Return of the Guardian-King

  What little free time he did have when home, he spent with the Kiriathan exiles, trying to put out the fires started by their increasing intolerance of Chesedhan condescension, prejudice, and unjust dealings. An intolerance that seemed to have been intensified as much by little Simon’s return as by Maddie’s wild stories that Abramm was on his way.

  When she had first told Trap she believed Abramm was alive, he’d feared her difficulties in birthing Abrielle had unhinged her mind, that she had fallen into some grief-inspired delusion and was no longer connected to the real world. When that did not prove to be the case, he ascribed her claim to hallucinations suffered during the birth and her battle with the black spore. He was even prepared to believe she’d actually seen her husband in the eternal realm during her own brush with death, and had tried gently, and then not so gently, to get her to accept those explanations. They had exchanged quite a few angry words on the subject, to the point they no longer discussed it, and she had stuck to her original story unswervingly through it all: Abramm was alive, having come on foot through the Kolki Pass to a place called Caerna’tha, where he had been trapped by the winter but would surely be in Fannath Rill by spring’s end.

  At her insistence Trap had done some asking around and learned there was indeed such a place as Caerna’tha, an ancient monastery that served as a waystation for Terstan refugees coming in from Kiriath through the Kolki. Since it lined up with Maddie’s story, Trap had spoken further with Roy Thornycroft, then put out the word that he was interested in any further reports of Abramm’s having survived his execution. That so far no others had surfaced didn’t surprise him.

  All of which had left him little time for bridging the gap that was daily widening between him and Carissa. Maddie had spoken to him shortly after Hadrich’s entombment, asking him bluntly if he loved his wife or not, and insisting that, if he did, he ought to be setting himself to the task of letting her know it. “You can’t be a pigeon about this, Trap. You have to be aggressive, or she’ll think you don’t mean it.”

  “What makes you so sure she’ll be receptive to such attentions?” Trap had protested. “She’s never given me any indication—”

  “I’m not talking about serving her cocoa and making polite conversation!”

  “What, then? Shall I grab her and kiss her right out of the blue?”

  Maddie had grinned at him. “If you’re moved to do so, that might not be a bad start.”

  He’d been aghast. “You don’t understand how it is with us.”

  “Perhaps not, but I don’t think you do, either. And I’m certain she has no idea.”

  When still he resisted her advice, she’d made a sour face. “What’s the worst that could happen? She might reject you? At least you won’t have to wonder for the rest of your life if it might have been something else. It’s not like you’re going to die.”

  He’d looked at her skeptically, thinking she was hardly one to talk about not dying in matters of lost loves. He had to admit she was right, though. And how could things get any worse than they were?

  But if her words had given him new hope and revived purpose, over time his workload and social obligations—and his own cowardice—defeated both. Not living with his wife anymore, he had to go out of his way to even encounter her, making it far too easy to let another day go by without having acted, promising himself that tomorrow he would go to her. Finally the hope and intent had dwindled away into a thickening cloud of doubt and second thoughts.

  It was the coronation that brought them together—beginning with a series of pre-coronation socials they attended as husband and wife. At these affairs Carissa was unfailingly polite, serene, and so beautiful he realized one reason he’d made no attempt to spend more time with her was because it hurt too much. He could no longer be with her and not want all of her. Their encounters were cordial, even relaxed and chatty on occasion, and several times he brought himself to the verge of telling her how he felt. But something always intervened.

  Then, the day before the coronation itself, he turned from playing with Conal down in the nursery and caught her standing in the nursery doorway looking at him with an expression of such tenderness and longing, it shocked him. For it reminded him of nothing so much as the way Maddie used to moon after Abramm. The expression was swiftly veiled, and she turned away without a word to disappear up the hallway outside. When the shock wore off, he went after her, but as always he was too slow.

  He determined then and there that he would tell her how he felt the next day, the day of the coronation. They’d be together all day, so he’d have no excuse for lack of opportunity—even if the prospect did scare the breath out of him.

  The day dawned clear and mild, and the coronation went off without a hitch. Chesedh’s newest royal couple was crowned in the Great Kirikhal at Fannath Rill before a standing-room-only crowd. Afterward Chesedhan custom dictated a grand feast for the invited nobles in the Grand Hall at Fannath Rill, while a reception and buffet were set up in the South Pavilion for those of lesser rank. Queen Ronesca had made up the guest list, and the former Duke of Northille and his wife were most definitely among the lesser category. Trap had no illusions of his own status, but Carissa was true royalty, with a long and noble heritage, and she deserved to be in the Grand Hall with the other nobles. It had angered him when the invitation had first come—late, not surprisingly—and it angered him now as they had to serve themselves finger foods from one of the many tables arranged around the perimeter of the spacious octagonal pavilion.

  It also irked him how the courtiers, standing no farther than arm’s reach of his position, would lean together and talk about him—nothing he’d not heard before, but at least they could have the decency to do it where his wife didn’t have to hear.

  “. . . only married her a week before their child was born.”

  “Heard he’d been living with her all the time her brother was away.”

  “And they have the gall to blame it on the ex-husband! At least he finally married her.”

  As he finished serving his plate he glanced back at them, then at his wife. The hurt in her face made him even angrier. But as he was determined not to let the foolish words of a few petty people destroy his plans for this evening, he refused to let himself dwell on it any further. Instead he concentrated on eating and chatting with his wife and was pleased when after a time she seemed to relax, laughing and teasing with him as she had not done in months. She even acquiesced to his first invitation to dance, and it was wonderful to hold her in his arms and swirl her around the dance floor. He thought she enjoyed it, as well, so when he asked her a second time, he was surprised when she declined. More so when she declined on a third occasion. He asked twice more, and each time her answer came more quickly, as the warm camaraderie they’d shared cooled into increasing awkwardness.

  Finally she commented on her weariness and asked if he might escort her to her apartments. Thus, though the party would continue for hours into the night, he walked her through the orb-lit waterpark, then up the palm-lined promenade, feeling bitterly frustrated as defeat overtook him. He saw no way to evade it, unless he just blurted out his feelings, without any of the romantic preliminaries he had hoped for.

  They said not a word all up the long walk. Entering the deserted foyer of the palace’s west entrance they approached the stair leading up to her second-floor apartments, where she turned to face him though her gaze was directed toward the floor.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s been a wonderful day.”

  He frowned at her, wondering uneasily why she had stopped here when they still had some ways to go before reaching her apartments. “It has been my pleasure, Your Highness. More than you know.”

  She grimaced, as if he’d said something displeasing. Or maybe it was what she meant to say to him that displeased her. A vague sense of alarm stirred in him.

  “I . . .” She swallowed, her gaze still fixed upon the gleaming floor between them. Finally she went on very quietly. “If
you would like a divorce . . . I wouldn’t refuse you.”

  He felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut, shocked beyond the ability even to breathe.

  “I know I haven’t . . . been a proper wife to you,” she said to the floor.

  “You’ve been an exemplary wife.”

  “No . . . I mean . . . there are things . . .” Finally she glanced up at him, her eyes so very blue. “Tendernesses and expressions a husband has a right to expect from his wife.”

  “I’ve never expected those things from you.”

  She blanched, pain flickering across her aristocratic features as he berated himself for his clumsy wording.

  “I mean, not that I wouldn’t enjoy them—just that I know why you entered into this relationship, and I would never . . .” None of this was turning out right. Why couldn’t he just say it? “You needn’t feel this way, Carissa,” he said desperately. “I took this marriage up of my own choice.”

  “And all I’ve brought you is grief. I hate it when I hear the courtiers talk of you as they do. It’s so unfair and so false. You’ve been nothing but honorable, yet they call you an adulterer.”

  He snorted. “You think I care about them? They’re a flock of fools. If they didn’t call me an adulterer, they’d call me a vicious Kiriathan heretic. Come to think of it, they do.”

  She didn’t laugh as he had hoped.

  “I know you have only done this out of your love for Abramm,” she said. “Your sense of duty.”

  “That is not true, my lady.”

  And again she looked up at him, smiling bitterly. “You are an honorable man, my lord duke. But you are a very poor liar.”

  He met her gaze directly and firmly. “I am not lying, Carissa. I married you because I wanted to. Abramm never would have asked me to do it if he hadn’t known how I felt. I love you. I have for a very long time.”

  Her eyes were wide, the expression of skepticism giving way to a blankness he could not read. Startlement? Hope? Alarm at learning that the swordmaster’s son was not nearly so selfless as she thought? He wasn’t sure. At least she wasn’t running away. “Courage,” Maddie had counseled. “Be aggressive. Make sure she knows exactly what you feel.”

  So, his heart hammering wildly against his breastbone, he took hold of her shoulders and bent to kiss her, not on the cheek, as he’d done for so long, but on the lips, as a husband who loved his wife would do. Softly. Gently. Half fearing she would jerk away in revulsion at his touch.

  Thus it took him a moment to realize her lips were not stiff and cold but soft and warm and pliant, and that her hand, though it rested trembling upon his chest, did not push him away. The shock of it rolled through him like a thunderclap, unloosing a rush of desire so intense it nearly brought him to his knees. Every inch of his skin felt as if it were ablaze, and by the time he pulled away from her—slowly, gently—he was trembling with the effort to control himself.

  She stared up at him, lips quivering, eyes still wide and gleaming with moisture, hand still resting on his chest—a sharp, trembling warmth that fed the wildness in him. It so clouded his thoughts, he felt like a man on a drunken binge, though he’d had but a single glass of wine that night. Mindful of the abuses she’d suffered at the hands of her first husband, and alarmed by the swiftness with which his self-control was crumbling, he forced himself to step back from her and tried to get his mind to work again.

  Then the tears that had been building on her lower lashes spilled down her cheeks. He stared at them stupidly. She had responded to his kiss. She had laid her hand on his chest and not pushed him away. Why was she weeping?

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She reached up to wipe away the tears. “Everything.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No. I’m sure you don’t.” She shook her head, tears rolling from her eyes, then turned and fled up the stairs. He reeled in her wake, ears roaring, stomach wrenched into a knot of dismay. What did I do? What don’t I understand?

  At first he had no idea. Then the bitter realization swept over him: She’d not been responding to his kiss; she’d been shocked to immobility, horrified the swordmaster’s son would be so bold. Light’s grace! She’d asked him to divorce her moments before! Did he think she hadn’t meant it?

  Well, I guess I know how she feels about me. Gratitude, pity, a measure of respect. But not the love he’d hoped for. Never that. He was a swordmaster’s son, after all. Hardly worthy of being in her presence, much less . . .

  The hall grew bright and whirled around him until he had to brace himself on the curved finial at the end of the stair’s railing to stay upright. He had not thought it possible to feel such pain without a physical wound.

  When at last he was ready to function again, he went back out the west entrance, where a man immediately stepped from the shadows beside the door into his path and bowed.

  “My lord duke.”

  Trap frowned, embarrassed and irritated to think he and Carissa had been watched. The man wore the blue uniform of the Chesedhan military, but his accent was Kiriathan. He was of medium height, with straight dirty-blond hair, a mustache, and a pink scar that cut diagonally across his right eyebrow. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Do I know you, sir?”

  “I am Captain Hanris Brookes, my lord. You knew me as Lieutenant Brookes. Second in command at Graymeer’s a few years back.”

  “Ah yes. Under Commander Weston. You volunteered to serve in Chesedh, as I recall.”

  “Yes, sir. Got a promotion for it, too.” He touched the silver bar on his chest and smiled briefly. “We’ve been attached to Prince—er, King Leyton’s company for the last year. Just got into town.”

  “I see.”

  “My lord . . .” He glanced right and left down the hall. “Might there be some place we could speak privately?”

  Serving in her official capacity as a lady-in-waiting to the queen, Maddie sat in the second chair from Ronesca, between Lady Iolande and Lady Locasia. The ballroom was already warm, though they had thrown open all the doors along the filigreed arcade and a breeze now filtered through the wooden latticework.

  As Ronesca was already engaged in conversation with the Baron of Bleveny, Maddie was happy to sit and observe both dancers and spectators. It did not escape her notice that there were no Kiriathans in attendance. Indeed, if the crown princess of that country and the former First Minister had been snubbed, no one else was going to receive an invitation. It irked her. Not least because it was so provincial and foolish. Kiriathans were right now dying to protect Chesedhan lands and homes. Abramm had helped these people repeatedly and given up much to do so.

  But no, Ronesca had insisted when Maddie expressed these thoughts two weeks ago, Kiriathans were not to be trusted. . . . Just look at how they had behaved toward little Simon, as if he were their king already and the only one worthy of their allegiance. And this new rumor that Abramm had somehow survived his execution and would return to lead them in retaking their realm was even worse. Especially since every Kiriathan exile Ronesca knew was destitute. Where did they imagine the weapons and materiel to fight a war would come from? Did they think Abramm would bring that, as well? No, it was clear they hoped for Chesedhan aid, when Chesedh had all it could do to save itself.

  Besides, Ronesca had insisted, Kiriath was doing nicely for itself since Abramm had been deposed—maybe not economically, but they had managed to keep the Esurhites at bay. What difference did it make which of them sat on the throne, so long as they didn’t make trouble for Chesedh?

  Giving up on Ronesca, Maddie had tried to take her case to her brother, but he’d put her off until after the coronation—the guest list was Ronesca’s domain, and he was much too busy to trouble himself with such trifles.

  Tonight Maddie surveyed the crowd and smiled to think of how all would change when Abramm arrived. She smiled at the recollection of his arms about her the night Abby had been born, and of the many balls she had danced with him in yea
rs past. Soon she would dance with him again, and revel in the jealous stares of her peers.

  “You look lovely tonight, Your Highness,” said Lady Iolande. “That rose color suits your complexion magnificently, and I am positively astounded at the way you have regained your figure so swiftly. Must be all that riding you do.”

  Maddie jerked from her reverie and turned to Iolande. “Actually, I’ve not been riding much lately. Just walking.”

  “Well, you are stunning. And everyone has noticed. Especially Draek Tiris.” She leaned closer. “I believe they will be starting one of those Sorian pattern dances shortly. If you give him a wink, he might come and ask you to dance it with him.”

  Maddie could not imagine ever, in all her life, winking at a man. Particularly not one so wise and sophisticated as Draek Tiris. Though he was indeed watching her from across the dance floor with those dark, bottomless eyes of his. Meeting his gaze sent a jolt of energy rushing through her that turned her blood to fire. As it burned hotly up her throat and face, she looked away, embarrassed and unnerved by the unexpected reaction.

  It fled as swiftly as it had come, leaving her befuddled and uneasy, so that when young Duke Somebody-or-Other bowed before her and asked for the next dance, she turned him down a bit too abruptly. Hastening to cover her terseness with an apology, she explained that she hadn’t had so much excitement in weeks and it was taking its toll.

  “Perhaps another time,” the duke suggested.

  And she smiled gratefully. “I would count it an honor, sir.”

  He stepped away and suddenly Tiris was there. “Perhaps you would prefer a walk around the arcade,” he said in his wonderful voice. “The night is clean and exceedingly pleasant. The fresh air will surely revive you.”

  “Yes,” Iolande agreed. “I was just out there, and the weather is perfect. They’ve even got the fountain working properly.”

  Maddie glanced through the open doors to the quadrangle outside, and sure enough the fountain’s jets were all arcing in perfect symmetry from its central fluted column.