Allegiance (24 page)

“I see. In what way?”

“I saw her just an hour ago. She was bruised about the face, and when I asked after her well-being, she became quite distraught. She did not wish to speak poorly of her husband, but she told me he frightens her and that she dreads his return home at the end of the day. He strikes her more than he should, I know it. I want to help her, but am
not certain how.” I paused, then took the plunge. “Could you—”

“I appreciate the position in which she finds herself,” Cannan said, leaning forward to rest an elbow on the surface of his desk, averting my request. “But I cannot interfere with how another man runs his household.”

His answer pierced me like an arrow, and I fought down tears as I searched for a way to convey to him the urgency of the situation, the absolute necessity of coming to Reveina's aid.

“She is already not herself—he's well on his way to destroying her. I can do nothing on my own, yet she has no one else to whom she can turn. Surely there is something you can do.”

Cannan gave a minute shake of his head, his dark eyes never leaving my face.

“I'm sorry, but they are married. It is his family, and it is his business how things are conducted in his home. It's not my place, or yours, to get involved.”

“I know it is his family and his home, but it is
her
home, as well. Why should she have to live in fear? She will feel his fist every day, and suffer,
every day,
while we sit and say we cannot interfere. Lord Marcail
is
the master of the house, he
is
entitled to punish his wife. But when she is perfect and obedient, and still he beats her, what then? I'm not asking you to arrest him or remove him from his position. All I am asking is that you contemplate any means you might have to alleviate her circumstances. Please. I beg of you.”

I waited in silence after my heartfelt speech for some reaction from him and thought I detected sympathy in his visage, although it was impossible to determine whether it was for me or for Reveina.

“Alera,” he said, and the softness of his tone gave away his
intention. “I don't approve of the treatment you're describing, but you're overestimating my power in this matter. I can do nothing.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him that he was the Captain of the Guard and therefore Marcail's superior officer, and that he was not helpless in this or any situation. But his manner told me he considered our discussion concluded, and I had no choice but to accept it. I stood and walked through the door, heart laden with defeat, railing in my head against the unfairness of a world that would place my lovely friend in the hands of such a man.

I SWIPED AT MY EYES AS I LEFT THE CAPTAIN'S office, forbidding myself to cry. Tears would serve no purpose, and they undermined my ability to be taken seriously. Although Destari looked at me questioningly, he did not ask about my business with Cannan, merely stepping forward to close the door behind me.

I glanced about the Throne Room, surprised to find it devoid of activity, although I supposed the war had altered everyone's routines. Deciding to consider my options in the peace and privacy of the library, I moved toward the King's Drawing Room, thinking I would pass through it and take the spiral staircase to the second floor. When I neared the dais, I heard a door open, and Steldor emerged from his study, Casimir at his heels. He took note of me at the same moment and waved his bodyguard away. Though Casimir regarded the King with a certain amount of skepticism, he went on to the captain's office. Steldor then dismissed Destari, who walked through the drawing room to wait in the corridor, leaving me alone with my husband.

Steldor came forward to lean against the edge of the dais, adjusting the leather bracers on his forearms while I waited self-consciously to see if he would speak. I was already upset and had no desire to feel worse, so was less than enthused about talking with him. I began to count my heartbeats in my head, planning to dash when I hit ten if he hadn't addressed me before then.

Seven…eight…nine…ten.
I gave him a slight curtsey and hurried toward the door.

“You can stop behaving like a frightened rabbit, you know,” he said, forcing me to halt and turn toward him. “I won't hurt you.”

I didn't know what to make of this statement or how to respond, and so continued to inch toward the exit.

“I mean it,” he stressed, and I knew it bothered him that I was still positioned to flee.

“Thank you, my lord,” I murmured. “I'm sure I will sleep easier.”

He looked away from me to the ceiling, then down toward Cannan's office, then back to his bracers to adjust what no longer needed to be adjusted. Something about my comment had hit a nerve, when I had intended it to pacify him.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, focusing the commanding dark eyes he had in common with his father on me. “And I need you to be honest.”

“Aren't you supposed to be meeting with the captain?” I asked, not liking the sound of his words and presuming that Casimir had continued on to their intended destination.

“He can wait.”

I nodded, succumbing to the inevitable, and walked back toward him.

Once more he cast his eyes away from me, then pulled a dagger from his boot, turning it over in his hands as though
he had just discovered some interesting new aspect, desiring to focus elsewhere in order to discuss what was troubling him.

“You went to him,” he said bluntly, meaning Narian, of course.

“Yes.”

My voice surprised me with its near inaudibility—saying that one word in this context had been more difficult than I would have imagined. He grimaced, and I knew this conversation would be equally painful for both of us, despite how necessary it was that we have it. We needed to make peace.

“Why?” he pressed.

There were multiple answers to this question, and he had probably guessed them all. Fidgeting with the folds of my skirt, I chose the one least likely to brew conflict.

“Narian had knowledge of Miranna that I could have gained in no other way. I needed to know if she was safe.”

“Had Miranna not been at risk, would you still have gone to him?”

I bit my lip, wary of his possible reaction, but then answered truthfully.

“Yes. I would have wanted to see who he had become.”

“And if he called for you
today,
would you still go to him?”

My failure to speak immediately provided his answer, but his temper did not flare. Rather, he watched me as if fully aware of my struggle, with an emotion deep in his brown eyes that broke my heart.

“I won't be angry with you,” he promised. “Just say it.”

I took a deep breath to summon my will, then met his gaze.

“Yes, I would go to him. I can't say that I would not. I—I love him. I'm sorry.”

“You can't be sorry for loving someone,” he said brusquely, flipping his dagger over in his hand before resheathing it, and I thought he was going to leave the room. He paced past me, then turned to walk back again, stopping a few feet in front of me. “You can't help it, even when it isn't good for you anymore. I should know.”

The comment stung, though he hadn't meant it to offend me, and I shifted, wishing for this conversation to end. He sighed, then moved to sit on the edge of the dais.

“I can't do this anymore, Alera. I can't continue to fool myself into thinking you will let go of your feelings for him and devote yourself to me, and I can't continue to hope you will come willingly to my bed.”

He stood once more, the subject too sensitive for him to be idle while discussing it. I had never tried to view things from his perspective, but now that he was forcing me to do so, I realized that I was not the only one whose wedded life was not what they'd wanted or expected.

“From now on,” he resumed, his voice thick with controlled emotion, “I will treat ours as a marriage of convenience, merely in place so that I can be King. I won't pressure you for companionship or expect you to meet my needs. I will leave it up to you to decide if and when our relationship should advance. All I will ask is that you play the part of wife and Queen at public functions.” He examined me carefully, then added, “I think we'll both be happier this way.”

My eyes widened in astonishment, stunned by the proposal, by the sacrifice I knew he was making. If he were true to his word, I would be as free as possible under these unalterable circumstances. But my sense of relief was quickly overcome by guilt, for I could hardly bear his expression:
distant and collected, it nonetheless told me that inside, he was aching.

“Thank you,” I said softly, wondering if my heart would always sorrow, for no resolution seemed to be without cost.

“Don't,” he objected, but not in anger. “Don't thank me.”

He tore his gaze from my face and strode across the hall, then through the antechamber doors, leaving without a word to his father, with whom he was supposed to be meeting, or to collect his bodyguard. He was clearly not in the mood to face anyone else.

 

Over the next few days, my relationship with Steldor improved. The tension was gone between us, for we had at least resolved our relationship, even though it was not in the manner he would have wanted. Nonetheless, we were more civil and relaxed with each other than had been the case in a long time.

While the stress in my personal life had eased, the pressure of the war had not. The Cokyrians had not yet attempted to breach the Recorah, but they had enough troops deployed in the area that we could not ignore the possibility; given the length of the river that needed to be monitored, we had to devote far more troops to that front than did the enemy, for we could not afford to guess wrong about where they might cross. Our forces thus remained divided.

To the north, our troops had the upper hand, although the enemy had sent soldiers of their own to try to outflank our archers. If the Cokyrians could clear our men from the gorge, their own troops would no longer be pinned down in the narrow valley. Cannan's scouts had again done their job, however, and we knew of the enemy's movements almost before they had begun. Foot soldiers and cavalry men engaged the enemy in the woods, and the traps that our
men had rigged—deep trenches covered with branches and mulch into which the enemy would plummet, trip wires that could break a leg or snap a neck, and small boulders and weighted spears that would rain down from above—were wreaking havoc, as well. These latter measures would be effective only until all had been sprung or disabled, however, so eventually our men would have to rely on hand-to-hand skills to protect our archers. Knowing how well trained the Cokyrian warriors were and the unusual and lethal types of weapons they carried, I knew it was only a matter of time before the enemy's troops would again be advancing through the gorge.

While part of our success was credited to Narian's inexperience in engineering a war campaign, everyone realized that this advantage would be short-lived. Cannan had already begrudgingly admitted that the Cokyrian strategy at the river was brilliant, for a small number of their troops were able to occupy a large number of ours. It was beginning to feel as if there were little we could do to affect the ultimate outcome of the war, as if we were fighting fate itself.

There was another aspect to the war that I had not anticipated, but this one was bittersweet and beautiful. Weddings were occurring in Hytanica at an almost alarming rate, for young women feared the loss of their men in battle, and young men wanted to marry and potentially sire an heir before they met their untimely deaths. Among the many couples who would make the walk up the aisle were Galen and Tiersia, whose upcoming November wedding likewise had a sense of urgency about it. The ceremony would take place in one of Hytanica's churches, with the reception in the Royal Ballroom, an honor bestowed on few, but Galen was the Sergeant at Arms, an unofficial second son to the
Captain of the Guard and the King's best friend. Given the state of siege that prevailed, however, and the rationing that had been instituted, the palace would not host a wedding feast; simple refreshments would be offered in the ballroom.

The afternoon of the much-anticipated wedding was blustery and cold, and the overcast skies threatened rain. My concern that this would put a damper on the celebration was unfounded, however; I had never seen a happier couple. Tiersia, in an ivory gown, was escorted down the aisle by her parents just as mine had escorted me, but she had no reluctance to take the arm of her groom. Galen, in a gold-embroidered black dress coat and black breeches, awaited her with his mother and Cannan, the man who had been a father to him since the age of three. Despite the sergeant's efforts to appear collected and dignified, as was befitting a military man, he continued to break into unabashed grins. Steldor, his best man, was magnificent in rich red and black, although there was an air of melancholy about him, as though he were remembering our wedding and the less than idyllic marriage it had wrought.

When the couple had answered all of the preliminary questions posed by the priest, they came before the altar, and Fiara, looking ready to give birth at any moment, moved to Tiersia's side. It wasn't long before Fiara's husband ignored protocol and brought her a chair, for it seemed she might not be able to stay on her feet. Warrick had just returned from a military mission on which he had embarked but four days after they had wed, and the glances that passed between the freshly reunited couple left no doubt that they, too, were in love.

It was when the priest began the exchange of vows that I felt a shift in the atmosphere of the ceremony, as though the solemnity of the occasion, as well as its joy, had de
scended upon the wedding guests. From my vantage point at the front of the church, I watched as the elderly clergyman joined Tiersia's right hand with Galen's, then the couple turned to face one another, blissfully oblivious to everyone in attendance.

“Do you take this woman as your wife?” the priest asked Galen.

“I receive you as mine, so that you become my wife and I your husband,” Galen said, with barely managed emotion. “And I commit to you the fidelity of my body, and I will keep you in health and sickness, nor for better or worse will I change toward you until…”

His voice suddenly trailed off, as though the very real possibility that his life would be cut short had been brought home to him. For one horrible moment, I thought he would be unable to finish, but Steldor stepped forward and gripped his shoulder, enabling him to complete the vow.

“Nor for better or worse will I change toward you until the end.”

It was Galen's unexpected struggle that brought the reality of the war and its true ramifications into sharp focus for me, likely having the same effect on many others in the church.

The priest then turned to Tiersia. “Do you take this man as your husband?”

“I receive you as mine,” she began with a pretty blush, “so that you become my husband and I your wife. And I commit to you the fidelity of my body, and I will keep you in health and sickness, nor for…”

Like Galen, she trailed off, but it was clear from the widening of her eyes that she had simply forgotten the words. As her blush spread, I heard Galen lean toward her and tenderly advise, “Just promise to love me.”

“And I will love you until the day I die,” Tiersia finished,
and everyone forgave the slight modification she had made to the last of the traditional vows.

Next came the rings. Removing his right hand from Tiersia's, Galen raised her left, palm downward, then flashed an endearing smile.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he said, sliding the ring partway onto her thumb. “This gold I thee give—” moving the ring to her index finger “—with my body I thee worship—” sliding the ring onto her middle finger “—and with all my worldly goods I thee endow—” finally bringing the ring to rest on her third finger.

After the couple had shared their first communion as husband and wife, the wedding ceremony came to a close, and Galen drew his bride into his arms for a long and shameless kiss while the guests cheered. The newlyweds then quickly walked down the aisle, followed by Fiara, escorted by Warrick, and Steldor and me. I could feel a slight stiffness in my husband's otherwise cordial manner, as though being so close to me were tearing at his heart.

From the church, we proceeded to the palace, the members of the royal family riding in the royal carriages, Elite Guards and Palace Guards in full accompaniment. We traveled down the main thoroughfare, and a strange sensation of peace washed over me. For the first time in a long time, I was looking forward to a palace gala, for there would be little pressure on me. The tension between my husband and me had dissipated, and I was but a guest at the party.