The Consort (Tellaran Series) (18 page)

“I know.” He drew her against him. “I do too.”

“Regent,” Mezera, Leader of the War Council began the next morning, her voice chilly as the audience chamber around them, “I have come to discuss matters of Imperial defense, matters that
must
remain concealed from our enemies.”

“I take it by ‘enemies,’ you mean me,” Kyndan said sharply.

Mezera threw a narrow look at him. “Truly, Majesty, think you it wise to discuss our defenses in the presence of a
Tellaran
?”

“This is my mate of whom you speak,” Alari reminded quietly.

Mezera’s mouth tightened. “I mean no disrespect to you, Regent.”

But the Tellaran can go fuck himself.

Kyndan’s gaze narrowed and he fought the urge to throw Mezera out. The hostility of the courtiers and clan leaders toward him was escalating with every passing day and making Alari’s task all the harder. Between the strain of taking on the monumental task of regent and fending off the razor sharp teeth of these sercats harping about
him
instead of doing their godsdamned
jobs
, she was getting exhausted.

“We’re not at war,” Kyndan bit out. “And in case you’ve forgotten,
honored
Council leader, my whole purpose in coming to Az-kye was to open peace talks.”

“Those talks are inconsequential now,” she retorted.

Kyndan folded his arms. “Who are
you
to make that decision?”

“I am Leader of the War Council,” Mezera returned coldly. “And in the absence of an Imperial Warlord to command our forces, such decisions fall to me.”

“Well, then maybe what we need is an Imperial Warlord!” Kyndan snapped.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Alari’s glance flicked away and Kyndan nearly groaned as it snapped into place.

Oh, festering hell, it’s supposed to be me!

That’s why only the best warriors are considered to become consort. That’s why Jazan was the top pick, why he wanted to marry Alari when he didn’t love her. He would have been Imperial Warlord with power and influence to rival hers.

His face heated as he realized that not only had he blundered but that in doing it in front of the Council leader and Imperial advisors he’d embarrassed Alari as well.

“But since we do not
have
an Imperial Warlord,” Mezera continued acidly. “It is my place to see to the defenses of our empire. The stabilization and protection of our territory takes precedence over any accords the
Tellarans
want.”

“Accords
we
want?” Kyndan began furiously. “Because the Az-kye don’t—”

“This audience is concluded,” Alari broke in sharply. “Leave us. All of you.”

Tight mouthed, the War Leader and her assistants quickly gathered their things and bowed. The majordomo and courtiers bowed too and left, shutting the door of the audience chamber behind them.

“I let her get to me,” Kyndan said, annoyed. “I shouldn’t have let her get to me like that.”

“The War Leader was ever sharp spoken. And she is cunning.”

“And she sure as hell
doesn’t want her ass out of that leader’s chair.”  He met her gaze. “The Imperial Consort is supposed to command the Az-kye military forces.”

“Yes.”

Kyndan wiped his hand over his face. “I didn’t know.”

“There has not been an Imperial Warlord since my father died. I have no brother, Her Imperial Majesty did not wish to take another mate, and so the War Council was convened. They were to serve until . . .”

“Until you took a mate,” he finished. “But you married me instead of Jazan and the Az-kye forces are not about to obey a Tellaran.”

“Yes.” Alari sighed. “And, my mate, you speak truly—Mezera wishes to keep her
ass
where it is.”

Kyndan gave a choked chuckle and Alari joined him, their laughter filling the audience chamber.

After their laughter faded, Kyndan asked: “Are the peace accords really being put on hold?”

She sighed again. “As Mezera said, my rule has just begun. To make such a treaty now . . .”

“You can’t look weak to the Tellarans.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. “I cannot look weak to the Az-kye! Empress Yi’saya, last ruler of the Xar dynasty was pulled from the very chair now in the Imperial throne room and thrown from the falls to the rocks below. After ten years of war and putting her three half-sisters to death, Empress Ilyn clawed her way to the throne and founded the Second Empire.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said hoarsely. The Az-kye worshipped their ruler so fanatically it never occurred to him that they might ever have risen up against one. That there had been women who held this throne, possibly as young as Alari, who worked as hard as she did, who hadn’t survived an uprising or their own family’s infighting.

Gods, that’s what Aidar meant when he said the empress had to first keep the throne. That’s why her consort becomes warlord; the empress’ military forces have to be controlled by someone she can trust completely.

Alari shook her head. “My mother is ill, my sister is dead. It is whispered that the gods have withdrawn their favor from me. Even now I know some claim my rule cursed, the Empire doomed if I remain on the throne.”

Her dark eyes were haunted and Kyndan realized it was these fears most of all that kept her from her rest when she tossed and turned beside him.

He swallowed hard. He’d hardly helped matters. She had a consort who was not just Tellaran but wearing one of their uniforms. She had to rely on others because the one who was supposed to be her sword and shield wasn’t even Az-kye.

“I must always show strength,” Alari said. “I dare not give them further cause to doubt me. My mother has ruled long and well but what she could do I cannot yet. I cannot risk pushing the treaty now. The War Council must remain convened and their leader’s counsel followed. There is no other choice.”

Kyndan traced the curve of her cheek.

Yeah, there is.

Alari ordered her attendants to remain outside and entered the empress’ residence alone to find the High Priestess of Lashima resting in the outer sitting room. High Priestess Celara offered her a kind smile, her hands interlaced over her jeweled cane.

“How does she?” Alari asked, glancing up the grand marble staircase to where the empress lay above. Even this sitting room was thick with the smell of incense; red powder had been scattered in the corners of the room by the priests of Meithea to misdirect spirits drawn by the empress’ illness as a gateway to the living.

The High Priestess gave a half-shrug. “A bit better today, I think. We had tea together, she ate a little. We talked of the coming summer.”

That the empress might not live long enough to feel the summer sun on her face made Alari’s throat tighten.

“The High Priest of Behur is with her now. They make offerings daily to the god of Healing. As I do for the empress’ sake.” Celara’s dark eyes shone. “As I do for you.”

“What of my mate?” Alari asked suddenly. “Do you also make offerings for him?”

The High Priestess looked amused. “I do not think I offend the gods of the Tellarans do I ask Lashima to bless his seed, do you?”

“No,” Alari murmured. “I suppose not.”  Kyndan himself might find it embarrassing that this devout, aged lady placed white flowers at the feet of the Queen of the Heavens, entreating the goddess to make him potent enough to get his mate with child quickly.

One of her mother’s maids came then to bring her to the empress’ presence. The priest of Behur was just finishing his incantation, the room thick with incense and chanting from the blue-cloaked priests.

Alari studied her mother, reclining here in the dim room, the curtains drawn as the empress’ complained of sensitivity to light. If there were any improvement in the Empress’ health, it was slight and Alari schooled her features so that her concern would not show.

She did not bow now that she was regent as she came beside her mother’s sickbed but she inclined her head respectfully. The empress waved her servants out and the door shut behind them, leaving them in privacy.

“I have heard talk,” the empress rasped without preamble. Her face was wan but her eyes were sharp as ever.

“There is always talk,” Alari returned. “Always whispers and rumors circling the court. You taught me that to give them too much attention is to help them take seed and grow.”

“They have never had such fertile soil as a Tellaran acting as Imperial Consort!”

“He is not acting as Imperial Consort. He
is
Imperial Consort.”

“He walks the palace in the garb of a Tellaran warrior. He is not Az-kye. He has not taken his place within our clan.”

“It was for you to welcome him to our clan and you did not,” Alari reminded sharply.

Azara shifted on her pillows, her mouth tight. “Neither of you were to be found in the palace for me to do such.”

“We are in the palace now,” Alari pointed out. “Shall I have him brought here so that you can offer him your welcome? Give him your name as his own?”

“Had you taken Jazan as you should have—”             

“But I did not,” Alari flared. “I took Kyndan as mate.”

Azara’s eyes flashed. “You never spoke so to your empress before.”

“I was never my empress’ equal before,” Alari said, clasping her hands to conceal their shaking. “I am regent now.”

The empress seemed to sink into herself, as if that burst of anger had cost her much. “Perhaps you are angry. Hurt still by the punishment I named for you.”

“You mean when you would have made me slave and thrown me out into the street?” Alari asked with raised eyebrows. “Truly, I never think on it, Imperial Majesty.”

“I was too harsh, too rash in my pronouncement.” The empress’ eyes fell shut. “My illness and pain clouded my judgment. Let my mistake be your lesson, Alari.”

Alari shifted her weight, wondering how sincere her mother was. Surely she had been suffering then. She suffered so greatly now Alari could hear the wheeze of her breath.

“I shall, Mother,” she said quietly.

Azara opened her eyes, a glimmer of warmth in her gaze. “What has been done can be undone. Speak to High Priestess Celara. With the fate of the Az-kye at stake, she will agree. You can be unbound, able to seek a proper warrior, a proper consort, without delay.”

“Never,” Alari said hoarsely. “Kyndan is mine, and I his.” 

The empress’ face fell. “You love him.”

Tears burned her eyes, recalling how Kyndan risked his life to save her from Jazan’s cruelty, his warm blue eyes, his tender lovemaking, his smiles. “Yes, I love him. I could love no other more.”

“You are regent; you cannot put this man above the needs of the Az-kye,” Azara said sharply.  “This love is a weakness you cannot afford!”

“Did you love my father?” Alari asked, stung.

Suddenly the empress’ eyes softened and her lower lip curved. Alari remembered then Sechon’s story of how her mother had once donned colors against tradition to draw a certain warrior’s eye . . .

“Beyond word or reason,” she murmured; then her cheeks were drawn again. “And when he was lost to me, my heart shattered. I would not have you know such pain and even less so for one unworthy of you.” The empress suddenly gripped her hand. “I do not trust this man. Your heart is his, but his heart is Tellaran.”

Alari remembered Kyndan’s spinning her in his embrace in the sunlight, the pride in his blue eyes when she showed him her drawings, his smile and, too, how he had argued for his sister, for the peace accords his people wanted . . .

Alari drew breath to cry out that her mother was wrong, that they were all wrong, that when the time came that Kyndan must choose he would choose
her
.

But when her lips parted to do so, she found she could not.

When Alari emerged from the Empress’ quarters she was disappointed to see that although her honor guard was present, Kyndan was not. She wanted very much the reassurance of his smile, his blue eyes crinkled with humor, the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers.

It was beneath the dignity of a regent and future empress but she could not help glancing this way and that in hopes of spying his tall form in the corridor.

“Regent?”

Alari turned at the sound of Sechon’s voice. “Elder.”

“Whom do you seek?” Then Sechon smiled faintly. “Or need I ask?”

“I thought that my mate would be awaiting me here,” Alari admitted.

“I have not seen him yet this day, Imperial Majesty,” said Sechon, falling into step beside her. The elder sent a glance in the direction from which Alari had come and lowered her voice. “May I hope she is better?”

“She is not,” Alari said quietly.

Sechon’s face fell then she lifted her chin. “I understand the healers have begun a new treatment,” she said, her tone brighter. “They have great hopes of its effectiveness.”

“So I have heard.”

Sechon tilted her head. “There is more, I think, that weighs upon you, Regent.”

Alari took in the attendants around them and the elder gave her an understanding look.

“Perhaps in deference to my age, Regent, we might sit a moment?” She nodded toward the door of a small, unoccupied reception room. “I would be grateful.”

Alari inclined her head and directed her attendants to wait outside.

Once the door was shut Sechon joined her at the windows. The reception room overlooked one of the Imperial parks; it was late spring now and the garden was in full bloom. Grass just the color of peridot spread like a lush carpet under the golden light. 

Alari pressed her hand against the crystal window.

I will never again feel the grass beneath my bare feet . . .

“I cannot but think you have many burdens upon you, Regent, but that one above all makes your heart heavy.”

“I miss Saria,” she murmured. “I weep for her, but I—I wish—”

“Ah.” Sechon nodded. “So you had embraced being Imperial Daughter as Saria had embraced being Imperial Heiress. You feel some guilt for grieving that you will not have the life you wished when Saria has lost hers?”

Tears stung her eyes. “I know it shameful to feel so.”

“No,” Sechon said gently. “You do not dishonor your sister by other griefs that you know. Both are losses that must be acknowledged.”

“And Kyndan . . .”

“What of him?”

“I . . . I fear he will never be happy here. Never happy among the Az-kye.” Alari met the elder’s kindly gaze. “My mother says—he will not be loyal.” The flicker of dismay that crossed the elder’s face sent jolt of fear ran through Alari’s chest. “What is it?” Alari pressed her hands against her skirt to hide their tremble, the beads of her court dress rough against her palms. “What have you heard? Is it of Kyndan?”

The elder waved her hand. “It is nothing.”             

“Do you, like my mother, think his loyalty—his heart not mine but his people’s?”

The elder drew herself up. “No,” she said stoutly. “To be certain you chose your mate well. I am sure when the test comes he will not fail you.”

Alari’s stomach knotted. Though clearly Sechon did not wish to hurt her, she too doubted him.

As so many did . . .

Sechon laid her hand on Alari’s arm. “This is a difficult time. And, if I may be frank, a dangerous one. But I have no doubt that you will find the strength to lead and protect your people, Regent. Whatever it is you need to do, you will not fail the Az-kye.”

Alari turned her face toward the window, seeing the lawn of soft grass, just the verdant shade of the first colorstick he had bought her . . .

“No,” Alari said thickly. “I will not fail you.”