Sorrows of Adoration (8 page)

Instead, he touched my
cheek softly and smiled at me with great compassion. “Our future is
bright, Aenna. I know it’s a new world for you, but I’m here to
help you into it.” Then he kissed me, and I didn’t know whether to
be overjoyed, deeply touched, or despondent.

When he tried to pull
me along again I went, forcing my feet to move as opposed to trying
to explain to him my tumultuous emotions.

We approached the
northern gates to Endren just as the cloudy sky began to show signs
of impending darkness. It was a busy gate, with all manner of
people entering and exiting the city, some on horseback, some in
traders’ caravans, and some on foot pulling carts behind them.
Several guards stood questioning those who entered, and scribes
were at hand, no doubt recording what goods were being imported and
exported for tax purposes. Archers stood watch atop the walls,
surveying the commotion below.

Kurit gave my hand a
gentle squeeze and winked at me. “We’ll sleep in soft beds tonight,
our bellies full.”

“After a bath,” I said,
trying to seem happy.

“Indeed. You’ll enjoy a
hot bath with scented salts to wash with.”

That, at least, was a
pleasant thought. I tried to relax as we approached the gate.
Within a few paces of the guards’ station, I heard a robust voice
cry out, “The Prince returns!”

The assorted folk near
the gate moved out of the way at the announcement, and an armed man
sporting the King’s crest on his armour stepped forward quickly. He
bowed to Kurit and said, “The Temples be blessed, you have returned
safely.” Then he looked at me, saw my hand in Kurit’s, and bowed
his head again. “My Lady,” he said, clearly not knowing what to say
after that.

“This is the Lady Aenna
of Alesha, who has travelled with me after bringing me news that
saved my life,” Kurit said in a clear, proud voice that made me
smile and blush. Then he pointed to the man in the crested armour
and told me, “This is Graek, Captain of the Endren Force, the
guards that protect the city.”

Graek bowed again to me
and said, “Lady Aenna, I am most pleased to make your
acquaintance.” He rose again and turned to Kurit, which I was glad
of, since I could feel my face warming and suspected I must look
like an overripe tomato.

“Highness, Lord Jarik
returned several days ago with the maid Gilaela. He went back out
immediately with no less than a full battalion of the King’s Guard
to seek those that plotted against you.”

“Has he returned?”
Kurit asked.

“Yes, Highness. They
met with the wretched rogues along the road and slew most of them
on the spot, capturing the rest for interrogation.”

“Were any of our men
hurt?”

“Only one, Highness,
and he is already recovering. The bandits were unprepared for our
forces, I’ve been told. Several other groups of men have been sent
to search for you, but Lord Jarik forewarned them that you would be
attempting to hide yourself.”

“Are they still
out?”

“Yes, Highness, but of
course they’ll be recalled as soon as possible now that you’ve
thankfully returned safely on your own.”

Kurit nodded. I had
turned to face him, trying to hide my blushing face, which was
finally fading. Our hands were still entwined, and I tried not to
let his public affection steer me away from my determination to
withhold my heart in doubt of the bright future he had promised. In
fact, as we stood, I had noticed a man coming slowly through the
crowd, staring at us, and felt greatly self-conscious, wondering if
he saw how Kurit held my hand and disdained such a filthy girl
being touched so by the heir to the throne.

“Have the prisoners
been interrogated?” Kurit asked.

“I suspect so,
Highness, but I have not been told of the results. I do know,
however, that the rogues were of Daufrae.”

“Daufrae?” Kurit asked.
“We pondered the possibility, but the problem with Raen was so long
ago.”

“Indeed, Highness. It
seems that Raen recently returned in secret to Daufrae to gather
those loyal to him and hatch a mad plot to take the throne of
Keshaerlan.” As Graek said this, I wondered if any of the men I had
seen at the Traveller’s Torch had in fact been Lord Raen
himself.

My pondering was
interrupted as I again found myself distracted by the man who was
still watching us. I peered at him around Kurit’s right shoulder,
wondering if I looked so despicable that I was worthy of such a
stare.

Then I realized he was
not looking at me at all, but rather glaring at Kurit. The very
moment I wondered why Kurit’s return would illicit such a hateful
glare, I saw the man flip aside his cloak and lift a crossbow
towards Kurit.

I remember every moment
that followed in sharp clarity because time slowed to a crawl, and
all sound melted into a low hum. Without hesitation or thought, I
shouted in alarm and pushed Kurit with my free right arm. I shoved
him hard to my left as the man fired a bolt. Kurit had not expected
to be shoved, and he fell easily to the side, letting go of my hand
in the erupting chaos.

I neither heard, saw,
nor felt the bolt as it landed, but there it was, protruding from
my left shoulder, where a moment before it would have gone through
Kurit’s back into his heart or lung. I stared at it,
dumbfounded—still not feeling it, time still crawling.

Then as I inhaled after
my cry of alarm, I did feel it and cried out again, this time in
pain. I fell backwards to the ground, landing in the well-trampled
snow. As the injured shoulder hit the ground I was wrenched with a
horrific agony, and the shock of it made everything loud and fast
again—too loud, too fast. I tried to lift my head, and before pain
from the movement forced it back down, I saw guards rushing to the
man who had tried to kill Kurit, the assassin’s fallen form already
stuck with several arrows.

My head rolled to the
right, away from the pain of my left shoulder, but when I turned
back to look at it I saw Kurit on the ground underneath Graek, who
had no doubt thrown himself in protection over the Prince. Kurit
scrambled out from beneath the captain and half crawled, half slid
in the snow over to my side.

“Aenna,” he cried in
anguish, reaching my side and moving as though he wished to hold
me, stop the bleeding, or any number of actions between which he
could not decide. Panicked, staring at the bolt, he shouted, “Brave
Aenna, what have you done?”

It seemed silly that he
would call me brave, for I had certainly not intended to take the
bolt for him! I had meant only to push him out of the man’s aim and
simply hadn’t thought of the consequence of then being in the
bolt’s path myself. My act was not brave at all, but rather quite
stupid.

I reached up and
touched his worried face to let him know that I was not dead. It
was harder to do than I thought, as I found myself unexpectedly
weakened. He took my hand, pressed it to his cheek, and then kissed
my palm. He leaned forward on his knees and brushed my hair from my
face and kissed my forehead.

“You will be all right,
dear Aenna. I swear it, you shall live,” he said in anguish, which
told me he doubted his own words.

I nodded slowly and
carefully, trying not to move the injured shoulder. “I can breathe
enough,” I whispered, wanting to assure him, “although it hurts to
breathe deeply and move my shoulder.”

He seemed comforted,
for he smiled and told me again how brave I was. I began to
seriously question his understanding of the word. Kurit held my
hand, stroked my cheek, and then shouted to a nearby guard to fetch
a litter to carry me to the palace.

“I’ve walked all this
way, and now you offer to have me carried,” I said softly, trying
to smile without wincing.

“Aenna! How can you
jest at such a time?”

“Because if I don’t,” I
explained slowly, “I might begin to cry, and I am trying very hard
not to do that.”

He looked at me with
grave concern, squeezed my hand, and said, “You need not be that
brave. Cry if you must—there is no shame in it.”

“No, you don’t
understand,” I said, feeling nauseous and dizzy from blood loss. I
held my breath and closed my eyes until the feeling subsided, and
then looked back at him and continued whispering, feeling quite
weak. “If I cry, my shoulders will move with the sobs, and it will
hurt worse. Tell me something pleasant, so I won’t weep.”

Just then the guards
arrived with a cart and horse, no doubt appropriated from one of
the people entering or exiting the city. Kurit and a guard lifted
me, trying not to allow the injured shoulder to move, but movement
in general made me feel ill again, and I heard myself moan in pain
and nausea.

I think I must have
fainted momentarily, for when I next opened my eyes the cart was
already moving, Kurit holding me in his arms, pressing a cloth
around my wound as we sped through the city. I looked at him, and
he said, “Don’t fret, we’ll be there soon, and you’ll be all right,
I promise.”

I nodded and whispered,
“Something pleasant. Tell me something pleasant.” He looked so
worried, I began to wonder if there was something I didn’t know,
that perhaps he suspected the bolt was poisoned. I was afraid and
wondered if the feeling of sickness could be poison and not just
loss of blood after all.

“Pleasant. I can’t
think of anything,” he said frantically. His usual propensity for
eloquence and poetic words had clearly left him. Then his face
softened, and he said, “I know. I will tell you about the palace
gardens. Oh, Aenna, when you are well I shall take you to the
palace gardens, and I promise you have never seen such a sight! A
stream runs around the hedges and flowerbeds, passing around great
sparkling fountains with majestic sculptures. There are little
footbridges over the stream, and in the summer fish are brought in,
and you can watch them swim by. And the flowers are many and of
every lovely colour you can imagine. Some of them climb on
trellises, where young lovers hide to steal an unseen kiss,
although everyone knows that if a couple goes walking in the
garden, they are seeking to do just that.

“It was built
generations ago. My ancestor King Rueklin commissioned it for his
beloved daughter, who was injured as a child and could not walk. He
built her this garden that she might be carried out to a different
part every day and enjoy the beauty of it and not have to stay
locked behind dark palace walls. And I shall take you there when
you are well, my Aenna, and perhaps steal a kiss of my own, if you
would allow it.”

He let go of the cloth
momentarily to lift my right hand, kiss it softly, and then press
it to his cheek where I could feel tears. I deeply moved that this
good man, this Prince, was so adoring of me that he would weep.

The cart passed under a
great arch, and facing upwards, I could see the pointed iron spikes
of the portcullis directed imposingly towards us. The cart stopped
abruptly, and I tried not to let Kurit see how the sudden jolt had
hurt, but the look on his face proved me unsuccessful. I felt
nauseous again and struggled to calm my stomach, knowing full well
that to be sick would be unbearably painful.

A litter was brought
from inside the palace. Kurit started to move me, but despite his
efforts to minimize my discomfort, I cried out in pain and lost
consciousness again for a moment. I awoke again on the litter,
afraid to faint again, thinking that if I did I might not wake
up.

The litter was carried
swiftly through the palace. I wished that I could look around me to
see the splendour of it, but the speed at which I was carried and
my decreasing ability to focus my eyes cast everything into a blur
of walls and strange people pointing and gawking. I imagine we were
quite the spectacle—the Prince returning not in triumph and pride,
but rushing alongside a litter carrying an injured stranger dressed
in rags, bags tied to her feet with strips of torn cloth.

The rush ended in a
large bedchamber, possibly meant for guests. The men who carried my
litter held it beside the bed while Kurit and some unseen other
moved me over. I made a cry of pain as they moved me, though I did
not wish to upset poor Kurit, who was clearly in full panic by
then. The choice had been to cry out or to lose consciousness
again, and I was dearly afraid of the latter.

The men bearing the
litter left quickly, and a tall, thin, bald man dressed in long
black robes and carrying a large black satchel entered. Without
question or other hesitation, he began to tend to the wound,
cutting away the tattered, blood-soaked clothing.

I assumed he was a
healer, and managed to whisper, “I can feel my hand. I can move it
too, but it hurts.”

He looked at my face
for the first time since entering. “You’re a very brave girl,” he
said with an air of authority, “but lie still now, and don’t speak
unless I ask you a question.” He removed the clothing entirely from
around the wound and began to inspect it closely.

I turned my head to the
right when I felt Kurit take my free hand between his own. He
looked less panicked than he had before, which helped me to relax
in turn.

“This is Tash, the
royal physician,” Kurit said as he rubbed my hand comfortingly. “He
will make you well—you shall see.”

Tash began to move the
bolt slowly, which naturally hurt a great deal. I turned to him and
saw him poking at the wound. He looked over me to Kurit and said a
single word that I think I was not intended to understand:
“Barbed.”

I wanted to ask if that
meant it couldn’t be removed but elected to follow his order not to
speak. I must have looked worried though, because Kurit said,
“Aenna, don’t be afraid. Don’t worry about a thing now.”

Tash stood and started
pulling things from his bag. I heard liquid being poured, and what
sounded like something being stirred. He came back into my view
with a small cup and began to move it to my lips.