Dance With the Enemy (28 page)

Epilogue

Five year old Rennicus Kahlan Sharanis danced around the deck of the
Petit Cadeau
, holding the hands of his sister, Emylene, almost two years his junior.

“Is it time, Mama?” he asked, picking up the bottle filled with the rolled parchments that carried their dreams. A lover of stories, he had asked his mother over and over again to tell him the story of tossing her bottle of wishes overboard on her maiden trip to the Centrehead and had asked if the family might set their own dreams a sail on their way to visit Aleone.

Elenya laughed before handing the nearly one year old baby to her husband. The exchange came with a peck and a hug for the infant’s father who pulled her back when she attempted to step away.

“I have something more for you to add,” he told her after kissing her fully. Elenya raised her brows in surprise. He’d been reluctant to participate when she and Rennie had scribbled their notes for the bottle. Rennie had added notes for each of his sisters and nearly cried when there was none for his father. Elenya had assured him it would be okay, that his father’s dreams were safe.
Dreams are not born by words in a bottle
, she’d told him,
but by what you hold dear in your heart
. The little boy had nodded and asked if they might still launch their dreams. Elenya smiled, thinking more of her romantic notions had ended up in her son than might be fitting for the future leader of the King’s Elite Guard -- not that his father hadn’t done well in that position with a romantic side all his own.

She took the rolled up parchment Tahruk pulled from behind his back. “Would you like to read it?” he asked.

Elenya hesitated. “Do you wish me to?” Tahruk nodded. Carefully, she slid the leather tie from the roll and let it fall open to find it was actually two sheets. The first appeared to be a copy of a decree from the King.

She scanned the page, starting with a cursory glance at the signature and date at the bottom then read again, more slowly, from the top. In his final moments, King Andorak had demanded an abolishment of the act of marking, however, understanding there were still those whose blood serum had already been administered to another, the new King desired a better plan to unite the couples. King Shenai, Andorak’s third son, had often been present during Elenya’s visits to the old King who had taken a liking to little Rennie. He seemed to enjoy the boy’s antics as well as Elenya’s company, she suspected, during his final days confined for too long within his chambers. It was a pity his body gave out well before his mind.

Andorak had been almost apologetic that the throne would be passed to his oldest living son instead of the Sharanis family, even though protocol demanded him to act as he did. Elenya knew Shenai would make an excellent leader. Her only concern had been Renaine. She’d been unsure how he would receive the removal of his line from the direct passing of the throne, though she needn’t have worried. Renaine seemed more at ease now than ever before, taking the time to enjoy his grandchildren in a way he’d never been able to do with his own children. The removal of the weight of two kingdoms from his shoulders had allowed the man only Nema had known to flourish and come forth. Even now he was overseeing the final details to assure the Avenille home was completely ready for Elenya’s family who would be moving to the Centrehead, returning with the couple and their children when they left Aleone.

Not bothering to suppress her smile, Elenya continued reading the document in hand. King Shenai was asking her to help organize meetings of the already paired couples and their families to ease the unions when their times came. She would work alongside Nema, and Neria, of course, along with Daruh and the other Masters who would be going through the sealed records to find the matches and contacting those involved. They would also be responsible for the destruction of the blood serum not yet administered.

Elenya looked at her own son whose blood had been ceremonially drawn when he was three. Did it already run through the veins of another binding him to an unknown woman? She looked at Tahruk. Had the marking been abolished before her birth, would she have ever known this man that completed her? And if she had met him, without the marking, would she have fallen in love with him so completely? She liked to think she would have. Life with him was everything she’d ever imagined it could be. He’d been the answer to all she’d written and placed in her bottle of dreams.

She pulled the first sheet away to look at the second page, then frowned. “It’s blank, my lord.” She studied the empty page before looking back at her warrior who stood before her grinning from ear to ear.

He nodded. “Of course it’s blank. How could I ask for more than I already have?” He reached out to catch the tear that slid down her cheek. “All my dreams came true the day you turned three and we became one.”

The End…..for now!

And what became of Redahn? In Nema’s words: that’s a story for another day…

Coming October 2013

Page down to read an excerpt from

Dance Beyond the Shadows
.

Dreams Belong

from
Dance Beyond the Shadows

©2013 Linda Boulanger

As first posted on
www.CleverFiction.com

The rocking of Mahryn’s body registered urgency even before her mind processed that she was being awakened.

“Mahryn, please. You need to rise and make ready. Quickly, child. You have a visitor.” The head mistress’ voice, raised an octave higher than usual, conveyed her anguish. Three other women bustled through the door of the small room Mahryn was allowed to call her own, all carrying items she’d need to do as the head mistress had commanded. No time was being wasted in her preparation.

Finally awake, her curiosity piqued, Mahryn sat up in her narrow bed and asked the obvious question. “May I inquire as to the visitor’s identity, my lady?”

Eyes narrowed to match the thin line of her lips, the older woman fisted her full hips and stared first at a blank spot on the tinted wall and then at Mahryn. “Lord Sharanis has requested your presence.” Toe tapping an annoying rhythm, she continued, “I don’t know what you have done, as he declined to discuss matters with me, but he seemed most vexed.”

A frown wrinkling her brow, Mahryn wondered at the peculiar visit. Not that she was surprised or even unhappy, by the guest’s identity – the younger Sharanis had asked for her company many times, rewarding her with added gifts and favors after each encounter. She smiled inwardly. He was not so bad to look upon either. She didn’t mind so much when he held her, though she could not imagine why he’d be displeased…

“The elder Sharanis!” the head mistress snapped, almost seeming to read the young lady’s thoughts.

“The elder?” Why would Redahn’s brother want to meet with her? Eyes widening, she slowly shook her head. Oh no. No, no, no. She’d heard dissention ran deep between these brothers, knew firsthand the tint of bitterness that had stained Redahn’s words when he’d mentioned Tahruk. Surely that man had not heard of his brother’s fancy for her and set out to take her from him…

“I suggest you step to, my lady. Believe me, you do not want to keep that old bear waiting any longer than you have to. I’ve seen firsthand how contemptuous he can be,” the corisan told her while holding up a dress of burgundy taffeta overlaid with a shell of flimsy ivory gossamer for the head mistress’ approving nod.

The chatter ceased as Mahryn slipped out of bed. Voices were replaced by the sound of bustling about in preparation for her meeting with Sharanis. Mahryn sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. She looked around the room wondering how her life had ever come to this. Certainly this was not what she’d expected when she’d joined the other Dremis maidens at Dorengar’s Centrehead. She felt cheated of her station, of the identity that went along with who she was, how she should have been treated. She was never meant to be a Lady of the Courts. Yet there she was.

She contemplated what this meeting with Sharanis could mean. She supposed being chosen as mistress to one of the kingdom’s finest warriors, whether he was the man she desired or not, was better than what she had. At least she would be provided with a home of her own, and her children would be raised with the knowledge they belonged to one man, instead of simply being one of the many Children of the Courts who would go on to serve as corisans or any number of better positions within the castle…

Her transformation complete, the ladies went their way with the head mistress barking orders for Mahryn to follow her. Arms crossed over her chest, she scanned her room one last time, rubbing her hands up and down to ward off the cold bite of an emptiness that went far beyond the sparseness of the space she was allowed to call her own. Her eyes fell on the cross medallion lying on the small table next to her bed. A gift from her grandmother, it served to remind her that a higher authority was in charge, that even in the most tumultuous storms of life, she must not allow the darkness to overshadow her because one small ray of hope could cause the clouds to break, the light chasing away the darkness.

Mahryn had always been a dreamer, filled with hope and belief that everything would turn out okay, always looking for that silver lining. Closing the door behind her, she hoped her grandmother was right.

The man stood with his back to the door studying one of the art pieces placed around the room to appease the temperament of lords awaiting the presence of requested ladies. Mahryn frowned, unsure of whose back she was looking upon. Surely this older gentleman was not the stately warrior Redahn and others had spoken of when discussing Tahruk, though there was something oddly familiar about him. She was puzzled, even more so when he didn’t grace the announcement of her presence with so much as a nod of confirmation for several moments after the door closed leaving them alone. Given to bouts of uncertainty as it was, Mahryn felt her confidence falter, the ray of hope dimming. She stood just inside the door, as still as any of the marble statues scattered about.

The man must have thought so too, his eyes darting from her to one statue in particular and then back again when he finally turned to face her.

“You are Mahryn?” he asked foregoing any semblance of formal introduction.

“Ye, yes, my lord.” Her voice faltered slightly. She quietly cleared her throat in nervous anticipation of answering additional questions from this unknown man. She attempted to maintain eye contact, though the intensity of his stare made her look away, casting a furtive glance at the painting over his right shoulder. Her face reddening when she realized it was Goridano’s
Faded Boundaries
depicting the scene of an older man seducing a much younger maiden. She glanced back to see mirth lighting his eyes, even if it didn’t make it to the rest of his features. Unnerved, she turned away, garnering a snort from the older man.

“What my son sees in you I am not quite sure, though I would agree you are not hard to look upon. Still, I would have expected a more assertive woman, given his nature.”

His words turned her back to him, though it was less their abrasive nature as it was their use in identifying who he was.

“Redahn is your son, my lord?”

“
Lord
Redahn is, yes.” He quirked a brow at her improper addressing of his son.

“Beg pardon, my lord.” She dropped a stiff curtsy from her position across the room before employing her own blunt manner. “Please, may I inquire as to your reason for wishing to see me?”

The older man snorted again. “Perhaps I judged you prematurely.” He crossed the room in few steps, moved her away from the wall with a fingertip pressed against her nearly bare back, and walked around her, assessing her much as one might a piece of livestock. It was no wonder those boys of his acted as they did, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so when he silenced her with a finger to her lips.

“Smooth your ruffled feathers, would you. I’d like to offer you a proposal.”

Standing in the confines of the waiting room, his finger still against her mouth, her blue eyes locked with his steely grays, Mahryn felt as if the world around her stood still as they began to spin. A proposal? She willed him to speak.

“I would like you to accompany me to Zanak Drille.”

Mahryn’s raised brow gained another snort. It was fairly obvious he was not inviting her into the most elite household outside the castle for his own sake.

“My oldest son’s chosen is heavy with her second child. Extended rest has been advised…”

“Perhaps you have been misinformed. I am not a corisan, my lord.”

He was already shaking his head. “She doesn’t require someone to tend her needs. Lady Sharanis believes she needs a companion of sorts. Someone closer to her own age who might sit with her, read with her, perhaps engage in needlework or…” he waved a hand about, “whatever it is you women do when you are together.”

He turned away, seeming to study the closest art piece. His agitation showed in the set of his strong shoulders, fists clenched at his sides.

“Why me?” she asked after failing to come to terms with his offer and his state. It wasn’t that it was such an unusual request even. More that she was being singled out for the position when there were any number of young maidens specifically trained for such.

Lord Sharanis turned to stare at her again, the set of his jaw leaving her fearful he might recant his offer. Heaven knew, no matter the reason, it was a far cry better than finding herself on her back beneath different men at their discretion, and forced to act as if it was an honor to do so. She was fortunate that, presently, Redahn…
Lord
Redahn had been her only lover.

“I would be honored to accept your proposal, my lord,” she told him with a low curtsy.

“Good. Now would you please gather your belongings so we may be on our way?”

His impertinence got the better of her and she answered him with her own question. “Would it not be fitting for you to address me as my lady, my lord? Perhaps you are not aware my father is Lord Tedran…” She let the name hang in the air.

He turned to her, eyes narrowed. “The King’s second?” He shook his head. “No,
my lady
. He doesn’t speak of having children beyond Hahna, his deceased daughter. Nor do you hail by his name. Perhaps you are mistaken.”

Mahryn laughed a bit sadly, her chin going down to her chest before she spoke again, the silence punctuated by an unbidden sigh. “The use of his name was deemed unsafe. I do not believe he ever saw any of us beyond my sister anyway.” Her eyes were wistful when she again looked up. “But I am, indeed, his daughter. You have but to look at my eyes if you need to be convinced.”

The elder Sharanis did just that, bending close, turning her face toward the light with a finger beneath her chin. Surprise flickered in his own eyes as he recognized the faint flecks of gold within the blue, known so prominently to belong to the man heralded as the Kings closest confidant.

“Are you ill-gotten then?”

Mahryn’s lower jaw dropped at the question of her legitimacy. She clamped it back shut to glare at him with thinned lips. Seconds ticked by before she answered. “I am
not
! I am Tedran’s second daughter. His oldest, my full sister…” her voice broke slightly and resumed with only the touch of a tremor. “Hahna was marked, my lord. She was the chosen. Her death did not change that. It is a shadowed existence for those not first in line, regardless.”

The older warrior studied her, his expression giving away nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling. With a curt nod, he turned and opened the door for her.

“I shall remain here while you gather your belongings,” he told her. “Make haste, child. I grow impatient.”

Mahryn left him to return to her room thinking she was quite sure his lack of patience began long before he came to visit her. She also wondered at the timing of his visit and the need to take her away during the darkness of the night. She could only hope it would all come together and make sense.

There it was again. Hope. The one thing she’d been able to rely on through her whole life. She lifted the heavy metal cross from the bedside table and slipped it over her head. She seldom wore it. Its size alone made it impractical most of the time and Mahryn had found she more enjoyed laying it about where she could see it. It brought her a sense of comfort and peace, much as the woman who’d given it to her.