Sorrows of Adoration (71 page)

“It would break his
heart to know you feel that way.”

“I know,” I said, my
chin trembling as I tried not to cry again. “That makes it worse,
knowing that I am probably making his spirit miserable, if he does
indeed watch me from the Everafter.”

“You must stop this
cycle of guilt, Aenna. You ought to speak to him.”

“To whom?” I asked,
confused.

“To Jarik. You ought to
close your eyes and imagine that he is here, for he just may be,
and you should tell him how you hurt for him. Imagine him
comforting you. Imagine the things you know that he would say if he
could put his arms around you. For somewhere, be it within you or
on the path to the Everafter, this man who died loving you loves
you still, and you must know he is reaching to you in comfort as
much as he can.”

She got up from the bed
and said, “Speak to him now. You know he can hear you. I shall make
sure no one interrupts you.” Leiset locked the door to Kurit’s
bedroom, then went into my receiving room and closed the door
behind her.

I turned onto my right
side and pulled a pillow towards me. The very idea of speaking to
him seemed absurd, but now that Leiset had suggested it, I found
that I very much wanted to do so. Still, I felt so silly at the
thought that I just remained in silence for a few minutes.

Then I picked up
Jarik’s letter and read it again. I savoured every word, gazed over
every letter that his hand had written. I ran my fingers gently
across it, my heart aching to know that this was the last thing he
would ever write. I began to weep again when I considered how awful
the poor man had felt when he died.

“
Jarik,” I called
out softly as I clung to a pillow, letting it catch my tears.
“Jarik, where are you now?” I asked. It felt foolish to speak
aloud, and I was embarrassed even though no one was there. So
instead I spoke silently from my mind, asking,
Are you thinking of me? Can you
see me? Can you feel my tears? By the Gods, Jarik, I am sorry! I
know this must be torture for you, to see that your death has hurt
me so and not be able to hold me. I know you did not wish to hurt
me. I love you for being so noble, but why did you do
this?

I sobbed into the
pillow, but as I did so I began to feel angry. “Why did you do
this?” I asked aloud miserably, then furiously cried out, “How
could you leave me like this? You promised you’d always be there
for me!”

I heard my own words
and was stricken with guilt for having uttered them. He died so
that he could be there for me, and there I was condemning him for
his ultimate act of sacrifice.

My cursed mind then
wondered if it had been painful for him. I remembered the gory
horror of Kasha’s death. Jarik had taken his life in the same way.
Had he gagged on his blood as he died? The very thought made me
scream into my pillow for him. To suffer so, and all in vain!

I banished such
thoughts from my head by looking again at his letter, tracing some
of the words with my fingers. “Oh, Jarik,” I whispered, “you
shouldn’t have done this.” Silently I continued,
Perhaps it was an
error to turn your back on Kasha, but you are human, and people
make mistakes! I would never have condemned you for this. I love
you so much, my sweet Champion. Why must you judge yourself so
harshly? Nobody else does. Keshaerlan is a weaker nation without
you, my love.

“My Jarik.”

I cuddled the pillow as
though it were him with me, as he had held me in bed at the
cottage. For a moment, I almost felt his arms around me. I could
almost feel his warmth, catch his scent, and hear his breath. Then
the brief sensation passed, and I wept alone.

* * *

Though I still cried
for him in the days thereafter, it was more because I missed him
than out of depression. By the end of the month of mourning, I was
even able to speak of him at times without shedding tears.

After the mourning
period, Kurit took on the task of collecting Jarik’s things and
cleaning out his chambers. I offered to help, but I was still weak
at times, and Kurit wouldn’t hear of it. I think perhaps he also
wished to be alone in his cousin’s chambers, to say goodbye in his
own way.

Late in the day, Kurit
came to my receiving chamber where I sat quietly alone with my
thoughts. I could tell that he had been weeping, and I smiled sadly
at him. He sat beside me and held me after setting a small box upon
the table nearby.

Eventually I asked,
“What is in the box?”

Kurit pulled out of the
embrace, kissing my cheek softly as he went. “It is something I
found in Jarik’s drawer. I think …” Tears welled up in his
eyes, and he gulped to continue speaking. “I think you may wish to
keep it as a memory of him.”

Kurit reached to the
table and handed the small wooden box to me. It had a small brass
latch, but there was no lock upon it. I lifted the latch and gently
pulled open the hinged lid.

There, lying couched in
deep blue velvet, was a dried flower with a green hair ribbon tied
around it. My breath was knocked from me as I realized it was the
silly little “prize” I had given Jarik on my wedding day when he
won the right to be my Champion. This great warrior, a strong man
of armour and weapons, had tenderly preserved and kept my little
gift.

“I can’t believe he
kept it,” Kurit said. “He was always so unconcerned with mementos
and such frivolities. He didn’t even save the love letters that he
received from the women he bedded. I remember him telling me once
that all objects lose their meaning once the moment attached to
them has passed.”

“And yet, he kept my
silly little gift as though it was his most prized possession,” I
said through my tears.

Kurit whispered in a
voice rough with sadness, “Probably because it was, because the
moment never passed.”

TODAY AS I FINISH these
writings, I have beside me on my desk Jarik’s box with the flower
and ribbon. I do not open the box often these days, as I fear the
flower shall turn to dust if I let the air at it too much. But I
keep the box near me a great deal and frequently wonder how often
Jarik opened it. Did he look at that flower every night? Or perhaps
only when he particularly longed for me? Or when he was sad for my
pains?

It has been four years
since he died. There has not been a day gone by that I have not
thought of him at least once. I know it sounds self-centred, but I
wish that I could tell him of every little part of my day. I want
him to know when I laugh and when I weep. Sometimes I believe that
he does, but mostly I feel only his absence.

Though I recovered from
the stabbing and poisoning, the illness and possibly the ensuing
sadness have left me physically weaker than I once was. I surely
could not carry trays full of ale in a crowded inn today. My left
arm does not function properly. I can move it but can lift it no
higher than almost parallel to the ground. My left hand is quite
weak, and I learned quickly that it was unwise to trust it to carry
anything that might break.

The scar of Kasha’s
blade is a line over the scar that was already there from the
crossbow bolt, so long ago. I also of course have a small, sunken
scar on my lower throat, though I can speak and eat perfectly well.
All my dresses cover my scars, and Kurit kindly pretends he does
not see them when I am naked in his arms.

We re-initiated our
intimacy several months after Jarik’s death. I shall never forget
that night. Kurit had Leiset find the nightdress I had worn on our
wedding night. I put it on, knowing something romantic was afoot.
Sure enough, when he came to my bedchamber, he bade me close my
eyes as he led me into his.

When he said that I
could open them, I did so and found that he had lit candles all
over his room, just as he had at the cottage on our wedding night.
I was moved to tears by the gesture—tears which he gently kissed
away before kissing my lips tenderly and taking me to his bed.

We have shared a bed
almost every night since and made love quite often. Of course, our
renewed intimacy has led to the births of our other two
children.

Raelik, now seven years
of age, must have been affected in his young life by the tragic
events around him, for although he is bright and usually cheery, at
times he becomes pensive and worries a great deal about the people
that matter to him. He is very sensitive to arguments, and though
he has the wit to hold his own in a debate, the process wears him
down and it is clear he’d rather avoid confrontation. Kurit says
he’s like his grandfather in that.

Our red-haired little
daughter Kaelinna is now three years old and very much the opposite
of her older brother. She is a fiery child—neither mean nor cruel,
I have seen to that, but she has a terrible temper. For such a
small child, she has an amazing sense of order and efficiency and
so regularly reorganizes her toys that her nurse has rarely had to
clean up after her. She becomes indignant at disorder, and I worry
that she is not enough of a child to enjoy life before it is time
to really worry about such things. She is extremely overprotective
of Raelik, stamping her little feet when she sees him in one of his
sombre moods. She has no time for cuddling and other parental
affections, yet she has an acute need for approval from her
parents.

Then there is you,
little Jarik, for whom I write this tale. You’re only now beginning
to walk your first steps, and already you are so like the man for
whom you were named. You have a sweet little smile and such strong
little arms. I worry that you’ll pull yourself up over a wall if I
turn my back on you for a moment! And you cannot stand to see me
upset for any reason. Oh, how you howled your little heart out when
I stumbled from fatigue last month and twisted my ankle!

Seeing you like that,
my little son, I suspect even further that Leiset’s fanciful notion
of my Champion’s soul living on in me must be wrong, for some part
of him clearly lives in you. I see his love in your eyes, and at
times I am moved to tears by it. I know, however, that I must learn
to control this, for it makes you cry yourself, and that breaks my
heart.

When we registered your
name with the palace scribes, I was horrified to learn that the
only official record of my Champion was a birth record, the date he
was sent to live in the palace, and the date and cause of his
death. There was no mention of what a wonderful human being he was,
how he touched so many lives with his kindness and devotion to his
principles. There was not even mention of him as my Champion—an
oversight that had me in a foul temper indeed. I could not bear the
idea that you might not know that you are in this world because
this good man saved my life and soul.

I hope to tell you
these things when you are old enough to understand them, that
Jarik’s story may inspire you to reach for nobility in your own
life and inspire your brother and sister as well. But I cannot take
the chance that I might not live long enough to do so. There is no
way to tell how damaged I am beneath the surface, nor whether or
not my persistent fatigue and weakness is the only long term effect
of the poisoning, nor if I might die an early death because of a
future complication.

So, my dear son Jarik,
I write this to you, that you will know the full story of the man
after whom you are named. I have endeavoured to write without bias
and sincerely hope my blunt honesty in both the sensual and tragic
parts of the tale do not offend you. I wanted to be forthright in
everything so you would understand what motivated us in our
choices, even if many of those choices were ill-made. I suspect
reading of your mother’s desires may be difficult, but I thought it
necessary that you understand that I foolishly let those desires
dictate my behaviour.

I also hope you do not
condemn your father for his early failings, for he has never once
to my knowledge gone back on his words of love and promise. I have
learned that he prayed to the Gods when he thought me to be dying.
He bargained that if I lived, he would never ingest so much as a
drop of alcohol for the rest of his life. When a new servant
unwittingly poured wine in his dinner cup last year and he
inadvertently put it to his lips, he stood quickly in horror,
dropping the cup and its contents on the table.

Kurit was furious,
though he had not actually taken any of the drink into his mouth.
For weeks after, he followed me around at every moment, desperately
afraid that the Gods would punish him by having me drop dead or be
snatched away again.

He has worked very hard
to be an honourable man in all things, and he has, in my opinion,
succeeded. He is a good husband, father, and King, and if the
people ever knew of his transgressions they seem not to care. In
time, I told him further details of what had happened between Jarik
and I, including how my Champion had brought me to ecstasy by the
lake. He was upset that Jarik had spoken around that incident in
their last conversation, and he was jealous for a time that Jarik
had indeed pleased me. But he did not throw a fit, nor did he utter
harsh words at me. He soon let the matter fall into the past, where
it belongs.

Also in time and
despite my protests, Kurit demanded that I be assigned a new
Champion. A tournament was held, but I could not bear to attend.
This time, being a little older and more skilled, the young man who
had come to blows with Jarik for the title won the tournament.
Kurit brought Zajen to me, and the good fellow knelt before me
abjectly. He apologized to me, and when I asked what he was sorry
for, he explained that he knew I still mourned the loss of the
great warrior Jarik who had been my Champion and that he knew also
I had not wanted a replacement.