30

  Longshore, at a makeshift healer’s tent:

  Killing things wasn’t an option, it seemed, so Lord Galadin had to make do with diplomacy. Slaughter would have been quicker, but an awkward thing to explain away later. Thus, the prince consort bowed to Their Highnesses and then stood up from their platform of hay-bales and cloth.

  Sister Constant was still intoning the Dawn Hymn, color had come back to Genevera’s face, and Lady Elisindara hovered at mid-tent, demanding her husband and children. Meanwhile, some flickering ghost of a wizard repeatedly signed the words: ‘dratted thing’. Off to one side, Beatriz dosed her unwilling patients from an animate copper pot (brought to life by its contents, no doubt).

  Right.

  Galadin went to work. He began with his daughter-in-law, levitating slightly to save time crossing the tent. Dropped to the ground once again before the furious sorceress, who was childishly small and terribly angry.

  Elisindara gathered herself, inhaling sharply, then sketched a reluctant bow.

  “Highness,” she snapped, for he was prince consort, whether anyone liked it or not.

  “Milady,” Galadin responded, inclining his head.

  Elisindara was a political exile. She’d been fobbed off to Keldaran after her sire failed in his scheme to poison a court official. The fellow was publicly beheaded at Five Points with his wife and child present to witness the slaying. After that, the girl had spent hundreds of years in rustication, the wife of a young northern lord. Alexion’s return had reversed her status completely. Elisindara clung white-knuckle tight to the lifeline of royal connection, refusing to acknowledge her mother’s attempts at contact.

  Long story. Here and now, Galadin focused on channeling Elisindara’s prickly rage from shouting to action.

  “If you were able to bend a ley-line getting here,” he reasoned. “You most likely have plenty of manna left over. I suggest that you use it to supplement Bea’s potion. That would take paladin magic, normally, but I think that a hostess charm will function as well. Pretend that we’re at a banquet, and the kitchen’s run out of white sauce.”

  Elisindara hovered before him, refusing to touch that besmottered hay with her slim, pearly feet. Her scowl faded, though.

  “My husband and sons do not respond to my call, Highness,” she observed in a high, chilly voice.

  “They are outside the tent with His Majesty, sleeping off a tremendous battle. All safe, I’ve been told, but quite unable to sense your headache. Now, go. Help Bea extend that potion, and have some, yourself.”

  Their gazes locked, pale blue to sapphire, but it was his daughter-in-law who looked away first, pretending to fuss with the folded cloth she held pressed to one side of her head.

  “I shall expect them directly after their waking,” Elisindara declared frostily, turning away. “This stench is utterly insupportable, and mortals are everywhere. Might as well be back in that wretched stone-giant fortress!.”

  She glided off in a huff, next, leaving the transparent wizard and… Well, everything else. Galadin wasn’t much of a mage or a healer. Better by far with a sword and his god than with regular dealings, but it seemed best to keep busy.

  He would have bearded that flickery wizard, next, only Alyanara ducked into the tent, carrying golden-haired Merrilee. Of course. Being a demi-goddess, his lady wife would not be unconscious as long as the rest of the family. Looking around, she spotted Galadin and began picking her way between mortals, half-elves and paladins. Merrilee twisted about in her grasp, holding both arms out and calling for daddy.

  Galadin could not have been more alarmed if he’d caught the girl playing between the taloned paws of a manticore. He ported over to meet them, first bowing, then holding his arms out for Merrilee.

  “My lady,” he greeted Alyanara, whose upturned face was pale, but composed. There were unshed tears in her violet eyes, but no accusation… no anger… at all.

  “I trust that I find you well?” he inquired, taking his wriggling daughter from Ally.

  “I have recovered, Milord,” she replied, searching his face and then hugging herself. “And you? All is…?”

  Galadin patted his daughter’s back, murmuring words of comfort. Gave himself time to think before saying,

  “I have been keeping busy, outrunning darkness and grief.”

  All around them, backs turned and extra noises sprang up, giving the pair a measure of privacy. No peace, though, for Skipper had scented Galadin. The dog kept trying to nose his way into the tent, getting turned back, every time. Stupid mutt.

  Galadin watched as his dog was dragged off, yet again. Took a deep breath and began to explain. Tried, anyhow, seeking to shield his innocent half-elven children.

  “I was removed from here after the battle, by Firelord. I spent nearly fifty-three years in a place created by the gods. Lana was there, too, with Bek and Jillian. The Shining One told me to make the most of it and then left. I remained there until… just this evening, for me… Lana was stolen by time.”

  Ally gazed up at him. Though she could levitate, she rarely did so when facing her husband.

  “Lana is… was… the woman you loved?” she guessed, putting a few things together from previous timelines. Burning-hot pain twisted and knotted inside of her. Pity, too, for one who’d been ruthlessly punished by Heaven.

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  “Aye,” he admitted quietly. “We were together till age bore her off. I still have the children, but other than that…”

  “You’re bereft,” finished Ally, feeling closed out and abandoned, herself.

  Galadin shifted the hiccupping child in his grip to free a hand, then reached out to touch his wife’s shoulder.

  “Come outside if you will, Milady… before somebody murders my idiot dog.”

  Skipper, having been forcibly ejected by Brother Arnulf, was now trying to burrow in under the hay. As if no one would notice a shaggy, black-and-white, straw-covered lump inching along on the ground.

  Ally nodded and followed her lord, torn between laughter and tears. Outside of the healer’s tent, in soft, snow-filtered light, Galadin turned to face her. Then, dredging up words that gashed the soul as they left him, he started to talk again.

  “I was cursed by the gods for my actions. They warped the timeline to punish me, Prince Nalderick and one other. I became part of His Majesty’s honor guard, as well as abetting his crime against Karandun. We did what we did… were caught, arrested and exiled, choosing silence rather than witness against each other, no matter how hard the justiciars dug.”

  Alyanara knew some of this, very generally, but she’d never heard it from him. From the splendidly handsome, frigid young lord who’d met her outside of the Temple. Now, Ally leaned in and nodded, fussing with the little girl’s blanket for an excuse to come nearer. Listening with all of her mind and her heart.

  “Most of our manna was blocked,” he continued, the words tumbling forth in a low, savage rush. “Only a little defensive magic was left, not that it did us much good. We wandered the borderlands and took ship, ending up here on the mainland for a time, until we were taken by drow slavers.”

  Ally’s breath caught. Her eyes widened. That part, she’d never heard. Skipper came bounding back over then, propelled by an armored boot. He greeted Lord Galadin first, then Alyanara, providing a moment’s welcome distraction.

  Galadin placed an entertainment charm on Merrilee, having her watch a happy tale full of bouncy music and frolicking candy animals. Next, he soothed the dog with conjured treats and a firm command.

  After a moment, Galadin straightened to look at Ally again. Started talking, almost too low to be heard.

  “I was offered for sale by my captors as a potential arena- or bed- slave. Thrust on a platform to be judged and bidden for, along with Lex, Mikale, Zesha and Freys. I… have never been so terrified, angry, ashamed, in all my life. Would have done something stupid, except that the drow are masters of very slow death, and it seemed better to live than to die.”

  Alyanara reached up to place her hand on his face; lightly brushing Galadin’s high cheekbone, strong jaw, broad shoulder. He did not pull away. Talked harder and faster, as though expelling some terrible poison.

  “We were purchased by the Arena Consortium, because they offered more than the brothel keeper and butchery shop, combined. Ended up as the next night’s opening show. They meant our deaths to excite the crowd, but we were already a team, and we knew how to fight, even with blunted, drek weapons. There were some kids in there, too, and an elderly mortal. Eight of us, against one starved and tormented ogre.”

  Galadin looked away, saying tonelessly,

  “The audience didn’t pay much attention, at first. Off getting drinks, I suppose… but we put up an actual fight and defeated the creature. It… was quite young for its kind, but the consortium took our win seriously. They decided to train and show us officially, instead of having us served at the banquet that followed. The drow prefer their meat very fresh and seasoned with fear, generally… but it might have been better to die. I don’t know about the others, but my oaths to the Shining One and Lex kept me breathing and fighting.”

  He looked at her, meeting Ally’s gaze directly for just a bleak moment before turning his head again.

  “We ended up making the Arena Consortium a fortune on bets, match-worn equipment and… and rentals. They don’t just like fights, the drow. They enjoyed having our services available at banquets and festivals, especially Zesha and… me. I did what I had to, Milady. I’m afraid that you’ve received some very used goods.”

  It was more than Ally knew how to react to, that sudden, rough-edged confession. Flower petals began swirling around her, extending also to Galadin. Her mother was there, leaching poison away from a badly torn heart.

  “But you got free,” Ally whispered. “You escaped, only to be forced into marriage with me.”

  Galadin shook his head, dropping a hand down to caress his whimpering dog. Skipper could sense his companion’s pain. Scratched at Galadin’s leg and snuffed at the palm of his hand, trying to help.

  “We escaped, thanks to Zesha’s mate, Falk. Only, he didn’t survive the distraction. He died there, down in the caverns,” Galadin told her. “The rest of us got away, staying together long enough to reach Alandriel’s western border. Then Zesha and Freys went to Milardin, I think, along with her son. Mikale and I pressed on for Karellon. His family are important there. The Sanderyns. I had my parents to think of. Or, that’s what I told myself. Got home and then spent as much time dead drunk as I could. Hid mostly, not seeing anyone.”

  Galadin kissed the top of his daughter’s blonde head, though she couldn’t feel it, caught as she was in her happy, small spell-world.

  “Alexion stayed away for a very long time. In justice, none of us felt like remembering what we’d been through. Anyhow… I guess, a few months after I got home, I was summoned before the Grand Council again with dad. They said that my family would be restored to honor if I married a Temple maid and went off to conquer the northland.”

  Ally started to cry, making no sound at all. Merrilee clapped in rhythm with phantom playmates, meanwhile, reaching for something that no one else saw.

  “I knew none of this, Milord,” said Alyanara. “I was promised… back when I thought she was only a wish-fairy come to keep me from being alone… Mother promised that I’d fall in love, forever. Then I saw you. The acolyte mistress pushed me out the door with my dowry in hand, and… and there you were. The most wonderful, strong and beautiful husband I could have imagined. I never thought…”

  Ally’s voice faltered, but her will hardened fiercely. Squaring her slender shoulders, she levitated to meet his gaze eye-to-eye.

  “Do you wish to be freed of your vows, Milord?” she asked him, fighting to keep her voice calm and level against an ocean of searing pain.

  Galadin looked at her, then down at the mucky ground, seeming weary, uncertain and lost. Then,

  “No,” he decided. “I have not been a very good husband, Ally, but the curse is broken and… I was promised a sea voyage.”

  A gulping sob escaped Alyanara, who controlled herself ruthlessly, forcing steel back into her knees and her spine, lifting her head even higher.

  “I reject the station of Princess Ascendant,” she said in a clear, ringing voice. “Hear me all powers and peoples and gods. Keldaran can take my place, or the little one shining in Bea’s womb, but I will have no more councils or crowns. I will go away to sea with my lord and his children, to make foolish choices and learn to be married, all over again. So be it!”

  Her vow rippled forth as if dropped into water, making the tent-fabric rattle, and collapsing part of their snow cave. Galadin embraced her with one arm, holding Merrilee close with the other. Ally’s hand found that hideous mark on his arm, which he normally hid using clothing and spells. It was a slave brand, she now understood. An awful, powerful, demonic thing held at bay by his magic and Firelord’s. It slithered away from Alyanara’s touch, scorching her fingers.

  Galadin had always avoided lands held by the drow, and now she knew why. That horrible mark was a beacon. Tied to his life-force, it called out to Galadin's former owners, letting them know where he was. The brand’s movement caused him some pain, so Alyanara left it alone. For now. Lifting her head, she began to make plans.

  “We shall see my father placed on his throne in Karellon, Galadin. Then, we shall journey wherever we please. Perhaps to the Blessed Isles, where miracles pour like wine. It’ll come right, milord. It has to. I love you so much.”

  Always had. Always would, and gods help them both.