Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm) (12 page)

The great room had been swept clean of every grain of the old rushes, the wood floor had been washed, oiled and new rushes put down over it before the precious carpets had been restored to their proper places. All the shutters were open to allow fresh air inside, the light falling brilliantly over the chairs Delae had made, each seat cushion carefully decorated in her own tapestry.

All of the bedrooms and bed linens had been aired and freshened - the straw ticking replaced and the straps on the beds tightened.

Tables had been set out under the trees of the courtyard for feasting in the open - in the air and sun. A great pit had been dug, a side of beef and another of mutton roasted over a fire. There were platters of roasted vegetables and all manner of delicacies.

Delae looked over it all with satisfaction.

Out in the fields horses and cattle roamed with the sheep, cropping the rich green grass. The homestead had become much more prosperous, more settled as the years passed.

She shook then smoothed out her skirts.

“They’re coming,” Morlis’s son Alen called, racing in through the gates.

Selah stepped to her side and Delae threaded her fingers through those of her daughter’s, feeling Selah’s other hand close over hers.

It always astonished Delae that now she had to look up into Selah’s eyes.

More, how truly lovely she was.

There was only a trace of red in Selah’s rich brown hair and hers waved more than it curled, but it was lovely. Slender and less curved than Delae, she was graceful and beautiful in her serene and quiet way. Delae well knew she was a doting mother but she didn’t think she was deceived in this.

She raised her daughter’s hand to her lips and kissed it as Selah’s shoulder brushed hers in return.

Pride washed through her as her people took up their places, Dan at his forge, Morlis and Alen waiting to hold the horses. Lucie and Keran were there, with Bara, Morlis’s wife, at their back. Some of the smallholders were scattered around the courtyard. It made a pretty and welcoming picture.

The King and Queen rode in with their son Geric at their side and they made a pretty picture as well.

Hastan had always been a big and comely man, nearly as broad as a Dwarf, but he’d also been a very fair man, if occasionally too strong-willed and independent for the prospective High King, Daran. That was to be expected from Riverford, though. It had always been an independent-minded Kingdom, if not so much so as Marakis.

His close-cropped hair curled just slightly around his head and his strongly-boned face. It was easy to see why Telerach had fallen in love with him but more so for the look in his eyes when he reached a hand to his Lady-wife as they rode between the gates.

As it was easy to see why he’d fallen in love with her.

There was a merry warmth to Telerach that reached out to touch everyone around her. While not quite as curly as Delae’s, Telerach’s honey-colored hair tumbled nearly to her waist, framing an apple-cheeked face that was more pretty than beautiful but the kindness in it shone.

The love between King and Queen was clear and deep.

No other hand but the King’s would lift his Queen down from her saddle and Delae felt a small gush of sorrow for what she would never truly know. Then she put it aside as Hastan gestured for his son to join them.

Geric was a pleasant mix of both his parents, his father’s strong features softened a little by his mother’s gentler ones, with his mother’s slate-colored eyes and her hair. He was as tall as his father, and as broad through the shoulders and chest. He was a handsome young man.

Both Delae and Selah sank into small curtseys before the King and Queen.

“Your Highnesses,” Delae said, “I am Delae, widow of Kort, and landowner here.”

“Mistress Delae,” Hastan said, for he couldn’t name her Lady because of her common birth, “we would present our son, Geric, who would be our Heir.”

Delae gestured Selah up.

“And my daughter Selah…”

Turning her head, she caught Geric’s expression as Selah rose, his slate-blue eyes startled as Selah looked up at him, her own eyes widening.

Wisely, Delae made no mention of it, merely smiling graciously. “Your rooms await, your Highnesses. Baths too so you may refresh yourselves.”

There was food aplenty, Hastan noticed as they sat at table in the courtyard, cloth wound through the arbor to provide shade and cover.

Once this had been one of his poorest landholds, ever and always on the edge of poverty.  They’d never failed to pay their rightful taxes and tithes although it stretched them as some years they’d paid in kind rather than coin. That had clearly changed.

There had been rumors, of course, and tales, but Delae had never complained of them herself, always gracious far beyond her station.

Now, though, now it was one of his most prosperous, a jewel in the crown of his landholdings.

He looked out at the verdant fields, at the livestock grazing there, at the vines - thick with grapes - that twined above his head, the barrels of mead, wine and beer and could find no fault.

Nor, he thought, could he find fault with anything other.

Smothering a smile, he watched Geric as he spoke in a corner of the courtyard with pretty young Selah, her head bowed gracefully; a shy smile curved her lips.

Hastan glanced at his own beloved Telerach and caught her glance as it met his.

A tremor went through him, a shiver of warmth that was the bond between them. Few of her people understood their love, not knowing that Telerach named it a true soul-bond. All he knew was that he couldn’t live without her. He raised her fingers to his lips and she smiled, all the warmth and love he could want there in her eyes.

She nodded and then glanced over at their son, too.

Hastan sighed.

It had been difficult to find him a bride among those of the other lesser Kingdoms, as much for his mother’s blood as for Riverford’s location among the outermost of the lesser Kingdoms. Many were offended by the idea he had the blood of Dwarves in his veins, as if there was something to be ashamed of in being a part of that long-lived and strong race.

To some extent Telerach’s people felt the same about men.

In the end, then, they’d had only each other. And then Geric.

Softly, Telerach said, a smile beginning to light her eyes, “It will be a good match.”

And so Delae found herself guesting and being guested by the Heir to Riverford now and again.

From a distance, Dorovan watched Selah marry the only son and Heir to the King of Riverford, having watched the love grow between them in the same way as he did now, with his arms around Delae’s shoulders as she leaned back against him. The two of them stood unseen in their copse within the trees while Geric and Selah rode together across the fields.

Daran was now High King of all men. He and the Elf Elon of Aerilann had forged an Agreement that made peace at last between Men, Elves and Dwarves. It was easier now for Dorovan to travel as fewer remarked on it, although he still had to be careful. Not all men were reconciled to parity with the long-lived Elves - who they thought of as arrogant and cold - or the Dwarves - who they considered stolid and stupid.

“So,” Delae asked, shortly after the Agreement was signed, her head in Dorovan’s lap, “Elon of Aerilann is First among equals, like a lesser King among your people?”

Amused, Dorovan nodded as he played with her hair as he was wont to do. He loved the living feel of it, the way it curled around his fingers.

“Of a sort, yes.”

Waving it away, she said with an answering smile, “Less formal, yes, yes, I know. And he is a master swordsman but you are a Swordmaster.”

He nodded.

“I am good - Elon is better,” he said equably, but searched for a better explanation. “Elon teaches the teachers.”

“Ah,” Delae said, then shook her head. “But this means it will be easier for you to come here?”

“Fewer will take note of it,” he said, lowering his lips to her forehead. “We’ll still have to be careful.”

She was still and always would be a balm to his soul.

Then suddenly she shot up to look at him. “Dorovan, I almost forgot to tell you, Selah is pregnant!”

Children and grandchildren and still most people of men took them for granted.

He didn’t. Excitement rushed through him.

“When is she due?” he asked.

“In the deep of summer,” Delae said, smiling. “Geric is thrilled and Selah simply glows.”

To Dorovan’s pleasure, Selah came for a visit and let her beloved friend Dorovan touch her swelling belly, her sweet gentle face full of love and wonder. He held his hand against her and felt the baby kick as he looked at Selah.

She smiled, radiantly.

It was a dark and stormy night, much as the night when Delae had first met Dorovan, if not as cold, when Delae was sure, when she knew, watching the bright lights that danced in the air above the baby’s crib. Desperately she locked her feelings down, heartsick and terrified, hoping and praying Dorovan didn’t sense her fear, her heartbreak. She couldn’t tell him - not even him. This would be the only secret she’d ever kept from him and the only one she ever would. He must never know what she knew now.

Then, if they asked him, he wouldn’t be forced to betray himself and them…and this precious beautiful child.

If what they did worked, he would never need to and the baby would be safe, they would all be safe.

Still, she wept, alone for the first time since before Selah had been born as she touched the baby’s tender cheek. So beautiful.

As much as it grieved her, Dorovan must never learn what they now knew for certain, that Selah was indeed his daughter and her child his granddaughter.

No one must know of the baby’s mixed blood. No one could know she bore in her veins not just her father Geric’s mixed blood but her mother Selah’s. That she had the forbidden blood of all three races in her tiny veins.

That she had magic.

That she was Otherling.

Dorovan wouldn’t betray her, Delae knew. But she wouldn’t have him suffer this fear as she did. Knowing what this child might be, what it meant and would mean to his people, to the Dwarves, who, as much as they loved children and had welcomed Geric, would kill this baby out of hand just for what she was. She couldn’t do that to Dorovan, to make him keep this secret against his own people.

Even the Elves, as much as they loved children, would be torn…

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she prayed that what they planned would work. No one must ever know that the baby had magic such as Elves and Dwarves did.

It had been another long cold winter, with a storm on the horizon when Dorovan rode into the compound of Delae’s homestead. In the way of men, Hallis and Petra had long passed to their Summerlands such as men had, as had Kort’s parents and Delae had taken on Dan and Morlis’s wives in their place. All were well accustomed to seeing him there but none ever spoke of it to anyone outside the homestead, not that they saw many others on this distant edge of the Kingdom.

He knew Delae was on her way back to the homestead to meet him from a ride out to check on the smallholders.

Over the years she’d become much more successful, especially once Kort had died - knifed in an alley over a gambling debt. Elf that he was, Dorovan still found it hard to grieve much for that one.

With a nod Morlis’s oldest boy came to take Charis, his eyes glinting with delight as the Elven-bred horse followed him to the stable, eager for his ration of oats.

Dorovan smiled before turning toward the great room, so familiar to him after all these years that it was nearly a second home, anticipating Delae’s arrival with a lightening of his spirit.

Pulling off his cloak, Dorovan shook the rain out and spread it over the rack by the fire, turning in surprise at the sound of the rapid patter of bare feet as they raced down the hall from the kitchens toward him.

A child burst into the room.

“Delae!” she said and then came to a sudden halt as she saw him standing there instead. “Surprise…!”