Bonus Scenes
The Coronation (15 Hantar)
Cederic examined the Imperial crown where it rested on a purple velvet cushion. It was burnished gold lined with white satin, studded with pearls the size of his thumbnail. A single central diamond that would look like the wearer’s third eye winked in the low light of the reception chamber. The satin lining was yellowed toward the bottom, where it had rested against Imperial heads over the centuries. Emperors, Empresses, down to Renatha Torenz, who had betrayed its trust in her evil madness.
And now it was his.
He put his hands behind his back to keep himself from picking it up, feeling he ought not before he’d actually been crowned. He had worn it briefly, very briefly, when Veneta Amaleten had put it on his head to test the fit—he didn’t want it slipping down over his ears during the ceremony and distracting everyone from the gravity of the moment. It had been a perfect fit. Veneta hadn’t made any comment, but he knew her well enough to read her expression. Like it was made for you, she’d been thinking. Cederic tried not to feel superstitious about that.
He felt he was, if not the last person anyone would have chosen to rule an empire, certainly far down on the list. His family was of modest means, he was scholastically gifted, he’d spent his life in magical pursuits. Had the convergence and Renatha Torenz not intervened, he would have founded his own thanest and pursued his studies until old age forced retirement on him. It was not false modesty when he felt himself inadequate to the role he now intended to fill. He played the part well, but in the dark of night, when his doubts tormented him, he wondered why no one else saw how much he still needed to learn.
Someone stepped up beside him. “The Consort’s crown is far too big for me,” Sesskia said. “They had to pad the lining so it didn’t fall off. Some of those Emperor-Consorts must have had enormous heads and ears that stick out by a mile.”
Cederic smiled at the image. “The Consort’s crown is not so gaudy as the Emperor’s. It suits you.”
Sesskia shuddered exaggeratedly. “I never wore jewelry in my life until about four months ago, but I like to think I have better taste than that.”
“The crowns are only for state occasions. It is unlikely you will wear it more than a handful of times during our reign. Be grateful we were married before the coronation, because Imperial weddings are one of those occasions.”
“You’re so foresighted.” Sesskia hooked her arm around his elbow. Cederic took a moment to appreciate his wife’s figure, resplendent in her green and gold wedding gown. She wore her beautiful dark blonde hair loose around her shoulders, framing her round face. On impulse, he stroked her hair once, and she glanced his way and smiled. “I hope they call us soon. I’m getting hungry.”
“I fear my appetite has disappeared. Unfortunate, as I understand the feast prepared for us after the coronation is quite lavish.”
“I’ll eat for both of us.” Sesskia sighed and rested her head on his shoulder briefly. “I suppose it’s too late to run.”
“You don’t want to run.”
“Not really, just…it’s hit me recently that this means I’ll live the rest of my life in the open, no more hiding. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.”
“You would not have to do it if not for me.”
“That sounded close to bitter, Cederic. You don’t think I blame you, do you?” She squeezed his arm lightly. “This was the best choice, for us, for everyone. I may not love the idea of being a public figure, but being Empress-Consort doesn’t frighten me. If that makes sense.”
The door opened. “Your Majesties?” An older man with a square face and wispy brown hair entered the room. “They’re ready for you.” He stepped past Cederic and picked up the purple cushion bearing the crown. A younger woman, following behind him, reverently lifted the cushion with the Consort’s crown. The two crossed the room to a second door, almost invisible in its unobtrusiveness, and carried their burdens out.
Cederic caught Sesskia’s eye. She was smiling again, with that look that never failed to make his heart beat faster with love. “Walk with me?”
“Always,” she said.
A spiral staircase rose from the corridor beyond the reception chamber, just broad enough for the two of them to walk side by side. Th’an scrawled on the walls glowed with amber light, casting strange shadows as they passed. Music came faintly to his ear, as well as a distant murmur like an oncoming storm that filtered in from above, making Cederic picture Marloen Hall filled to capacity. Today they would make history, he and Sesskia, first Emperor and Empress-Consort of an Empire that hadn’t existed for centuries, possibly millennia. Sesskia’s hand rested loosely on his arm. She didn’t seem worried at all, and it comforted him. Of all his fears, the one that she might find all this too much, and reject him, was both the least rational and the most terrifying.
They emerged from the staircase and through a narrow door into the grand foyer of Marloen Hall. Crimson drapes fringed with silver tassels shrouded the windowless walls, turning the parquet floor dull and dark and giving the entire room a funereal look. Cederic had attended a number of musical performances there and had never become accustomed to its somberness. It was empty, the main doors closed but guarded by men in Balaenic Army uniforms. They had not been able to find the right garb for Imperial attendants, all of the existing costumes being intended for service directly to Renatha Torenz, so General Tarallan had pressed some of his men into service. Cederic thought it a good symbol, a reminder that even though their fragile new empire as yet had no name, he was Emperor to both Balaenic and Castaviran.
The two soldiers bowed their heads as he and Sesskia approached, respectful but not servile. It was a comforting gesture. He paused before the doors, let out a long breath, and said, “Now, if you please.” The soldiers took hold of the ornate brass handles and pulled the doors open. The music, something grand by one of his less-favorite composers, swelled to full, then cut off, leaving the chord unresolved. It was not a mistake—that was where the phrase ended—but it made Cederic uncomfortable nonetheless, as if the music demanded a response he was powerless to give. The swishing sound of a thousand people turning to look at him and Sesskia filled the space where the music had been. Cederic counted silently to three, then walked forward.
It was the longest walk of his life, longer even than the day he had left the kathana chamber, humiliated by his “old friend” Denril Vorantor. He kept his eyes focused on Veneta, who stood at the center of the dais below, dressed in the honey-gold silks and satins of the most high priestess. It had not been a difficult decision, granting her that rank, though there were likely others as qualified and deserving. Facing years of conflict and antagonism from men and women challenging his decrees, he had wanted to have at least one ally who would support him completely. Not that she would not argue with him if she felt he was growing arrogant, but that was itself a kind of support.
The uncanny stillness made it hard for him to keep a measured pace. Even his boots were quiet on the red velvet carpet. Sesskia’s gown rustled, barely audibly. Her hand gripping his forearm was the only sign she was not as inwardly placid as she appeared to be. She hated being the center of attention—well, she’d said it, that was no longer an option. What might have happened if they had not fallen in love? Would he still be here, pacing this interminable aisle alone? The idea of facing this challenge without her support filled him with horror.
The aisle ended at the dais steps, seven of them, shallow and broad and glossy with varnish. Cederic released Sesskia, who squeezed his hand in brief reassurance. It would be her turn to ascend soon enough. Keeping the same slow pace, he strode up the steps and stopped at the dais’s edge, some fifteen feet from Veneta. She was expressionless, her eyes fixed on his.
“Who comes before God at this time, in this place?” she exclaimed. The exquisite acoustics of Marloen Hall, honed by carefully placed th’an, carried her voice to its farthest reaches.
“Cederic Aleynten,” he replied, his deeper voice reverberating off the walls.
“Speak your will, Cederic Aleynten,” Veneta said.
“I come before God to claim the right of rule to the Empire of Castavir and Balaen.” It was an awkward phrase, but they hadn’t had time to come up with a name for the new empire, and Cederic felt it would be off-putting to the people to impose a new name to go along with a new country, with all the other impositions.
“Step forward, Cederic Aleynten, and be judged of God.”
Cederic walked forward and went to one knee before Veneta. He had knelt like this before Renatha Torenz and burned with fury at having to do so. He did not consider himself a particularly religious man, but he believed in God, and resented the madwoman’s usurpation of divinity. Now, kneeling in front of the most high priestess, he felt unexpected peace tug at his heart. Whatever his reservations, he was confident God knew the sincerity of his desires.
“Cederic Aleynten,” Veneta said, “you who would be Emperor, do you judge yourself worthy of this honor?”
“I have served the Empire all the days of my life,” Cederic said, “as mage, priest, Sai, and Kilios. I have never sought recognition for its own sake, but have sacrificed my own needs for those of the Empire. So far as I may humbly divine, I am worthy of the Imperial crown.”
“God recognizes your claims and acknowledges the truth thereof.” Veneta raised her head. “If anyone would dispute the right of Cederic Aleynten to lay claim to the Empire of Castavir and Balaen, speak now.”
Silence. With his back to the audience, Cederic couldn’t help but feel their eyes like daggers boring into him. If someone chose to speak up, he didn’t know what he’d do. They hadn’t planned for that contingency, choosing instead to pack Marloen Hall with men and women who were Cederic’s loyal supporters. He closed his eyes, praying for no interruptions. Nothing happened.
He felt Veneta’s hand rest atop his head, and opened his eyes. “Cederic Aleynten,” she said, “will you take oath before this company as Emperor?”
He swallowed to moisten his dry mouth. “I will.”
“Do you swear to fill the office of Emperor to the utmost of your ability?”
“I so swear.”
“Do you swear to uphold the laws of the Empire without fear or favor, granting justice to all who come before you?”
“I so swear.”
“Do you swear to serve the Empire for all the days of your life?”
“I so swear.”
“Do you swear to put the needs of the Empire above your own?”
“I so swear.”
Veneta removed her hand. “God hears your oath, and is satisfied.” She turned away, and when she turned back, she had the Imperial crown in her hands. “Cederic Aleynten, as God’s voice and with the witnesses of those present, I crown you Emperor of Castavir and Balaen. May your reign be long and just.”
The crown was heavier than it looked, weighing down his head so he bowed before Veneta. He continued to kneel as spontaneous cheering and shouting broke out throughout the hall, afraid he might stagger if he tried to stand immediately. A long and just reign. He’d settle for one that outlasted the defeat of Renatha Torenz.
Veneta made a little “get up” motion with her hand, shielded behind his body so no one else could see it. He smiled, rose, and turned to face the crowd. That only made the cheering redouble. His eye fell on Sesskia, waiting at the foot of the dais, smiling broadly. The ceremony wasn’t over yet.
He let the cheering go on for a few seconds longer, then gestured to request their silence. When stillness once again lay over the assembly, he said, “An Emperor’s strength is in the hands of his Consort. Sesskia of Balaen, join me.”
Sesskia strode up the steps, raising her skirts to avoid tripping over them, and knelt gracefully at his feet. “Sesskia,” Cederic said, and to his astonishment found himself tearing up. He cleared his throat. “Sesskia, do you judge yourself worthy of the honor of Empress-Consort?”
“I have risked my life in the service of Balaen and Castavir,” Sesskia said in a clear, ringing voice. “I want our countries to live together in peace. I want this Empire to flourish. In all humility, I believe I am worthy of the honor of Empress-Consort.”
“As God’s representative, the Emperor accepts your claim. Will you swear oath before this company as Empress-Consort?”
“I will.”
Cederic laid his hand atop her head. “Do you swear to fill the office of Empress-Consort to the utmost of your ability?”
“I so swear.”
“Do you swear to support the Emperor in all his doings, all the days of your life?”
“I so swear.” She smiled at Cederic, and he almost forgot what came next.
“Do you swear to uphold the laws of the Empire without fear or favor, granting justice to all who come before you?”
“I so swear.”
“Do you swear to serve the Empire for all the days of your life?”
“I so swear.”
“Do you swear to put the needs of the Empire above your own?”
“I so swear.”
“As God’s representative, the Emperor accepts your oath.” He removed his hand and half-turned to take the Consort’s crown from Veneta. “Sesskia of Balaen, as Emperor and with the witnesses of those present, I crown you Empress-Consort of Castavir and Balaen. May your reign be long and just.”
The crown seemed not to weigh on Sesskia as it had on him; she continued to smile at him as the cheering recommenced. Cederic thought it might be louder for his wife than it had been for him. The years ahead would be difficult, and he was fully aware he would not be popular, so it was just as well one of them would be. He offered her his hand and helped her rise and face the audience. “And so it begins,” he murmured.
“It still doesn’t feel quite real,” she murmured back. “You’d think the cheering would be enough. Or the weight of the crown.”
So she did feel it. “It is a first step, the first of thousands. Someday I imagine we will wake to the realization of what we have sworn this day.”
“The sooner, the better.” Sesskia gripped his hand more tightly. “We don’t have to wear these things throughout the meal, do we?”
“I am certain Sai Amaleten will want them whisked away for safekeeping.” Cederic guided Sesskia down the stairs and, hand in hand, they proceeded up the aisle. This time they waved and smiled at the crowd, though Sesskia did it more easily than he did. It would likely be years before he felt comfortable enough to really smile in public.
The crowd bulged and swayed as people moved to follow them, though no one ventured onto the ribbon of carpet that unrolled straight as a furrow from the dais to the doors. The Balaenic soldiers who stood sentry at the doors headed toward them, gesturing at the people to stay back. Cederic put his left arm around Sesskia and limbered up his fingers in preparation for fending overeager subjects off. It would look bad for him to turn magic on his people, but worse for them to be mobbed.
Someone stepped onto the carpet as if pushed by those behind him. Cederic registered the knife as it began its descent. Without thinking, he put himself between it and Sesskia, raising his hand to work the mind-moving pouvra on the man even though he knew no gestures were needed. That extra second was all it took for the knife to plunge into his chest.
Cold agony shot through him. He opened his mouth to shout a warning and heard a pained, wordless cry emerge instead. The man raised the knife for another blow, and Cederic tried once again to work the mind-moving pouvra, but it slipped away as if oiled. Dazed, he saw the knife glitter oddly before falling to the ground. Two men, the soldiers, tackled the assailant. They went down in a pile, but slowly, as if time no longer had meaning.
Cederic realized he was on the floor. The carpet was not as soft as it looked. Sesskia had hold of the front of his embroidered tunic, her mouth opening and closing as slowly as the soldiers had fallen. She looked like a fish, a beautiful blonde fish. He tried to tell her this—she would find it funny—but his mouth wouldn’t respond.
His head was so heavy, probably because of the crown…but no, it lay on the floor some distance away. It must have fallen off when the knife struck him. If it was damaged, Veneta would never let him forget it. Cederic blinked slowly as the crown grew fuzzy in his vision. He smelled blood. A lot of blood. Sesskia was covered in it—oh, no, had the assailant hurt her too? He tried to sit upright, grabbed Sesskia’s wrist, but his fingers were as numb as his mouth. His chest burned, his heart beat erratically. I’m dying, he thought. He tried to keep his eyes open, feeling madly as if in closing them, he might never open them again, but they were as heavy as the crown, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
He came to himself in a dry, cool room filled with the oily smell of a lot of magic all in one place. Opening his eyes turned out to be difficult, so he let his ears and nose build up a picture for him. He was in bed, not one that was familiar to him, and the pillow felt rough, so he wasn’t anywhere luxurious. The smell of magic meant this was probably a thanest, possibly the Firtha thanest, though why was he in a thanest instead of at Marloen Hall?
He forced his eyes open and raised his head from the pillow. Sesskia sat next to his bed, her eyes and nose reddened and her hands clasped in her lap. Blood soaked the front of the green and gold gown, its coppery scent faded behind the smell of magic. Terror struck him, made his heart lurch. She jerked, startled, as he moved. “Sesskia,” he croaked, “are you all right?”
Her eyes widened, then filled with tears. “Am I all right?” she sobbed. “Cederic, you nearly died! That man—I should have stopped him, I can’t forgive myself—”
“Sesskia, don’t cry,” Cederic said, aghast. He lifted his hand—it seemed to weigh a hundred pounds—and clasped her interlocked ones. “Don’t cry.”
She drew a shuddering breath and blinked tears away. “I’m sorry. It’s just…they told me you would recover, but there was so much blood. I did my best with the healing pouvrin, the healers said they saved your life, the pouvrin did, but I—” She breathed in again. “You’re still weak. I shouldn’t upset you.”
Cederic let his head fall back onto the pillow. It, too, felt as if it were made of lead. “I do not remember an attack. My last memory is of raising you to your feet and accepting the accolades of the crowd.”
“Some raving bastard tried to kill you, halfway up the aisle,” Sesskia said. “I don’t know if he was after you or me, because you put yourself between me and the knife, but he…I made him drop the knife, and the guards killed him.”
Cederic closed his eyes again and let her words sweep over him. He felt so tired. That made sense, if he’d been stabbed and then healed. For once it was he who took injury, and not Sesskia. Gratitude carried him off into sleep again.
The Big Blow-up (18 Teretar)
Lady Radryntor’s cook was indifferent at best, producing bland meals heavy with fish and other seafood. Cederic had been born far inland, and fish had not been part of his boyhood diet. Even in Colosse, where the chefs had been excellent, they had rarely cooked fish, and those only river trout. Shrimp had been a delightful discovery three and a half weeks ago. Now he was tired of it. Steak, that would be wonderful, or even a simple baked potato with butter.
He dutifully forked up another bite of shrimp in cream sauce, grateful for the self-control that kept even the slightest hint of distaste off his face. To his left, Lady Radryntor dug in happily, making the little humming sound she did when she was eating something she enjoyed. Cederic was certain she had no idea she did it. He appreciated it because it made her seem human, an ordinary woman and not the hardened bigot she actually was. He needed to deal with her fairly, and the humming made it easier. Easier, but not effortless.
Lady Radryntor’s hostility to his cause grew daily. It took every ounce of conciliatory civility he possessed to keep her placated, keep her energies turned toward preventing her people from clashing with the Balaenics. He was increasingly convinced it was an exercise in futility. When they first arrived in Pfulerre, his presence had done much to soothe tensions between Lethess and Pfulerre, but Lady Radryntor’s bigotry had infected the populace. Cederic feared the day when he would have to call on the Balaenic Army to put down a riot. That would only make matters worse.
At night, he would lie awake pondering the problem. Would it be better to force the issue, command Lady Radryntor to obey him, or wait for her to challenge him so she would clearly be in the wrong? He would listen to Sesskia’s quiet breathing and contemplate waking her to discuss it, craving her company as well as her opinion. But she looked so tired, all the time, that he could never bear to disturb her sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love. Well, soon they would perform that all-important kathana, and time would be theirs again.
“I won’t join you for the judgment session this afternoon,” Lady Radryntor said abruptly. “My stewards have business for me to attend to. Questions of tariffs, which the Balaenics still aren’t paying.”
Cederic was glad his mouth was full, as it gave him time to control his first reaction, which was to hurl accusations of bigotry and disobedience at the woman. “The citizens of Lethess are under no obligation to pay tariffs on goods merely traveling through your city boundaries,” he said. “As I believe we have discussed.”
“These are tariffs on their trade, your Majesty, not on their traffic,” Lady Radryntor said, a trifle smugly. “They resist paying what I believe is a fair tax on foreign goods.”
“I think—” Cederic caught himself before he could criticize. He was willing to bet Lady Radryntor’s “fair tax” was unfairly weighted. “I will discuss the matter with Lady Amelessar. I am certain you and she can come to an accommodation.” Though if they did, it would likely be because Granea Amelessar gave in. Lady Amelessar was a better administrator and a nicer person than Lady Radryntor, but she also had governance of a city a third the size of Pfulerre, and was aware of the position that put her in. Even so, Cederic knew Granea’s patience with Lady Radryntor was wearing thin.
“Let’s hope so. I have been nothing but reasonable with regard to those people.” Lady Radryntor took another bite and the humming began again. Cederic realized he was gripping his fork tightly enough that the tendons stood out on his hand and made himself relax. After this meal, he would go in search of Sesskia. Was today the day they were performing the kathana? He couldn’t remember. He would…no, he had to sit in judgment in Pfulerre that afternoon, much as he wished he could delegate that responsibility. After that, he would find Sesskia, and the two of them would sit together, talk, possibly do more than that.
The gauzy blue-green curtain hanging in the arched entrance parted, and a Balaenic soldier entered. “Your Majesty,” he said, then seemed to lose sight of the rest of his sentence.
Cederic laid his fork down. “Yes?”
“Your Majesty,” the man continued, “there is something…your presence…your Majesty, something terrible has happened. The magic they were working, the kathana, it…failed.” He said “kathana” like it was a word in a foreign language, which for him, it was.
“Failed?” Cederic said, dread rising within him. Failure was bad enough, but this man looked as if he had had a glimpse of hell. “How, failed?”
“What is that man saying?” Lady Radryntor said irritably. “How dare he interrupt this meal?”
“People died,” the soldier said, ignoring the words spoken in a language he did not understand. He swallowed hard. “They…I’ve never seen—”
The dread hardened into a knot of horror. “Sesskia?” Cederic choked out.
The man shook his head. “No, your Majesty, but others—”
Cederic pushed back his chair and stood. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know, your Majesty. Jeddan sent me to tell you…he said you should know. They…I’ve never seen more horrible deaths.”
“Excuse me,” Cederic said to Lady Radryntor, and left without waiting for her response.
He ran through the halls of the consul’s palace and across Pfulerre, drawing on th’an to replenish his aching muscles and relieve his heavy breathing. Rain fell in a light drizzle, dampening his hair and shoulders, but he had no attention to spare to do anything about it.
The space outside the military camp where the mages had prepared the kathana circle was empty of people, though the circle remained. It was mostly whole except where one of the clay runes had been scrabbled out of the ground and crushed into black fragments that lay scattered across its surface. It showed no sign that anything had gone wrong with the kathana, no blood or anything that might indicate people had died there.
He debated briefly with himself, then ran back to the consul’s palace. Someone in the camp might know what had happened, but he was far more likely to learn the truth from the mages themselves. He hoped they had returned to their quarters—many deaths? What could possibly have gone so wrong?
The wing of the palace set aside for the mages’ use was unnaturally silent. Normally a low hum filled the air, the sound of dozens of people talking quietly. Cederic pushed aside the drape covering the doorway and entered the common area. The curtains were drawn back from the tall windows, letting in watery sunlight that illuminated the giant slate boards where the mages drew plans for kathanas. Low seats like flattened mushrooms dotted the floor. A few men and women, strangers to Cederic, occupied them, one or two curled up into tight balls with their eyes open and staring at some invisible horror. Seeing them, Cederic’s horror tightened inside his chest.
“Where is Sesskia?” he demanded, then regretted how harsh he’d sounded. Whatever these people had experienced, they did not deserve to be harassed.
Silence reigned for a long moment. Then one of the women sitting nearby said, “She was caring for the bodies. I think she went to her room after that. I haven’t seen her since—” Tears spilled from her eyes, and her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. Cederic mumbled something in thanks and left the room. Once in the hall, he sprinted for his bedchamber.
The door hung ajar, and no sound came from within. Cederic pushed it open, moving silently. He felt as if he were creeping up on some woodland creature who might flee if startled, though he had no idea why that was the image that occurred to him in connection with whatever tragedy his wife had endured. Shutting the door quietly behind him, he walked to the bed. Sesskia lay there, curled on her side in sleep. Both her fists were clenched as if she were fighting demons. She looked so beautiful, her thick hair spilling across her back and over her shoulders, her dark lashes resting on her cheeks like a silken fringe, her brows drawn down in that so-familiar fierce expression, that the knot in his chest relaxed. Surely it could not have been so terrible, if she could sleep.
He sat beside her and thought about leaving her to her rest. No, he thought, we have been alone for far too long, and gently shook her shoulder to wake her. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked up at him without comprehension. The momentary sensation that she didn’t know who he was filled him with guilt at having left her alone for so long. “Sesskia,” he said, “wake up. Tell me what happened.”
She sat, and his hand fell away from her shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Memory returned to her, and a look of bleak horror crossed her face. Cederic clasped her hands, wishing he could erase that look as easily. He remembered how she had looked back in the palace at Colosse, months ago, bearing the burden of the God-Empress’s evil alone, and it broke his heart.
“Sesskia, you look as if you are being eaten from within,” he said. “You need to talk about it. Please, love, let me share your burden.”
She blinked. “Share my burden?” she whispered. Then she shouted, “Share my burden? Now you want to share my burden? Where the hell have you been, all these weeks when I needed you and you just…just ignored me? Should I be grateful that you’ve finally decided I’m more important than all your damned responsibilities, or did you just find yourself with five minutes in your schedule and thought ‘well, I have this wife, maybe I should see how she is’? Damn it, Cederic, nine people are dead—is that really what it takes to get through to you? I don’t know why you bothered, since it’s not like they’re coming back!”
Her words struck him like shards of ice, sharp-edged and painful. All his worst nightmares, that she would suddenly decide being married to the Emperor was too much, came true in a single long moment. The hard, derisive tone of her voice, the look on her face—he was never going to forget it. He withdrew his hands from hers and stood, feeling his face had frozen into a dispassionate mask. He found himself at the door without knowing how he’d gotten there. Sesskia had fallen silent, for which he was grateful. He shut the door behind him and stood there, struggling for composure.
She was right. He’d ignored her, and this was the price—this terrible, agonizing guilt and the crushing heartache of being spoken to so cruelly by the woman he loved. He tried to muster anger, because he was sure he did not deserve it, not all of it, anyway. But all he could feel was pain so intense his eyes ached with the tears he never dared shed.
Distantly, he heard the sound of Sesskia weeping—no, that was far too gentle a word for the sounds tearing out of her, the howl of someone pushed past enduring into a grief that could not be expressed any other way. He took a few steps away from the door. He would let her cry it out, return later when she had regained control, and maybe they could forget what had passed between them.
No. No more separation. She needs me more than ever, no matter what she said.
He went back into the room and again closed the door quietly, though it was unlikely she could hear him over the sound of her sobs. She had her face buried in the pillows and her whole body shook with her tears. Once more, he sat on the bed and gathered her into his arms, holding her close with her wet cheek pressed against his. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t sure whether he was apologizing, or expressing his pain at her sorrow, but he could feel in his heart there was nothing else he could say.
Sesskia shuddered, then flung her arms around him and clutched him like a drowning woman offered a rope. She cried, and he held her for what felt like forever, until her tears turned into shaking, dry sobs. They held each other, not moving, not speaking, and Cederic stroked her hair and wished he knew what to say to comfort her further.
“I’m sorry,” Sesskia finally whispered. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. I didn’t mean it.”
“I may have deserved some of it,” Cederic said. “I have been a fool for not realizing how little we were seeing of each other. Lady Radryntor has occupied so much of my time I told myself my own needs could wait. But I never thought of your needs, nor that my needs are to some extent those of the Empire and should not be neglected.
“Even so, I should never have spoken to you that way,” Sesskia said. “Please forgive me.”
“As you forgave me, once.”
She lifted her head so she could look at him. Tears still sparkled on her thick lashes. “I should have pushed harder,” she said. “I knew we were drifting apart, but I was selfish. I figured since I was exhausting myself, you should be the one to make the effort. So I never did anything beyond trying to stay awake until you came to bed.”
Cederic smiled and wiped away a few of her tears. “You don’t know how many times I thought of waking you,” he said. “But I knew you needed your rest, and I told myself eventually there would be time.”
“I wish you’d woken me.”
“I wish I had, too. But we have nothing but time now.” He kissed her, and felt her respond with such desire it drove the rest of his doubts and sorrow away. The judgment would wait. Nothing was more important than her.
“Even if Lady Radryntor decides to evict us from Pfulerre?” Sesskia said, twining her fingers in his hair.
Cederic gestured, and a heavy chair flew across the room and wedged itself under the doorknob. “She will need several men with large axes to do that,” he said between kisses, “and if she is able to get past that door, there are more chairs in this room I will use as projectiles.”
Sesskia started unbuttoning his shirt. “Are you sure your concentration can be divided like that?”
He slipped his hands under her shirt and unfastened her breast band. “No, but I thought you might like the reassurance of knowing I am so committed to making you cry out in pleasure I would attack the servants of one of our vassals to ensure it.”
“That is the most romantic thing you have ever said to me,” Sesskia said, and pulled her own shirt off over her head.
It felt like the first time all over again, as if they had been so long separated they had forgotten the feel of each other’s bodies. Cederic was experienced enough to recognize his partner’s desperate need for reassurance, for something that would replace whatever awful events had transpired in the kathana circle, and took his time, giving her pleasure without asking anything in return. It was the most marvelous experience. He loved her so much.
After, when they lay twined together, Cederic said, “Do you think you can tell me about it now?”
Sesskia curled closer. “It was a disaster,” she whispered. “I still don’t know what happened, and I don’t want to think about finding out, not today, anyway. The eight keypoint mages were killed by their magic, crushed or burned to death, and Jaemis—” She drew another shuddering breath. “We couldn’t even tell Jaemis had been human.”
Cederic’s throat and eyes ached with sorrow. He had known Jaemis Quallen for seven years, since before he was Kilios. They had been as close to friends as Cederic ever was with any of the mages. He had been a brilliant student of transmutation, which was why he’d been at the center of the kathana. The thought of him dead made Cederic’s heart hurt.
“I made sure they were all taken…where they could be readied for burial,” Sesskia went on. “I just keep thinking—what did we do wrong? Were we impatient, or were they the wrong mages at the keypoints, or…” She shuddered again and buried her face in his shoulder. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“I wish I knew what to tell you,” Cederic said. “I should have involved myself more in the kathana, so I could be more help to you.”
“I’m glad you weren’t, because we might have asked you to take the central role, and maybe I’d be mourning you now instead of Jaemis. I couldn’t bear that. Cederic, I feel as if I’ve done nothing but make mistakes for the last three weeks. Stupid mistakes, stupid wrong decisions.”
He kissed her again, ran his hand down her side and over her hip, hoping to distract her and make the bleak look vanish. “There is nothing we can do about the past except move forward, and hope to do differently in the future. Together, this time. No more struggling alone.”
“No, you’re right, but I haven’t even told you—Cederic, my sister is in Lethess.”
His eyebrows went up. “Roda?”
Sesskia nodded. “She came to see me…just over two weeks ago. It was after they welcomed us to Lethess, you know, how we paraded through the city? She was there on business and she saw me, and she came to the camp. She looks just the same as always, small and dark-haired with Dad’s eyes. She said…she said she’d looked for me, years ago, but I’d already left Thalessa and she couldn’t find anyone who remembered me. She asked me to forgive her so we could be a family again. I sent her away.”
Cederic twisted a lock of Sesskia’s hair around his finger and waited. Finally, Sesskia said, “Well?”
“I was not sure whether you wanted advice, or just a listening ear.”
“I don’t know. I guess I want reassurance.”
“That you did the right thing?” Cederic propped himself on his elbow so he could look more directly at her. “If you are looking to me to tell you whether or not to forgive your sister, you will have to ready yourself for disappointment, as I think it is not my place to tell you what to do with your pain. But I think you are wrong in believing that forgiveness means behaving as if the sin never happened.”
“Then what does it mean?” Sesskia said.
“What did it mean when you forgave me the cruel things I said to you in the palace?”
Sesskia averted her eyes. “That was different,” she said. “That wasn’t years of pain and abandonment.” She looked up at him through her lashes and smiled. “Besides, I was in love with you and I wanted a reason to forgive you.”
He laughed. “The two may be different in, let us say, intensity,” he said, “but the principle is the same. You chose to let go of the resentment you might justifiably have harbored against me. That is not the same as pretending it never happened. Much as I personally would like not to have that memory.”
“And it meant being able to love you, so it’s not as if nothing good came of it.”
“That is true.” He sighed. “It’s up to you to decide whether something good came of Roda’s actions. But I think, if you choose to let the past bury the past, you may feel happier. And your happiness is paramount to me.”
Sesskia put her arms around his neck. “Show me,” she said. With a smile, Cederic drew her close and kissed her, long and sweet.