Where Light Meets Shadow (18 page)

Since Kieran no longer required a
healer’s care, Toryn did not assign him his old room next to Alban’s, but
instead gave him a room next to his councilors and near to Toryn’s own rooms,
as befit a court bard. It meant less temptation and less opportunity for his
association with Alban to be anything other than that between a bard and his
patron’s son.

Alban was clearly disappointed,
more so because Kieran did not put more effort into circumventing the new
situation. Although Toryn had not asked him to do so, he kept in confidence the
conversation that he had with the lord of the Leas on the road from the
disastrous meeting. Much of it felt private, and he knew Alban would not be
pleased if he knew his father had interfered.

Toryn had been in the right. The
Leas, for the most part, trusted him less now that he had turned on his own
queen. Kieran could not allow that censure to touch Alban.

Sheary still called him a friend,
and still insisted on having him in for social evenings, though Kieran
suspected he understood the tensions that he blithely chose to ignore. If Alban
sensed or heard what was being said of Kieran, he didn’t let on. On the one
occasion that Alban managed to form a mind-link, brushing against him under the
table during one of their evenings drinking with Sheary and his cousins and
friends, Kieran let him believe that he was too despondent over having his queen’s
blood on his hands to think about love or pleasure.

It wasn’t possible to lie in the
link, but if the link was shallow enough, he could manage to show only part of
the truth.

Alban sent him warmth and
compassion and understanding through the link.
I am here for you if you need
to talk. I will be waiting when you are ready.

The click of the wine ewer
against his cup startled him. Sheary met his eyes as he finished pouring the
wine and gave a sympathetic, knowing smile.

How much had he seen or guessed?
The thought didn’t worry him as it might have. Sheary would not cause trouble
for Alban or for himself, and somehow having him know or suspect made Kieran
feel less alone in his exile.

That night Sheary poured a
particularly strong, heady wine and kept everyone’s cups full, so that none of
them knew how much they were drinking. He kept Kieran playing and singing too
and, by the end of the night, most of those present were clapping in
appreciation for his music, having forgotten for the moment that he was an
enemy, a traitor, and a killer.

He acceded to Alban’s request to
walk him back to his rooms—the prince was tipsy enough that he thought it might
be a good idea—and he let Alban pull him in for a goodnight kiss in the shadow
of the door. Although he gently turned down the offer to stay the night, he had
enough wine warming his own blood to dream as he returned to his own lonely
rooms that the day might come when he could accept.

#

The summons from Toryn came far
too early in the morning. Though not quite hung over, he could have done with
more sleep and a little breakfast to absorb some of the lingering effects of
Sheary’s wine. He owed Toryn a great debt, owed him his life really, and so he
pulled on respectable court clothes, brushed back his hair, and waited for the
servant who had come for him to announce his presence at Toryn’s door.

“Come,” Toryn told him and, when
he had closed the door behind him, “Sit.”

A shiver of apprehension ran down
his spine. A bard usually did not sit while his patron stood. A look at Toryn’s
face deepened the chill.

“A message has come via mortal
courier, a message from the Scathlan. They have offered us a means of avoiding
all-out war—if we surrender you to their justice.”

Kieran closed his eyes. “I
understand.”

Even among elves, there could be
only one punishment for regicide.

Grace help him. He had a bard’s
skills; he could play at bravery, at least, even if he could find none within
himself.

“What do you think you
understand?” Toryn growled.

Startled, Kieran looked at him.
“I understand sums. I understand how little the life of one Scathlan bard
measures against the weight of all those, Leas and Scathlan, that would die in
a war.”

Toryn drew himself up. “Do you
think I am a butcher to trade in lives?”

Kieran swallowed. “I think you
are a good lord and will do what is best for your people.”

“And you think it best for my
people that they buy their peace with innocent blood? Should we turn so far
from Grace?”

Oh, how he wanted to take the
escape Toryn offered him. But Toryn was not the only one who had to live with
himself.

Kieran made himself meet Toryn’s
gaze steadily, so that Toryn would know his sincerity. “I already have one
death on my conscience. How many more do you think I can bear?”

“There is more depth to you than
I gave you credit for,” Toryn admitted. “But if your people force war over the
justified death of their queen, the blood is on their hands, not yours. I honor
the sacrifice you offer, but I cannot accept it.”

“But my lord—”

“Enough!” Toryn shouted. And then
more softly, “Do you think this is any easier for me? But if a lord does not
have some values he will not compromise, if a people do not have some
boundaries they will not cross, they will soon be lost to Grace forever. I almost
didn’t tell you of this. But my council had to know, and I’ve no doubt that
others will hear. And it was your right to know.”

#

It was Sheary who told Alban
about the Scathlan ultimatum. He had overheard Trodaire complaining about
Father’s decision not to turn over Kieran. By the time a month was out, a
Scathlan army had marched on their borders, and the Leas were preparing to join
battle at dawn.

Alban, while not exactly
surprised, was gratified that his father had not sold Kieran out, despite
pressure from many of the Leas. What was wrong with his people? Didn’t they
understand that Kieran had saved his life?

He wasn’t as naïve as Kieran
thought him to be. He saw how the bard was being treated, but he also
recognized that Kieran did not want him to intervene. It hurt him to see his
reckless Fool so somber, so isolated.

Late that night, lying awake and
thinking of Kieran, he heard footsteps in the hall, and then a soft knock on
the door. Without a word, he let Kieran into his room and into his bed. Kieran’s
mouth, hungry on his, stopped all questions as Kieran’s hands stripped away his
nightclothes. His own hands freed Kieran of tunic and breeches, desperate for
the touch of skin on skin, mind to mind, soul to soul. Overwhelmed by
sensation, the pleasure of their joined bodies and the searing of their joined
hearts, he lost himself in completion.

Sated, eyes closed, drifting to
sleep in his lover’s arms, he felt the gentlest brush of lips on his forehead
and a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

What did Kieran think he had to
apologize for?

He was too tired to work it out.
They’d get it sorted in the morning.

But when he woke, Kieran was
gone.

#

Kieran made good time on the
borrowed Leas horse, passing the overlook long before the sun was up. Borrowed
horse, except he didn’t think he’d have the chance to return it. Perhaps his
people would have the honor to do so for him.

He left his harp behind. He
didn’t think he’d need it again.

Had he been kind or cruel to want
that one last night with Alban? Truth was, he’d needed it to steel his courage.
Alban would never understand, but Kieran did this for him. For all the Leas and
Scathlan that should not die on their kindred’s swords, for all the children
who should not grow up orphans. So that no Scathlan elf and no Leas would be
left embittered and twisted by war as Trodaire had been. For Toryn, who should
not have to choose between his people’s lives and their
souls.

But mostly, he did this for his
Prince of Light. May he forgive him for it
someday.

The Leas could not be tainted by
his death if they had no part in the decision.

#

Alban dressed and went searching
for Kieran. Already the castle buzzed with the news that the Scathlan were
pulling up camp and preparing to depart. With a sense of foreboding, Alban went
to see his father.

“He left two letters, slipped
them under my door.” His father’s face was grave. “One addressed to you, and
one to me. You can read them both if you like.”

Alban couldn’t speak. He held out
a shaking hand. His father put two folded sheets into it.

Alban read the one addressed to
him first.

My dearest Prince of Light,

Please believe that I love you
always, with all that I have and all that I am, in this life and into the next.
Your love and your belief in me give me the courage to do what I must. My only
regret, besides how little time we had together, is the pain I know my actions
will cause you. I hope that you understand, and may someday forgive.

Have a good life. Be happy. Find
someone to love.

Your
Fool

Trembling, Alban stumbled back,
steadied by his father, until he sank down to a couch. “I don’t understand,” he
said, though he feared that he did.

He didn’t want to recognize what
he suspected to be true.

“Perhaps you had better read the
second letter.”

My Lord Toryn,

I thank you for the sacrifice
you would have made to keep me safe, but, just as you would not have your
people stained with innocent blood, I cannot live my life knowing that
countless Leas and Scathlan have died when my death could have stopped it. You
are an honorable lord, and my blood is not on your hands nor on those of your
people.

By the time you read this, I
will be in the custody of my own people, and my fate will be theirs to decide.

Kieran Korsson of the
Scathlan, lately court bard

Alban let the letters fall to the
floor. “We have to stop him. Surely—”

“A Scathlan guard has already
arrived under truce flag to return the horse that Kieran took and to bring an
official letter from Riagan who commands the Scathlan armies. As they have the
murderer of their queen, they see no need to continue hostilities so long as we
take no action against them.”

“Sweet Grace, Kieran saved my
life, and you’re just going to let them kill him!”

“It was not my choice and, if he
had come to me, I would have tried to dissuade him. Would have ordered him not
to take this course and sincerely hoped he would obey me. But he has taken the
decision from me, and I will not disrespect his sacrifice by starting the
bloodbath he would die to avoid.”

Father sat beside him and put an
arm around him. Alban rested his head against his chest as he had when he was a
child.

“I love him, Father,” Alban
confessed brokenly.

“I know. And he is worthy of your
love. I would give anything to have this end differently for you, truly I
would.”

It was a week later that Sheary
insisted Alban come to his rooms and share a meal.

“Just the two of us,” Sheary
said. “I know you’re not up for much company. But you have to get out of your
rooms and get on with your life. It’s what Kieran would have wanted.”

Alban tried, really he did. But
the memory of Kieran haunted those rooms. Kieran laughing and singing, Kieran
brushing against him under the table so Alban could mind-link them while he
played, the sweet, bright touch of his soul that he would never know again.

When Sheary pointed out that he
was drinking perhaps too much and eating hardly at all, he apologized and excused
himself. And so he happened to pass through the hall when the commotion at the
gate rose up, and he ran to see its cause.

A slight figure stood bundled in
a travel cloak just outside the gate, a weary horse behind her.

“It’s a Scathlan, Prince,” one of
the guards said. “A Scathlan girl, would you believe it? She insists on
speaking to your father.”

The girl saw him and pressed
herself against the bars of the gate. “Alban! Tell them to let me in. If you
love Kieran, tell them to let me in!”

He recognized her then. “Open the
gate. I’ll take responsibility.”

He wouldn’t tell them that the
Scathlans
’ new queen stood before them in muddy riding
leathers, not until he understood himself what was going on.

As soon as the gate opened wide
enough, she slipped through, trembling with exhaustion and perhaps some other
emotion, and grabbed both his hands as though they were old friends. “Oh,
Alban, I thought I’d never make it. My maidservant saw to it that I had a whole
day’s head start, but I know they chased after me all the way. And then that
beastly guard wouldn’t let me in.”

He put his arms around her to
console her, embarrassed that she could probably smell the wine on him. “Well,
your people were only lately threatening war with mine, it’s to be expected. It’s
all right now, you’re safe. Let’s get some hot tea into you, and then you can
start from the beginning. Have you eaten?”

If she hadn’t left until Kieran
reached the black mountain, then she must have ridden long and hard, a journey
even a seasoned huntsmen could be proud of, let alone the sheltered girl he’d
last seen in a bejeweled velvet dress. What was she doing here? Who was chasing
her? What did this all have to do with Kieran?

He was healer enough not to press
his questions on someone so obviously exhausted and distressed until she had
sustenance and a warm chair by the fire, and prince enough to remember that
some things should not be discussed in an open courtyard. Yet one question he
could not hold back.

“Kieran, is he, is he still—”

“He is still alive, or he was
when I left.” Brona leaned on him heavily as he led her across the courtyard.
“I gave them reason to see that it remains so for the time being. I need your
help to make that permanent.”

Alban took a deep breath of the
sweet night air, feeling for the first time since that morning he woke to an
empty bed that maybe Grace had not abandoned him.

#

Kieran curled into himself on a
corner of his sleeping mat, pulling his cloak tight around him, trying to keep
warm. This far underground, it was uniformly chilly and damp, and the gnawing
hunger made it worse. The cell was twelve paces long, twelve paces wide. He’d
counted often enough when he still had enough will to pace it. Three rough-hewn
walls, oozing moisture, and a door made of bars closed off the space. The scent
of mildew thickened the air.

They fed him once a day at a
guess, though he had no way of keeping track of time locked down in the dark.
Assuming once a day, if he’d kept track from the beginning, he’d know how many
days had passed, but he hadn’t expected to have enough time left to him for it
to matter.

With each day that passed, he
felt his courage slipping further and further from him. He at least wanted to
go to the death he’d chosen with his head held high. He owed that much to his
father’s memory, not to whine and snivel and plead for his life at the end.

Would it hurt much, when they
took his head? Did pain matter, if you didn’t live long enough to remember it?

His life had been too short, even
by mortal standards, let alone elven. He wept sometimes for the music yet
unplayed
, the passionate nights and lazy mornings with
Alban that would never be.

He wanted to be noble enough to
wish Alban future love and happiness, though the thought of him moving on and
forgetting what they had been to each other tore his heart to shreds.

He had caught sight of Brona at a
distance in the courtyard when they first brought him in and had not seen her
since. Had she not gotten his letter or simply not believed him? Perhaps his
explanation didn’t matter to her. He had killed her mother. What words of his
could make a difference in the face of that fact?

The door at the end of the hall
clanged open, and the approaching torch blinded him. The guard with the torch
and the tray with his meal appeared only as a shadow in the bright light.

“Tomorrow’s meal might be a
better one,” the guard said.

Dermot, by the voice. Kieran
couldn’t tell if he was truly sympathetic or merely mocking. It didn’t matter;
it was a voice in the silence.

“Oh?” he managed, remembering how
words worked.

“In honor of the royal wedding.
Queen Brona is to wed the Leas prince to bring peace between the kindreds at
last.”

Kieran set the tray down and
stumbled back to his corner. He’d expected Alban to move on, wanted that for
him. But so soon?

Of course, it wasn’t a love
match. He and Brona barely knew one another. Did that make it better or worse?
He had never imagined Alban marrying for anything less than love. As for Brona,
didn’t she deserve happiness after all the sorrow in her life?

They each could do worse than the
other. Both were kind and honorable. Their wedding made political sense. Once,
he would have thought that enough. Ironic that Alban had been the one to make
him believe in love.

He would not be petty enough to
resent either of them for doing what was best for both kindreds.

Eventually, hunger drove him to
the abandoned tray. Along with the dry bread and small hunk of cheese, there
was something else, something small and soft and velvety. A single blossom. He
recognized it by its shape and scent. Heart’s Solace.

Only one person would have sent
it, and Alban knew that the love in that ballad did not end well. Was it an
apology? A farewell? At least he had not been forgotten entirely. That should
matter to him, but somehow he felt all the more lonely and abandoned.

There in the dark, he fell asleep
eventually and dreamed of Alban, only to wake with wet eyes and an aching
heart.

#

Kieran couldn’t say how much time
passed when the door at the end of the hall clanged open once more. It seemed
like too short an interval for another meal, but perhaps he had slept longer
than he realized. He had been sleeping more and more lately.

Cuin came with Dermot this time.
Instead of a meal, they brought
an
ewer of water, some
soap, a basin, a washcloth, and a change of clothes. The change in routine made
his stomach drop. Was this it then? And did it have to be his childhood friends
bringing him to his death?

For all the times he wished they
would get on with it, now he wasn’t ready. Still, he would meet this end with
all the pride that he could.

He washed. Dressed. The guards
unlocked the cell and led him out. He walked between them, concentrating on
putting one foot in front of the other. His pulse sounded too loud in his ears.

They took him to a waiting
chamber off the main throne room. They were going to do this in the throne
room? Through the slats of the privacy screen, he could see a large assemblage
and stepped closer for a better view. Leas stood beside Scathlan in the throne
room, all dressed in finery as for a wedding.

The guard last night had said
there was to be a wedding today. Surely they wouldn’t execute him as part of
the nuptials? Only he could think of no other reason why he had been brought
here.

In his many imaginings, he had
never conceived of Alban being present for his execution. Would he able to hold
himself together in front of his lover? He had no choice; it would be worse for
Alban if he broke down. How could they make him watch this?

Someone was speaking in the
throne room. Toryn. He forced himself to pay attention.

“. . . and so I bring my son here
today to heal a rift between our two peoples that should have never happened.
Will you consent to join my son in marriage, to unite our two houses and thus
reunite the kindreds?”

“Will you and he consent to the
joining?” Brona asked in return.

“We will,” Toryn and Alban
answered together.

Pain ripped through Kieran’s
chest, as though he had been stabbed.

“Does his mother consent?”

“I do consent.” Alban’s mother
beamed as though she were not consigning her son to the sort of loveless
marriage his father had fought a war to avoid.

They used an older form of the
marriage ritual, probably to emphasize the politically binding nature of the
union.

“As a monarch of my people, I
claim my right to choose a proxy to enter this union in my stead, reserving
only that the heirs of my body, should there be any, be heirs to the union.”

A murmur of surprise moved
through the crowd. Precedent existed for such a thing, but it was ancient and
rarely used. Little as Kieran wanted to see his lover wed to his best friend,
less did he want to see her fob him off on someone else for convenience. Would
the Leas even agree to this? If they didn’t, it could very well start the war
that he had laid down his life to prevent.

“Agreed,” Toryn said evenly.

Relief that they had been
snatched from the brink of war mingled with outrage on behalf of Alban. Did
Toryn truly not care who his son wed, so long as the marriage cemented the
alliance he had broken so long ago?

“Now, guards, if you please.”
Brona seemed to point at him straight through the privacy panel.

The guards on either side of him
started, looking at each other in confusion.

“I said
now,
”
Brona
repeated, impatience tingeing her voice. “Bring him forth.”

“She can’t mean—” Cuin started to
say.

But Dermot was already opening
the door. “That’s the signal. Her majesty must be obeyed.”

All eyes were on him, and,
without the guards’ hands on his arms, he doubted he’d be able to keep walking
forward. This had to be some cruel joke, or a dream. Had he been locked in the
dark so long as to have reached the stage of delusions?

At Brona’s nod, the guards
stopped when they reached Alban’s side, and then stepped back. Instantly Alban
reached out, took his hand, and formed the mind-link.

Alban’s emotions flooded him,
nearly bringing him to tears. How could he have ever imagined himself
abandoned, forgotten?

Love, oh, love. What have they
done to you?

Did he really look that bad?
I’m
fine. But what? How?

No time now. We’ll explain it
all later. I just need to know one thing—do you want this?

Did he? He’d never thought about
it, having learned young not to dream of the things he couldn’t have. Did he
want this? To be bound forever to Alban, surrendering to the frightening
intensity of the love between them?

Yes. Yes.

“My queen, you cannot do this,”
Riagan said. “Have you forgotten that this traitor killed your mother?”

“I have not forgotten, can never
forget,” Brona said. “But I can put that aside, as the Leas have put aside how
my mother’s attempt on their prince’s life made the bard’s actions necessary.”

A gasp went up from the assembly.
Apparently not everyone had yet heard. So Brona had received his letter and
believed it. Why had she not acted sooner?

“I also have not forgotten who
was my mother’s closest confidant
,” Brona continued. “Who
held power through the long years of her sleep, and would have continued to be
the power behind the throne for as long as he was needed to plan the
hostilities against the Leas. Who surely knew of her plans and could have
dissuaded her. Who tried to usurp my power by arguing martial necessity after
my mother was dead.”

“You are but a girl, you cannot
know—”

“I am your queen!”

Brona’s regal anger silenced him.
Somehow, Kieran’s childhood friend had grown up while he wasn’t looking. This
must have been how her mother would have been, had she been sane.

“I will deal with you later. This
is neither the time nor the place for politics,” Brona said, dismissing Riagan.
“This is a day for love and celebration.” Her eyes fell on Kieran and, in their
sparkle, he saw the girl he knew. “Kieran, do you agree to be my proxy, to be
bound to Alban in life and in love?”

He still had questions, but he
had a feeling that Brona and Alban had already worked out the answers between
them. There was only one answer that mattered, and they were waiting to hear it
from him.

“With all my heart.”

#

There was still the formality of
the wedding feast to be gotten through. Probably a good thing; though he wanted
nothing more than to be alone with Alban, he needed sustenance and time to get
over his shock before he could do justice to their reunion.

He was still in a bit of a daze.
His world had changed in a heartbeat, and he couldn’t make sense of it. Brona
and Alban both answered his questions with a whispered, “Later. In private.”
“Later, when we’re alone.”