WINDHEALER (23 page)

He awakened in the big, down-filled bed. A cool rag lay on his forehead. He was naked beneath the cool sheets that lightly covered his legs and hips. His first sight as he awoke was that of Sentian Heil sitting next to him on the bed, exchanging one wet cloth for another. He closed his eyes and reopened them only to see Sentian still sitting there.

"Not exactly your idea of what paradise should be, am I?" Sentian joked, smiling warmly.

His throat was raw, strained from screaming. He turned his face from Sentian and was surprised to see Chase leaning against the doorjamb.

"He knows gods-be-damned well he ain't in paradise if I'm here." Chase chuckled.

"Leave him be!" Jah-Ma-El bustled into the room with a tray of food.

Conar glanced at the ceiling, whitewashed and gleaming. He looked at Jah-Ma-El as the man placed the tray on a table at the foot of the bed.

"I've got stewed tomatoes, sliced tomatoes, tomatoes stuffed with ground spices of some sort. There are pickled green beans, creamed corn, fried potatoes, and boiled carrots. I also brought pickled dills, green tomatoes in brine and celery stuffed a…" He dragged his finger across the celery stalk, "particularly delicious cheese. What do you want first?"

"Appolyon sure as hell ate better!" Chase snapped as he peered at the array of bowls. He reached for a dill pickle.

Jah-Ma-El swatted away his hand. "You've eaten already!"

"Stew! It was good, but it wasn't like this!"

Conar watched them arguing, then glanced at Sentian and croaked a question. "Where…?"

"In Appolyon's quarters. We have control of the colony. That ship Saur's been waiting for is here." He plucked the cloth off Conar's brow and dipped it in a basin. "You've been out for nearly three hours.

"Three hours?" How long, he wondered, had he been in the wine cellar.

"Get up, Heil," Jah-Ma-El demanded, "so I can give my brother something to drink! Can't you hear how dry his voice is?" He sat on the bed with a cup of wine.

Sentian moved hastily from the bed. "Why the hell don't you take a bath,?"

Conar wondered the same thing as Jah-Ma-El lifted his head so he could sip. The odor was especially ripe, musty and overpowering, and it nearly took Conar's breath way.

"Before we allow him on the damned ship, he'll bathe," Montyne vowed.

"I don't believe in bathing," Jah-Ma-El snapped as Conar began to drink the wine.

"Then we'll scrub you raw ourselves!" Chase told him.

The wine was cold and wet and wonderful. Conar drained the cup, licking his lips. He had a slight headache, but other than that, he felt fairly well except for the raw throat.

"How's the brat?" Roget called as he strolled into the room, his hands in the pockets of a new pair of denim breeches he had obviously confiscated from the storeroom.

"The brat's fine," Jah-Ma-El answered, glaring. "He hasn't eaten anything, but he took some wine." A shadow passed over his face. "Wine that almost cost him his life."

"I'm all right, Jah-Ma-El," Conar whispered, straining his voice.

Roget grinned. "You've cheated death still one more time, eh, brat?"

"Aye…"

The men looked at one another, for the voice had been filled with disappointment.

"Ah, Conar! You're like a were-tiger. You've got nine lives!" Chase popped another tomato into his mouth. "You got a few lives left!"

Conar turned his head.

"Sentian," Roget said, "will you find Brelan? Chase, keep every one out of the room. Conar needs to rest." He turned to Jah-Ma-El. "Take a bath or I'll make sure you're keelhauled as soon as we put out to sea!"

Jah-Ma-El looked at Conar. "Will you be all right?"

Conar nodded, but stared at the far wall, his face shadowed and bleak.

Jah-Ma-El thrust out his bottom lip in a pout. "I'll bathe, but I won't like it!" He stomped through the door and snarled over his shoulder: "Get him to eat, du Mer!"

As soon as the door closed, Roget sat on the bed. "
Are
you hungry?"

Conar shook his head.

"It's been a long time, but we're finally going home!" Roget sighed, patting Conar's hand.

"Is Holm really here?"

"Brelan will explain it all, but aye, Holm's here and we're leaving for Chyrstallus as soon as Brelan gives the word. I'll stay with you until he gets here."

"I don't need to be watched, Roget."

"Who says I'm watching you?"

Conar felt so strange, so numb, and his head was throbbing even more. He heard laughter outside, genuine, something he never heard except from taunting mouths in the Labyrinth.

"Are you feeling okay?" Roget asked, his brows drawn together with worry.

The door opened; Brelan stepped in. Conar saw his brother's grin and knew they were, indeed, going to leave this horrible place. "We're getting some things packed to take with us and we'll be setting out in about…"

"Can I speak to you, Brelan?" Roget asked. He stood and didn't give Saur a chance to protest before he propelled him through the door, closing the portal behind him with a gentle snap.

* * *

"What in the hell's the matter with you?" Brelan snapped. "I was about to tell him—"

"You'd better speak to him first," Roget warned. "Don't just drop everything on him at once. He's been through so much in the last four years, he needs time to adjust. I asked him how he felt about going home and he wouldn't answer. I don't think he even knows. Help him get used to the idea that he's back among the living."

"I haven't let anyone tell the crew or our brothers that he's here. I wanted to surprise him and them."

"Be careful how you go about it with him. He's used to us being around; he hasn't seen them in more than six years." Roget sighed. "Or they, him."

"I thought he'd be happy to see them," Brelan said, worry showing on his handsome face.

"He probably will be, but tell him gently. He's not the same man they knew. Physically and emotionally changed. If they see him like he is and let their feelings show…" Roget shrugged. "It might do more damage than can be healed."

"He hasn't seen a mirror in the entire time he's been here," Jah-Ma-El said from his place in the shadows.

"Didn't I tell you to take a bath?" Roget snarled, startled by the interruption.

"I will!" Jah-Ma-El came out of the shadows and looked at Brelan. "Tell Roget to go about his business; I need to speak with you."

Du Mer glared at Jah-Ma-El as he passed.

"Don't let him see a mirror just yet, Brelan," Jah-Ma-El said. "I took all the ones I could find out of Appolyon's room. Prepare him, but also let him know that it won't matter."

Brelan smiled. "Not to us, anyway."

"Not to the one that will matter to him, either."

The smile left Brelan's face. "I've been dreading speaking about her to him. Every time I've tried, he's cut me off."

"He has to be told. If you let him find out from a stranger, he'll be hurt worse."

* * *

Conar looked up as Brelan reentered the room. His brother's face still bore a smile, but there were now shadows lurking there. "Has something happened?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"No," Brelan assured him as he brought a chair to the bed. He plopped down and stretched his legs. "Everything's gone better than planned."

"No one was hurt?"

"Maybe one or two guards who took exception to being locked up in the wine cellar." He turned his head as laughter and shouts of joy rang out in the courtyard. "That's a sound I like!" When he looked back at Conar. "Have you had your sign? Shalu said you were looking for a sign to tell you the gods wanted you back among the living. You said if someone could breathe life back into you, you'd lead us." A wicked gleam came into the dark brown eyes. "I breathed life into you,
and,
I might add, brought you back from the dead. What other sign do you need?"

Conar looked away.

"You know," Brelan began, sitting forward as he placed his hands over Conar's. "Sometimes you have to lose your life before you begin to live it."

Conar's fingers twitched beneath Brelan's palm.

"All right." Brelan sat back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want to talk about her now?"

Conar closed his ears to the sounds of happiness outside the window. "I can't even remember what she looks like, Brelan," he whispered, shame running rampant through his voice.

Brelan nodded. "It's been a long time and you've been through a lot. No one can fault you for not being able to see her in your memory."

"But she was my wife! My
life!
And I can't even remember her face. What right do I have to return to her when I can't even remember the way she looks?"

How could Brelan tell Conar there was no longer a place in Elizabeth's life for him, that she now belonged to someone else? How would Conar take the news that the
someone else
was their brother, Legion? Conar knew Legion was alive and well, but he didn't know he was King of Serenia. He thought Galen was still King. Brelan wasn't sure if Conar knew Elizabeth had married Galen.

And there were other things—Conar didn't know he had a son by Elizabeth. Nor that she had a son by Galen and, if the child she was carrying at the time of Brelan's departure had survived, a child by Legion. Brelan's heart sank as he realized Conar also didn't know about the daughter she had borne him.

But worst, Conar didn't know about Elizabeth's love for Legion. How do you tell a man who has gone through the fires of hell that there are even more painful flames awaiting him?

Brelan wished he hadn't brought up the subject. From the look on his brother's face, Conar wished the same thing.

Taking a deep breath, Brelan spoke softly. "You have to remember she doesn't know you're alive. None of us did. There will be a lot of adjustments to be made by all."

Conar flinched. "Do I have the right to walk back into her life after all these years?"

"It's not as if you ran away. You have every right to claim what is rightfully yours."

"Rightfully mine," he whispered. "They annulled our marriage. They took her away from me. Did they give her to Galen?"

"Galen is dead," Brelan answered gently.

"Murdered?"

"Stabbed to death in the grotto."

Conar nodded, seeing the place as clearly as though he was there. "Kaileel?"

"We believe so."

"When did Papa die?"

"About seven months after you were taken away," Brelan answered, seeing calculations forming behind the dull blue eyes.

"Then Galen was King?"

"Aye."

"And did he have a Queen?" The question was bitter with hurt.

"You know she had no choice, don't you?"

"Tell me the truth." Conar let his gaze fuse with his brother's. "Can I still claim her?"

"She loves you as much today as she did when you were together. She'll be happy you're alive."

Conar took in a long breath. "Is there a reason why my return would disrupt commitments she might have?"

"Commitments?" Brelan asked, vying for time.

"She thinks I'm dead. Would I complicate her life?"

Brelan wanted to hide. "Six years is a long time. Life goes on even when we are in pain." He managed to look away from Conar's face. "Things don't always stay the way we want them…"

Conar's forehead crinkled with an inner hurt that brought pain to Brelan's heart. "She's happy?"

"There are things you need…" Brelan stopped, his gut on fire with sorrow.

"Is she happy?" Conar refused to let Brelan look away. The force of those blue eyes made Brelan want to beat his fists into the wall, get rip-roaring drunk, kill something.

"As far as I know, she is."

Conar nodded, accepting it in his mind if not in his heart. "Is he good to her?"

"He loves her very much."

"Does she love him?" At Brelan's silent nod, Conar let out a long breath and threw back the covers, swung his long legs off the bed. "Where are my breeches?"

"I'll get you something," Brelan said, turning away from the scars running rampant down his brother's body. He hurried to a pile of clean clothing Roget had brought in earlier and found a pair of white cambric breeches. Never worn, the material was crisp, though somewhat wrinkled. He found a light blue shirt and walked back to hand them to Conar. "I know you're upset about this—"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." Conar stepped into the breeches, then yanked the shirt over his head, leaving the laces untied to his waist.

Brelan watched him plow a shaky hand through his blond hair. He wanted desperately to say something, anything, that would erase the hurt on Conar's face, but he didn't know what. He saw Conar looking around. "What do you need?"

"A mirror."

"I don't see one," Brelan answered.

"Did you remove them?"

"I didn't."

"But they were removed…"

"It's just that—"

"Give me your dagger."

"Why?"

"Don't worry," Conar sighed. "Just give me a dagger and tell me where the man responsible for Hern's death is."

"In the Indoctrination Hut, but…"

"The dagger!"

"I don't think—"

"The gods-be-damned dagger!"

Brelan gazed into the depths of his brother's ice-cold eyes and saw something evil, a ferocious gleam of vengeance and murderous intent Conar needed an outlet for his raging sorrow and Lydon Drake was to be his target.

Brelan shuddered. He didn't blame Conar. No one could. Neither did he pity Drake. It was just that Conar's eyes scared the hell out him and he was glad he wasn't Lydon Drake.

"The dagger?" Conar prompted again.

Brelan drew it from his waistband and extended it to his brother.

"An hour?" Conar asked as he jammed the knife into the waistband of his breeches. He headed for the door.

"Aye," Brelan answered, knowing his brother was asking when they'd be leaving. He couldn't look anymore into that vengeful face, so he looked away until Conar left. Brelan slumped into a chair. There had been a portent of things to come in Conar's eyes—the man who had been carried into prison was not the man who would be walking out.

* * *