As Garreth fell to his knees, he tilted his head back, so he could stare into that stern countenance, and spread his arms wide, his palms turned upward in supplication.
“Mordu, tell me what to do,” he begged of the god. “Tell me how to bear this. How do I love and yet let that love go at the same time? I suffered the torment of the gods, suffer it still, but will it never be enough? Will I never be allowed even the smallest reprieve? Is this my punishment for daring to know happiness in the face of the penance set down for me? Please … I beg of you … tell me your will. And … if she is hurting because of her love for me … take that pain from her. I never meant to cause her injury. Give it to me instead. Let my back bear the weight of this. It is not fair that she be set free only to be chained again by emotions too painful to bear.”
And so it went. The same prayers over and over again, Garreth begging for guidance … begging that Sarielle be released from whatever burdens he may have placed upon her. On and on … until dawn lightened the sky and the morning sun began to spill across the altar.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Dethan should have been heading home. He should have left over a week ago if he intended to be home before the winter set in. But he could not bring himself to leave while his brother spent every day in a torment far more serious than the one the gods had set down for him. At least when Garreth had been chained to that mountain it had been only his body that had suffered. Now it was his soul that suffered, and Dethan knew the weight of his responsibility in the matter. He had questioned his actions more than once … with more and more frequency as the days wore on and his brother grieved.
Every night after Garreth was released from his frozen penance he went to the temple of Mordu and begged for more penance until dawn came. The mems had taken to leaving the door unlocked for him. They had tried to give him guidance and comfort, but he had gently turned them away, taking no succor, thinking he did not deserve it.
And as if this weren’t bad enough, Davine had taken to weeping quietly in odd corners of the keep. Dethan had stumbled upon her twice already. She had been making regular pilgrimages to Framun’s temple, hoping for the peace and tranquility the god could offer an aggrieved soul. It bothered Dethan because he could have sworn Davine was a selfish soul, that this would not have touched her emotionally. But clearly Sarielle had touched more than just his brother’s heart, and Davine, like he, was feeling the burden of what they had done.
Dethan had written to his wife, telling her he needed more time, explaining that his brother needed him without giving details as to why. He realized that was because part of him was a little too ashamed to admit to his loving wife his role in the deception. And it was feelings like these that made him doubt his actions even more. If he truly believed he had done the right thing, wouldn’t he want to own his responsibility? Own his part in the whole thing?
No, he told himself. He had done the right thing for all involved. Sarielle was safer elsewhere, and Garreth was safer without her to distract him from his course. Or he would be once he stopped his unceasing prayers to Mordu. Dethan dreaded every day that Weysa would come down on them with thunderous dissatisfaction and take Garreth away, putting him back into his frozen torment once and for all. It was Dethan’s fear of this that allowed him to keep his countenance, keep his role in things silent.
All Garreth needed was time, Dethan told himself. After the winter had passed, Garreth would be healed from his pain and move on. His focus would be restored. But … if this continued on into the spring, there would be serious trouble. Hells, if Garreth did not keep his head on straight over the winter, he might find himself losing the tenuous grip he had on his newly acquired cities. That would not do at all. That would definitely earn Weysa’s attention … and outrage.
So Dethan would stay as long as he possibly could to make certain that did not happen.
He sometimes thought things were improving. Garreth was beginning to invest time and attention in the workings of the cities again, but it was clear this was by rote, not because of any passion for it. His passion had left him when Sarielle had left him.
To say his brother was losing sleep was an understatement. Garreth spent his nights in prayer, so it followed he did not spend them sleeping. Then he worked throughout the day in a half-present manner. The mems of Mordu’s temple had told Dethan that Garreth sometimes fell asleep on his knees, no doubt out of pure exhaustion, but other than that …
Dethan shuffled through papers in front of him but did not really see what he was reading. He suspected his brother was doing the same. Garreth sat across from him, staring at the same page he had been looking at for the better part of half an hour.
“The moat is coming along nicely,” Dethan said, for some reason compelled to make small talk, if only to feel that his brother was engaging in life in some way.
“Yes. I saw it when I went to Zandaria yesterday,” Garreth said. He went back to looking at his paper.
“I think it will be a particularly bitter winter,” Dethan tried again. “Especially here, with the Asdar Mountains so close at hand.”
Garreth looked up at him and frowned. “Do you really wish to discuss the weather with me?” he asked almost irritably.
“I wish to discuss anything with you!” Dethan snapped suddenly. “Anything to make me feel you are still alive! It has been well over a moon’s turn since she left. How long will you let this go on?”
Garreth’s gaze turned glacial. “For as long as it takes,” he said.
“I am at a loss,” Dethan said, throwing up his hands in his frustration. “Tell me what to do to make this better for you!”
“Can you bring her back to me?” Garreth asked, his stare hard. They both already knew the answer to that.
“You cannot go to her. She cannot come to you. It is a hopeless business. It is better you set your mind to moving on from this.”
Garreth’s fists crashed down on the table, making Dethan jump.
“Why are you here?” Garreth demanded of him.
“There is work to be done,” he said, indicating the stack of papers in front of him.
“No. I mean, why are you here. Why are you not on your way to your wife and son? Your agreement with Weysa says you are to fight for her only during the summer wanings. Fall is near over and winter is coming. If you do not leave, you will be trapped here with me this winter. I cannot imagine that will make your wife happy, so … why are you here?”
“Because my brother needs me!”
“I need nothing from you,” Garreth said bitterly. “I need nothing from anyone. I will suffer my penance and hold to my agreement with Weysa no matter what it has cost me. What else can I do?”
Dethan clenched his teeth tightly together. It pained him beyond reason to see his brother hurting so. “Garreth …”
“Go. Leave tomorrow. I will be fine without you.”
“No. You have two cities to run and you cannot do that in your present frame of mind.”
“I told you to go! I have good men here to help me run these cities. I will not lose them! Not after what it has cost me!”
Dethan had no reply to that. It made sense, what his brother was saying, but he was still not convinced. He opened his mouth to argue, but what could he possibly say to make this better? What could he possibly do to help Garreth snap out of his overwhelming melancholy? There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. All that Dethan could say had already been said.
“Leave tomorrow,” Garreth said.
“No. Another week. There is plenty of time.”
“What difference will a week make?” his brother asked.
Dethan did not know. He could only hope that with more time would come more acceptance.
“The moat will be further along. Our positions in both cities further solidified. A week and I will have more than enough time to make it home before the snow falls.”
“Very well. A week. But no longer.” Garreth moved around the table
, heading for the doorway into the hall. He paused at his brother’s elbow. “A week, Dethan. After that you will no longer be welcome here.”
The words were cold and hard, and Dethan knew he meant every one of them. Garreth would force him out of the city if given the impetus to do so. And while the army they shared was equally loyal to the brothers, he knew Garreth would find a way. His brother was one of the most determined people he had ever known. Garreth had succeeded on his quests and crusades sometimes with only his will to see him through.
Garreth left, no doubt heading for his horse and subsequently the orchard, since dusk was fast approaching. It came earlier now, with the winter season falling on them, the nights growing longer and the days shorter. That meant the hours of his suffering, the hours between dusk and juquil’s hour, were longer now.
If indeed Dethan could say his brother’s suffering ever came to an end.
Sarielle sat by the window, looking out and watching the twins as they played on the ground outside. It was colder now, so they were wearing wraps, but Sarielle suspected they hardly felt the cold at all. They were more focused on their dolls.
They had arrived in the small city of Moda a few weeks earlier and Sarielle had purchased this little farm shortly after. The house was a strong one, with thick walls and two rooms, a sturdy fireplace positioned between them. One room she slept in with the twins; the other room they used for eating and daily activities.
Sarielle had bought them all new clothes in the Moda fashion so the girls could attend the school on the edges of the farmlands, which taught the farming children in the cold wanings, when the fields had been reaped and there were fewer chores for the children to help with.
Sarielle had also bought a cow for milk and a butchered bosc pig, the pork and bacon salted or smoked for storing in their tiny cellar. They had winter vegetables stored as well and canned fruits, milled sugar, and other staples to get them through the winter. Plus, she had purchased heavy fabrics and was stitching them to make warm quilts for their beds. It was a simple life. A good life. They would hire hands to work the farm come spring, and the money they had gotten from Koro’s gems would take them quite far. Moda was many days’ journey from the Asdar Mountains and Koro, but the wyvern could fly the distance in no time at all, should she need him for any reason.
But she would not need him. They were safe … far from any neighbors, really. Hidden away from prying and curious eyes. To her neighbors, she was a widow taking care of her sisters. She’d had to say she was recently widowed. It was better that way. It explained why she was with child but had no man to be a father to it.
She had discovered she was pregnant within days of leaving Kith. She had been sick with increasing frequency and recognized it had much less to do with her grief and much more to do with being pregnant when a woman saw her throwing up one morning and made a joke of it.
“So when’s the child due?” the woman asked with a cackle.
Sarielle paled, all the blood rushing to the bottom of her body, as she realized that was exactly what was wrong with her. It explained why her breasts had grown tender all of a sudden. Why even the smell of food made her sick now. Why she was so incredibly tired all the time. She was going to have Garreth’s baby. His son or his daughter.
She had struggled for a full day with the dilemma of whether or not she should tell him of it. Part of her thought he had a right to know; another part of her thought he had lost all rights to know anything about her and what had become of her when he had bedded another woman and betrayed her.
In the end, she had decided it would just be easier to remain completely out of his sphere. He was a very powerful man. He could decide he wanted her child … but not her. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have thought him capable of something like that, but now … now she didn’t trust him at all. She didn’t know him at all.
She blinked her eyes rapidly as the sting of his betrayal hit her all over again, as it often did when she sat quietly and had nothing to do but think. But the fact of it was that she hurt. She hurt so deeply she couldn’t see straight. She called herself a fool for it. He had never made any promises to her. He had warned her not to get too attached to him. Maybe by so visibly bedding Davine he had purposely driven a chasm between them. Maybe it had been his way of forcing a good-bye on her.
And yet despite his betrayal she found she foolishly still yearned for him. She yearned for his smile and laughter. She craved his mouth and his touch on her body. She longed for the smell and feel of him. It was as though a huge chunk of her soul had been torn away from her and was living distantly from her. Not dead, but not alive either.
She touched her cheek and found tears upon it. She felt angry with herself whenever she spilled tears over him, but that didn’t stop it from happening again and again. More often rather than less. She had hoped time and distance would help her to heal, but they simply weren’t enough.
And as always, when the tears came, Koro’s concerned thoughts followed. He wanted to know why she was so sad. Wanted to understand her pain and the reasons why he was not able to fix it for her.
Do not worry, Koro. I will get better.
But she did not believe it herself, so it was difficult to convince him. And then, in the next moment, he asked when his sister would be born.
Sarielle sat up straight.
Your sister? she asked hesitantly.
Yes, he said. The one inside her. The one whose thoughts he could hear.
Sarielle was shocked. He could hear the baby? But … how? It didn’t even have any thoughts yet … did it?
Did she?
A girl. Koro thought it was a girl. And he was probably right. Sarielle couldn’t question the wyvern’s power. They were creatures of great magic. Magic that grew stronger as they aged. Koro was still just a baby in so many ways. He had not yet come into all his power. But she had heard of wyverns that could disappear from one place and appear in another. Others that could use the power of their thoughts to move things.
What … what does she say? Sarielle asked hesitantly.
She did not say very much apparently. She was very quiet. It took some explaining as to why she was inside Sarielle, as opposed to being in an egg, but eventually Koro seemed to understand
Sarielle could feel his curiosity and his sudden excitement. He wanted a “sister.” And she understood why. If not for her, he would be all alone in the world. She couldn’t imagine Koro doing well by himself, with no touchstone whatsoever. And she didn’t even remember what it had been like for her before she had had him nestled securely in her mind at all times.
She took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. She had to be careful. If Koro thought for even a moment that Garreth had caused her pain, there was no telling what he might do in retaliation. And the last thing she wanted to do was sic a wyvern on Garreth. No matter how hurt and angry she was, he did not deserve that. And she could not bear the idea of anything happening to him. Even after all her pain …
She still loved him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Mordu sighed.
If a god could get a headache, then he most certainly had one. And he knew what it was from.
Weysa’s champion.
As an immortal being, Garreth had some of the power of a god inside him, and that made him able to connect with whatever god he chose to connect with at the time. It used to be Weysa this man connected to, sending her prayers and bringing her glory. His army was marching across the world, gaining power for him and, more important, Weysa.
Really it had been a stroke of genius on Weysa’s part, freeing these little men and using them to help her gain power. Mordu was part of Weysa’s faction. So her gain was for all intents and purposes his gain. He hadn’t been so sure these men had deserved freedom from their torments, but they had proven themselves worthy warriors and they had devoted themselves to the task of winning Weysa the followers she needed to grow stronger.
But now on
e of them was calling to him incessantly, the pain of the man’s broken heart almost too much to be borne. Mordu had rarely seen such pain as this, except in cases in which souls had been meant for each other, the bond so profound that it was nigh unbreakable. But it was uncommon for two such souls to really find each other. Hella, the goddess of fate, could be cruel like that, keeping destined souls just out of reach of each other. She was a mercurial witch sometimes. Some days she delighted in toying with mortal fates, laughing at the torment she could bring to them, and other days she grew soft and loving and was eager to see two such souls find each other.
In this case, she had done both. She had thrown two destined souls together … and then made it their fate to be driven apart.
Truly, she was a cold-hearted bitch at times.
But he was only saying that because she was his wife.
And because it was true.
So as a result of her fickle ways, Mordu was now being bombarded with the grief of this warrior of Weysa’s. At first Mordu had been able to ignore it. He had thousands upon thousands of people coming to him, begging him for the love of this one or that one. Occasionally it amused him to have a hand in how things worked out, but mostly he basked in the power of what his wife, fate, had wrought in the way of love.
But this … this was ceaseless, this begging for his help. And … what was most vexing about it was that the man wasn’t wishing for his love … but instead wished his love would not feel pain over her love for him. Wished Mordu would lighten her burden.
At least that was what he prayed for aloud. But deep in the soul of this man were the true cravings of his heart: To be reunited with his love. To be able to keep her and treasure her for all time. And yet he would not wish his cursed state to be within her sphere for fear of it doing her any harm.
In a nutshell, the warrior couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted. Oh, Mordu could see what was at the heart of it, but he could also see the dilemma for what it was.