The Consort (Tellaran Series) (21 page)

“Does he distrust us so that he must see to this task himself?” she asked, hurt.

“Yeah, I think the grandbaby he’s expecting might have more to do with his visit. You know,” he said at her frown, “Kinna’s baby? His grandchild?”

Alari drew breath to point out that Kinara was of the Az’anti clan and therefore would bear no grandchild to him but then she closed her mouth.

The Lady of the Az’anti would think it his grandchild. Kyndan, the Imperial Consort, still reckoned Kinara his sister although she was of another clan.

Kinara, Tedah, and now Kyndan as well, each had a Tellaran core with only the thinnest veneer of Az-kye over it . . .

“Did he ask you to return to home with him?” she asked tightly. “To return to Tellaran space?”

“If you knew him you wouldn’t wonder about that.” Kyndan gave a short laugh. “Believe me, my father doesn’t
ask
, Alari. But no, the idea of me returning with him was never really broached.” He gave a firm nod. “It’s done, though. I know I’ve got a lot to learn so I think it’s best if the war leader stays where she is for a while.”

Unexpectedly, he cupped her cheek. “I know you’re worried. I can see it in your eyes. I know what people are saying about me, about us. But I’m going to make this work, I promise you.”

“They will not make it easy,” she warned. “They will test you constantly, as they do me.”

His jaw hardened. “Let them. I’ll remind whoever needs reminding that I’m consort, that I’m Imperial warlord.”

She glanced away.

His brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“You say such but you still wear the uniform of a Tellaran officer.”

He looked down at himself. “Huh.” He gave her a slow grin that made her center heat and her fears fade to nothing. “Maybe you could help me out with that?”

There was ugly, there was hulking.  And then there was the ultimate melding of the two—also known as Nuhar, Kyndan’s new swordmaster.

Reputed to be the finest swordmaster in the Empire, Nuhar was a warrior in his middle years, heavily muscled and just as heavily scarred. As a young man Nuhar had won the contests an unprecedented three years in a row and had gone on to train dozens of young men of the best families. He was very particular about whom he took on as a student but he agreed, grudgingly, to teach Kyndan.

So the following morning before dawn, Kyndan rose and, careful not to wake her, pressed a kiss to Alari’s hair. In the earliest light of day he folded away his Commander’s uniform and donned the funereal black and utterly revolting
animal skins
of an Az-kye warrior to begin cramming to acquire skills warriors began learning at the age of eight.

“Did no one ever teach you how to wield your sword?” Nuhar demanded as Kyndan demonstrated of his current skill with the blade. 

“Not in public,” Kyndan muttered wryly.

The swordmaster’s mouth flattened into a thin line. 

Ugly, hulking,
and
entirely lacking in humor, Kyndan corrected.

The warrior took the sword, placed it on the floor and directed Kyndan to kneel before it as a show of his respect and humility to the blade. Kyndan shot a disbelieving look at Utar, who stood nearby, but the former warrior’s expression didn’t betray any disapproval or surprise at the swordmaster’s order so Kyndan, sighing, obeyed. 

Then leaving Kyndan, bare except for the loincloth, on his knees to show reverence to an obsolescent piece of metal, Nuhar talked feelingly about how the Az-kye sword was more than a weapon, more than a training tool, how in the hands of a true warrior it became a link through which one could touch the spirit of Ren’thar.

It sounded like utter nonsense and what any of this had to do with learning how to fight was beyond him. Kyndan spent most of Nuhar’s rhapsodizing alternatively stifling yawns and wondering if he could get away with sending Utar to the palace kitchens to get him some caf.

“No offense to Ren’thar or to the, uh, sanctity of the blade,” Kyndan broke in at a rare instant when the swordmaster paused long enough to draw breath. “But I don’t have the usual ten years that warriors get to train.  Maybe we could skip ahead to the part where I actually get to
pick up
the sword?”

Nuhar’s expression remained one of warrior impassivity but his eyes narrowed, just a touch. “Stand you, and demonstrate the grip you will use to wield it.”

Kyndan got to his feet and wrapped his hand around the hilt.

“Too loose,” Nuhar said disdainfully. “A babe could strike it from you, do you hold it thus.”

Kyndan’s nostrils flared. “’Kay,” he grumbled and adjusted his grip.

“Too tight, you will be rigid, clumsy, easily beaten do you hold it so.”

“Why don’t you—” Kyndan began angrily then caught himself. “
Honored
swordmaster, maybe
you
could show me how to hold the sword?”

“You must learn this for yourself.”

Kyndan shot him a glare. “If I’m learning it by myself, what are you doing here?”

“
I
am the guide who will lead you to be the warrior that lives in your heart.”

“Well, maybe you could check your guide map and find us a more direct route?”

In retaliation Nuhar took his metal blade away and handed him a child’s practice sword like the kind Kinara and Aidar’s adopted son Bebti used.

“Are you kidding?” Kyndan demanded, holding up the short, wooden blade.

“If you will have the seriousness of child I will treat you so,” Nuhar returned.

“I don’t have time for this! I have a hell of a lot to learn and I need to learn it by roughly
yesterday
. Give me back the real sword and let’s get started.”

Nuhar’s dark eyes narrowed. “You will get a warrior’s sword when you can act as a warrior.”

“Give me back the other godsdamned sword!”

“I am the swordmaster.” Nuhar folded his massive arms. “You are the student.”

Kyndan flung the child’s sword to the other side of the practice room, the wooden blade bouncing and skidding across the floor.

“No,” he snarled. “
I
am the Imperial Warlord.”

“An unworthy one,” Nuhar spat and turned on his heel.

“Festering son of a—!
Get back here
!” Kyndan shouted.

Nuhar didn’t even glance around, pushing his way out of the practice room reserved for use by men of the Imperial family.

Kyndan was furious enough that it took him a few moments to recognize the two warriors who entered the room shortly after.

“How’s it, uh, going?” Tedah asked.

“Couldn’t be better,” Kyndan bit out. “I turned down a dream command in the Fleet to take up playing with obsolete weapons, my people think I’m a traitor,
her
people think I’m worthless, and even the palace gardener feels perfectly comfortable asking me when I’ll be getting Alari pregnant. How are
you
?”

“I’m okay,” Tedah said, frowning.

“I am well, Consort,” Aidar said, inclining his head.

“That was my famous swordmaster, Nuhar of the Oron, quitting by the way,” Kyndan said with a wave at the door the warrior had exited through. “In case you want to run after and get his autograph or something.”

“I was fortunate to speak to him in the hall,” Aidar said. “It was an honor.”

Kyndan jerked his chin at his brother-in-law. “Any chance you could get him to come back? I didn’t even make it through the first lesson.”

Aidar folded his arms. “The swordmaster said he found you irreverent, disrespectful, and undisciplined.”

Kyndan’s brow furrowed. “What did you say?”

Aidar’s dark gaze didn’t waver.

“Oh, for fuck’s—!” Kyndan threw his arm out. “Perfect,” he bit out. “Hey, thanks for the visit, drop by the palace any time. What are you two doing here, anyway?”

“The ceremony to welcome the new Tellaran ambassador is at midday,” Tedah said. “We thought we’d come early and catch you alone”—he glanced at Utar—“well, in private, first and see how things are.”

“Okay.” Kyndan studied him for a moment. “Why did you want to catch me alone, exactly?”

Tedah gave a half-shrug, his expression chagrined. “Lianna and Alari were talking and the subject of well . . . old times came up.”

“
Lianna
told Alari about me and Nisara.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Well, that explains how she knew.”

“Lianna feels terrible.” Tedah shifted his weight. “Did it cause a problem?”

“Yes, but I think I reassured Alari that what happened in the past is
in
the past.” Kyndan looked between them.  “I’m not the only one this caused a problem for, am I?”

“Dael was  . . . taken unawares,” Aidar said.

Kyndan sighed. He suspected Dael and Alari both worried that, lacking the tradition of being bound, casual sex between Tellarans might not be so casual after all.  Or maybe they just had the same jealousies as Tellarans did but kept them buried deep under Az-kye mores. “Should I talk to him?”

Aidar looked surprised. “To what purpose?”

“Uh, to reassure
him
too.”

Tedah and Aidar exchanged a glance. “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Tedah said. “You probably want to let him cool off.”

“Or practice you more with the sword first,” Aidar suggested dryly.

Kyndan gave a short, startled laugh. “Ah, fuck, I’ve been on Az-kye too long,” he said, passing his hand over his face. “I’m starting to get your jokes, warrior.”

The door to the practice arena opened and one of the Imperial servants came in. She wore the sash of a personal attendant but he didn’t know this one, which meant she wasn’t one of Alari’s maids.

The woman offered a bow with cool self-possession as if he weren’t standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a loincloth. “Consort, the empress commands your presence.”

He bit back an acerbic reply. He’d already mouthed off to enough people for one morning.

“Tell her Imperial Majesty I’ll be there shortly.”

The woman bowed again and turned to go but not before Kyndan caught the flash of contempt in her eyes, and his nostrils flared.

Maybe I could have mouthed off to just one more . . .

His and Alari’s lavish living space was located in the same building as her mother’s, known as the empress’ residence. But, although they might share a structure, Kyndan had never even been invited to step foot in this wing.

Kyndan’s nose wrinkled as he entered the empress’ chambers. The place smelled of medicines, too many incenses, and fading hope. He dressed again before he came, still unused to the feel of animal skins, still uncomfortable in the garb of a warrior. His clothing was distinctive in that it lacked the beading over the left shoulder that proclaimed his clan.

The empress had never welcomed him into it.

He didn’t mind for himself so much but it bothered him for Alari’s sake. He needed to figure out a way to get these people to respect him. And the empress’ disapproval literally on his shoulder for all to see wasn’t going to make it any easier.

Kyndan followed the servant into the empress’ bedroom.  The space, larger than the first floor of the house he had grown up in, was sumptuously done in red and gold brocades. It was less like a private sanctuary and much more in keeping with a place designed for public view. There were no quirky knickknacks or souvenirs as one might find in a Tellaran’s most personal space. There were no family portraits or personal touches.  This was not the private retreat of a mother or a woman—it was the bedroom of a monarch.

An enormous bed dominated the space, its elaborate carvings and great height making it more throne than sleeping place.  On it Azara lay propped on pillows, healers, priests, and priestesses at her bedside. She looked weaker than when he’d last seen her at Saria’s funeral rites. Her skin had sickly yellow tinge to it now and her cheeks were sunken as if the life were being drained right out of her.

But Azara still retained enough strength to look at him with intense dislike burning in her dark eyes.

He held her gaze for a moment, then bowed. “Imperial Majesty.”

She let him stay that way for a few heartbeats and he gritted his teeth in annoyance.

“Consort,” she said at last.

He straightened. “How are you, Majesty?”

“Dying,” she said shortly.

“I’m sorry.”

Azara’s lip curled. “I almost believe you mean that.”

“I
do
mean it,” he said sharply. “Even if I were so petty as to wish you to the spirit world, Alari’s already lost a sister. She doesn’t need any more grief right now.”

“I know something of grief, Consort,” the empress said tightly. “I lost a daughter.”

Kyndan shifted his weight. He tried to see her as a grieving mother, not as a woman who would have inflicted a lifetime of cruel servitude on her own child, who let Jazan continue to assault Alari for her own twisted reasons.