WINDWEEPER (7 page)

* * *

Conar stepped back from the gangplank as Legion, Teal, and Hern came toward him. He moved into the shadows cast by the tall spars and leaned against the foremast.

He smiled sadly as Hern took Nadia and brought the babe's face up to his own. He listened to the words being spoken to Liza, acknowledged the smiles sent his way by the three men, shook his head as Cayn, the Healer, lumbered up the gangplank and plucked the babe out of Hern's big hands.

"Let me see our girl, Arbra!" Cayn bellowed, his small round face belligerent as Hern tried immediately to take back the babe. "Get away!"

"They'll spoil her," Marsh sniffed. "She'll be up all night now."

Conar nodded, unable to speak past the pain in his heart. He saw his father turn toward him, saw the frown gather on the regal visage, watched as the big man turned his back on him again. Conar lowered his head.

"Go to him, Milord," Marsh said in a gentle voice. "Go speak with your father."

"He doesn't need me, Marsh."

The King turned.

"He needs to speak with you, Highness," Marsh dared say.

"It can wait," Gerren told the Elite. He smiled as Legion took the precious bundle from Cayn. Not looking at Conar, the King said, "On the day Conar was born, the Master Vintner put up a bottle of wine that his mother and I planned to open on the arrival of our son's firstborn." He glanced at Conar, who raised his head. "I plan to do that in her memory."

Conar felt a lump in his throat as he thought of the tiny, golden-haired woman who had given him birth. "She would have been pleased."

"With the babe, aye," King Gerren agreed.

Pain twisted Conar's heart. "But not with me."

"Not with you. You have shamed me many times, but your drinking and carousing after taking your Joining vows have caused me to lose respect for you. You have shown no reason why I should feel confident in your ability to govern your people when the time comes. You'll have to do far better for me to entrust Serenia into your keeping!"

"I know you are angry, Papa, but…"

"Anger does not begin to define my feelings. The more time I've had to think on your many perfidies, the less inclined I am to believe you worthy to sit the throne. We will discuss this later."

With that, the King walked away.

Liza wanted to cry. She could feel her beloved's sorrow like a silver flash of fire. She went to him and put her arm around his waist, drew him to her side. "He'll relent, Conar. You'll see."

"I hope you're right, Milady." He looked past her, his vision straying to the battlements of the keep, and tensed. His eyes locked with Kaileel Tohre's even from this great distance.

Conar could feel the promise in the look being sent his way. It was a feeling he knew all too well.

* * *

King Gerren stared out of the window of his chambers, his hand resting on the high ledge. A shooting star careened across the heavens. He closed his eyes. That often signaled a bad omen. "Go on."

Conar was sitting in his father's favorite chair, his hands hanging between his spread knees. He looked intently at the pattern on the carpet. "I know you are still angry with me, Papa. What I did was—"

"Unpardonable."

"I suppose so."

"You
know
so. You are not stupid."

For a moment the room fell silent. Only the gentle ticking of the clock in the corner broke the quiet. Neither man spoke; neither man moved. It was Conar who could bear the stillness no longer. "Is there more wine, Papa?"

Gerren flung his hand to the bottle on the low table beside the settee. Conar walked to the table, poured two more glasses of wine, then came toward his father with one of the two glasses.

"You want me befuddled with this?" the king inquired.

"I just think you'll need it before I'm through."

His father poised with the glass to his lips, looking long and hard at his son before setting the wine, untouched, on the window ledge. "You have reason to believe I won't like what you're going to say?"

A dark shadow passed over Conar's face. He seating himself in the chair once more. "I know you won't, Papa."

"You think perhaps I will be even more angry with you?" the King inquired, his mouth set into a hard, unforgiving line.

"Something like that," Conar acknowledged and stood again, walking to the fireplace and leaning his arm on the mantle, dropping his head to his arm. He stared into the firebox.

Gerren folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin. "Say it and be done with it!"

"It is not easy."

"Have you cheated on your wife again?" The King was relieved when Conar shook his head. "Then has it to do with your relationship with Elizabeth?" He hated to ask for fear the union was once more on shaky ground.

"In part."

"Is there another woman?"

"No, Papa." He looked at his father. "And there is no other man. It has nothing to do with my devotion to my wife or hers to me."

"A devotion you but recently remembered."

Conar took a deep breath. "What happened between Liza and myself was not entirely my doing."

The King was aghast. "You blame your wife for your infidelity?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then, pray tell what you do mean, sir! Don't stand there like a green youth who has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar one too many times. I will hear your confession now and be done with it!"

"It was partly my fault."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"I sent her away because I had…" He couldn't say it.

"Because you had, what?"

Conar could hear his father's heavy breathing. He could almost smell the dislike and disappointment coming his way. He squeezed his eyes shut to blot out the anxiety crowding his mind, tried to force out the words through lips numb with fear.

"For the love of Alel, Conar! Tell me what you have to say!"

"I sent her away, Papa, because I had done something I was ashamed of."

His father walked over to his son, and with a suddenness that stunned the younger man, grabbed Conar by the shoulders and spun him around. "Such as beating her?"

"I never…"

"You manhandled her! Do not try to deny that, Conar Aleksandro. I remember well those marks on your lady! We all saw the bruises!"

Conar could see his father's anger building. A vein bunched in the King's temple and the grip on Conar's shoulders grew hard and unrelenting.

"I never beat her, Papa!"

"Then what did you do?"

Conar hung his head. "I raped her that eve, Papa. That is where she came by the bruises."

Gerren's mouth dropped open. His grip on Conar lessened somewhat, but he did not release his son's shoulders. His mouth worked, his lips moved. His face turned chalk-white. When he spoke, his voice was a mere whisper. "Rape?" He could barely say the word. "You raped your own wife?"

"I was angry—"

"Angry?"

"It was more than that, Papa," Conar said, miserably. "It was as though I couldn't control what I was doing. I didn't know what I had done until after it was over. I may have been drunk; I don't know."

King Gerren took his hands from his son. "That's no excuse. A man does not do violence to the woman he professes to love unless he has either a guilty conscience or suspects she has cuckolded him. You suspected her with Galen. Is that the reason you did her harm?"

"Liza was innocent in that." Conar let out a long breath. "And, believe me, Galen has paid for what he did to my lady."

"And Brelan?" the King demanded. "You thought her entangled with him. What of that?"

"That was after the fact, but I have to admit I thought there was, but Liza was innocent in that as well, and, much to my relief, so was Brelan." He looked at his father. "If I had found out Brelan had slept with her, you'd have been minus one son, Papa."

"If you knew she had not been unfaithful to you, why would you have…? Why did you…? How could you…?" The King glowered. "What kind of man have I sired?"

Conar knew he had to get it over with. As much as it pained him to tell his father the whole of it, he could put it off no longer. He screwed up his dwindling courage and started his tale. "I have the Brotherhood of the Domination to thank for most of what happened. I have them to thank for what I did to Liza." He couldn't look into his father's eyes. "They caused it all."

There was a long moment of silence as Conar's words sank like heavy weights into the room.

A sudden chill came over the King. "What does that mean?" he asked, a tiny prickle of fear crawling down his taut spine. "What do those sorcerers have to do with anything you have done?"

Conar blurted the truth while he still had a semblance of bravery. "I joined Them when—"

The King slapped Conar full across the face, staggering him and splitting his lip. When Conar tried to put up a hand to wipe away the blood, Gerren knocked it away. His hands went to the front of Conar's shirt to draw him closer.

"What the hell have you done?" He shook Conar. "Tell me!"

"Let me explain…" He felt his feet actually leave the floor as Gerren yanked his shirt.

"You had better do more than explain! You had gods-be-damned well better be able to make me
understand!"

"They have been after me a long time, Papa. They—" He felt his shirt front twisted beneath his chin, the constriction painful as he gasped. "Papa, please! Let me…"

Gerren shuddered. "Have you let that filth put their hands on you?" He shook his son again. "Have you let those bastards touch you? Is that why you never wanted to marry? Answer me!"

What was there for Conar to say? He couldn't lie to his father, his King. He couldn't explain either. His father was in no condition to hear the reasons.

"
Answer me
!" the king shrieked. He drew back his right hand.

Conar made his confession in a rush. "They initiated me during the time I was gone from here." His voice was low and throbbing with hurt. "After Norus."

Gerren stepped back, stumbling into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. He gawked. "Damn you to the pit and beyond, Conar Aleksandro! Did you not know what you were doing? Have you lost your senses?"

Conar flinched. He took a deep breath. "Aye, Papa. I knew."

"You
knew?"

"Better than most."

"
How could you? What could have possessed you to do such a thing?"

He could only shake his head. "If you will let me—"

"Didn't you have enough power? Enough riches? Did you not have the woman you swore to the world you wanted? What more could you desire that you didn't already have?"

"It had nothing to do with what I lacked, Papa."

"
Then, what?"

"It's not what you think."

"You were never ordained into the WindWarrior Society. Is that why?" Gerren's lip twisted. "You planned on allying yourself with that filthy bunch all along, didn't you?'

"The Priesthood of the WindWarrior Society is controlled by the Tribunal, Papa."

"I know! What has that to do with anything?"

"And the Tribunal is controlled by Tolkan, and Tolkan is Arch-Prelate of the Domination." Conar could see the unreasoning fury in his father's eyes and knew the man wasn't really listening.

"You tell me things I already suspected."

"Think back, Papa. Think back to when you sent me to Corinth, to the Wind Temple to be trained. Who was it that encouraged my going? It wasn't you. It wasn't Hern; and it certainly wasn't Mama. She didn't want me to go. Do you remember who insisted I be sent there?"

Gerren ground his teeth. "That is in the past. What difference does it make who—"

"It was Kaileel Tohre, Papa. He wanted me there. It was him that took me, remember?" He took a steadying breath. "It was Tohre who trained me."

"I see no correlation—"

"Certain boys are chosen during their training in the priesthood for special teachings. Those teachings are not given at the Wind Temple. You have to travel to the Great Abbey of the Domination for such training."

A nagging fear began to sprout in Gerren's mind. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear anymore.

"Tohre took me to the Abbey when I was six years old. I would have been consecrated to the Domination when I was thirteen if I had not tried to kill myself to keep from being used by them."

A dawning horror spread out its roots in the fertile soil of the King's nimble mind. He began to shake his head in denial.

"They abused me then, Papa. I never told you because I didn't want you to feel guilt over what had been done to me."

Disgust shot up, branching out with withered arms to drag the King's mind into a shameful mire of repulsive thoughts.

"It took them over twenty years to do what they tried to do, to attempt to finish what they started when I was a boy."

Unrestrained fury hit the King like a bolt of lightning into the sturdy tree of his ordered life. He leapt forward, grabbing a handful of Conar's hair, dragging back his head. "Why did you keep such things from me?" He could picture Conar as a boy of six, crying, begging not to be sent away. He could see his wife's face, tear-drenched and sad as her son was lifted in Kaileel Tohre's arm and carried from the keep. "Why didn't you tell me what they had done?"

Straining against the vicious pull on his scalp, Conar tried to shake his head. "Would you have believed me?"

The King had to admit he probably wouldn't have. A child's wild tale of such vile behavior would have been hard to accept. The boy would have been examined, but even if the evidence of molestation had been present, who would have collaborated the tale? Tohre? Unlikely if he had been the instigator of such horror.

"That does not excuse what you have done now!" the King shouted.

"It was the only way I could get Liza back. Tohre was behind her kidnapping, Papa. He promised he would put her beyond Galen's reach if I would…" He stopped, the look on his father's face more than he could bear.

"If you did what?" Gerren's lips pulled back over his teeth. He pulled hard on Conar's hair.

The pain grew intense, the humiliation even worse. Conar could see the loathing, could feel his father's wrath on his scalp. He let out a wavering breath. "If I would let him—take me."