The Consort (Tellaran Series) (7 page)

He is not coming.

Alari had declared publicly for him and there was no recanting. By her mother’s decree the Tellaran had until midday to claim her. She stood alone at the door to Lashima’s sanctuary now, shunned by the court gathered on the opposite side of the hall, her hands clasped together to hide their trembling as she waited.

Late into the night she wept in the dark emptiness of her apartments. Her whole life she had been attended to, cared for, waited upon. Alari had never had to fetch her own breakfast or dress herself but none wished to serve a princess who might see the next sunset as a slave.

He had fought so bravely for her yesterday and left the Circle on his own two feet after facing the fiercest warrior to be found within the Empire.

His sky eyes were so earnest when he had promised to be a good mate . . .

His kindly gaze when she’d passed him in the hall yesterday, her one shining hope that he would keep his vow in the Circle, gave Alari the courage to face the court this morning. Without maids to help her enhance what few charms she possessed, she wore her hair simply; she did not know how to arrange it herself. She intended to wear the gown she had worn here yesterday with its many jewels and elaborate beading, hoping to please his eye so that he might find her worthy still, despite her disgrace.

She dissolved into tears to discover she could not fasten that dress, or any of her other fine gowns, unassisted. In the painful silence of her rooms, wiping at her face, Alari searched for even one dress in her wardrobe with fastenings at the side and front she could manage to put on unassisted. The gown of Imperial black she wore now was far too plain for the occasion, her hair unadorned, her cosmetics scant. She felt ashamed that he would see her attired so poorly.

But she had labored, weeping, for nothing. He would not see her at all.

She held herself proudly as she had been taught; her features schooled to conceal her true feelings, to hide how fear churned her stomach.

By the empress’ order the court would bear witness to her humiliation and many were eager to be on hand to view the fall of one so high. The bows at Alari’s approach had been shallow this morning and few dropped their eyes. Most had not even bothered to acknowledge her until she was a handbreadth from them.

And none spoke to her.

In whispers that carried through the arched hall to where Alari stood alone, some of the courtiers cast wagers on if he would appear, and the odds offered that he would were long. Alari’s face flushed when one courtier—correctly— noted that the princess was so badly outfitted she had even forgotten her hand fan on her
supposed
mating day.

High Priestess Celara had been granted, due to her advanced age and status, the privilege of a chair to sit upon but no other had.

The empress waited with her courtiers, on the opposite side of the sanctuary doors from where Alari stood, alone. Her Imperial Majesty’s back remained unbowed as the morning wore on, her head held high, showing neither sorrow nor regret for the punishment she lay upon her eldest. The Empire she ruled was her true heart’s child and she would do anything to protect it. 

Its needs would always come first.

Saria, First Imperial Daughter, stood at the empress’ side, nearly as sumptuously arrayed as Her Majesty. She shamefacedly avoided Alari’s gaze, wise to fear their mother’s anger if she were caught sympathizing and helpless to save her. Alari knew her sister well, saw the drawn, frightened look on her face, and knew she was not alone in not sleeping the night before.

Saria was heiress to the Imperial throne now but that came with its own dangers, its own sacrifices.

The sun climbed higher and still he did not come.

Perhaps the Tellaran had risked his life only in hopes of being mated to the First Daughter or, at the very least, an Imperial heiress, and now she was neither . . .

But no Az-kye warrior would have come to claim her now either. To be mated to a disgraced daughter who had lost her inheritance—even a princess—was a fate not to be envied and her mate would share her shame. Alari would be held up as an example of how the empress would strike back if crossed. She would stand as a lesson for heiresses throughout the Empire and future Imperial Daughters of the dangers of defiance.

But it was only when the High Priestess stood, her aged face drawn and sad, did Alari surrender all hope.

High Priestess Celara, leaning heavily on her jeweled cane, slowly crossed the polished floor and her eyes showed nothing but sympathy. She made her way to where Alari stood alone, the first to speak to her that day.

“I am so, so sorry, my child,” she said softly.

Tears stung Alari’s eyes.

High Priestess Celara laid a gentle hand on her arm. “May Lashima’s gaze always rest kindly upon you.” 

Alari’s throat closed and she could do no more than give a shaky nod of thanks. Trembling she turned toward the empress for the pronouncement that would cast her out of her clan, her home, and take even her name from her, forever.

There was an annoyed muttering from the court at the far end of the hall. The grumbling grew nearer and in the next moment the Tellaran, spitting a curse, pushed his way through the crowd of courtiers.

His face was flushed, his blue eyes all the more striking for it, and he was dressed again in the Tellaran warrior clothes of blue and white with the yellow sash. He limped toward her heavily favoring his left leg and the waves of his hair clung damply at his temples. He still bore fading bruises on his face, his lip still a bit swollen from the challenge yesterday. The cut Jazan had left on his cheek had healed over, the mark still red and angry, and Alari blinked in admiration of the scar he had earned in her name.

He was much taller than she remembered and she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. He was broad of shoulder as well, his eyes bright with intelligence. 

“Sorry,” he said with a chagrined smile. “They don’t make way for Tellarans like they do for princesses.”

“You—you are here,” Alari managed. 

“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said, his blue eyes anxious. “My leg’s hurting like a—it’s, uh, slowing me down and it took forever to get through the crowd.” 

“Oh,” she murmured.

He addressed the High Priestess. “I’m new at Az-kye weddings. I may need a little guidance, Your Eminence.”

High Priestess Celara looked amused but her gaze was kindly as always. “You shall have it, Commander Kyndan Maere of the Tellaran Fleet.”

He cleared his throat. “Listen, for the actual wedding vows, you can just call me ‘Kyndan Maere.’”

Smiling, the High Priestess inclined her head then turned to make her way to the sanctuary doors.

He gave Alari a nod. “I’m ready if you are.”

She had an urge to reach out and touch his broad chest, to run her fingers over the dark blue fabric of his coat, to trace the scar on his cheek with her fingertips. 

To assure herself he had truly come for her . . .

Kyndan leaned forward, humor crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It looks pretty easy in the training holos.”

Many of the court wore expressions of disappointment that they would not bear witness to her enslavement. Her gaze went to the High Priestess, the doors of Lashima’s sanctuary sparkling behind her.

He touched her elbow. “Come on,” he urged gently, taking a step toward the doors. “It’ll be all right.”

Tears blurred her vision. “I am glad you are here, Kyndan Maere.”

Unexpectedly, and as no Az-kye warrior would ever do in public, he reached up to gently cup her cheek in his warm, broad palm. “You call me just ‘Kyndan,’ okay?”

“Kyndan,” she agreed softly and let him lead her to stand before the High Priestess.

Unlike yesterday, Alari and her intended had no one at their sides.  He was Tellaran and she in disgrace.

Kyndan threw a glance over his shoulder. “My sister and friends should be here in just a minute or two,” he said apologetically to the High Priestess. “We just need to wait till they’re here. Then we can start.”

High Priestess Celara, leaning heavily on her jeweled cane, raised white eyebrows. “Tellaran matings must be very different.”

His face colored. “Yeah, they sure are.”

“You have a sister?” Alari knew nothing of Tellaran clans. “She is your clan leader?”

“She is
a
clan leader,” Kyndan said. “You probably saw her yesterday. The red-haired woman.”

Alari’s brow creased. “You are of the Az’anti clan?”

“No . . . Look, Tellaran families are different. Now she’s Kinara of the Az’anti, but she’s still my sister, even though we don’t have the same name anymore.”

Alari’s glance darted to the crowd and she saw the Az’anti
Ti’antah
arrive with her mate. A woman dressed in blue and white like Kyndan’s joined them and a warrior of the Az'yan clan stood protectively by the blond Tellaran. Another warrior, one plainly born Tellaran but bearing the bead markings of the Otan clan, came too and an Az-kye woman, clearly his mate.

“She comes to protest our mating?” Alari asked worriedly.

He gave her a surprised look. “Of course not. She just wants to see us get married. You’ll be her sister-in-law. Because you’ve married her brother, you become her sister,” he explained at her questioning look. “But that’s confusing for people so we say sister-in-law to show that you married into the family.”

An Az-kye warrior became part of his wife’s family and took her clan name as his own. Alari’s glance went to her mother. The empress looked back at her with cold eyes.

“Do we become mates now, you will be of the Imperial family, Kyndan.”

“I know things are a little different for the Az-kye. When Tellarans marry we make a new family. So maybe that’s what our family can be, Alari—one that’s both Az-kye
and
Tellaran. I know I’ll be part of the Imperial family but to the Tellarans you’ll be Alari Maere.”  He searched her face.  “Is that all right?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment. “I will be Alari Maere.”

Warriors did not smile in public but he showed no hint of hesitation or shame, giving her a wide grin despite his swollen lip. 

He gave the High Priestess a nod.  “Okay, we’re ready.”

Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness of her apartments. Traditionally a feast followed the final promises but when Alari and Kyndan emerged from the sanctuary, their vows spoken, the court had departed. The hall was empty save for those who had accompanied Kyndan.

The clan leader of the Az’anti had embraced Kyndan as had the other Tellaran-born warrior and the Tellaran woman. They all—Az-kye and Tellaran—offered surprisingly warm wishes to her as well. Kyndan grinned when the Lord of Az’anti bowed his head as befitting the tribute due an Imperial Daughter’s mate.

“Wow,” Kyndan said, taking in the brocades, the carved works, the sweeping balcony overlooking the city. “This is where you live?”

“I have resided here since I took my first steps but Her Imperial Majesty may direct us to other quarters now that I—” She swallowed. “I am no longer First Daughter.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Her brow furrowed. “
You
are sorry?”

Kyndan gave her a rueful smile. “Marrying me means you aren’t even an Imperial heiress any more.”

“I would not have been in any case.” Her hands pressed against her skirt. “Did you know what would have happened if you did not come to claim me?”

“Yes,” Kyndan said quietly. “I spent a year enslaved on Az-kye.”

Her mouth parted. “
You
were clanless? How is it possible that you—you—?”

“Got my name back? Reclaimed my honor?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.  “Well, in my opinion, I never lost it. Tellarans don’t do that, Alari. Strip people of their families and their names, send them into everlasting servitude and forbid them to wear anything but white. So when I got home the whole clanless thing didn’t apply.”

Alari stepped closer to whisper: “
You
were one of the slaves returned to Tellaran space?”

His full mouth curved and for an instant her eyes were drawn there.

“It’s not a secret, Alari. Yes, I was. In fact,” he continued, his smile fading, “I considered that. Waiting till you were declared clanless and then taking you to Tellaran space instead.”

Her throat tightened with hurt. “You wished me your slave?”

“No, of course not,” he said quickly, waving his hand. “I meant, take you to Tellaran space where you would be free.”

“But
why
?”

He looked surprised. “So you wouldn’t have to marry me.”

Did he think that so much the better?  To be stripped of name and honor, to be invisible to all those she held dear and forced to live among the barbarians?

But he did, she realized, looking into that steady sky-blue gaze.  It was his home and they his people. Clearly he esteemed their ways.

“That—that was kind,” she said at last.

The skin around his eyes crinkled with humor. “Well, hopefully you’ll still feel that way tomorrow.”

Alari suddenly found it hard to look at him.

“This is some view you’ve got,” he said abruptly, walking out onto the balcony. “I bet you can see the whole city from here.”

The sky was pink and orange with the light of late afternoon and already the second night of the celebration was starting. Even from here they could see the bustle of the Empress’ city as lanterns were lit and last-minute preparations were attended to. From here too they could see the spray from the falls, its droplets sparkling in ever-changing rainbows by the light of the sun.

He nodded at the city below. “So how long does this Ren’thar festival go on?”

She knew so little of his culture; her keepers would have thought it contaminating to expose her to such barbarous ways and sheltered her from it all they could.

“Tellarans—they do not have festivals then?” Alari asked, coming to stand beside him. 

He gave a laugh. “Many, but I suppose the closest god we have to Ren’thar is Jadan, the god of War.”

“What of Lashima?”

“Arrena is the Tellaran goddess of Love. Jaden’s wife Bathena may be goddess of Peace, but even so, she wouldn’t put up with any messing around.”

“Oh.” It was hard to imagine a place the Queen of the Heavens did not watch over. “Ren’thar’s festival lasts six days. This is the second night.”

“Looks like fun. Anything you want to do? I’m game for anything we can sit down for,” he said, wincing as he shifted his weight.

Her hands clenched. “It—it is our binding time.”

“Yeah, listen, Alari, about that . . .” He turned to face her. “I’m not an Az-kye warrior so I’m not embarrassed to admit that my leg is really bothering me. From what I understand of the whole binding thing I don’t even want to attempt it till my leg is fully healed. And I really—I want to get to know you,” he said, his voice soft. “I want to make sure we’re both ready to be, uh,
bound
. I want to join with you before we’re bound and I know it might be a while before that happens too.” His eyes were rueful. “Right now you’re probably pretty afraid of me.”

Startled, Alari met his gaze.

“I know Jazan hurt you,” Kyndan said quietly. “I know how he hurt you.”

Alari froze. 
How could he—?

“But
I’m
not going to hurt you like that, Alari.” Kyndan traced her cheek with his fingertips. “Not ever.”

Her mouth parted but she managed only a weak choked sound. Her hands opened and closed helplessly.

Kyndan held her gaze and eased closer to her. After a moment his arms went around her, his hold light, easily broken should she but step back. Despite his gentleness she tensed, half expecting his embrace to tighten to a cruel grip, his strong arms to push her down and hold her no matter how she cried—

But Kyndan’s touch was gentle. His body radiated heat, his scent male, foreign, and at the same time so appealing. The warmth of him was too tempting. Shy, Alari slid her trembling arms around his waist.

He cradled her against his shoulder. Had anyone soothed her so since childhood? She closed her eyes and drew the comfort of it into herself, ashamed of her desperate, ravenous need of it as he rocked her.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, and she felt him press a kiss against her hair.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Whatever happened, whatever he did, the blame belongs to him alone. And when—
if
—you ever want to talk to me about any of it, I promise, I’ll be there to listen.”

She did not deserve such care, such kindness from him of all, and she drew away. “I should not have named you.”

He sighed deeply, his expression resigned. “We’re not bound yet, so undoing this should be possible. Let me talk to my sister.”

“No, I . . .” She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. “He could have killed you.”

“Wait,” Kyndan’s brow furrowed.  “
That’s
what you’re sorry about? Because you named me and I had to fight?”

“I still cannot believe I did such.” She dropped her gaze. “The words were spoken before I knew it myself.  And even then I thought he would not face challenge from—from—”

“A Tellaran,” he finished for her. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell him I was wearing white a few months ago.”

She looked up at him in horror. “He would have been enraged by the dishonor of having to fight such a one!”

His mouth was upturned a little at the corners, his eyes crinkled again. 

Her brow creased. “You are joking.”

He gave a short laugh. “Wow, I really
am
going to have to work on that.”

He took both her hands in his—a gentle, courtly gesture—and suddenly she thought of how Ren’thar seduced Lashima with a thousand days of tenderness. 

“I know you thought I wouldn’t have to fight at all,” he said. “But would it take the shine off my victory if you knew I had no idea it was a fight to the death?”

Her eyes widened. “You should have told them you did not understand!”

“Well, I was pretty well committed to it by then and I knew I couldn’t lose.”

His confidence surprised her. She thought it certain he would not survive the fight; even now she could scarcely believe that he
had
. “You could not?”

“’Course not!” he scoffed. “You’re my girl. I wasn’t about to let someone
else
marry you.”

“Your girl.” She searched his face. “You say this to honor me.”

He gave her a quick smile. “That was the idea, yeah.”

“Have you had many other girls, Kyndan?” she asked suddenly.

His color rose. “Nothing serious.”

“But you joined with them? You mounted them?”

He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Whoa, how’d we wind up in this area of space?” He shifted his weight, wincing again. “You know, maybe if I’m going be this uncomfortable, I could be a little more comfortable?”

He looked at her expectantly but his words left her at a loss. 

“I mean,” he said after a moment, “maybe if you want to continue this, I could sit down?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” 

Alari drew him into the main chamber and he settled himself on one of the couches, his face tight.

He extended his leg and closed his eyes; his brow was still furrowed but he let his breath out.  “Okay, that’s a little better.”

“Will you take wine, my mate?” she asked, then remembered that she had no one to serve him.

His eyes snapped open, his blue gaze a little alarmed. “Uh, how about just some cold water?”

She would have to get it for him herself. Her apartments contained a well-appointed kitchen but she had never cooked. She couldn’t recall the last time she had even entered that room. She went down the hall, her footfalls echoing eerily in the hallway, and pushed open the door to the kitchen.

She stood in the doorway for a moment at a loss; surely there must be a glass or cup somewhere in here. The room had been left tidy but she had to open a number of cabinets to find which one held the cups. Standing on tiptoe, she lifted down a wine goblet made of astuk crystal and carefully filled it with chilled water. Alari kept her eyes on the cup as she walked to keep from spilling.

Kyndan gave her a nod of thanks when she handed it over and he drank thirstily.

She stood shyly at his side. She should offer him a meal but she had never prepared one herself. Considering how long it had taken for her to bring the water she knew it was hopeless even to attempt it. She feared too that the Imperial servants would not obey her and bring food from the palace kitchens if she directed them to.

“I regret I have no attendants to serve you as I should, my mate.”

“That’s okay,” he said with a casual wave. “It’s not like I ever had servants before.”

“You are poor, then?”

He gave a startled laugh. “Not particularly. My commander’s salary can support a family and I’m even entitled to a housing allowance to live off base. But servants are a bit above my pay rate, I’m afraid.”

“I have always had servants, tutors, attendants around me.” Her eyes went uneasily about the chamber, the echoing rooms beyond. “I have never been alone.”

“Did your mother take them away?”

“Oh, no. They did not wish to share my fate. Some now will serve my sister, others will seek another posting within the palace.”

“Wait.” He frowned. “They
wanted
to go?”

“I am in disgrace,” she reminded, shifting her feet.

A flush spread up his neck. “So they just took off and left you here all alone?”

Alari dropped her gaze. “Yes.”

“What a bunch of festering—! Gods know I was in no shape to come for you myself yesterday,” he said, his voice rough. “But if I’d known, I would have sent someone—Aidar or Tedah, even—to bring you to me.”

A lump formed in her throat at how he rallied to her, how angry he was for her sake. And she had so little to offer him . . .

“Your leg,” Alari said suddenly. “I should attend to it.”

“Oh.” He shifted on the couch. “Uh, no, you don’t have to do that.”