In Legend Born (69 page)

She had too little to do or think about in here. Her mind was normally prone to planning, not introspection. She was a doer, not a dreamer. She knew what she wanted and concentrated on how to get it, letting others trouble themselves with more ponderous questions of honor and morality. As a
torena
, she knew her duty to the people who lived under her care, and she never shirked it. As a rebel, she knew her duty to Sileria and committed herself and her resources to it completely, without hesitation or reservation. As a woman, she used the tools Dar had given her to accomplish every duty placed upon her shoulders.

Dar had blessed (or cursed) Mirabar with gifts of fire and prophecy, gifts so rare that they set her apart from all others. Josarian had been born to lead men in battle, to be respected and admired by them. Kiloran had grasped the cold power of water magic in an apprenticeship granted only to men. Tansen had shaped his destiny out of the bitter ashes of his boyhood, carving a new fate in stone and steel—with skills which were taught only to men.

And I, born a woman, smarter and braver than most men...
Bitterness flooded her, for what man did not look upon her and see only what Koroll had seen, and desire only what Borell had desired? The same attributes that were respected in a man—courage and intelligence—were considered mere ornaments, or even flaws, in a woman, whose role was only to be a vessel of men's pleasure and a breeder of more men. Elelar was not the right sex to be a warrior, statesman, assassin, or waterlord, and she had no gifts such as Mirabar's. But she had a woman's gifts; some were taught to her by her mother, and others were simply born into her flesh. So she had coupled those gifts with a cold mind and a brave heart to pursue a dream she would now never live to see. And because of this, men who slept with many women and who broke their marriage vows with impunity would call her a whore when she died.

She prayed now only for a death that would honor her, such as any man might pray. Even more than she feared death by slow torture, she feared the humiliation of a
woman's
death, the sort of sentence the Valdani inflicted on the female Moorlanders they imprisoned in their brothels. If the Outlookers disemboweled her before vast crowds in Shaljir, she would bear it with more courage than any mere
man
would show, despite her fear and her pain. Only, please, Dar, don't let Borell give her to a hundred Outlookers who would rape her until she was dead and then leave her lying face-down in the mud until she rotted.

Please, Dar, as I have been faithful and true—in my way—let my death honor me.

Elelar was surprised to hear someone unlocking the door to her private cell. No one came here anymore unless it was mealtime, and she had been served a meal not long ago. Her heart pounded with mingled anticipation and fear, wondering who had come to see her and what news—or torment—he brought. She brushed back a stray wisp of hair and composed herself as the door opened.

"
Ronall?
" she blurted.

She didn't bother to hide her astonishment as her husband was admitted to her cell. She hadn't thought about him since the day the Outlookers had brought her here. Two Outlookers stood in the open doorway now, witnesses to the meeting. Elelar was used to them after eleven days, and Ronall had apparently drunk just enough not to care that they were there.

He came forward, took Elelar's hand, then held it uncertainly for a moment, trying to decide whether to kiss her mouth, kiss her hand, or just forget the whole thing. After an awkward moment, he dropped her hand and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"You are well?" he asked, his gaze searching her face.

Leave it to Ronall to be banal at a moment like this. "As well as can be expected under the circumstances."

The ice in her tone made his cheeks darken. He whirled away from her in an explosive move, only coming to rest when he reached the barred window. He gripped the ancient ironwork there, as if
he
were the prisoner, and looked down into the courtyard far below. Some prisoners were exercised in that yard, but not Elelar. Her captors were afraid to risk her making contact with anyone, even another prisoner or an Outlooker who hadn't been personally selected by Koroll for the task of guarding her.

"What are you doing here?" Elelar asked at last, realizing that Ronall wasn't going to say anything without prompting.

"I
am
still your husband." His voice was bitter.

"Not for long," she said. "Presumably they've told you they intend to—"

"They've told me a remarkable number of things." He didn't look at her, just kept clinging to the prison bars and staring out of the tiny window. "Before you returned to Shaljir, I was imprisoned and questioned for two days. Allowed no sleep or food during that time. Beaten unconscious at some point." He inhaled deeply. "I didn't know why. I didn't understand their questions."

"Ronall..." She made a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. No one told me."

"At first I thought it was because I had refused to give you a divorce. I thought Borell must have ordered the Outlookers to convince me to agree to it."

"So Borell asked you to divorce me?" she asked, though it didn't matter now.

"
Asked
isn't quite how I would phrase it."

Ronall looked at her briefly. His wounded expression startled her.
Male pride,
she thought derisively. In a moment like this, as I await death in prison, he resents a blow to his pride.

He looked away again. "When they showed me things they'd found in the house, I was sure at first that there'd been a misunderstanding. I thought they must have found those things in someone else's house. The Outlookers are such fools, it seemed like a mistake they could make."

"No, it was my house," she said wearily.

"Yes. So I learned."

"Since they've allowed you to see me," said Elelar, "I assume they know you were never involved."

"I don't think Koroll ever really thought I was. But he wanted to be sure."

She nodded, wishing he would leave. She shouldn't have to put up with Ronall anymore. "No, why would they suspect you? You're half-Valdan, after all."

His brief laugh was quite humorless. "To you, I'm half-Valdan. To them, I'm half-Silerian. A half-caste man belongs to no one in this country, Elelar."

"You'll forgive me if your self-pity doesn't move me to tears at this particular point in my life."

He winced. Closed his eyes. Leaned his head against the bars of the window. "Of course. I've forgiven you far worse, haven't I?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "I recall resentment, anger, accusations, blame, and quarrels. I recall a beating. A few rapes." His head seemed to lower with each word she uttered. "But I don't recall a single word of forgiveness from you, not once in five years of marriage."

"Marriage?"

His shoulders started shaking. She heard him gasping unevenly and making a strange, choked sound. To her astonishment, she realized he was laughing. After a few moments, he tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling. She saw tears gleaming in his dark eyes.

"Marriage?" he repeated. "We weren't married, Elelar. We were locked in combat, like two caged mountain cats, neither of us able to escape."

"Then why did you refuse to divorce me when Borell ordered you to?" she said impatiently.

He laughed again. It unsettled her that laughter could sound so unhappy. "Because I still loved you."

Her shocked expression made him laugh even harder. She gaped at him, watching him laugh while tears slipped from his eyes. "You're going mad," she surmised.

"Oh, Elelar..." He gasped again for air, wiping at his eyes. "Surely I've been doing that for years."

"I won't dispute that."

"Ah, my dear wife, your contempt seems to be the one constant in my life, even when everything else has been turned upside down."

"You've earned it," she snapped. "And I am free of the need to pretend to be your wife any longer."

"You
are
my wife," he pointed out. The vehemence in his tone and the possessive expression on his face were more familiar to her than the sad, strangely giddy man he had been a moment ago. "And I might add that it's the only reason you're still alive."

Elelar frowned. "What do you mean?"

"As the wife of a Valdan—
half
-Valdan, that is—you are entitled to certain rights not granted to Silerians, no matter how high-born."

"I rather doubt that Borell and Koroll care about such distinctions now," she said. 

"My father, who is not without influence, made them care. After I was released, I insisted that no matter what you had done, you were my wife and therefore entitled to courteous treatment after your arrest. Considering the charge of high treason, you are also entitled to a trial before three members of the Imperial Council."

She blinked. "Your father agreed to this?"

"I... convinced him that Borell had arrested you and made these claims because you wouldn't divorce me."

"And your father believed you," she breathed, stunned that Ronall would lie to protect her.

"Since I had been dragged before Borell, ordered to divorce you, and then imprisoned after refusing, it was a rather convincing story," Ronall said dryly.

"Are you telling me that Borell agreed to your father's demands?" she asked incredulously.
Borell,
who would lose everything if Elelar had a chance to reveal to the Imperial Council how arrogantly careless he had been around his Silerian mistress?

"Not at first. But his accusations against you were so... slanderous that my father became convinced of his treachery. Borell did not seem to be in control of himself." Ronall smiled bitterly before continuing, "So Father sent his own messenger to Valda two days after you were arrested, then warned Borell that he had done so. It will look very bad for Borell if anything happens to you before the Council decides whether to grant my father's request that you be tried as the wife of a Valdani aristocrat."

Elelar sat down on her cot. "So after your father sent a messenger to Valda, Borell agreed to let you to send me some of my things and some decent food."

"Yes." Ronall studied her. "I assume that Borell's accusations were, in fact, all true?"

"Probably," she admitted, seeing the knowledge in his face.

After a long pause, he asked quietly, "Were there really that many other men?"

"Oh, is that all you can think about?" she snapped.

"Well, it—"

"You, who've had so many other women these past five years?"

"I, who was never welcome in my wife's bed," he shot back.

"Did you really think I would ever welcome you again, after our wedding night?" she said angrily.

He stepped back as if she had hit him. He closed his eyes as if in pain, then reached for the cold iron bars and rested his cheek against one. "No," he whispered. "I really never thought so."

Fury bubbled up in her now, because she might have even bothered to be a good wife to this sot, if he had made any effort at all to be a decent husband. "Coming to my bedchamber stinking drunk, grabbing at me, tearing my clothes..."

"I... don't remember that very well..." His voice was the barest of whispers. His eyes were still squeezed shut.

"Do you remember how you hurt me?" she snarled. "How I begged you to stop, to wait, to be gentle?"

A tear crept out of the corner of his eye. Elelar was only sorry it wasn't blood. 

"I think I remember," he whispered. "But was it that time or another time?"

"You were
always
drunk." Her voice vibrated with disgust. "Once in a red moon you'd claim the rights of a husband, and you were always drunk."

Ronall opened his eyes. He met her gaze briefly, then looked away. "I don't remember those times very well. But I do remember drinking a lot before coming to you." His breath came out on a soft puff of derisive laughter. "For courage." He sighed deeply. "I remember being afraid beforehand, and afterward feeling..." He shook his head. "I don't know. I only know that enough time had to pass for me to forget the feeling, and then I had to empty enough liquor bottles to risk coming to you again."

"
Risk?
" Elelar practically spat the word. "You can speak of risk when
I
was the one who got hurt?"

"Yes, I hurt you." He nodded and repeated, "I hurt you. I wanted to make you love me, but..." He shook his head. "The part of me that rules my life and makes me what I am... That part wanted to hurt you. That part always wanted to hurt you back."

"Hurt me
back?
" she repeated, outraged.

"For never loving me. For despising me. For making me feel small and pathetic and foolish. For making me afraid of my own wife's bed."

"I did nothing—"

"Didn't you?" He smiled sadly and looked out the window again. "I'm no scholar, like your grandfather was. I'm no poet, no warrior, no statesman, no... I'm nothing." He pressed his forehead against the bars. "And you always let me know it. From the moment we met."

"You were drunk the moment we met," she reminded him. "You were a drunkard long before we met. You're drunk
now
."

"Not drunk exactly... I had just enough to get me here. Get me through that door. Get me to face my wife." The self-disgust in his tone surprised her.

"If facing me is always such a trial, why on earth did you marry me?" she asked irritably.

To her surprise, he laughed again. "At least I no longer have to wonder why you married
me
. What an awful lot of my money is missing, Elelar." He sounded more weary than angry. "Koroll's men discovered that. I never would have, of course. And you counted on that."

"I gambled on it," she corrected.

"Then there were all those people you met through me, people who probably wouldn't have associated with a Silerian
torena
unless she were allied to a Valdani family." He gave her a hard look. "Advisor Borell, for example."