able to stand. I shall call Leiset in from
the adjoining room to help you change your clothes and go to
bed.”

Soon after, when I did
finally slip between the covers and put my head on the pillow, I
worried briefly that I would not be able to sleep because of my
heartache. But no sooner had the thought left my mind than I
succumbed to weariness and depression and slept.

I WOKE THE NEXT morning
to the sound of Raelik’s laughter echoing in the corridor outside
of my room. I could hear Lyenta trying to hush him, but it sounded
as though the boy was in a mischievous mood and paying no heed to
her instruction.

Wearily, I rose and
staggered to the door. When I opened it, Raelik ran inside
giggling, Lyenta in chase close behind.

“Oh, I’m sorry,
Majesty, he’s just so very excitable this morning, waking up in a
strange place, and—” Lyenta stopped running after Raelik when she
caught sight of my face. “Oh dear,” she said, putting her hands to
her face in shock.

“Mumma!” Raelik
hollered and laughed. I turned to face him and was greatly dismayed
to see his smile drop instantly from his face when he beheld mine.
He pointed out his little index finger slowly and sadly said,
“Ouch.”

Above and behind him
was the dressing mirror. I caught sight of my reflection and
understood their reaction. A grotesque purple swelling sat upon my
cheek, and the darkness had spread beneath my eye. I watched myself
raise a hand to my face. It was quite warm to the touch and ached.
When I blinked, I could feel the swelling beneath my eye, and it
was rather disconcerting.

I became so captivated
by my image that I almost did not notice as poor little Raelik’s
lower lip began to tremble. I returned my attention to him just as
he began to cry.

“Oh, Raelik, it’s all
right now. Come to Mumma,” I said, squatting down so he could run
to my arms. I picked up him and held him tightly as he cried
quietly—a pitiful, small sound unlike any cry I had heard from him
before. “There now, my precious boy,” I cooed as I carried him to
the couch and sat him upon my lap. “Mumma’s got an ouch. But it
will go away, and I shall be fine.”

He stared at it sadly,
fat tears rolling down his baby cheeks. How was I to make him
understand this? How was I to explain to my innocent boy that his
father had caused me this pain? I could not bear to even ponder
telling him such a thing.

“Mumma fell and bumped
her head, Raelik. That’s all,” I lied. I forced a smile and said
sweetly, “I shall be perfectly fine in a few days, you’ll see. Now,
give me a kiss like a good boy and let Lyenta take you down to
breakfast. Then you and she can go out and play in the trees.
Wouldn’t you like that?”

He knelt up in my lap
and kissed my unbruised cheek, still looking very sad. His
expression broke my heart anew. I wondered how much longer I’d be
able to protect my baby boy from the harsh realties of life.

“Go now with Lyenta,” I
said to him, brushing his tears away. He shook his head and clung
to me. Lyenta tried to coax him away from me, but he only cried out
in anguish and balled his fists in a firm grip on my nightdress. I
wrapped my arms around him again and told Lyenta quietly to leave
us alone for a short while.

I sat rocking my son in
silence for some time, praying in my mind that this unpleasantness
would not shape his future temperament. Unfortunately, that hope
seemed less than realistic when Jarik entered the room and sat
beside us on the couch. When Jarik put a kindly hand on my arm,
Raelik shoved him away angrily.

“Raelik!” I exclaimed.
“That’s not behaving like a nice boy.”

Jarik said in a calm,
supportive voice, “He’s protecting his mother like a good man,
aren’t you, Raelik?” The boy turned his head away, burying his face
in my shoulder. Jarik whispered, “I should have made you hold
something cold to your cheek last night.”

“And I should have
thought to do so myself,” I muttered.

“Is it painful
today?”

“A little, but not an
unbearable ache. It just feels tender,” I said.

Jarik nodded. “I’ll
warn you now, it’s going to look worse before it looks better.”

“I know,” I said. “A
boy I knew in my childhood liked to provoke bigger boys into
fights. His face always bore hideous colours.”

He nodded again,
sighed, and said, “I shall fetch you a cold compress for it now. Or
are you coming downstairs to eat something?”

I kissed Raelik’s head
and said, “What do you say, Raelik? Are you going to let Mumma
change her clothes so we can go have breakfast?” He looked up at me
with sad eyes and said nothing. “Please, Raelik. I shall be fine.
Why don’t you go with Jarik?”

“No,” he said
defiantly.

“Why ever not? Jarik is
your friend, isn’t he? Jarik is my friend.”

Raelik turned in my lap
to glare at Jarik.

Thankfully, Jarik had
more sense than I did and better understood my son’s young male
mind. “Raelik, good man, how would you like to be your Mumma’s
Champion today?” Raelik’s glare ceased, and he looked at Jarik
instead with a curious interest. Jarik held out a hand to him and
said, “Well, if you are going to be a Champion to a great lady, you
must understand that you need to let the lady get dressed alone.
Come, then, Raelik. You can stand guard outside her door. And later
I shall teach you how to hold a sword. Would you like that?”

Raelik finally went to
him, putting his small hand in Jarik’s enormous one. Jarik led him
out of the room and had him stand facing my door at attention. When
Jarik entered again for a moment to pull the door closed, I went to
him and whispered, “I don’t want you giving him weapons!”

“Oh, Aenna, I’m not
going to give him a sword! I’ll let him hold mine and perhaps have
Mikel make him a small blunt wooden one with which to play.”

“He’s only three years
old. Can’t the battle games wait?”

“When I was five I
could throw a knife and hit a target with appreciable skill,” Jarik
said. “He’s a growing boy, Aenna. He’s going to be a King. He
should feel comfortable with a weapon in his hand. He may be quite
young, but look at how he stands to guard you.” I looked past Jarik
to see my small son standing with his hands still on his hips. Were
his face not so very serious, he would have been laughably
adorable. “Let the boy pretend to be a man today, Aenna. Let him
think that he’s protecting you from whatever he imagines caused you
that bruise.”

I nodded, pressing my
lips tightly together to keep myself from weeping at the
thought.

Jarik left and closed
the door behind him.

Of course, I wasn’t the
least bit hungry, but I forced myself to eat enough at breakfast
that Leiset and Jarik would not nag at me or fret further over me.
Afterwards, Jarik took Raelik outside to play. I sat on the balcony
attached to the master bedchamber to watch them. Jarik was very
good with my son—letting him put his hands on the sword and try to
lift its weight, but all the while the man kept the boy’s hands
from approaching the sharp edges.

I found myself angry
with Kurit that he was not the one sharing these masculine lessons
with his own son. Jarik was so kind and attentive with Raelik, as
he always had been. Kurit couldn’t be bothered to play with a ball
long enough to please the child.

The longer I watched,
the more upset I became. I soon retreated into the bedchamber and
closed the curtains to shut out the tenderness that taunted me so.
I sat in the darkened room and let my emotions flow from anger to
depression and then back, cycling around and feeding on one another
until finally that blessed numbness of despair settled over me once
more. I just stared into the air before me, hearing my own breath
and thinking how very odd it sounded.

I do not know how long
I sat that way. A knock came at the door. I said nothing, so Jarik
slowly opened it to peer inside, perhaps thinking I had been
sleeping. When he saw me in the chair, he entered and sat in
another chair nearby. For some time we sat in silence—one that I
imagine would have been quite uncomfortable had I not been so
numbed.

Finally, he cleared his
throat softly and said, “Are you able yet to tell me what
happened?”

And so I did. Coldly
and without tears, I related to him the details of what had led to
Kurit striking me. I was as forthright as I could have been and
made sure to explain that Kurit did express great remorse
immediately after his horrible act. I spoke without passion or
inflection of any kind.

When I reached the end
of the tale, he said nothing. He sat quietly again for a few
moments and then rose and stood by the bed. He leaned on one of the
bedposts, gripping it in his hand tightly, his other hand a
clenched fist at his hip. He sighed and then clenched his jaw in
anger. But still, he said nothing.

“I’m sorry for putting
this on you,” I said flatly.

He laughed—a terrible,
cold, and bitter laugh—and muttered angrily, “You didn’t drag me
into this, Aenna. But I would dearly like right now to drag that
wretch down a rocky path for some time and then dunk his head into
the Great Kal until his sense returns to him.”