WayFarer (15 page)

Elcon seated Aewen at the center of a long strongwood table and then took his place beside her. The music, which had idled at their entrance, rushed on. The roar of conversation and laughter swelled and grew. Aewen’s face heated and her ears rang. She took a draught of mulled cider, grateful for the tang which broke against her tongue and soothed her parched throat.

Elcon sat beside her with Benisch on her other side. Since she knew his opinion of her marriage to Elcon, she misliked such close proximity to the steward. Even so, as Elcon’s distant relative, Benisch must be given precedence. After a brief but courteous greeting, to her relief Benisch said nothing more. Immediately across the table, sat Raena Arillia and her parents. They seemed similarly disinclined to talk. For her part, Aewen could think of nothing to say.

Conversation became altogether less important. Servants brought food in many courses, in a vast array such as she had never seen, despite Westerland’s abundance. The table groaned under all manner of roasted meats, soups, breads baked of thrice-sifted flour, tarts, salads, and puddings. Indeed, so many offerings abounded she could not taste them all. Elcon stood and raised his goblet. “I toast the beauty and the virtue of the woman who has captured my heart, Aewen of Westerland.”

After an awkward silence, others at the long table lifted their goblets. Aewen’s gaze entangled with Arillia’s, but she looked away, not waiting to see if the young raena joined the toast.

14

Heartache

Arillia raised her goblet in toast to Aewen, a wounded look in her eyes, and Elcon’s conscience smote him. His marrying Aewen could only have alienated Arillia. He might even have broken her heart, and yet she and her parents still attended his wedding.

He drank his own salute to his bride and took his place beside her. When Aewen turned an adoring smile on him, the knife of guilt twisted a little deeper in his gut. He’d tarnished her reputation and given her little recourse but to marry him. He’d hurt Arillia as well, in the worst possible way. She’d grown up thinking he would wed her, but he’d broken his promise to court her. He couldn’t fathom how she could sit in quiet dignity and make polite conversation with the bride he’d married in place of her.

Heat crept up his neck. In truth, he longed to cut the celebration short, but decorum made its demands. And so he engaged in small talk with the shraen and raelein of Chaeradon while their daughter maintained the carefully neutral expression he remembered from whenever Arillia had hurt herself in their early days. He wanted to comfort her now as he had then. He’d always been able to calm her upsets, until now. The thought brought him a curious twist of pain. Frivolous notions of romance had muddled what should have been a lifelong friendship, and it was too late to turn back now.

He found relief in conversing with Kai’s father, Shraen Eberhardt of Whellein instead, which required he turn his back to Aewen and Arillia. Trying not to dwell on the falseness with which he’d served them both, he engaged Eberhardt in conversation until Aewen claimed his attention with a gentle touch of her hand. The trestle tables had already been removed to make room for dancing. Elcon offered his arm to Aewen at once.

“I don’t know the Kindren dances.”

Her blush brought a smile to him. “Come, I’ll teach you.”

“Please, no.”

“Please, yes.”

“I can deny you nothing when you smile at me that way.” She rose with him, and he put a hand to her back.

“That’s worth remembering.”

Elcon led his laughing bride into the dancers but paused to explain the steps. Aewen stumbled and put her hands to her cheeks as if conscious of her blush. They laughed together and began again. He lost himself in the simple pleasure of dancing with his bride.

The partners shifted and the dance brought him face-to-face with Arillia. Her eyes widened, and he put out a hand to stop her, for it seemed she might break from him and run. He should prevent that for his sake and for hers. But Arillia did not run. How odd to dance with her in the same way as before when nothing was the same at all. The dance brought them close and he spoke near her ear. “I’m sorry.”

“I hope you are not.”

Did she deliberately misunderstand him? The dance moved them apart, and as Elcon turned to a new partner, he decided to let the matter drop. He’d made his apology, however inadequate. He could do no more to ease Arillia, especially since spending time in her presence left him with a strange feeling in his stomach. He loved Aewen, but it seemed Arillia could still touch him with regret.

He spent a restless night and, to quiet himself, slipped into the solitude of the inner garden. The mist parted to reveal Arillia walking with her maid near the fountain at the garden’s heart. She’d already seen him, so it would be rude to withdraw despite his longing to flee. When they met he said the first thing that came to mind. “Forgive me. I’ll leave you in peace.”

Arillia’s gray eyes, which he’d once found so calming, pierced him. “No Elcon, there’s no need.” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps you will join me.”

He misliked the idea but paced beside her anyway as her maid trailed at a discreet distance. They passed beneath the strongwood tree where he’d once promised to court her. The memory of it took him and, from the look on Arillia’s face, she remembered too.

“Each morning grows colder.” Her words ended on a rising note he’d heard before whenever she’d wanted to weep.

He turned her toward him, but not for his kiss this time. “I meant what I said last night, Arillia. I’m sorry.”

“The frosts of winter will soon paint the mornings.” She would not meet his eyes.

“I broke faith with you, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I
am
sorry. When I met Aewen, I—I couldn’t seem to help myself.”

She put her hands to his chest. “Please, Elcon—” Her husky whisper filled his ears.

“Will you not forgive me?”

Her eyes closed, and the eyelids fluttered. “
Speak no more.
”

He longed to continue his plea, to wrest from her the forgiveness that would expunge his guilt, but this time he would yield to her need rather than his own. When she opened her eyes tears trembled on her lashes. He saw, too, all he had taken from her, and from himself. He had not known the future he’d once held in his arms. He’d despised it as too attainable. Now it was gone forever. He deserved to live with guilt and regret, just as Arillia would live with the pain he’d caused her. As Arillia’s tears fell, Elcon caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. He let go of her then, backing until the mist shut her away from him, as it must.

****

Aewen smiled and reached for her new husband but found only bedding. Frowning at the silent chamber, she pushed back the covers and dangled her feet over the edge of the bed as she stretched.

An image of the golden raena with silver eyes arose unbidden.

Aewen sighed. Raena Arillia embodied everything she could never be. Where Arillia’s locks resembled a ray of sun on an overcast day, her own dark hair called to mind the thickening shadows of night. Arillia would always be a Kindren, whereas no matter how hard she tried, Aewen would ever remain an outsider. Arillia moved with ease within the social parameters at Torindan, but Aewen didn’t even know when she blundered. She must embarrass Elcon, although he did not tell her so. Instead, he withdrew and left her to flounder alone. Hadn’t he spent much of their wedding feast engaged in conversation with Shraen Eberhardt?

She called Murial to tend her and thus stilled the voice of introspection.

“You sleep late this morn.” Murial pressed her lips together, but her eyes gleamed.

Aewen felt the rising warmth of a blush. “I do. My husband slept ill and disturbed my own slumber.”

Murial looked puzzled. “What but the delights of the marriage bed keeps a bridegroom awake on his wedding night?”

Now her face truly heated. “Enough of such talk.”

Murial brushed her hair in silent obedience, but Aewen could not keep her own rule. “Whatever keeps Elcon from sleep has to do with Raena Arillia. I’m sure of it. Have you heard of her, Murial?” She should not seek gossip from her servant in this way.

The brush paused mid-stroke. “Aye, I know of her.”

“Tell me.”

“You’ll not like it.”

“I like not knowing even less.”

Murial continued brushing. “Well, then. Elcon was meant to marry Raena Arillia from childhood. He might have done so had he not met you.”

She released her breath. “She loves him?”

“They say he broke her heart.”

Aewen touched her hands to her cheeks. “I took him from her.”

“You did, but he went willingly. He loves you. Let it be.”

How could she ignore the grief she’d given another, even without intent? Here, then, was another reproach at her door.

Elcon returned and swept her into his arms just as Murial tightened her girdle belt. She pulled away, fussing about the lacing, but Murial shushed her. “Laces be only laces, flitling.”

With that reminder, she relinquished thoughts of Arillia and pulled Elcon down for her kiss. He responded with breathtaking fervor. Blushing when he released her, she glanced at Murial in embarrassment.

The corners of Murial’s mouth lifted. The connecting door to the outer chamber closed behind her with a small click.

Elcon smiled at Aewen. “Do you blush in front of your servant, wife?”

Aewen tilted a smile up at him. “I suppose I do.”

His laughter held an odd note that troubled her. “Are you well this morn?”

He sobered, and she almost wished she had not asked the question. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Sleep held little charm for you last night.”

“That’s true enough.” He touched her shoulder. “With such a beauty in my bed, I lay awake thinking of my good fortune. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

He lied. Such tossing and turning did not come from counting joys. She turned back to him. “Tell me about Raena Arillia.”

Elcon looked as if struck. As he peered out one of the windows, she seated herself on the bench before the fire. Just when she’d decided he’d forgotten her, he turned. “You have a right to know.”

She laced her fingers and waited as he crossed the room to her. “Arillia and I were raised with the understanding we would one day wed.”

Murial had said as much, although she didn’t inform him that she already knew. She examined her clasped hands.

Elcon heaved a breath. “No, it’s worse than that, if I’m honest. I’ve not requited myself well, with either you or Arillia.”

She jerked her gaze to his, and he gave her a sad smile.

“You see, I promised Arillia I would court her when I returned from my journeys. I came back with you instead.”

She stared at him, waiting for what he would say next.

He paced before the fire. “You are not the only one who forsook another and bore shame so we might wed. I broke faith with Arillia and disregarded the understanding between her parents and mine in order to marry you.” He came to stand before her. “I should not have asked it of you, nor should I have disgraced Arillia.” Kneeling, he touched her face. “Despite my sins, I love you.”

She caught his hand and brought it to her lips to receive her kiss. “I hope you find my love enough to sustain you, Elcon, and that you will not wish for what might have been.”

His eyes widened. “We have made our choices, Aewen. Let us leave such speculation aside, for it cannot profit.”

Outside the window in the inner garden a breeze stirred the leaves. Elcon was right. They had both chosen the path before them, a road paved in dishonor.

15

Conception

“What now?” Elcon did not bother to hide his irritation in finding Benisch at the door. When contrasted with the peace wrought by his avoidance of Elcon since the wedding, the steward’s intrusion seemed all the more unbearable.

Benisch’s face spasmed, and he pushed past Elcon into his outer chamber. “I must remind you, Lof Shraen, that you do not speak to a mere servant, but rather address one joined to you by your father’s blood.”

“I’m surprised you would reproach me with our relationship.”

“We are cousins.”

“Distant cousins.”

“You tend to forget the truth of even that. If, like you, I had been blessed with the shil shael, you’d remember.” Benisch had long rued the fact that he’d not inherited the hereditary soul touch of the sons of Rivenn. “You’re reluctant to claim me, son of Talan that you are, and yet your shame is not that different from my ancestor, Iewald’s.”

“If we were not kinsmen that remark would see you to the dungeon.” Elcon kept his voice light, but fury burned within him. Iewald, Kunrat’s illegitimate son, had betrayed his legitimate brother, Talan, at the beguilement of Merriwyn of Old, thus weakening the virtue of the House of Rivenn and enabling Freaer to escape imprisonment. How dare a son of Iewald accuse Talan’s son? And yet unease stirred within Elcon. Had he also betrayed his kingdom for love?

Fright stamped Benisch’s features. He must realize he’d gone too far. He rasped a breath. “Lof Shraen, I have word of Freaer.”

Elcon leaned forward. “Tell me.”

“He now occupies Pilaer, which he fortifies daily, and readies for another attack of Torindan.”

“How come you by this news?”

Benisch gave a cagey smile. “I have ears, Lof Shraen, in certain places.”

Elcon waved that aside. “I’m not interested in gossip, Benisch. I need facts.”

Benisch sniffed. “I overheard part of a conversation between Craelin and a messenger from Whellein Hold. Craelin will soon bring you this information.”

Elcon eyed Benisch. “How came you to overhear a private conversation?”

Benisch waved his hand in a parody of Elcon’s earlier gesture. “They need to take more care.”

Elcon blinked. Whether or not Benisch should have eavesdropped, his logic was unassailable. Craelin should have been more careful. Still, Elcon had no wish to indulge in gossip with Benisch. He sat back in his chair. “Go find Craelin and tell him I wait for him.”