Part Two: The Elder Queen

13

 

Restoration

 

Hiding her surprise, Aewen backed into her outer chamber to allow her father entrance. The scratch on her door had sounded timid, as if not made by a king.

Father flicked a glance about the chamber. “Does a princess of Westerland now answer doors? Where is your maid?”

Tears thickened her throat. “Murial has left my service.” She would say nothing in complaint on her last morning at Cobbleford.

“Then I will instruct your mother to send a replacement.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Any child of mine will make a good impression wherever she goes.” Although he spoke in a gruff voice, his eyes looked suspiciously bright.

Aewen squelched a rueful smile. Her father hadn’t added “even amongst the Kindren,” but from his sour expression, he might as well have. “Yes, Father.”

“Well, then…” He cleared his throat. “Have a pleasant journey with joy at its end.” He walked toward the door for all the world as if she departed for a social engagement and would return later that day.

“Father?” Her voice shook. As he spun around, she flung herself into his arms.

He patted her back like he had in childhood after she’d scraped her knee. “There, there.”

After the storm of weeping passed, Aewen straightened and dashed her tears away. “Promise me we will see one another again.”

“Now you’ve dampened my surcoat.”

“Promise me.”

He sighed. “You ask something not in my power to give, Aewen. Age creeps upon me, and you go to a new life in a land where you may not even remember you have a father.”

Her smile was tender. “Don’t think you are so easily forgotten.”

He cupped her chin. “Nor are you, my daughter.”

“If I did not love Elcon, I would wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Children must wing away from the nest.”

“I’ve failed our family.”

His face reddened so much she wished she had not spoken. “None more than yourself. Godspeed.”

He walked quickly from the room, leaving the door open behind him.

“Goodbye Father.”

 

****

 

Curiously disconnected from her body, as if she had thinned to become a spirit, Aewen floated toward Elcon. He waited for her inside the gatehouse near his guardians astride their wingabeasts Raeld, saddled and laden, stirred beside him. Although the dimness of early morning would obscure Aewen’s identity from a chance observer, she still wore a dark cloak with the hood up. The maid supplied to her wore similar garb and followed behind bearing only a few satchels. So little.

Elcon offered a hand to her, looking so handsome she almost forgot her sorrow. Almost.

“My love, why do you hesitate?”

She blinked away tears. “Mother and Caerla remain absent, even now. I might have sought them myself, but my new maid warned that I should not. I didn’t have the heart to inquire further.”

Elcon’s jaw firmed. “If only I could bear your pain. Perhaps we can return to Cobbleford after matters settle.”

She attempted a smile, for his sake. “Yes.”

“Come, I’m eager to carry you away.”

He lifted her onto his wingabeast, and she gathered the folds of her cloak so they wouldn’t billow in the wind of their flight. Mother had arranged for them to depart in the early morning when few would be about and had sent the plain woolen cloaks. She must still cling to the delusional hope that she could keep Aewen’s shame a secret.

Kai dismounted to take the satchels from her maid and passed them to Craelin. As he attempted to lift her onto his wingabeast, however, she backed, wringing her hands and weeping.

“What’s this?” Aewen called. “Why do you carry on so?”

Rushing to Aewen, the maid clung to her leg and lifted a tear-streaked face. “I don’t care if milady beats me. I won’t go to the Kindren lands.”

She was little more than a child and probably still lived with her mother. Why should the innocent bear the burden of the guilty? Surely there were maids at Torindan. “Hush now, I won’t make you go.”

The maid caught her hand and kissed it. “Thank you. May God protect you, princess.” She stumbled away, and then ran through the archway into the outer bailey. With a shake of his head, Kai mounted his wingabeast. Elcon vaulted into position before Aewen, and they passed beneath the raised portcullis.

As they emerged from the gatehouse, a cloaked beggar woman lurched into their path, and Raeld reared.

As Elcon reined in Raeld, Craelin rode to intercept the beggar. “Step aside!”

“Wait.” Aewen found a coin to toss to the woman, but as recognition sparked, cried out. The peasant woman threw back her hood and lifted a beaming face. Aewen’s throat unlocked. “Murial!”

Elcon had barely halted the wingabeast before Aewen slid to the ground. She took Murial into her arms, but then drew away to give her a light shake. “Why do you linger here? Have you nowhere to go? It frightens me to think of you in the woods alone.”

“Well now, I did have a fright that first night, but I reached Willowa’s farm safe enough. I scared her to death pounding on the door. Her husband, Camryn was on a hunt that night, you see. Willowa welcomed me, especially as I could lend a hand with little Caed.”

“You’re staying with Willowa? How wonderful. And Caed—has he recovered from his accident?”

“His burn left a scar but it will shrink as he grows. He’s full of energy. I could not stay with Willowa long. She would never turn me out, but I went nonetheless. They can barely feed themselves as ‘tis.”

Aewen dried her tears. She did not ask why a huntsman had little food. She knew that most of what Camryn caught went to her parents’ table. “And so I find you begging outside Cobbleford. You suffer for my sins.”

Murial waved her hand as if to erase all sufferings. “Nay. I saw it coming and already knew what I’d do. I even hid a wee lanthorn, a blanket and a little food outside the gates. I can look for my sister in Norwood, but I couldn’t leave without knowing what became of you. I didn’t dare show my face near Cobbleford again, so I disguised myself as a beggar at the gate and kept my ears open. It seems that things have turned out well, though some might not think so.”

“Elcon and I will marry. But you—what will you do now? I won’t rest until I know you are safe.”

Elcon cut into the conversation. “Bring Murial with you to Torindan, if you like. You’ll want a maid.”

She beamed at him, her heart full.

Murial smiled. “You’ve married a fine man, whether Kindren or no. I’ll go with you, if you want me.”

She blinked away tears of gratitude. “Want you? Just try to refuse.”

With Murial safely seated behind Kai, Aewen pressed her cheek against Elcon’s back and felt his muscles flex as he guided Raeld into flight. She smiled to herself, well pleased to give herself up to the kiss of sun upon her face, the wind that freshened her heated skin, and the dizzying sensation of flight on this first day of her new life.

Rivenn, in tales she’d heard as a child, had seemed an enchanted place filled with sparkling waterfalls and towering mountains. What would it be like to live among the peaks, as they did at Torindan? Despite its forested hillsides, Westerland boasted no real mountains. The blued peaks that shone in the sun rendered her speechless, even at a distance.

Did she dream? How else could she explain the joy that sprang to life within her as Elcon’s intended wife? It had seemed impossible. She would cherish her happiness all the more because it came at great cost. Did not the sweetest roses guard their scent with thorns?

She might never return to Westerland or receive her parents as visitors to Torindan. They had only sanctioned her marriage so that others would know she’d not lost her virtue to Elcon without gaining its benefits. They’d chosen a higher course for her despite the disgrace she’d brought to them.

 

****

 

Torindan caught the sun until its walls and turrets glowed with pinkish light. The green, rose, and gilt flag of Rivenn flapped with lazy abandon from the south and north towers. The flag of Faeraven, ten white diamonds against a background of red and black, adorned the towers to east and west. Each diamond represented one of the ten existing ravens that together made up the alliance of Faeraven. Or at least they once had done so. He might need to have the flag amended to show only seven diamonds. He hoped it would not lose more. He would wait to revise the flag, however, for he still hoped to restore Glindenn, Selfred, and Morgorad, the three ravens under the shraens Veraedel, Taelerat, and Lenhardt, traitors all.

He eased his jaw, which had tightened as memories intruded—memories of his coronation day and the attempt by Freaer to assassinate him. The presence chamber ran with blood that day. He’d escaped with his life, as had Freaer and the three traitorous shraens.

Aewen nestled against him, her touch recalling him, and he smiled to himself. As he carried home his future bride, he should not reflect on things that worried him. He contemplated instead their wedding night when he would comfort her shyness and show her both gentleness and passion. But they would wed before Lof Yuel first. He would make certain of that.

The waters of Weild Aenor swelled their banks below. Autumn rains must have visited in his absence. The river’s familiar sweet and tangy scent filled his senses. He breathed deep, giving himself to the pleasure of homecoming. When Aewen’s arms tightened around him, he caught one of her hands and warmed it in his own.

They approached on the side by the river, going past the water gate with its hewn steps and defensible platforms. Raeld dipped and leveled alongside Torindan’s middle ward, the balding grass strip outside the inner curtain wall and above the wall retaining the motte upon which Torindan rested. Two guardians kept watch at a bastian. Manning the bastians was a new precaution. Freaer would return, without doubt. Even now the guardians marshaled their defenses in preparation for another siege.

Raeld rounded the side of the castle and spiraled to land before the drawbridge that led to the barbican with its tall, wide towers and twin turrets. Water lapped against the moat’s sides and sent wavy light upward. Fletch and Mystael stirred the air with the batting of wings as they came to rest on either side of Elcon. “Lof Shraen!” A voice rang from battlements above the gatehouse.

Metal screeched as the portcullis raised and the drawbridge lowered. Craelin moved into the lead and Kai dropped behind Elcon as they rode into the shadowy interior of the barbican and, emerging, crossed the second drawbridge. They dismounted inside an archway giving onto the outer bailey from the inner gatehouse. Elcon stretched to ease his stiffness, and then took Aewen’s slight weight into his arms. He steadied them both before assisting her to stand on her own.

Aewen looked about her. “This is much larger than the guardhouse at Cobbleford, but then Torindan is altogether larger.”

“You’ll grow used to Torindan.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

Murial drew near to her mistress in silent support.

“I’ll find the grooms.” Craelin offered.

Elcon smiled. “You and Kai shall dine in my chambers as a reward for your diligence.”

Aewen smiled at him, and he felt a twinge of conscience for what he left unsaid. In truth, he balked from presenting his future bride before the Kindren in the great hall. He did not know the reaction Aewen at his side would bring. Craelin emerged from the stables with several grooms, and Elcon turned to Aewen. “Come.”

He walked beside her but did not take her hand as they followed the fieldstone path crossing the outer bailey. Murial trailed after her mistress while Kai and Craelin fell into step behind. At sight of the inner garden and its fountain, both Aewen and Murial exclaimed with delight, but Elcon did not let them linger, urging them away from the garden with a promise to return. He wanted only rest within the quiet safety of his chambers.

When they reached the keep Aewen exclaimed with delight, but he hurried her toward his chambers without giving her time to admire its fine architecture.

As they reached his outer chamber, Aewen touched his arm. “Elcon, what troubles you?”

He evaded her eyes. “I’m only weary. Can I not show you the wonders of Torindan on the morrow?”

She put her hands on either side of his head and gazed into his eyes. “Do you deceive me, my betrothed?”

Heat rose into his face. “I—I’m sorry, Aewen. I’m uncertain of—well, I…”

A knowing expression came over her face. “Do you fear my reception here?”

The door to Ander’s room opened, and Elcon’s servant stepped into the outer chamber. He stared first at Aewen, then Murial. He appeared to have forgotten his bow. Perhaps Anders had never seen Elder women before.

Elcon took a breath. “Well, Anders, what greeting have you for my intended bride?”

Anders’ eyes widened. His mouth opened as if to speak but then closed. He tried again, only to squeak something unintelligible. At least, when he closed his mouth at last he remembered his bow.

“You will treat her with all the respect due your future Lof Raelein, for I intend to make her High Queen.”

Anders seemed to master himself. He pulled his gaze from Aewen and Murial. “Yes, Lof Shraen, of course I will.” He bowed to Aewen. “Welcome to Torindan.”

The small victory warmed Elcon and gave him courage.

“Anders, this is Murial, Aewen’s maid. She and her mistress will require the guest room closest to my chambers.”

“Very well, Lof Shraen.”

Elcon gave Aewen a reassuring smile. “There, that’s settled. I will have the Lof Raelein’s chambers prepared for you and your maid soon. But until then, it is best that you stay close to me. Don’t be alarmed, but I plan to post a guard outside your door.”

“If you think you must.”

“I do, but only for a time. I would have you safe.”

“Anders, we will wash away the dust of travel and then take food and drink in my meeting room.”

Anders bowed and went to the outer chamber door just as the steward Benisch gained admittance. Dressed in blue silk trimmed with gold, Benisch made a fine figure. He gave a deep bow. “Lof Shraen.”

Elcon inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Benisch, I’m afraid you catch us at an inopportune time. You may return on the morrow.”

Benisch glanced at Murial and then ran a watery blue gaze over Aewen. He frowned and clamped his lips together, but then executed another bow before Elcon. The jingling of bells accompanied him from the chamber.

Aewen dimpled and her eyes danced with laughter. “Who, pray, was that?”

Elcon laughed. “That, my flower, was someone overly concerned with my affairs.”

At thought of his meeting with Benisch tomorrow, he sobered. From the look on the steward’s face, he did not welcome Elcon’s decision to marry an Elder princess.

Early the next morning Benisch requested an audience. Elcon strode into his meeting chamber, shut the door with a thud, and rounded on his steward. The day was much too early for a disagreeable discussion, but Elcon would not sidestep. Benisch peered at him out of watery eyes and gave his head with its wreath of sandy hair a shake. “I doubt you’ll survive the reaction to your new concubine, Lof Shraen.”

Elcon’s jaw tightened. “I must warn you, Steward Benisch, never to use that term for my betrothed again.”

Benisch’s jaw dropped, but he recovered himself in swiftness. “Many will use harsher terms to refer to a Lof Raelein of Elder blood.”

The urge to cast Benisch from the room and from his service seized Elcon. He had not faced the wrath of the Prince of Darksea and the fury of the king and queen of Westerland in order to be chastised by a servant, no matter how highly-placed. His hands curled into fists at his side, but he held onto his temper by a thread. Benisch meant well. “We will marry as soon as possible.”

“You make a fool’s choice.”

Elcon moved toward the door. “I’ve satisfied your curiosity. Should you happen to make this known, also state that I’ll exact punishment against any who oppose my choice of bride. Please show yourself out.”

With that, Elcon left the chamber and the annoyance of Benisch’s presence. The encounter had stiffened his spine. He would allow none to tell him he could not have Aewen as his wife. He loved her and would not abandon her. He would follow their marriage ceremony by crowning her Lof Raelein of Faeraven. That should still most of the whispers. Thereafter, if any tongue wagged against Aewen, the speaker would be named a traitor to the throne.

 

****

 

Anointed and bejeweled, Aewen gazed at Elcon through a wedding veil. For now, it didn’t matter that the crowd should be greater. Certain shraens and their raeleins had refused to sanction Elcon’s wedding to an Elder, despite her nobility, and rumors circulated that several shraens meant to withdraw from the Alliance of Faeraven. Aewen let herself look away from such concerns and into the sea green eyes of the husband who loved her. Light poured into the allerstaed from its high windows and flooded over her as she received Elcon’s pledge and gave hers in turn. They knelt, and the black-garbed priest thrice rang the bells of unity above their joined hands and bowed heads. The priest blessed them and offered supplications on their behalf. They arose together, and Elcon removed the veil from her face to warm her lips in a lingering kiss. He grinned and faced the crowd. With a deep breath, Aewen did the same.

“Good Kindren all, receive Elcon, Shraen of Rivenn, and his wedded wife, Aewen of Westerland.” The priest’s voice gave way to cheers.

She smiled her relief. Not all despised her union with Elcon, it seemed. Elcon took her hand with a smile. She wanted to cling to his hand but turned and knelt before the priest alone. Above her head the priest held a bejeweled circlet similar to the larger Circlet of Rivenn Elcon wore. “Aewen of Westerland, daughter of Euryon, son of Garadrel, son of Amberoft, son of Mercedon, son of Rhys, begotten of the Ancient Kings of Elderland, receive the Coronet of Rivenn.”

As the priest helped her to her feet, the weight of the crown pressed against the head she held high.

“A new raelein rises over Rivenn.” A tumult from the crowd, still joyous but quieter, overrode the priest’s declaration.

Elcon’s hand at her elbow steadied her. A second priest emerged from a small archway behind the chancel. He bore a gleaming scepter of beaten gold, its jewel-embedded staff crowned by a rampant gryphon with a star sapphire orb suspended in its claws—the Scepter of Faeraven. Elcon took the scepter, kissed it, and held it toward her. Enmeshed in his sea green gaze, she joined her hands with his upon the staff. “Aewen, Raelein of Rivenn, receive with me the Scepter of Faeraven.”

They turned together and held the scepter aloft. The crowd murmured in tones of wonder at its beauty.

The priest made his final proclamation. “Good Kindren all, receive Aewen, Lof Raelein of Faeraven.”

The crowd hesitated, but then broke into restrained cheering. Aewen understood. She would have to prove herself.

They surrendered the scepter to the priests and submitted to a final prayer.

Elcon escorted her from the allerstaed by means of a vaulted corridor to the foyer of the great hall, where they greeted all who entered the wedding feast. The clang of dishware punctuated bright melodies. As the chattering crowd issued from the presence chamber to press around them, the fragrance of food reminded her she’d been too excited to eat earlier.

Many long eyes sent Aewen inquisitive glances. She must seem as exotic to the Kindren as they did to her. She ignored her jangling nerves and greeted those she met with warmth and kindness, no matter how much they stared. She must not once allow her composure to falter or she would shame Elcon. Had she done him a disservice in wedding him? Would they both have been better off if she’d taken a vow of chastity? Brother Robb would probably have granted her request if she’d asked again, under the circumstances. She might rather have given Elcon a broken heart than a broken kingdom.

She pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind. Beside her, a golden-haired maiden held Elcon’s hand and gazed at him in a way that struck Aewen to the heart. The tilt of Elcon’s head conveyed its own story.

Elcon turned to her with an unreadable expression. “Aewen, I present to you Raena Arillia of Chaeradon, a dear friend since my early days.”

Aewen took the delicate hand extended to her and smiled into gray eyes that shone with unshed tears. “I am happy to meet you.” Aewen spoke a lie. She felt no happiness at meeting the beautiful Kindren princess whose pleased expression belied the sorrow in her eyes.

Arillia’s parents, Shraen Ferran and Raelein Annora, greeted Aewen with cool politeness. She responded with equal courtesy. Later, she would ask Elcon the details of his association with Raena Arillia of Chaeradon. Or did she prefer not to know?

Her throat felt parched, and her stomach cramped with hunger by the time Elcon took her hand and guided her into the great hall. The crowd parted and applauded with restraint as they made their way to the dais to join the nobles waiting there. The other guests jostled one another at trestle tables below the dais. The guardians, ever present throughout the ceremony, filed to their own trestle tables nearest the dais.

Elcon seated Aewen at the center of a long strongwood table and then took his place beside her. The music, which had idled at their entrance, rushed on. The roar of conversation and laughter swelled and grew. Aewen’s face heated and her ears rang. She took a draught of mulled cider, grateful for the tang which broke against her tongue and soothed her parched throat.

Elcon sat beside her with Benisch on her other side. Since she knew his opinion of her marriage to Elcon, she misliked such close proximity to the steward. Even so, as Elcon’s distant relative, Benisch must be given precedence. After a brief but courteous greeting, to her relief Benisch said nothing more. Immediately across the table, sat Raena Arillia and her parents. They seemed similarly disinclined to talk. For her part, Aewen could think of nothing to say.

Conversation became altogether less important. Servants brought food in many courses, in a vast array such as she had never seen, despite Westerland’s abundance. The table groaned under all manner of roasted meats, soups, breads baked of thrice-sifted flour, tarts, salads, and puddings. Indeed, so many offerings abounded she could not taste them all. Elcon stood and raised his goblet. “I toast the beauty and the virtue of the woman who has captured my heart, Aewen of Westerland.”

After an awkward silence, others at the long table lifted their goblets. Aewen’s gaze entangled with Arillia’s, but she looked away, not waiting to see if the young raena joined the toast.