The Other Lands (61 page)

And the others as well. One of the servants asked if they should pull the queen away from the boy, but Mena shook her head. Whatever was happening—whether the song was a funeral dirge or a sorcerer’s spell—it was Corinn’s right to sing it. A mother’s right. Perhaps a queen’s right.

When finally Corinn drew back and let them attend the prince, the physicians gasped in amazement. Aaden’s abdomen had healed. There was blood aplenty, but try as they might they could not find any cuts in the boy’s flesh. Bruises, yes, a swollen line above his groin that looked like a long-healed wound, abrasions. But the boy simply was not suffering from the dagger wound they had come running to attend. He was no more hurt than if he had been through a rough patch of sword training. He slept, breathing steadily, his face as peaceful as that of any child deep in the dreamworld.

“He will sleep until he wakes,” the queen said.

“But,” one of the physicians began, “how did—”

“The Giver has helped me heal him,” she said, inflecting the god’s name in the manner that gave its feminine form. “Let us praise her and be thankful.”

After verifying Aaden’s lack of injury with her own eyes, Mena had sought out her sister. Corinn had already turned her back on the scene and was striding away, Rhrenna rushing to keep up with her. Mena caught her in the hallway, but Corinn would not even look her in the face. She mumbled something about washing the blood off. That was all. She left Mena standing in the hallway, caked in grime.

Corinn had not even looked at Elya, and that was cruel, for the creature was trembling with worry, obviously afraid that she had not done well enough. Mena returned to her and assured her, through whispered words and caresses, that she had done very well. Wonderfully well. She was a beauty. She had saved Aaden, and Corinn would thank her for it once she recovered from the shock.

Believing this to be true, Mena could not have been more surprised with how quickly her sister had—well,
recovered
seemed the proper word. Proper, but not the right one. Several days later, Aaden still remained asleep, but Corinn had put her grief and fear behind her. She emerged from her chambers as poised and controlled as ever, washed clean and seeming all the more forceful in her beauty. Her face was leaner, perhaps, just slightly more angular and perhaps several years older, though this may just have been because of the tight-lipped expression she took on.

She summoned the Queen’s Council and demanded that the Senate in Alecia send representatives to witness what had happened firsthand and to hear Sire Dagon’s testimony. She met in various sessions all day long, leaving one military briefing to receive ambassadors, after which she left for still more meetings. She even agreed to go to Alecia herself, to address the largest audience of senators and representatives from around the empire possible all at once.

She had time for everyone, it seemed, except her sister. Mena could not secure a moment alone with her. When they did speak, it was only on official matters in the company of others. The queen assigned Mena the duty of briefing all incoming soldiers on the best manner to fight the Numrek, even demanding she hold mock battles in the Carmelia. Mena could not help but think this cruel, for the stadium brought to mind again and again the horrible moment when the Numrek had sunk his blade into Aaden’s belly, and then into Devlyn’s—the poor boy. She fulfilled her role with Melio at her side. He was a comfort, but it was Corinn she needed. Like Elya in her simple way, Mena, too, craved Corinn’s absolution. Her sister managed to deny her, without ever overtly saying that she was doing so.

Once, when Mena asked for a word alone with her, Corinn looked at her as if she were a slightly slow child. “Of course we can talk,” she said. “Would you like me to have the merchants of Bocoum wait until we’re done? They’ve only sailed across to promise their financial assistance and the invaluable use of their barges to transport troops and goods. They’ve come to offer their aid to the nation at a desperate time, but if you would like me to have them wait, I will. The other option is that we speak later. Which do you prefer?”

It was no real question, obviously. Mena bowed in answer and withdrew without complaint. How could she argue? What she wanted was intangible, emotional, a sense of connection Corinn might be incapable of providing. While, on the other hand, Corinn seemed a monarch with a hundred hands now, each of them was juggling different aspects of this new crisis.

Fortunately, Corinn allowed Mena access to Aaden whenever she wished. She went there often, as she did one afternoon after a long day of fighting and lecturing on the hot field of the Carmelia. She wanted to see him before returning to her own quarters. He slept on as before, but she still felt it necessary to visit him, thinking that somewhere in his core he might be aware of the world, might crave comfort even if he was incapable of asking for it.

There was a touch of perfume in the air, a musky scent that she had smelled before but could not place now. Some noble, perhaps, come recently to pay his respects and offer gifts. Indeed, quite a few had done that. Corinn had permitted only Agnates the honor, and only if they promised to enter quietly, view the prince from a distance, and leave whatever present they had in the space cleared to display them. A pile of them now crowded the corner.

“Oh, my lovely boy,” Mena said, lowering herself gently to the edge of his bed. He lay on his side, head resting on his two hands in a posture that looked almost deliberate, as if he had taken it just to model sleeping, childish innocence. She ran her fingers over his hair, pulling a few strands back from his forehead, and then sat taking him in. There was much of Corinn in his features, which meant much of their mother. But there was no mistaking signs of the boy’s gray-eyed father as well. She did not see it as much when he was awake. Now, though, with the leisure to gaze at his features, she could see how much Aaden was a child of two nations. She wondered if Corinn acknowledged it, too.

Mena had never seen Hanish Mein in person. Strange that a man who had affected so much of her life—and still did—had never been in the same room as she. She had met his brother Maeander. She had turned herself in to him in Vumu, and used him to transport her back to the world all those years ago, just after she had hunted and killed the god Maeben. When she looked close at the parts of Aaden that were not Akaran, it was Maeander she saw in her head. So sharp featured and tall; handsome, yes, but in a high-chinned, arrogant manner. Fortunate, then, that whatever Meinish traits Aaden showed had been softened by Corinn’s round-edged beauty.

She did not doubt that the boy would wake just as Corinn said. Whatever had been in that song, part of it was power, the sorcery Corinn had been studying. But would he wake remembering the moment the Numrek betrayed him? Would he see that knife thrusting toward him, or would he be spared it? For that matter, had he seen what happened to Devlyn? Mena hoped not, for she could not bear the thought that he would live with that brutal image in his mind, with the responsibility he might feel for his friend’s death.

“Don’t remember it,” she said. “None of it was your fault. The guilt all rests on others. Devlyn was a brave boy; think of him as dying to save you. That’s what he wanted. That’s why he will be remembered as a warrior. A hero. I’ll make sure it’s so. And you will, too, when you wake.

“Oh, Aaden, how beautiful Elya was when she rescued you. So fierce and full of love for you. You wanted to fly with her, didn’t you? Well, you did. She loved you so much, she swept in and lifted you into the air and carried you away from all that evil. See, I told you that she thought you a special boy. There’s the proof!”

And then she did something she had not planned to. She paused a moment, until she was sure she wanted him to hear this news. Perhaps it would give joy to his sleeping mind, be a comfort to him until he awoke. She began, “I have something to tell you about Elya. …”

On her return to her quarters, she found Melio waiting for her. He stood on the balcony, leaning out to take in the view of the harbor. He had set a glass carafe of lemon liqueur on the stone balustrade, two glasses beside it, one of which was half full. “Any change?” he asked, his eyes soft on her as she approached.

“No. He sleeps on.”

“Perhaps it’s better that way. I’ve hardly managed to sleep since battling the Numrek. Too much to worry about.”

Mena watched him pour for her and then took the glass he offered. “You’ve slept more than you’re aware,” she said wryly. “Either that or you’ve perfected your imitation of a drunken man snoring.”

“Be nice,” he said, looking affronted. He reached to muss her hair, but she cocked her head just sharply enough to indicate that she was not really in a playful mood. Melio took the hint. He set both elbows on the weathered stone and scanned the sea. “It’s been busy. The harbor. More boats in and out than I’ve ever seen. The harbor patrol has been keeping them anchored far out, controlling the flow.” He glanced at her, inviting a response.

“Hmm,” Mena said. She looked at him as well, though she was still thinking about Aaden.

“Mena, Corinn gave me orders today. I can tell you haven’t heard.”

“What orders?”

“She’s sending the Elite to support General Andeson in Teh. I’ll have to go meet with his officers shortly. They have the coastline blockaded, but it’s the Teheen Hills they’re really worried about. If the Numrek get there, they’ll be hard to track. They could stay alive for months, us spending our resources chasing them while the Auldek start out on their march—if that’s truly going to happen.”

“Is it?” Mena hated the question, but she had to ask it. She had heard so much talk the last few days, so many rumors, but it was still hard to believe that a people so far away were somehow a threat to them.

“The queen seems to think so. That’s what the league reports, and they were the ones who brought the news. Hard to refute them right now. They’re adamant that it’s happening, and that the Auldek have no interest in negotiating. That’s what they were doing when everything went mad.”

Melio finished the sentence hesitantly, reacting to the way Mena cut her eyes down from his face. He knew her well, and because of it, she knew that he understood her to have thought of Dariel. Dariel had been at that attempt at negotiation. Whatever went wrong happened to him, before his eyes, perhaps to his body.

Drumming his fingertips on the stone balustrade, Melio resumed. “Anyway, it’s a sound plan. About Teh, I mean. The Numrek are here already. They are our enemy again. There’s really nothing but for us to destroy them. The Elite should be a part of it. As their captain I—”

“She’s punishing me for not taking better care of Aaden,” Mena said.

“No, she’s not. Don’t say that. You know your sister,” he began, but then waved that away and began again. “You know how she functions. She is wrapped up in details. Those come first. I doubt very much, Mena, that she thinks any ill of you. She’s just not one to remember small things like feelings.”

For the first time, she sipped the lemon liqueur. Sipped it once, and then tilted it back and poured the entire drink down her throat. Wiping her mouth with her hand, she spoke as if she had not heard Melio at all. “She thinks I allowed Aaden to be stabbed. And she’s right. I did. I watched it happen.”

“Stop, Mena!” He set his glass down and turned her to face him, with a hand at her shoulder that then slid up to cradle her head and neck. “I’m only going to say this one more time. Nobody blames you. Not even Corinn. She may think she does. She may even act on it, but in truth she blames herself. It’s she who made the Numrek her personal guards. It’s she who put her son’s safety in the hands of brute enemies. Tell me you didn’t always know that it was wrong to think them our allies. They ate human flesh! What was she thinking, trusting them? She was thinking about how much she liked it that her guards put the fear of death in everyone else. She liked it that she was different and didn’t have to call on anybody, even her family, for protection. Don’t pull away. You know what I say is true. She knows it as well. But you, Mena, kept Aaden alive. Corinn knows that, too. Don’t expect her to thank you for it anytime soon, but she knows it deep down.”

Melio drew his hand away from her neck but only so that he could use both his hands to grasp hers. “Now, there’s something else we should talk about.”

“No.” She knew exactly what it was. She knew because she had been thinking about it, too. He had been patient, and she had known that in the joyful times after he had arrived back on the island and Elya was working her magic, he had been on the verge of opening the topic again. If he had asked a few days ago, she would have agreed. Things were different now.

“Let us make a child,” he said. “Stop using that root powder and let’s be parents to a new generation.”

“Not now. Look at what’s—”

“Yes, now! We’ve waited long enough. Do you really want to let me leave to face the Numrek without even trying? What if I don’t come back? Will you wash your hands of my memory?” Mena started to object, but he spoke over her. “Why shouldn’t I think that? You already do it. I hate the way you wash me out of you! Like there’s something wrong with me. Like you don’t want any remnants of me inside you. Every time we make love, you kill that part of me that wants to make life with you.”

He dropped her hands, a gesture of disgust to match what he was accusing her of. His face—so perfect when he smiled—became a mask of creases, disdain, frustration. It was horrible to see. As he backed away, Mena stepped toward him. “You just told me not to say foolish things. You don’t either. I always want you inside me. Always. You are here already. Right here, in my center.” She showed the spot by making a blade of her hand stabbing it in her chest.

“Don’t tell me the world is going mad again,” Melio said. He did not hide the spite in his voice, a twisted sort of malice that coiled with vulnerability and love—hard to separate one from the other. “You always have a reason. You wanted to wait until Aaden was older, to make sure he lived and was healthy. Nice of you not to compete with your sister. But he did live. He’s healthy and he’ll wake up soon, better than ever. He’s the heir. She can’t possibly worry about your having children. Just tell her that. Then, it was that you couldn’t be with child and fight the foulthings. Fine. That’s done. And now you’re going to say that the world is in chaos again. Too dangerous, right? Not right now. Afterward. Excuses, excuses, Mena!”