Chapter 15

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All he wanted to do anymore was hide. People turned to look at him any time he went anywhere. His friends, who were really Dain’s friends, didn’t know what to say to him and usually ended up not saying anything at all. He had to walk through the Palace halls, looking and acting as if nothing was wrong.

Everything was wrong. His life had become a constant state of wrongness. Everything he knew was wrong. Life assumptions like Dain would never do anything to betray him to the extent that he had. Wrong. Dynan would never end up almost beating him to death. Wrong. Every time his father looked at him, there was a pervading sense of disappointment and even anger.

Dynan stood near the fireplace in his father’s office where he’d just spent the last several hours attending meetings with the King, after a six-hour stint with the Academy finishing up the last of his course work before graduation. Dynan wondered how that would work. If Dain would even come to the ceremony looming large on the schedule. Surely he had to.

Until then, Ambrose wanted Dynan to be seen, but under controlled situations and only with people who could be counted on to gloss over anything that didn’t seem quite right. Later it would be reported that contrary to rumor, Dynan was fine and tolerating the absence of his brother without difficulty. It seemed the lies were what mattered most.

Ambrose closed the door behind Governor Peroll and Governor Taldic, both certain friends. Dynan waited for the curt dismissal he’d come to expect, turning from the cold hearth to look at his father. At forty-nine, he was still considered quite young. There were lines at his eyes; a vivid blue that most men couldn’t meet for more than a glance. Dynan managed it for only a moment. Since Liselle’s wedding, the guilt and shame he felt were overwhelming on a moment-to-moment basis. Everything Dain told him was true and that hard truth made looking anyone in the eye something Dynan could barely manage. All the gazes seemed accusatory, saying without words what a complete, utter fool he’d been.

“You may go.” Ambrose watched him briefly before he turned to read a report.

His father hadn’t brought the affair up even once after the initial, brief conversation over two months ago now. They’d all left Dynan with ample time and space to sort it out. As the days and then weeks crawled by, the realization that he didn’t know how to solve the problem consumed every fiber of being. He didn’t know how to make up for the enormity of this mistake. He didn’t know how to admit to Dain, who seemed almost a stranger to him now, how sorry he was for what happened, for hitting him, for beating him senseless. He didn’t know how to forgive Dain either. It felt like hot stabbing knives reopening an old wound every time he thought about it, followed by lingering anger over the consuming sense of betrayal, followed by denial, followed by a kind of pervading sadness Dynan didn’t know how to find a way free of.

The headache he walked around with all the time didn’t help and only got worse the second he thought about Dain. Before he could stop himself, Dynan reached for the crystal ball he wore and holding it in his fisted hand, used it to drown out, contain, and even forget any thought of his brother. Doing so told Ambrose more about his state of mind than Dynan wanted him to know, but still he didn’t say anything. No instructions on how to fix this. Nothing that would help sort through how to deal with it.

“I don’t expect you at dinner.”

There wasn’t even a hint of understanding in his voice.

Dynan paused at the door on his way out, wishing there was some way to bridge this intolerable gap grown up between them. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I gathered that.” He spoke without a hint of sympathy. His eyes narrowed. “You’ll have to figure it out. Soon, Dynan.”

He left his father’s office and as he hurried through the connecting hall to Xavier Illothian’s office, heard the clatter of a comboard against the desk, followed by something else striking harder. The Lord Chancellor said something that Dynan didn’t hear as he passed through. Roth Perquin wasn’t in. Brendin Moch had a roomful of people in his office and Dynan detoured to the hall that went to the anteroom where Melgan’s guards stood posted every moment of the day and night. The Captain himself moved into Dynan’s field of vision. Melgan put one massive hand into his chest, stopping him cold.

“You are not going out looking like that,” he said in a low voice and then physically turned him around, giving him a push back the way he’d just come. One of the tree trunk arms went around him from behind, snatching him back into the hauberk of chainmail, muscles tightening just enough to make it hard to breathe. Melgan leaned down and talked in his ear. “We all make mistakes. The difference between being a child and being a man is accepting responsibility for your actions. We’re all waiting. Some of us are more tired of it than others.”

He was let go and given another push that put him in front of Roth Perquin’s open door. The First Minister was still out, but Boral Sloyl was there and he came to the door while Melgan stumped away down the hall. “Do you really think that was completely necessary?” he called after the Captain, but didn’t get an answer except a growl. Boral took Dynan by the arm and pulled him into the office. “Just ignore him. He’s had a stick lodged all damn day and it has nothing to do with you. He’s just taking it out on you, unfairly. Ignore him. Can you? Dynan?”

Boral grimaced when Dynan nodded. He gestured him onto the long couch, but then he moved to each of the doors and closed them. Dynan leaned on his knees, expecting another lecture about being an adult, only the delivery would be gentler. Despite being a tough teacher and demanding trainer as Palace Master at Arms, Boral was never demeaning. Dynan knew he should be the unhappiest with him, since the fight with Dain perverted all the years of training to a less than honorable use. But no, there wasn’t even one word of recrimination over it. Still, Dynan felt like he’d really let Boral down the most, other than his father.

“Your father isn’t always right,” Boral said and that made Dynan look up. “The truth is, none of us know how to deal with a situation like this and we’re doing a decent job of bungling it once again.”

Boral went to the sideboard and poured two drinks, taking the Corrigan, which was generally forbidden since it was the finest liqueur the King could acquire, making it incredibly expensive. It was also strong.

“Here. Sip it.” Boral joined him on the couch. “When we found out about Kamien’s mother, which unfortunately, is a close representation to your situation, well, you’ve never seen such scurrying to conceal it all. The effort there so exceeds what we’ve managed here, you might be inclined to call us all hypocrites. And just like you, Ambrose walked around for months looking like he’d been spit out by a grinder. He doesn’t talk much about Trameil. It’s true, he didn’t want to marry her, but he came to care enough about her to try to make it work. He was completely unprepared for what she did. None of us saw that one coming and in your case, I bet you didn’t either.”

“I just want to know why. I want to ask her why she did this.”

Boral leaned in next to him, nodding. “Do you really think she’d tell you the truth? I tried it with Trameil. I believed her too, her claim that she was an innocent bystander in a larger power grab that she had nothing to do with, but then the evidence started coming in, the messages she sent and received, the absolute spite she held toward your father that you never would have known from the way she acted around him. Taught us all a lesson, but to this day not one of us knows what really motivated her. Still, it all worked out in the end, I think, since not a month or two later, Ambrose met your mother. Just something to think about.” Boral clapped him on the knee. “Drink the rest of this before he comes out here and catches me corrupting you.”

Dynan couldn’t help but smile at that. Boral saw it and clinked his glass. He took the evidence after Dynan slugged back the remaining half and put them in the cupboard to hide the number used, muttering about Roth marking the bottle.

“Thanks, Boral.” Dynan dragged to his feet. Once there he started rubbing his eyes for the headache behind them.

“You know there’s a cure for that.”

Dynan knew what he meant and almost didn’t answer. This was murky ground, raw, as though there were open nerves exposed to the elements. “Dain doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“I doubt that. He asks about you every time I talk to him.”

A flash of guilt washed through Dynan. He hadn’t asked about Dain at all. He’d been too embarrassed to. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. Well, about as fine as you are. Confused. Trying to get through the day acting like nothing is wrong. Of course you know what the real problem is and why you keep putting off what you know you have to do.”

“He’s never going to forgive me.”

Boral raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “No. Close.”

Dynan didn’t want to face it, or hear it, or know the truth of it. He didn’t think it possible, which meant that nothing would get better, the nightmare wouldn’t end, not until that one thing changed. He had to forgive himself. That was a long ladder to climb out of a gaping, hollow hole.

“How?”

Boral considered a moment before he spoke again. “That’s the hard part, the difficult, soul-searching part you’ll have to manage before the two of you can move on from this.”

“Do you think Pop will let me go to Beren, if I ask him?”

“Yes.”

With the too quick response, Dynan realized immediately that everyone had been waiting for him to say that. It made him swing right back to the other side of the argument that whispered in his head; Dain should be the one to ask. Dain should be the one to come to him. Not the other way around.

“Right.” He nodded for different reasons. “I’ll do that then. Soon.”

He turned around and walked out once again.

“He said that?” Ambrose was skeptical, considering how his son had left the office. “Why not tonight, then? Why not ask tonight?”

Boral smirked at that. “You threw him out of your office is why not. Here, we’re all talking about him taking responsibility for his actions and what are you doing, sitting here stewing over it, terrified he’ll find out you’re the one who set it all up to begin with.”

“I am not the one who set this up.” Ambrose really wished everyone would stop bringing that up. “I mean beyond bringing her here and there were reasons, Boral. I don’t want him to know yet. All right? It’ll look worse than the original intent. Dynan won’t see it that way. I want he and Dain to sort this out and then I’ll tell him. Later.”

“Never.”

“Later.” Ambrose mashed a key on the imbedded comterm in his desk. Another file he needed to read came up, this one having to do with one of the Fleet Admirals, who had purportedly made some derogatory remarks about the current holder of the Crown. Not that Ambrose hadn’t heard it all before, but preferred not to hear it from the ranking officers of his military. “Where’s Roth? I need to talk to him about this situation with Admiral Westiben.”

“In Twendal, I think he said this morning.” Boral sat back in the chair before the desk. It creaked under the strain.

“Twendal? Where is that?” Ambrose frowned over it, looking up Twendal on a map after touching a few commands.

“On Arel. He said he had business there.”

“There’s nothing to the place,” Ambrose muttered and then switched to the overhead satellite imagers, deciding to take a look in real time while he searched another file for the purpose of Roth’s visit. There was nothing on the official schedule. Curious why Roth would have any business in Twendal off the main calendar, Ambrose checked how many times the First Minister had been to the tiny town and discovered it was four visits in the last two months. The imager showed a small square around which a few shops were situated.

Ambrose shrugged, supposing Roth would say what he was doing when it was important enough and reached to turn the screen off, when he saw activity in the otherwise deserted square. Two people came out of one of the shops, a man and woman, though at this magnification it wasn’t possible to tell who they were. The woman was carrying something in her arms and as Ambrose watched, she shifted its weight. He realized it was a child. The man held his arm out, deliberately away from her.

The screen flashed blank three times and then turned to static.

Ambrose knew enough about technology to understand how satellite imagers worked and what a jamming device would look like when activated from the ground. That meant the man in the image with the dark hair couldn’t be anyone but the First Minister.

“Brendin, when is Roth due back?” Ambrose asked through the comterm.

“Not until morning.”

Ambrose hummed at that. “Tell him I want to see him first thing.”

“Very well.”

“Am I finished for the day?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” Ambrose didn’t activate the line for that and made Boral chuckle under his breath. Ambrose smirked at him and mashed the key. “All right. What’s next?”

“I know you’ve settled here,” Roth glanced around the tiny town square, “and you’ve done well enough without the help of anyone after the outset, but Bronwyn, you can’t stay here. Not alone, not with this child and expect not to attract attention. The place is too small. The moment he starts walking, people are going to take one look at him and know how different he is. Look at his eyes. He looks just like Dain. In a larger town, he won’t stand out quite so much.”

“And if he does? You promised me you wouldn’t take him from me.”

“You’re his mother. No one can take that away from you and as long as I have anything to say about it, no one will try. But some day, Bronwyn, it will come out that this boy is Dain’s son. It’s unavoidable. I appreciate your discretion in this, more than you can understand, especially right now. You’ve not ever asked for anything when you could. Will you come with me to Nollbrin? I have family there. Cousins. They’ll be able to help you if you ever need it. And with this little one, I’d say the need for help is a guarantee. You’ll see what I mean if you look up the public record on Dain since about the time he was seven. Please, come with me.”

“I know you’re right.” She looked back at the shop she’d worked so hard to build.

“Is there anyone here you’d like to say goodbye to, anything else you need?”

“No. Not really. The people here didn’t like that I was pregnant and like it less that I have a baby. I suppose I’ll find that in Nollbrin too.”

“You’ll find that everywhere you go, but less so in a larger town where it’s not unheard of. This card,” Roth held the clear acrylon out to her, “will make that attitude less difficult to deal with. You may use it at any finance station. No one will ask questions, but if they do, just tell them you’re my cousin, of the Ords of Nollbrin. How does that sound as a new last name?” He smiled and gave the card to the child, who took it and immediately put a corner into his mouth, gumming the edge.

“Ord?” Bronwyn cringed. Roth laughed, nodding to the baby.

“May I hold him a moment?” 

Garan Telaerin squirmed a little at being taken from his mother, but Roth had held a baby or two in his time, this little boy’s father for one, and settled him easily enough. Garan chewed on the card, looking at it with the same curiosity his father displayed about everything. “You look so much like him, even now. He would be so proud to know about you. Scared too, but amazed by your existence. Dain would make a great father.” He glanced to Bronwyn, who only smiled sadly and nodded. “One day, he’ll know that he is.”

“He doesn’t remember me.”

“But he will. The moment he sees this boy, he’ll remember. He will, when it’s safe, when remembering won’t cause him so much grief and pain.” Roth looked to the child who wiggled in his arms, trying to grab his toes. “The two of you will have the most remarkable time coming to know one another. And you,” he added to Bronwyn, who didn’t believe him. He nodded ahead. “There’s the transfer. It’ll take you to Port. Tell the Port Captain your destination is Nollbrin and he’ll see you settled.”

“Won’t you be coming with me? I thought—”

“It’s better that I don’t.” He ran a finger over the slight growth of blond curls. Garan reached up, grasping a small finger around one of Roth’s. “Bronwyn, I have to tell the King. He’ll agree with me that it’ll be better if you’re left to raise Garan in peaceful anonymity, once he’s heard the arrangements. The politics of it are beyond even me to fathom. He won’t interfere. He’ll be happy to know he has a grandson though, and I mean to tell him.”

She agreed reluctantly, still afraid her son would be taken from her. Only time and living a life devoid of Palace interference would prove her fears wrong. Roth intended to see that she had that life for as long as possible. He handed Dain’s son back to her, suddenly wishing he could be more than a passing influence in his life. He had an attachment to the little boy, just as he had an attachment to Dain.

“Be good to your mother,” He leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Stay out of trouble, little one, as much as you’re able.”

Garan squirmed and babbled happily.

“Good luck.” He nodded her on, watching after her until the transfer was out of sight and out of range. He pulled out the imager disruptor, turning the metal tube in his hand a moment longer, before glancing skyward and turning the device off. “Good luck to us all.”