Sinner

Zared spoke again, his voice now noticeably tight. “Continue.”

“Have not the Icarii, the Avar and the Ravensbund their leaders, their titular heads? Yet the Acharites have lost their monarchy and, in so losing, their pride. Sir Prince, why is it that the Icarii, Avar and Ravensbund retained or gained kings when the Acharites lost theirs?”

“Perhaps,” Herme put in carefully, for this was something Zared could not say without proving disloyal to at least one of his brothers, “it is because Borneheld, as King of Achar, was far too closely allied with the Seneschal and pursued a policy of hatred and war towards the Avar and Icarii. Axis rightly wanted to ensure that would never happen again.”

Goldman looked directly at Zared. “Sir Prince, I am not asking you to resurrect the beliefs of the Seneschal, only your people’s pride and nationhood. Prince Zared,” his voice slowed and he stressed every word, “your people want you back. They want their King. With few exceptions, western Tencendor would rise up to back your claim.”

Goldman glanced at Herme and Theod, hoping he had not read them incorrectly. “True, Sir Duke? Sir Earl?”

“We would not speak against it,” Theod said slowly.

Herme hesitated, then said curtly, “No king of Achar ever treated us as vilely as Askam does.”

“You all mouth treason!” Zared said, and pushed his chair back as if he intended to stand. “I do not intend to –”

“Treason?” Heavorand repeated. “Is it treason to speak of that which is our wish and your inheritance?”

Zared had stilled, his face expressionless.

“They are right, Zared,” Theod added. “Right! Achar needs its King back! Look how Askam is tearing the heart and soul out of the West!”

“May I remind you, Theod,” Zared said very carefully, “that as a Duke of the West, you are under Askam’s direct overlordship?”

“As am I,” Herme said, “and yet I find myself agreeing with both Theod and these two good merchants here.”

“Recreating the position of King of Achar would tear Tencendor apart,” Zared observed, but his tone was milder, and his eyes thoughtful.

“It is going to tear apart anyway,” Goldman said very quietly. “The tensions between Acharite and the other races would see war within a generation. You understand the Acharite perception of injustice, Zared. You share it. Sir Prince, you are rightful heir to the throne of Achar. Take it. Take it and direct some of this tension rather than letting it swell out of control. Take it … sire.”

When Goldman and Heavorand retired, Zared waved at Herme and Theod to remain.

He sat motionless, silent, for a long time before he finally spoke.

“My friends, I do not know what to think. My parents raised me to believe in Tencendor, in Axis’ and then Caelum’s right to rule over all races. They raised me to believe that the Achar nation, and its monarchy, was dead.”

“Zared,” Herme said. “Re-establishing the monarchy of Achar is not treason. As with FreeFall, Isfrael and Sa’Domai, an Acharite king would still owe homage and fealty to the Throne of the Stars. Any discussion of reclaiming the throne of Achar is not mouthing treason against Caelum, only discussing what many – nay, most – people in the West and North want.”

Zared was silent, remembering how he had looked at the circlet on Priam’s brow and wondered how well it – and the throne – would fit him.

“Where do your loyalties lie, Herme? Theod?” he eventually asked. “With whom?”

“With StarSon Caelum,” Herme said unhesitatingly. “First.”

“And then with you,” Theod finished. “Goldman has said much of what was in our hearts as well. Zared, if both the Master of the Guilds in Carlon, as well as two of the West’s most powerful nobles, have come to your doorstep with the same speeches on their lips and hopes in their hearts, how can you refuse to consider their words?”

“This whole issue has been prompted by Askam’s taxes,” Zared said. “What happens if Caelum forces him to rescind them? What then?”

“No!” Theod said. “These taxes are but the final straw. Zared, the ‘issue’ is fed by the fact that for decades resentment has grown among the Acharites at the way they have been treated. Yes, the SunSoar order is great and good, but it doesn’t change the fact that the Acharites have been denuded of their monarch and their nationhood. Man, listen to me! In you they can see the legitimate heir, and in the North they can see what prosperity awaits them under your rule!”

“This problem is not going to go away, Zared,” Herme said. “Not so long as Askam – or a Prince of the West – remains.”

“I will think on what you have said this evening,” Zared said, then raised his eyes from the fork he’d been fidgeting with. “There is something else I think should be considered.”

“Yes?” Herme asked.

“How will Askam react at this Council? We all know how bad his debts are, we know he needs the monies the taxes will raise.”

“And we all know how he hates you … and your success,” Theod said. “Look how he has striven to frustrate your heart these past years.”

Zared looked at him sharply, then chose to ignore the last remark. He did not like to think of what implications this evening’s conversation had for himself and Leagh, nor even for the peace of Tencendor itself. How would Caelum react? “My friends, I think it best to be prepared for whatever this Council might bring.”

Zared paused, then spoke his own treason. “I have given orders to move the bulk of my troops out of Severin to within several leagues of Jervois Landing. If I might suggest …”

Herme grinned. “Where would you like our troops moved?”

6 The SunSoars at Home

Leagh sat with Zenith, watching RiverStar preen before her mirror. Leagh wished she were in any chamber but this one – even Drago must surely be a less disagreeable companion than Zenith’s elder sister! She shifted herself into a more comfortable position in her chair, and let her mind wander from the sisters’ conversation.

She had been in Sigholt over two weeks. Waiting. Waiting for the other heads of the Five Families to arrive. Waiting for Caelum to put her out of her misery and tell her his decision regarding her marriage. Waiting for Zared.

Once Askam had sent his escort north via riverboat and horse, Zenith had led Leagh, Askam and their two body servants into Spiredore. Leagh had never been in the tower previously, and its magic – as also the evidence of Zenith’s power – had almost overwhelmed her. Askam had remained stoutly silent, but Leagh had noticed that even he had paled when, emerging at the top of one of the bizarre stairwells, they had beheld Sigholt at the end of an enchanted corridor of blue mist.

On her first day in Sigholt, Leagh had been consumed with excitement. What would Caelum say? Where was Zared? But apparently it was only she and Askam granted such an unconventional (and speedy) conveyance to Sigholt; everyone else called to the Council had to arrive by more mundane means. Zared was still far distant. And Caelum proved as great a disappointment. At first Leagh had managed to convince herself that Caelum had asked her to Sigholt for good news – surely he would have preferred to have sent bad via a courier? But Caelum remained steadfastly silent at her repeated pleas for his word. He would wait until Zared was here. Then he would inform them of his decision.

Bad news, then. Leagh was miserably sure of it.

So she spent her days either wandering the shores of the lake by herself, or talking with Zenith. Askam was almost as unreachable as Caelum; her brother spent many hours each day either closeted with Caelum, or at weapon practice with Sigholt’s master-of-arms.

But surely her waiting was almost over. Over the past two days FreeFall SunSoar, Talon of the Icarii, Prince Yllgaine of Nor and the Ravensbund Chief Sa’Domai had all arrived. Sigholt awaited only Isfrael (if he chose to appear) and Zared – how far could he be?

Zared. How could she live life without him?

Leagh could not answer that question, and preferred not to think on it, thus here she was this afternoon, sitting with Zenith, listening to RiverStar prattle on about love.

RiverStar tilted her lovely head before her looking glass, admiring the curve of her throat. Her fingers lingered at the base of throat and breast, remembering the touch of her lover. She smiled and shifted her gaze in the glass, first looking at Leagh, sitting still and disconsolate, and then her sister.

“Poor Leagh is in no position to discuss the arts of love, Zenith,” she said. “But tell me, sister, have you taken a lover yet, or do you yet cling to your chastity?”

“I have not yet met the man of my heart, sister,” Zenith said, sitting by a small fire.

RiverStar’s eyes hardened at the implied criticism in Zenith’s tone. Zenith was truly a prude if she did not while away the time at Sigholt with a lover. Stars! But what else was there to do in Sigholt? And what else was the body for but to be used? All Zenith ever did was murmur incoherent words about the right lover every time some birdman dared touch her flesh or invite her into his bed.

RiverStar twisted about on her stool and stared at her younger sister. Zenith had all of their mother’s dark good looks, and more. So where had she inherited the reluctance to put them to enjoyable use?

“All this yearning for your imaginary lover will see you in your grave before you are bedded, Zenith. Let me find you a lover.” RiverStar paused. “And you, too, Leagh. Zared is a lean man, and reaching mortal middle age. No doubt he will tire early in bed. Let me find you an Icarii lover.”

Embarrassed, Leagh dropped her eyes, and Zenith glanced at her before responding to RiverStar’s taunt. “Spare your energies, sister, and find one for yourself.”

RiverStar chuckled deep in her throat. “I have found me a lover. The best yet. He kept me awake far into last night and exhausted me all over again at first light. There is none that can match him.”

Zenith was not very interested. RiverStar claimed every month that she had found a better lover than the last. Besides, this conversation could hardly be doing Leagh any good. Before she could say anything to redirect RiverStar’s mind, her sister continued.

“I think I shall wed him,” she said, and smiled in satisfaction as she watched Zenith’s surprise.

“Marry him? Is he an Enchanter? What is his name?”

RiverStar toyed with a curl of her hair and tried to look mysterious. “Well … he is an Enchanter of sorts, and he has unimaginable power. Can you guess his name?”

Zenith frowned and shook her head. “RiverStar, come on, tell me. Are you serious about taking a husband?” She couldn’t imagine RiverStar making anything but a very bad wife. What vows of fidelity she managed to mouth at the marriage would undoubtedly be broken within weeks.

“No, you are wrong, Zenith. I could be faithful to this man for an eternity. He is …” she shivered theatrically, and ran one hand down her thigh, “… more than enough to keep me satisfied. Dangerous. Darkly esoteric. Insatiable.” She almost growled the last word, and ran her tongue about her lips.

Gods, thought Leagh. He must have the stamina of an ox and a wall of steel about his heart to survive RiverStar! Leagh hoped RiverStar did not think to use her Enchanter powers to read her mind – the images jumbling about there were not very complimentary to RiverStar.

“Surely such a lover could only be a SunSoar,” Zenith observed, more than a little suspicious. “Who?”

Zenith was sure RiverStar was making this up. SunSoars were fated to truly love only another SunSoar, cursed to desire only their own blood. RiverStar could not be this satisfied with anyone but a SunSoar male – and who was available for them in Sigholt? No-one but first blood, their brothers and their father, and first blood was Forbidden.

She paused with her mouth half-open. No, not quite. There was always –

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” RiverStar said, and Zenith stood up in frustration, determined to find another topic of conversation. Did RiverStar think of nothing but the pleasures of a bedding?

“What else is there to think of in this foggy palace?” RiverStar asked, looking out the window to where the magical blue mists shrouded Sigholt.

“There are mysteries to contemplate,” Zenith said quietly, moving over to the window. “Dreams to examine.” Her voice had faded, and she was lost in her own thoughts now, not listening to RiverStar.

“Mysteries, bah!” RiverStar waved her hand impatiently. “The only mystery I wish to explore exists in the junction of –”

“In you the Icarii inclination towards obscenity has flowered into its full, foul-smelling ripeness, RiverStar,” a man’s voice said from the doorway.

“Drago,” RiverStar said, and leaned back in her chair, smoothing her filmy gown over her body. “My dear, sweet twin brother, what bitterness you display! Ever since our mother reversed your blood order and disinherited you from your Icarii powers you have been absolutely incapable of bedding anyone save the girls who sweep the kitchens. Think, Zenith, of all the Icarii female Enchanters he must covet,” she ran her hand over a breast, “and yet whom he cannot hope to bed in the face of their laughter and rejection.”

“RiverStar –” Zenith began.

“Would you beg to have me, Drago?” RiverStar pinched out her nipple. “Would you roll on the floor before me and beg?”

“Whore,” Drago said flatly, and stepped into the room. He turned as if to speak to Leagh, sitting in such embarrassed silence she wished all the SunSoar siblings would just go and find somewhere else to quarrel, but RiverStar had not yet finished with her brother.

“Wouldn’t he have made a useless Enchanter, Zenith?” she said, pretending a thoughtful expression. “But perhaps he would have expended his power using the Star Dance to burn up beetles on the parapets.”

Zenith opened her mouth, and then closed it again. What could she do now that she hadn’t tried previously? The gulf between RiverStar and Drago had grown over the past ten years as Drago had felt the first stirrings of age within his human body. RiverStar – shallow creature that she was – could not help but taunt his mortality. Drago could do nothing but meet her taunts with either the pretence of indifferent silence or the uselessness of sarcasm. That they had once shared a womb meant nothing to them now.

She saw Drago turn his gaze from Leagh to her, and watched his own eyes harden as he saw the sympathy in hers. Drago did not want anyone fighting his wars for him.

“But there is SunSoar blood in you yet,” RiverStar murmured, and her hand slid down her belly, her fingers daring, “and perhaps it craves SunSoar blood. Methinks you do not find that among your kitchen maids.”

Drago took a great breath, held it, and turned his back on RiverStar. “Leagh, Caelum would like you to –”

“Aha!” RiverStar laughed. “Our splendid leader has found a purpose for this all but useless man who stands before us. A messenger boy. Not an occupation imbued with pride, Drago, but perhaps it gives you some small purpose in life.”

Her barb finally found its mark. Drago whipped round to face his sister. “You’re nothing but a cold bitch, RiverStar,” he said with icy flatness. “You’d be happy enough left with a hound to couple with.”

He, in his turn, had stung deeply.

“You pathetic little human man!” RiverStar hissed, her face twisted with loathing. “I shall laugh over your grave! I will enjoy my lover on the sods above your mouldering flesh! I will –”

“That is enough,” Zenith said sharply. “Drago, what is it?”

Drago wrenched his eyes away from RiverStar, two red spots of anger in his cheeks, and half bowed to Leagh. To Zenith’s amazement his voice came out soft, almost gentle, and she wondered at the effort it must have cost him.

“Princess Leagh, I was walking up the main staircase when my brother Caelum called me to find you. He wishes your presence in the courtyard. The word from the sentries is that Zared and his escort ride towards the bridge.”

And then he stepped forward, and with the grace of a courtier offered a shocked and pale Leagh his arm and support.

7 Disturbing Arrivals

Leagh could not control the skidding of her heart, nor the sudden cramp in her chest that made each breath a painful effort. Calm down! she berated herself, but it did not help. Zared was only moments away, and it had been so long since she’d seen him.

Drago did not say a word as he led her down the corridors and stairwells of Sigholt. Leagh leaned on him without embarrassment – without him, she thought, she could not walk – and Drago made no complaint.

It was late afternoon, and the Keep threw a deep shadow over the courtyard. Leagh stumbled slightly as she and Drago walked outside, and he tightened his arm and drew her in a little closer.

“Hope,” she thought she heard him say, but when she glanced at his face it was expressionless, his eyes elsewhere, and so she thought she had imagined it.

There were several ranks of soldiers lined up in the courtyard, their hands ready on the hilts of their swords to provide a welcoming salute. Caelum, dressed all in black, walked forward to greet her.

Askam was two or three steps behind.

Leagh saw Caelum exchange a hard glance with Drago, and she felt Drago stiffen at her side, but she had no time for further observation of the brothers’ enmity.

“Zared?” she asked Caelum, and was stunned to hear her voice come out cool. Calm, even.

“A minute away,” Caelum said. “No more.”

And, indeed, at that moment Leagh heard the bridge call out to Zared, welcoming him. The bridge did not challenge him, for Zared had been born within Sigholt’s walls, and she knew him well.

Almost before the bridge had finished her greeting there came the clatter of many hooves on the bridge, and Leagh had a moment of panic.

Gods, what was she wearing? A pale blue linen gown that could be called serviceable, nothing more. And her hair! Leagh’s free hand patted at her head, remembering with horror that this morning she’d left her hair in nothing but a single thick braid down her back.

“Leagh,” Zenith’s soft voice said behind her, “you look lovely. Do not fret.”

I should be greeting Zared in the audience chamber of our palace in Carlon, Leagh thought, resplendent in satins and jewels, not here in this dairymaid’s gown – and she had no more time for thought, for at that moment Zared rode into the courtyard.

She was the first thing he saw. Absolutely stunned, Zared pulled his horse to such a sudden, skittery halt that Herme and Theod, who rode directly behind him, had to rein their own mounts sharply to one side to avoid him.

“Leagh?” he whispered.

At that precise moment the ranked soldiers presented their swords and standards, and a trio of trumpeters high in Sigholt’s walls blew out a clarion of welcome.

In the sudden presentation of arms, and the flags and banners fluttering about, Zared lost sight of Leagh.

Frustrated, he leaped from his horse, ducked under its neck … and came face to face with an impassive StarSon Caelum.

“Prince Zared, I welcome you to Sigholt. May its doors always swing wide to greet you, and its bridge always sing you a greeting.”

Damn these polite receptions! Zared cursed. He tried to see past Caelum, but he only saw Askam further back in the gloom, and the first of the ranks of stony-faced soldiers.

“I thank you, StarSon,” he replied evenly. “I, as must my other companions among the Five, find myself somewhat surprised to be so suddenly called to Council.”

“You know why you are here,” Caelum said, his voice toneless, and Zared wondered how long Askam had been in Sigholt, and what he’d managed to whisper into Caelum’s ear. While not as close as their fathers had been, Caelum and Askam were nevertheless friends. “This disunity between you and Askam must finally be put to rest.”

Askam had whispered nothing complimentary, Zared thought. “Then I welcome the summons, StarSon. I wish for nothing more than peace and harmony within Tencendor.”

Caelum’s eyes had slipped behind Zared. “Herme? Theod? Why do you travel with Zared?”

“We met the Prince of the North coming through the lower Urqhart Hills,” Herme said easily, “and chose to ride the final leagues with him. Theod and myself thought to have our voices heard at this Council, as the weighty matter before it affects all those living in the West. As in the North.”

Far back in the column of Zared’s escort, Goldman and Heavorand pulled their hoods a little closer over their faces. No doubt Caelum’s enchanted eyesight could spot them if he chose, but they did not want Askam to see them. Their business was best conducted without their Prince knowing they were at Sigholt.

“Who gave you permission to attend this Council?” Askam stepped forward to Caelum’s shoulder. “Theod? You should be at home, attending your seasonal county courts. Herme? You should know better than to present your uninvited self at Sigholt!”

Theod was lost for words, but Herme replied smoothly. “I did not realise our freedom of movement – our choice of movement – was also subject to your whim, Sir Prince.”

“Enough!” Caelum snapped. Truly, Theod and Herme should have known better than to ride in with Zared as if he were their prince, not Askam! But Herme had also made a telling point, and Caelum did not regret the chance to hear from someone other than Askam how the West was responding to the taxes.

“You may stay, Sir Duke and Sir Earl,” he said, his tone more even now. “I shall organise an afternoon to speak with you, but I also reserve the right to invite you or bar you from Council as I please.”

He turned slightly and called to his steward. “Runton? Prepare chambers suitable for the Duke and Earl. Zared, perhaps you might like to dine with me tonight?”

Zared ignored his invitation. “Caelum,” he said softly. “What is Leagh doing here?”

Caelum stared at him a moment, then waved Leagh forward.

She hesitated, and the man at her side – Zared noticed with some surprise who it was – spoke softly in her ear. Leagh gave the smallest of nods, and then walked forward calmly to stand at Caelum’s side.

“Zared,” she said simply, her eyes fixed on his.

Zared opened his mouth, found he could say nothing, and so stepped forward, took her hand, and kissed her palm.

“I think we will resolve many things in Council,” Caelum said softly. “Not only the issue of taxes.”

The evening meal, held with due pomp in the Great Hall of Sigholt, was the longest Zared had ever endured in his life. All the heads of the Five were there, as were their captains, their lieutenants, Caelum’s brother and sisters, DareWing FullHeart and the other Crest-Leaders of the Strike Force, the mayor and entire council of Lakesview, their wives, as well as WingRidge CurlClaw, SpikeFeather TrueSong and fifteen assorted Enchanters.

Leagh … Leagh was seated not only across the broad banquet table, but seven places down! Zared had not the chance to speak one word to her, let alone touch her, hold her.

If the decision on their marriage was to be discussed – and then determined – in Council, then Zared knew what that decision would be. Damn Caelum – and every other member of the Council – to everlasting crippling arthritis for what they were going to do to him and Leagh! Did they not bed as they chose? Had not every one of them picked their own mate … save Caelum, of course, who yet lingered unmarried.

Zared went through the meal in a state resembling an angry fugue, replying only in monosyllables when he was addressed, pushing his meat about his plate until it went cold and congealed in its gravy, then tapping his fingers irritably against the linen-clothed table until Caelum finally rose and departed.