Belythna stirred from a deep sleep and stretched out languorously in bed.
A moment later, she realised that Jedin was gone.
Opening her eyes, she saw that the first rays of dawn light were filtering in through the open window, signalling it was time to rise and go to dawn prayers. There, framed by the silvery light of a late-summer’s dawn, she saw a man’s silhouette. Jedin was naked. He was standing looking out at the sun, as it edged over the eastern rim of the world.
Belythna lay there a moment, silently admiring his naked form. Jedin was one of the Hand – another talent among the Sentorân. They were sorcerers with warriors’ hearts, and the only among them who wielded weapons. Indeed, Jedin had a warrior’s physique; he was tall, broad and muscular, with long dark hair that flowed across his naked shoulders.
This morning it appeared that he was lost in his own thoughts as he gazed out of the window. He had not noticed that she had awoken.
Belythna considered speaking – drawing him out of his reverie – but something made her hesitate. It had been a decade coming, this union between the two of them – and yet, they both knew it was a mistake. Jedin had arrived at Deep-Spire, just days before Belythna. Fourteen winters old, surly and uncommunicative, he had been difficult to befriend, and even more difficult to get to know. Yet, with the years that passed, an attraction had slowly grown between them until it had finally flowered into passion. They had slept together on the first night Belythna had returned from Catedrâl, just over a moon’s cycle earlier. Despite that their beds were all they shared, and despite that they had little to say to each other, the affair had continued.
Watching him, Belythna felt sadness compress her ribs. They had both been lonely, both craving human warmth. The attraction between them, that had tantalised them both for so many years, had not been able to withstand their union. Last night, she had lain with a stranger. The longer the affair dragged on, the further apart they grew. It was a cruel irony but one not lost on Belythna. Floriana, and even Riadamor, had warned her that Jedin would not give her what she craved. It galled her that they had been proved right.
Many here have no room in their hearts for anything but their talent, Floriana had told her once. Our training makes us selfish – makes it difficult to give of ourselves.
At the time, Belythna had denied her friend’s words. She could not accept the idea that they were supposed to live a loveless existence. Unions amongst the Sentorân themselves were not forbidden, although they were not allowed to take a consort from outside the order.
Why should she not enjoy her time with Jedin?
Yet, it had turned out to be an empty experience – and watching him now, she realised she would need to be the one to end it.
“You look like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders,” she observed, sitting up in bed and stretching.
Jedin turned from the window, his dark gaze meeting hers before it slid to her bare breasts.
“It’s a beautiful sunrise,” he replied, his rugged face giving nothing away, as usual.
“What you were thinking about?” she asked.
He frowned then, as he often did if she asked him anything remotely personal. “Nothing of importance,” he replied, brushing her off.
“It never is,” Belythna slid off the bed and retrieved her clothing from the chair against the opposite wall. “I go to bed every night with a shadow, and wake every morning with a stranger.”
Jedin’s frown deepened. “What?”
“From now on, I will sleep in my own chamber, Jedin. Alone.”
Jedin looked surprised at that; the first emotion he had shown in days.
“Why? There’s no need for that. We haven’t argued.”
“No – to argue you’d have to communicate. I’d get more conversation out of a wall,” Belythna replied, pulling a tunic over her head.
She fastened a thick leather belt about her waist and turned to him once more. Belythna met his gaze then – and felt her breath seize painfully in her chest. He could not even pretend to be upset; could not even make a show of trying to make her stay. She repressed the urge to leap forward and strike him across the face. Instead, she reached for the rest of her clothes.
“So this was a mistake?” Jedin asked. “You regret being with me?”
Finally, Belythna heard the hurt in his voice. Yet, it was too little, too late.
“This was an error on both our parts,” she told him. She finished dressing, avoiding his gaze as she did so. “It should be easy enough to pretend it never happened.”
“I don’t want to this to end,” he replied. “Belythna, wait...”
“No.” Belythna threw her cloak about her shoulders and turned from him. “It’s over.”
With that, his silence a cold wall behind her, she stalked from the chamber without a backward glance.
Dawn prayers were even harder to endure than usual that morning. Belythna kept her head bowed, fighting tears.
She had wanted companionship; she had wanted the union between man and woman that others outside the order had. Life here could be lonely at times and Jedin had provided much needed solace. However, once the initial excitement had passed, being with him made Belythna feel even lonelier than before. Jedin had said little when she ended it, but she knew how proud he was. Her final words to him made her stomach churn.
There would be no going back.
Dawn prayers finally drew to a close and Belythna joined the crowd of black-robed figures that filed out of the temple. She deliberately kept her gaze trained on the person in front of her, lest she accidently spy Jedin. She could not face him now.
This was the morning of the Council. Once a moon-cycle, fifty Sentorân gathered in the Council Chamber to discuss important matters. Belythna, Floriana, Riadamor and Jedin had only recently been admitted to the Council; a great honour indeed.
Belythna made her way down the stairs, ignoring the rumble of conversation around her. She was lost in her thoughts when a familiar voice reached her.
“Belythna – wait!”
Floriana DeSanith, slightly out of breath from her run down the stairwell to catch up, appeared at Belythna’s side. The blonde young woman, easily the most attractive female within Deep-Spire, cast a glance at her friend’s face and frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Floriana gave her a searching look. “It’s Jedin, isn’t it?”
Belythna winced, wishing that her friend was less astute at reading her. “I’ve just finished things between us.”
Floriana did not reply, her silence speaking volumes.
“Go on,” Belythna turned to her friend; meeting her steady gaze. “I can tell you’re dying to say ‘I told you so’.”
Floriana shrugged and gave a rueful smile. “Actually, I was hoping you’d both prove me wrong.”
“No, you spoke true. Taking a Sentorân as a lover was a mistake.”
“Did I put it that bluntly?”
“You did – and you were right.”
Floriana looked pained at that, but wisely refrained from commenting.
Chapter Four
The Council of Deep-Spire
Deep-Spire, Central Omagen