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In reluctant celebration of the dreaded springtime rites, Araine lifted her jewel-mitted hands, curved her fingers over the lyre’s strings, and plucked out a vile, lilting melody of love.
A song of Atea for Iris, who now danced before their guests.
Even as her fingers sped over the lyre’s strings, Araine cringed inwardly. May the Infinite forgive her for playing this traitorous music! If only her entire family could be won to Him—not just Grumps, seated gloomily at the feast before them. A traditional feast Araine now loathed—unlike Iris.
Iris ruled this gathering tonight, iridescent jewels sparkling at her throat and waist, her elegant body swaying and swirling to the ardent chords with unsurpassed grace, her veils of shimmering rose and violet rippling around her in arced pastel currents as she moved. Who wouldn’t admire such perfection?
Risking another glance from her harp, Araine eyed her parents and their guests who seemed enraptured by Iris’s every step. Even the town’s reserved magistrate, Giff, appeared enchanted, though in the past ten months he’d been discretely resisting Iris’s attempts to lure him toward the goddess.
Clearly Iris was the exclusive feminine focus of his affections—to Iris’s disappointment.
Araine finished the exquisite, odious tune with an extravagant flourish and a sigh. How long would the Infinite endure her playing such paeans, such joyful hymns to Atea? She could barely endure them herself.
Pink and breathless, Iris sank onto the cushioned bench beside Araine. Fanning herself delicately with her veils, she whispered, “My, how Giff is staring! Haven’t I won him to Atea yet? Rain, I’m near to giving up on the man.”
“He’s quite won,” Araine murmured. “But to you, not to Atea.”
Iris drew in a deep breath. “If so then I have failed again.”
“Nonsense.” Caught by an inexplicable fancy and Giff’s tender Iris-smitten glance, Araine nudged her sister. “Marry him.”
“What?” Iris hesitated then shook her gold-curled head. “No. I couldn’t possibly. He’s not an Atean, which is my fault.”
“He loves you.” As Araine wished some man might love her. Corban, for all the light teasing and ardent phrases in his letters, never mentioned love, particularly not the wholehearted love she’d found in her Creator’s words.
...you are forever in My sight, precious and honored, because I love you....
Seeing those golden verses yet again in her thoughts, Araine stilled, turning wistful. Who could ever match Him? No one. Dear Infinite...
She swallowed. Careful. It would be so easy to breathe His Name, His words, with all the adoration she’d formed while reading His verses.
Beside her Iris taunted singsong, “Araaaaine, where are you?”
Araine flung her sister a rueful smile. “In a dream, of course.”
“Aren’t you always?” Iris exhaled and lifted her lyre from its carved stand beside the bench. “I think I’ve caught my breath now. And Darion is raising an eyebrow at us. I suppose we ought to play one more tune for our guests.”
And then eat, Araine hoped. “Let’s play something cheerful.”
“My Beloved in Springtime,” Iris said. She picked out those first few lingering notes, obviously forgetting that the end of the tune hinted at the beloved’s grave.
“Oh, really!” Araine followed her sister’s lead, stifling an impulse to twang jarring musical runs around her sister’s perfect chords. She played until alarms lifted within her, chilling all the hairs along her arms and scalp. Why? At the song’s end, she looked up and straightened, glimpsing a tall, regal, dark-cloaked form hovering in the doorway.
Corban. Slim and sun-bronzed, watching only her, his intentions and infatuation clear.
Infinite, save me!
***
CLUTCHING HER DARK robes close, muting her footsteps lest Corban hear, Araine crept past his chamber toward her father’s rooms. She must make Darion listen and heed her fears. Just as she pressed her hands upon the door, pausing for courage, the door silently shifted.
“Will you return to Siphra?” her father’s voice asked.
“I’ll wait a few months.” Corban’s tone was distinctly grim. “My entire family is in chaos. Half the Thaenfalls are bowing to the new queen—our own traitor-cousin! And the other half is fighting to retain Thaenfall lands without offering fealty to that upstart king. If my lord-father hadn’t failed, we wouldn’t be in this situation now.”
“I am sorry he’s dead,” Darion sighed.
“He was reckless.” Corban’s voice shifted as if he was pacing about Father’s chamber. “Any reasoning man would know that a solitary attack in the palace would prove fatal and ruinous for his heirs. Yet...” Corban exhaled, as if pondering aloud. “Although Lord Siymont’s recent rebellion also failed, his heir has been restored to his title. My legal advisors are working through the situation.” Again his voice moved. “I have some hope of restoration. I was nowhere near Munra when my lord-father attacked the king.”
Araine pressed her fisted hand to her mouth as her churning stomach threatened mutiny. Corban’s father had attacked Siphra’s king. Might Corban himself be guilty of treason? Yet Corban was related to Siphra’s new queen and potentially wealthy. Darion would undoubtedly—
“You are welcome here,” Darion said, giving voice to her fear. “I’m sure you have been missed. My younger daughter has been most preoccupied with reading and writing letters.”
Oh! Araine gritted her teeth. Darion couldn’t be more blatant. Did he think this proud nobleman would marry her, the daughter of a merchant? If so, then Darion was as foolish as Corban’s father.
“Thank you,” Corban said, “However I’ve rented rooms within the walking distance; therefore I won’t trouble you further....”
By his tone Corban was bringing their talk to an end—and avoiding all mention of her. If she didn’t make haste now, she’d be caught listening—or worse, caught by Corban in the main hall. Heart thudding, Araine retreated.
Let Corban and Darion make their plans. She would not be coerced to follow in Iris’s footsteps and be left abandoned and heartbroken.
Silent as a bird in flight, Araine sped through the hallway and up the stairs, planning her rebellion.
***
SMILING, ARAINE LEANED down to kiss her grandfather’s bewhiskered cheek and to tuck his quilt more snugly about his thin shoulders. “Thank you for being ill, Grumps.”
He snorted. “My pleasure. But no more than a day or two, mind you.”
“Just enough to allow me to hide and nurse you through festival time.”
“You’d think,” Grumps groused, “that your father and Liyda would have been concerned enough to climb the stairs and ask after my health. I could be dying, after all. At least Iris fretted enough to bestir herself.”
“She’s a love. I just hope she remembers to tell Lord Corban Thaenfall that I’m detained.” Araine checked the lamp at her grandfather’s bedside, and her props of medicinal vials, goblets, and pressed herb tablets.
Grumps scowled at the pretend remedies. “There’s nothing bitter in that jumble, is there?”
“It’s all mint and fruit extracts,” Araine promised.
“Well, then, I’ll snack on them if I wake during the night. Now go away, Rain. No fussing! Study your books, make some perfumes, and leave me alone.”
“Yes. Thank you, Grumps.”
“Mmph.” He shut his eyes.
She left his door ajar as any caretaker would, and then scampered up to her own room, enjoying the quiet. Humming softly, she prowled through her upright storage chest, removed two scrolls, a mortar, and a clutch of spices. After carefully weighting the scrolls to hold them open and at a safe distance from her small mortar, she tied a protective linen smock over her festival gown, measured her spices, and worked them into dark fragrant dough while she read verse after lovely golden, living verse.
Praise the Infinite, my soul, with all my being, praise His holy name...forget not all He has done for you...eternally and forever, His love is with those who fear Him....
“Why...” a man’s chilling voice scolded, “...are you not attending the springtime rites?”
Gasping, her heart leaping in shock, Araine dropped the dough and spun around to face Corban. Almost nose-to-nose, for he was leaning over her as if he’d meant to kiss the nape of her neck. “Sir! You’ve frightened me! Why did you sneak up on me so?”
The nobleman cut her off with a laugh and a caress to her cheek, sliding his fingers into her hair. “Araine, spare me your reproaches. You were so absorbed in your reading and play that I could have sung a chorus as I approached and you wouldn’t have heard.”
He kissed her lips, stealing the last of her wits.
She’d forgotten his kisses, the warmth of his touch, and his ability to mesmerize her. Perhaps...perhaps she should allow him to court her.... No, he expected her to worship Atea.
A memory returned of the handsome, mysterious young man who had warned her last year, “The Infinite has seen your failings....” As He undoubtedly saw her being tempted now.
She turned her head away, trembling. “Sir, you shouldn’t be here.”
Corban chuckled warmly, his breath soft on her cheek, his gray eyes and sun-streaked hair all...alluring. “I shouldn’t be here? Why? You weren’t where you should have been.”
“I stayed here because Grumps is ill.”
“Yes, your lovely sister made excuses for you,” Corban murmured. “But fear not. I checked on your grandfather. He’s asleep and has no need of you. Therefore I’m here to collect on your pledge to me.”
Araine swallowed, gathering courage. “I pledged nothing.”
“I believe you did. But if you don’t remember, I’ll remind you.” He kissed her lightly then clasped her wrists. “Wash your hands. That dough smell delicious, but it’s dark as dirt. I’ll read your little philosophies while I wait. I’ve been most intrigued, re-reading your letters....”
His words and amusement faded as he stared at the Infinite’s sacred verses. “What is this?” He scanned several more verses then looked at her, his eyes widening, incredulous with a dawning fury. “A Book of the Infinite! Did you write these verses to me?”
Feeling the blood ebb from her face, she gripped the edge of the table. Corban grabbed her shoulders. “You did! You traitorous little wretch! His followers stole Siphra’s crown and ruined my family! My lord-father died because of the Infinite, and you sent His words to me!”
He slapped her, and as she gasped and struggled to free herself, he cried, “Your Infinite has killed you! Just as He took my father’s life, He will take yours!”
“No, He won’t! He has given me life.”
“Be silent!”
She twisted free and scrambled away. “But in all our letters, you praised what I wrote, specifically noting His verses! Sir, what if His Spirit is what you truly long for? Does His Word call you?” She saw a terrible darkness gather in his eyes. And yet...had she glimpsed a flash of uncertainty? Fear? “You’ve sensed Him. You hear Him calling! Why can’t...?”
He lunged and swung at her again, his fist’s merciless impact throwing her to the tiles. Kneeling, he grasped her face, his palm covering her mouth, his nails clawing her skin. “Don’t speak of Him! You won’t drag me into His cursed realm. His followers ruined my family.” His grip tightened until she tasted blood.
Araine shrieked, her cry stifled beneath his crushing, bruising suffocating hand. How could anyone be so strong? He was going to kill her. Smother her. For an instant the pain eased, allowing her to look up at him through glittering tears. Her tears. And his.
His.
Araine stared at him, sickened by the truth. He’d cared for her. Still cared. But his expression of anguish and that look of betrayal, carved with utmost fury...
Corban bared his teeth. “You don’t know what you’ve meant to me, what you might have become. But that’s lost, isn’t it? You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“Sir, I shared those verses...because I loved them, and because you need peace. He...”
“No!” Corban shook her, his grip leaving vicious bruises. “Speak of Him again and I’ll kill you here and now!” He stood, dragging her up. “Stand! Pick up those scrolls.” He paused. “Where are the other verses, all the phrases from your letters? There are more, aren’t there?”
She wanted to deny it, but he knew the truth.
“Where are they?” He swept a glance through her beloved tower room and stormed over to the ancient upright storage chest.
Araine dashed after him. He couldn’t destroy the Books! “Corban...”
As if she were a fly, he swatted her away, sending her sprawling on the floor. While she struggled to her feet, he reached into the niches within the upright storage chest, swearing as he cast scroll after precious scroll to the floor. Araine snatched at them. “Sir, listen to me!”
“I’m finished listening to you!” He whirled about, set to attack her again.
Grumps entered the chamber now, wielding his walking staff, his night robes a-boil. He gawked at Araine and then charged at Corban, bellowing, “What have you done to her? I’ll—!”
He battered Corban’s head and arms with the staff until Corban wrested it away and heaved him through the doorway. “Out, you interfering old man!”
“Grumps!” Araine dashed after them both, in time to see Grandfather snag Corban again in a fighting rage. Corban snarled and flung Grumps down the stone steps. Araine screeched, watching her grandfather tumble headlong against the stones. “No! Grumps!”
Corban dragged her inside. “Leave him!”
Araine struggled, clawing his arms as she struggled to free herself. “You’ve hurt him!”
“I’ll kill him if he attacks me again. As for you...” Corban kicked at the scrolls on the floor then flung Araine down among them and kicked her viciously. “Pick them up! Wrap them in your mantle—all of them, or I’ll kill you and make it look like suicide!”
Sobbing she obeyed, even as she cried toward the doorway, “Grumps, are you hurt? Grumps?”
He wasn’t answering, and she could barely see the precious scrolls through her tears. Corban snapped, “Pick up that last one! Move before he tries again.”
If only Grumps would try again. She’d know he wasn’t seriously injured. Swallowing her sobs, she collected the final scrolls, bundled them together within her old blue mantle like a beloved child, and then straightened, hugging the precious words close. Corban gripped her arm and steered her through the doorway into the echoing stairwell.
Amid the curving stone steps, Grumps lay bloodied, unmoving and unblinking. Unblinking...unmoving... Dead? A burning rift of pain opened within Araine, blade-sharp, shredding her soul, her heart. Dead! Her fault! She wailed, “Grumps! Oh no! No!”
She struggled to reach for him, but Corban held her tight as iron manacles, refusing to allow her to drop the scrolls and kneel with her grandfather. Corban’s words rasped in her ears. “You brought him down, just as you’ve tried to destroy me. Remember that as you join him.”
...as you join him....
The words lingered, finally breaking through her anguish, allowing her to grasp their import as she stumbled down the steps within Corban’s iron grip.
He was taking her outside to die.