The Faery Godmother, page 25
The king, realizing that something was going on under his nose, attempted to seize the floor again. “Luck be praised, his voice wasn’t damaged. Such a loss as that would be for the world.”
One of the guards shoved Padgett forward. Turning to his brother, the king sneered, “Sing, minstrel.”
With one searing look, Padgett stepped forward.
Though the setting was the very opposite of ideal, it was impossible not to recognize the gifts fate had laid upon him from the very first note he sang. He had that indefinable quality known as presence, and enough charisma that every eye settled upon him and stayed fast.
Though Morath ached with fear for him, she also found herself swelling with pride as his voice rang out with a piercing sweetness that went straight to the hearts of his listeners.
O’er the mountains and further I’ve traveled,
A young man bound to fate’s fickle whim
A lady I met on my far-reaching rambles
To hearth and to heart did she take me in
Twas with her that I left my own soul to bide
Fairer of face than any I’ve known
Heart like an ocean, voice soft like the tide
And wide as the sea my own love has grown
This lass I did love more than my own life true
Yet would I had left her alone fair and free
For upon my beloved I’ve called down heartache and rue
Bringer of wreckage to my own heart in thee
A curse upon me it is said there is lingers
And now my name called in the blaspheming breath
As one who brought upon her such ruin
I despair that the bond of my love should also mean death
So lasses and laddies, heed you my warning
Though tonight the starlight may seem caught in their eyes
There’ll rise a dark sun amid stormy skies, come the morning
And you’ll wish nevermore to hear your heart’s gilded lies.
Tears were running freely down Morath’s face as he finished in a near-whisper.
Mockingly the king clapped, a slow series of reports that flung themselves at the walls and back again. “Poets and musicians… they keep us honest about the state of our souls, don’t they?”
Morath didn’t quite know what he meant by that, but her skin prickled with nerves. What can I do to correct this terrible mistake? We should never have given his brother an opening to slash at us like this.
Oh, but I needed to touch him, and be touched by him, so badly! I think I might have died otherwise.
Suddenly she knew what she had to say–the only thing that she could say to salvage the situation.
Eyes brimming, she looked to Padgett one last time to imprint his beloved face on her memory.
Morath knew that he could tell she was about to do something drastic. He shook his head frantically, mouthing No .
Setting her teeth together, she forced herself to look away, and turned to the kings who faced her expectantly. One brutal and domineering; the other charming and slippery.
She trusted neither one as far as she could throw them.
Now she had to decide in a heartbeat which of them to wed. Only by making such a sacrifice could she ensure Padgett’s safety, and that of her country.
Think faster, my girl. They’re waiting for you to speak.
With the sense of ceremony she was beginning to develop a flair for, she tilted her chin up as if to command the same deference granted to the kings themselves. “As Godmother of Ket Alaa, it has been my right and responsibility to make choices for the good of my country,” she said, her voice resonating through the hall. “To test questers on their might and mettle in the pursuit of championship.”
She swept her gaze around the room, seeing every eye fixed upon her. In that moment, Morath made her leap.
“In considering the proposals made to me tonight, I demand the privilege of setting trials for my suitors. The winner will claim my hand in marriage.”
PART FOUR:
RECKONING
“Foolish, that’s what it was. Downright idiotic.”
Morath sat at the kitchen table in Verath’s cottage, head in her hands. Rain dripped dismally down the window panes, a stark reminder that they were no longer in an enchanted faeryland, but firmly thrust back into the cold light of reality.
She groaned out loud. “Why don’t I ever think before I act? A child could have foreseen that I was setting them up against each other. Whatever happens now, I’ve made an enemy out of at least one, if not both.”
Verath stirred her tea meditatively before sipping it. “I don’t know that it was so very foolish.”
“What would you have done in my place?”
“Perhaps the same, had I thought of it. It was rather clever, after all.”
Morath felt tears dripping off the end of her nose. She hadn’t realized that she was crying. Looking up at Verath, she sniffled. “I just couldn’t let them kill him.”
The old woman put her hand over top of hers. “Of course not, you goose,” her mentor said affectionately.
“Do you… do you think he’s safe?” It was the thing Morath dreaded most to ask.
Verath drew in a long breath that left her as a sigh. “That I cannot say.”
Hot tears started afresh. “I don’t suppose you’d consider telling me comforting lies even just this once?”
The sympathy in Verath’s face undid her completely then. At last Morath gave in to the storm of emotions battering against the walls of her heart. Sobbing, she put her head down on the table, overwhelmed, exhausted, and sick at soul with fear.
When the first wave of grief had ebbed, she looked up again. “I don’t even know what tasks to set them. What kind of magical trial does one choose for a Faery King?”
She wiped her nose. “But if I pick something too easy, then the king of West Ellian will be even more offended. Then we’re back where we started.”
Defeated, she shoved at the heavy mass of hair tangling in her eyes. “Or worse–what if the West Ellians twist it into an excuse to attack us?”
Verath’s lips flattened until they disappeared altogether. “I think that is a distinct possibility.”
Morath shook her head in resigned exasperation. “Ever with the comforting advice, Verath.”
“My dear, the harsh truth is that your life is no faery-dream. You may have to choose the lesser of two evils.”
“Evils?”
“Merely a figure of speech. For one in love, of course it would be nothing short of catastrophe to be forced to make a marriage of state. And yet that is the fate I fear I see coming for you.”
Silent tears were dripping down her face again, puddling on the table before Morath’s sightless eyes. “If that is what I must do, I don’t see any way around it,” she said at last.
Verath said, “It is cold comfort, to be sure, but Athavan will treat you kindly.”
She sniffled, feeling pathetic. “I know.”
“And…” Her mentor placed her hand very gently atop Morath’s again. “For your own happiness, I think he will ensure Padgett’s safety.”
When she looked up with a disbelieving stare, Verath chuckled. “The Fae are a rather libertine people. Jealousy isn’t unknown to them, but Athavan will certainly not hold it against you, your having a prior lover…”
“...in the way the king of West Ellian would?” Morath finished.
“Precisely.” Verath grimaced at the thought.
They were silent for a long moment. “Isn’t it strange?” said Morath. “If things had turned out as they might have otherwise… if my family had survived… Padgett and I might have been the ones making a marriage of alliance.”
Perhaps the most hateful jest ever made by fate, she reflected bitterly, but did not say it to Verath. Some thoughts were too painful even to speak them aloud.
A long silence unwound itself and loomed ominously over the table. Morath began to sense that yet another unpleasant revelation was in the works.
“Verath?” she said at last. “Is there something else you want to tell me?”
Never had she seen her mentor unable to meet her eyes. It was precisely that which warned Morath to brace herself for what was coming.
Nothing in the world, however, could have readied her for what Verath said next.
“I’m your aunt.”
“My what?” Morath said, bewildered.
“Your aunt. To be precise, your half-aunt. I am–well, I was–your father’s half-sister.”
Morath blinked repeatedly until she felt foolish. “I–we–you’re–”
Verath sat there unmoving as Morath continued to stutter through the thoughts that were crowding into her mind. “How was it that I was not told?” she gasped out at last. “And how could you possibly be my father’s sister?”
“ Half -sister,” said the older woman again. “Not from the sunny side of the sheets, either.”
At her blank look, Verath added cheerfully, “I’m a royal bastard.”
Morath put her hands down flat on the table as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. “Why are you telling me this now ?”
“Because if you’re going to marry the Faery King, the laws of secrecy no longer apply to me.”
Feeling a great swell of unaccustomed rage rising inside her like the darkest tide, Morath bit out, “What laws of secrecy?”
“To protect the magic-bearer. That would be you.”
And with those words, the dark wave broke inside Morath. “It’s always ‘to protect me’, isn’t it? Yet somehow none of it has saved me from having to sacrifice myself!” she shouted. “Tell me, Verath, what exactly is left to protect? Everything else has already been taken!”
The feeling erupting inside her demanded release. She ran to the door of the cottage, flung it open, and let out a primal scream into the driving storm.
A bolt of lightning sizzled down and struck the ground just in front of her.
Morath stood there, wet to the skin, panting. Then she turned back to Verath, whose mouth was hanging open. Her hair stood on end, long strands of gray held out to the sides as if by invisible hands.
“I will marry Athavan,” Morath said in a low, dangerous voice. “If I am going to sacrifice myself, it will be my choice this time. And for my own reasons.”
As Morath stabbed a finger in the air to punctuate her words, the entire cottage crackled with ferocious energy. Sparks shivered up the walls and across the ceiling before grounding themselves again on the other side.
Verath sat down at the table abruptly, her face gone to a grayish pallor. Suddenly Morath wondered just how old she really was. Magic, she knew, had a preservational effect on its casters, but with the unfortunate result that they tended to fail rapidly when it was their time at last.
Now she watched her mentor closely as if answers could be found there, while a tumult of emotions rioted around inside her.
Not just my mentor–my aunt!
Somehow she had always known. As she watched Verath’s crumpled little form shrink into herself even further, the long love Morath bore for her overcame her anger.
She sat down next to her aunt. “Are you all right?”
“Just a dizzy spell.” Verath drew in a long, shaky breath.
“My dear, I know that you must be feeling betrayed,” she continued after a moment. “I only ask that you don’t make this decision out of a desire to spite me or the rest of the Council. Even if we deserve it. Don’t throw your life away.”
“Is that what you think this is about?” Morath shook her head. “You have it all wrong, Aunt.”
It sounded strange to her ears, and yet somehow perfectly natural, as if it had been Verath’s title all along. “I will marry Athavan on the condition that he saves Padgett from his brother’s wrath.”
With a half-twist to the set of her mouth, Verath smiled sadly. “So you’re still sacrificing yourself.”
“No.” Morath said it firmly. “I’m not dying for my cause. I’m going to live for it–live my life the best I can. You said Athavan would be kind to me. He’ll protect Ket Alaa, and I won’t be unhappy if he treats me well.”
I’ll be downright miserable trying to make a marriage with anyone but Padgett, but there’s no point in complaining now.
She continued, “The best choice for our country is also the right one for me. Verath, if the king of West Ellian harms him, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
“You love him that much?” Verath said curiously.
“I do,” Morath confirmed.
“Then as much sorrow as it brings me, knowing that you must make such a decision… I’m happy for you, too, youngling. Few people ever find that kind of love worth living for.”
She gently squeezed Morath’s hand. “Athavan might save him without you having to accept his suit. Have you considered just asking him outright for help?”
“It’s no use,” Morath replied.
“Why not?”
“Because…” She shook her head sadly. “It took some time to realize it, but the truth came to me at last. Athavan was the whole reason Padgett got caught in the first place. He pulled his own concealment spell early, allowing the king of West Ellian to discover us.”
It was all very well to speak bravely of living for others, but as they left the cottage to tell the rest of the Council about her decision, Morath felt the gravity of her choice weighing heavily on her.
It’s not just for the country, or even for Padgett, she insisted to herself. I’ll finally be taught magic properly. Then I’ll be in control of my own destiny at last.
Yet the idea was cold comfort, and her body refused to accept the dictates of her mind. Pain struck with a vengeance, causing her breath to whistle out and her eyes to overflow yet again.
Why does it always seem like I must choose between following my heart and fulfilling my duty? I can never be true to both at once, no matter how hard I try.
The thought drowned her spirit in sorrow as they trudged through the mud toward the Town Hall. The one benefit of the rain was that it had forced most of the Syndaryan soldiers indoors to quarrel and skirmish with each other in their makeshift barracks, rather than in the streets. Only a few dismal-faced patrols were making cursory rounds around the square, casting longing glances at the warm lights of the Tabby as they passed it.
The two women hurried into the Hall with their hoods pulled low over their eyes. A fire was already lit, taking the damp chill off the room. Valen stood looking out the window with his hands clasped behind him.
He turned to greet them as they entered. “Be snowing soon,” he commented. “If not tonight, then by morn for certain.”
It didn’t take long to explain to the Council what Morath had decided. There were approving nods around the table. “We’d planned to request that you accept one of their suits,” said Hespathia.
“Though it would have pleased us more had it been the king of West Ellian,” grumbled Barro. “Now he’ll likely rain his wrath down on us along with this foul weather.”
“The Godmother has her reasons,” scolded Lyrian. “You don’t know that the Faery King isn’t the better choice for Ket Alaa in the long run.”
“We don’t know what will happen if two scions from sister worlds wed each other!” he exploded. “What if the magic goes all wrong?”
“What if it goes right?” she countered. “Because whatever was supposed to be protecting this country from invasion didn’t hold up against the Syndaryans. I for one would like to see a powerful ruler on the throne again, protecting this country. Wouldn’t you?”
Before their squabbling could continue, Morath interrupted. “As entertaining as this is, it’s getting dark outside, and I need to see Verath safely home again. Would you be kind enough to ratify my decision so that we can go home and get some rest?”
Abashed, the other Councilors nodded. A quick show of hands formalized it. “I’ll draw up the contracts,” Valen offered, almost apologetically.
So that’s it. The romantic conclusion of my matrimonial negotiations… and the end of any hope that someone would speak up for me and say, “She’s given so much already. Let her choose for her own happiness this time.”
Morath let her gaze settle on the window, where–true to Valen’s prediction–the sleety rain had turned to snow. The darkness of the sky beyond seemed all-enveloping, a portal through which one could hurtle down, falling and falling, forever without end.
An answering darkness took hold inside of her. For a moment, she felt as though she was being drawn forward into that abyss. Something in her yearned toward the lure of oblivion.
Come, it seemed to say. Put down the burdens you’ve carried for so long, and let go of everything you are.
Then a vision rose up before her of a different darkness, one populated with infinite sparks of light. The memory planted a tiny seed of glowing warmth in her battered and bruised heart. It took hold until she could feel it beating there, a regular, even flickering that pulsed through her body and steadied her.
As the minutes were being written down, she took hold of Verath’s arm and guided her back out onto the street. Her aunt, looking alarmingly transparent, offered no resistance–worrying in itself.
In spite of her little spark of light, Morath was so tired that she could have started weeping all over again, right there in the lane. In the lowering dark, snow spiraling down, the lights of the tavern were even more attractive in the desolate square. The road home looked grim and foreboding by contrast.
“Supper,” Verath said.
It wasn’t a question. Neither of them had eaten anything–or slept, for that matter–since the ball had closed.
Only a night past? It seems impossible, a lifetime ago.
They trudged wearily up to the door of the tavern and pushed it open. Warm steam, savory smells and woodfire smoke wrapped around them, drawing them inside.
The tavern wore a quietly meditative air, with the crackle and pop of the fire audible over the low hum of conversation from the few patrons. Though her and Stef’s last parting echoed through her mind, Morath was too tired to think past finding a place to sit down.
