The Towers Of the Sunset (23 page)

DESPITE THE ELEVATED boots he wears, Korweil is considerably shorter than Creslin. The Duke’s thin face appears pinched, and his deep-set eyes are bloodshot. “So you’re the one who may bring the wizards down on me?” He stands by the massive desk designed for a far larger predecessor.

“I may be a convenient excuse. They will do what they will and give the most plausible reason available at the time.”

“Excuses, excuses. At least Dylyss has taught you logic in addition to some reputedly fancy blade-work.”

Creslin senses a tightness in Megaera, a mounting anger. The Duke is trying to push them. “You know, Megaera, I believe your cousin is attempting to get a reaction from us.” His eyes flicker from her to the Duke. “Considering that you have few allies indeed, is a moment’s satisfaction worth the trouble that provoking us might cause?”

“You’re rather cool, Consort Creslin. And not terribly appreciative of one who has provided sanctuary for your recovery.”

“I am deeply appreciative, my lord.” Creslin’s bow is not quite sardonic. “And I have come to discuss how best we might serve you in departing this sanctuary.”

Megaera’s eyes flash from one man to the other. “Might we be seated around the table, cousin?”

“Certainly, certainly.” The Duke moves toward the nearest chair as if to offer it to Megaera. He stops short as Creslin’s fingers curl around the high back.

Megaera steps around both of them and takes the Duke’s chair. “If you two are ready…”

Creslin sits down in the chair he had thought to offer to Megaera and pulls it up to the circular table. Korweil steps behind one of the two remaining chairs and pours a glass of red wine from a green crystal decanter into a goblet.

“Would you like any?” He nods first to Megaera, then to Creslin.

“I think not, cousin.”

“No, thank you.”

“I see.” The Duke sips from the goblet, then sets it before him and eases himself into a chair. “What do you have in mind, Megaera?”

“I’d be interested in your ideas, cousin.”

The Duke shrugs. “Anywhere outside of Montgren that suits your fancy. Back to Sarronnyn, perhaps?”

“An amusing idea, but do you really think sister dear would like to see me back… unfettered?”

“Ah, yes. Ryessa might have some concerns about that.” His fingers steeple. “Perhaps Suthya?”

Megaera’s eyes fix upon the Duke.

“Ah. I see that might have some problems.” His forehead shimmers in the lamplight. Korweil takes his handkerchief and wipes the dampness away. “Do you have any suggestions, oh vaunted Storm Wizard?”

“Just one. It might solve everyone’s problem. Why don’t you name Megaera regent of Reduce?”

“I… what?” the Duke sputters, choking on the wine.

“Name Megaera as viceroy of Reduce, as your regent of the isle.”

Korweil wipes his face with the back of his sleeve, ignoring the napkin on the table and the handkerchief in his wide white belt. “It’s more than ten times the size of Montgren, and I’m supposed to name her regent?”

Even Megaera’s mouth is open.

“Yes.”

“But… ?”

“She’s your cousin. She is the sub-Tyrant of Sarronnyn. You cannot afford to hold the island, not with every man you have needed against the wizards, and I doubt that either Sarronnyn or Westwind would mind sending a small detachment to support your interests on Reduce, given Megaera as regent.”

Korweil shakes his head. “No.”

“Why not?” Creslin’s tone is almost absentminded, as if Korweil’s comments are irrelevant.

“Reduce is Montgren.”

“They why isn’t your keep there?”

“I prefer Montgren for its… more convenient : . . location.”

“Practically next door to
Fairhaven?”

Korweil wipes his forehead again.

“I think my dear cousin has forgotten how desolate most of Reduce is,” Megaera observes.

The Duke continues mopping his forehead.

“Or how difficult it might be.”

“Enough…” sighs Korweil. “Enough. Ryessa would like nothing better than for me to name you regent. Then when we’re both out of the way, she can claim Montgren. Wouldn’t that give the wizards fits?”

“Sister dear is smarter than that. She really hopes that, since my best-betrothed and I have nowhere to go, we might just ensure such a succession immediately. She has no interest in risking her troops this far from Sarronnyn.” The corners of her mouth twitch halfway through her statement.

Creslin recognizes the gesture and wonders where Mega-era is not telling the full truth.

Korweil looks back toward the entrance to the dining room, toward the pair of guards standing more than a dozen cubits away.

“Cousin,” continues Megaera, “if we had any intention of doing away with you, you would already be dead.”

“I still say ‘No.’ Your… friend’s suggestion would create another land for the Legend-holders.”

“That barren waste?” The words drop like cold hailstones on ice. “Who would want it?”

“My sire went to great lengths-”

“Korweil,” interrupts Creslin, “if you want us out of Montgren, you have to come up with a place for us to go. Otherwise…”

The Duke wipes his forehead again. “So what can you do? Really do?”

Creslin grasps the breezes circling the courtyard outside and funnels them through the drawing room. A heavy parchment sheet starts to lift off the desk in the corner.

Creslin drops the winds.

“Good for cooling things off, I suppose,” the Duke mutters.

“Cousin, don’t be a fool. He has already killed a good score of the White Wizards’ guards. And he did it when half out of his mind and with a split skull. He also, if you recall, disarmed the best duelist in Sarronnyn with three strokes.”

“Megaera, your cousin clearly does not want you named as his regent. Nor does he offer any alternative. So I suggest that we return to our rooms and get a good night’s sleep. Tonight, and every other night until the wizards come after us. Our being here gives them every excuse. And, of course, should anything happen to us, I’m certain that both the Marshall and the Tyrant would be more than a little displeased.” He stands up.

Megaera looks at the Duke, then nods. Fires flare at her fingertips, then extinguish themselves.

The Duke’s face appears even paler in the lamplight. Then suddenly he smiles. “All right. I’ll name your child regent of Reduce.”

This time Megaera pales. “You presume too much.” The fires reappear.

The Duke swallows, looks from Megaera-standing with fire in her eyes and upon her hands-to Creslin. Finally he croaks out his response: “I don’t trust you, Megaera. If I could, I’d make Creslin regent first, even if his mother is the iron bitch of all Candar.”

Megaera lets the fires in her hands die, but not those in her eyes.

“The best I dare is to make you co-regents, contingent upon your marriage.” The Duke tightens his lips and stands, looking straight at Megaera as if to dare her to do her worst.

This time Megaera looks away. Finally she speaks. “A formal marriage only, in your
Temple, with only your household as witnesses.”

Creslin opens his mouth, then shuts it. Marriage? That had never entered his mind. And to the one woman he fled the Roof of the World to avoid? Even, he is forced to add to himself, if he didn’t realize who she was.

“Join the discomfort, young Creslin,” rumbles the Duke. “The darkness help you both.”

“Very humorous, cousin.”

Creslin says nothing.

“When?” asks the Duke.

“Tonight is as good a time as any.” The redhead’s words are measured and drop like lead coins. “We’ll leave tomorrow, or the day after, with the declaration of co-regency. We’ll take your sloop, the one at Tyrhavven. We’ll return it immediately after we land safely at
Land’s End, of course.”

The Duke sighs, nodding slowly. “The documents will take a short while.”

“Then I will change into something suitable for a formal wedding.” Her eyes flicker to Creslin. “If you could find something suitable for Creslin?”

“No,” Creslin protests.

“You will not marry my cousin?” asks the Duke lazily.

“I’ll marry her-in name only-but I’ll wear what I am. Leathers and nothing more.”

Korweil nods again. “I leave that to you and your bride. If this marriage is to take place, I need to find Shiffurth and several scribes. If you will excuse me…”He stands, bows, and turns.

Creslin looks at Megaera as Korweil leaves the study. “You and your regency,” she says. The flames in her eyes have not died as she speaks.

“Do you have a better idea? I like the idea as little as you. Less perhaps.”

“After those thoughts of yours? After you dragged me through the sewer of your mind? Deep inside, you’re like every other man, protesting while hoping to get a woman into bed. This union is in name only, and for survival. I suggest that you do not forget it.”

“How could I?” How indeed, thinks Creslin as he stares at the air currents that play around the lamp on the Duke’s vacant desk. “How could I?”

THE DUKE’S
TEMPLE is little more than a long, narrow room under the Great Hall, although the walls are of light-paneled red oak and the floor of polished gray granite. Less than a score of men and women stand in a half-circle roughly ten steps back from the black wood of the Table. They stand, for there are no benches in the
Temple
of
Order
, just as there are no images. Outside the open double door, Creslin shifts from one foot to the other, wondering if his stubbornness in insisting on wearing the green leathers were wise.

Megaera is nowhere to be seen, although Aldonya has assured him that she will be arriving shortly. The serving girl’s eyes had not met Creslin’s, and an aura of sadness surrounds her as she repairs to the rear of the
Temple.

“Nervous?” asks the Duke.

“In more ways than one.” Creslin envies the serving girl. Megaera is at least kind to someone. He shifts from one booted foot to the other again.

“I offer you congratulations and condolences, Ser Storm Wizard. My cousin is a far greater storm than any you have called.”

“I’ve begun to realize that.”

“Realize what?” asks another voice throaty and feminine.

Creslin turns. “Oh…”

In blue and gold, Megaera stands there. The silver-haired man swallows once, twice, then nods.

“Thank you… best-betrothed.” She smiles faintly but warmly. The smile is like sun after a storm, but it fades as Creslin watches.

“Do you have the documents?” Her voice is matter-of-fact.

“They’re on the table, ready except for my signature and seal,” affirms Korweil. “I will be more than happy to sign them before or after the ceremony.”

“After will be soon enough,” she tells him.

Creslin’s lips tighten at the chill in her voice. How could he ever have considered this? He thinks again. What alternatives do they have? His eyes stray back to her, taking in the creamy, if lightly freckled, skin, the green eyes that can sparkle or storm, the strong, clean nose, the slender frame.

“Stop it… not a prize ewe…” Her voice is inaudible except to Creslin, and the words are as cold as ice.

SK‘: He turns his eyes to the open double doors and to the black Table.

“Shall we begin?” asks the Duke.

Creslin turns to Megaera, who has stepped up beside him. “Best to get it over with,” she says.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I do if I want to survive.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “Go on, cousin dear,” she continues in a louder tone.

The Duke squares his shoulders and steps toward the black Table:

Megaera touches Creslin’s arm. He extends his arm, but she does not take it as they move forward, past the men and women who have stood aside for them.

The Duke turns as he reaches the Table. Creslin and Megaera stop a pace or so before the Duke.

“In the name of order and under that ever-present chaos, which can only be postponed but never denied, we are gathered together to witness two souls who wish to strive to place a greater order on their unity.” The Duke reads from the parchment easily, his voice deeper than when he talks privately with Megaera and Creslin.

“… and will you strive to place understanding and order within your heart?”

“I will,” answers Creslin.

“As I can,” answers Megaera.

“Do you affirm your dedication to each other and to a higher order?”

Creslin swallows before responding, “I do.”

Megaera’s voice is so low as to be nearly indistinguishable. “If possible, darkness willing.”

The Duke smothers a frown. “Then, in the presence of the order that must be created and recreated daily, and under the light of ever-present chaos, I affirm the bonds of this higher unity and the dedication of two souls unto order and unto each other.” Creslin realizes that he must make some gesture and that Megaera has not moved toward him.

“At least kiss her cheek,” whispers the Duke.

That Creslin can do, and he does, gently, leaning toward her. But his lips come away damp from the tears that stream from her eyes.

“…so beautiful”

“… even his silver hair seems right.”

Creslin ignores the whispers and offers his arm. This time Megaera takes it, and her head remains high as they walk back toward the doors, past those few individuals comprising the Duke’s private household. Past the stocky serving maid in blue and cream, who weeps unrestrainedly, and not from happiness.

He presses his lips and keeps walking, ignoring the burning in his eyes.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE at least one maid, your grace,” ventures the black-haired girl. “You are a sub-Tyrant and a regent.”

“On my wedding trip?” The laugh that follows breaks between harshness and sorrow. “Do you think that best-betrothed would wish you looking on?”

The girl’s eyes stray toward the saddlebags on the floor.

Megaera takes a last sip from the cup. “Why… why did I ever…” She pauses. “Aldonya…”

“Yes?”

“I have arranged it with Korweil and Helisse. You may remain in their service as long as you wish. It’s not an indenture. You may leave at any time.”

“Your grace is kind, but I would rather go with you.”

“To Reduce? To that desert island?” Megaera’s eyes rest upon the gentle swelling of the girl’s belly. “Reduce is no place to have a child.”

“Your grace-”

“Aldonya, if you still feel this way, and if you and the child are healthy, and if I am still… able to help, then you may follow me to Reduce. Korweil will make the arrangements.”

The faintest of smiles flits across the young woman’s face. “You are kind. If only Creslin could see that.”

“I’m not kind. He knows that. Sometimes I wish I were.” Megaera raises her arms and lets the sleeves fall away from the white scars. “These don’t let me forget. Being a woman and without power…”

The young woman smiles again. “I think he is good at heart. And he could love you.”

“Probably, but good at heart isn’t always good in word or deed.” The redhead looks out the window into the early morning shadows cast by the castle’s eastern walls. “Sister dear… she taught me that long ago.” . Aldonya’s smile fades as she notes the sadness in the redhead’s eyes.