Chapter Twelve
Ain dismissed herself from the dinner Jareth had planned. Even as it commenced, only the general and his daughter, his Champion and her son, were in attendance. No one spoke. The patter of silverware against china, and the slight huff as food was brought to lips and swallowed, sounded.
Amr and Linia wore their swords to dinner. A precaution against the prisoner that sat in their midst. It was for him that Jareth had the dinner. He had to see for himself how the boy would react when faced with his mother again. It needn't have mattered. Jason ignored her. Sarah darted quick glances at her son, pleading with silent agonies.
Jareth cringed. It wasn't often he miscalculated. This time, he had.
"Sarah," Jareth said, turning his attention to her, the dinner in its midst. Quietly slow and solemn. "You haven't said a word since yesterday." He wanted to give her time to acclimate, to see her son as he was. He was a fool. But he was a wily fool. She pressed near, even as her mind retreated.
One day he would have all of her. Then...then.
His voice hushed near her ear. He held a wine glass delicately in his palm, but his fingers were tight, unyielding, as they spread over the crystal goblet in his hand. He set the glass down before he crushed it into his flesh.
Her face, pale and wan. Hurt. She glanced over at her son. She pressed her lips together.
The dinner was a bad idea. Jareth took her hand, held it as he smoothed his fingers across her knuckles. Jason cringed.
Jareth fought against his inclination to take Sarah from the room, to show them all who had her by his side. Who she served. Who she wanted to be with; who she chose, even as she fought the pull. Mind, body, soul, heart. His.
He whispered in her ear. "Don't let anyone get to you, my Champion."
It was a warning and a promise of intent. He would make the offending member pay for bringing pain to her. But Sarah, she had to fight. She was no good to herself if she caved into the threat.
He glared at the young man, feasting on the wine and the second course of the dinner. Inhaling the food and drink as if it were his last. Gluttonous. And not only with the meal—with Sarah. He demanded her. Her time. Her energy. Her penitence for making him pay restitution.
The boy couldn't win this silent battle. Jareth didn't share. He conquered. Jason versus the king. The whelp needed direction, a firm hand. Jareth had to be the one giving administration. Sarah had nearly given up under the flare of her son's condemning eyes. Under the bashing of his quiet, mocking reproof. A mother scorned.
Tears blurred in her eyes. "I..." She stopped, alarmed. As if she were afraid any word would send her son away. Jareth frowned.
"He's not going anywhere, my sweet." His eyes narrowed on the boy. A whelp. Someone who had barely lived, not as the king had lived. An immortal span of time.
She murmured, hair falling in her face. She hadn't pulled it back. It shadowed her face, hiding her. "I just want him to be near. I..." She stopped again, looked at Jason and then to Jareth, whispering her truest confession. "I can't forgive myself for what I've caused." Then, a deeper truth. "He is not what I wanted him to be."
A rebel. A curse. A blight on the family. No, she would have fought wars to avoid it. But it had happened, and Sarah needed to face it.
"You meted the punishment necessary. Don't fall under his..." he said, sighing. His gaze resting on the dark-haired youth. "Charm." His eyes narrowed. Yes...charm. An inherited disposition, it seemed.
She snickered, the sound making her wince. "You know as well as I do that Jason is," she paused. "Difficult."
"Yes," Jareth scorned. "Like a child. Like a rebellious misfit. Don't give in." He hissed the final implorement. "He wants you to. He wants you to bow under." Jareth looked at the boy, who in turn glared at him. Jareth smirked, raising his glass. Jason cowered under his stare.
"I just want him to be alright," she whispered. "He has blood on his face."
"He didn't bathe. On purpose," Jareth stressed. "He wants you to pity him."
"Why is there blood on him?" Her voice, hesitant. Enthralled. She dared a glance at her son, who sassed back with a pointed sigh of disgruntlement. Looking at her hand entwined with the king. In disgust. Jareth squeezed on her hand tighter. Mine...
Jareth said, bland, even as the swallow of wine stuck in his throat. "I imagine Linia used him to prove a point."
"Linia." Sarah looked up through her waterfall of hair to the warrior-woman at Jason's side. "She is beautiful."
"And dangerous." Jareth nodded. He winked at her. "Though Jason is in agreement. See how he flushes when she raises the glass to her lips."
"Are they?" Together… She couldn't help being frail. Her son had connived to break her. She was under a spell. A mother-crush of guilt, weighed rock, heavy on the chest.
"No." Jareth shook his head. "She despises him. He is no warrior." He added, musing, "But he could be. If he so chose."
Sarah snorted, her face brightening. "Warrior, Jason?" She peeked a glance under her lashes. "Do you think?"
"Yes. And it would serve him well, the discipline."
"I should have given that to him, all these years, letting him get away with what he wanted. I thought I was loving him. After…" She paused, her face composed with memory. A memory faded and obscure. Jareth paled, gripping her hand so tight their combined fingers turned white. She squeezed back. "I can't recall exactly. It seems important, but..."
Jareth relaxed. Her memory would be his failure. His repentance.
Her body stiffened, then released its heavy burden. Even as Jareth pushed his away, the beast of remembrance. It was not time. He looked at her, the woman that escalated his fire, the woman that became a fitted match to his flame. He didn't want to lose her. But perhaps it was not for him to decide.
Sarah took a sip of the wine, her first of the evening. Her back braced against the chair, lean with caustic hope.
"Jason," she said, turning to her son, speaking with clarity. With boldness. With reprisal. With Jareth's backing holding her aloft. "I want you to continue the training you have started." She continued, her voice softer. "Until it is deemed fit for you to stop."
Linia bowed her head at Sarah, tipping the glass up in salute. Jason fumed, his face going flush with anger. "Mom!" he said, his voice tripping with plea.
Sarah stiffened. She composed herself, a full minute of silence gone by. "I think it's good for you." She pressed on, her face calm. Jareth saw the heart of her. It burned. She added, "Your trainer is improving you."
"Like hell she is," Jason said, baring a glance at Linia. At Amr, who sat quietly watching, his hand on his weapon at his side. "She's beating the shit out of me." He waved a hand over the face he had not washed. To taunt. To cajole.
"Impressive that you acknowledge it," Linia said, cooing at him. Her eyes flared. "And I will continue to beat the shit out of you, as long as my king and the Champion demand it."
"Champion." Jason hissed, standing, his chair scooting back with a squeal. "My mother is a lawyer, rich. Celebrated for her victories. At home," he stressed. "Where we belong." He hissed, his face screwing up into ugliness. "Not a whore for the king's pleasure."
Jareth raised to his feet, his eyes flashing. "Enough!" He tossed a glance at Sarah, who had whitened again. "My Champion has power you cannot even begin to discern. You will respect her. You will respect the crown."
Jason glared at Jareth. "Fuck. You."
Jareth sighed, a great upheaval filtering through his system. He flicked his fingers. Jason was gone.
Sarah whispered. "Where-"
The answer, pained. "In his room. If he cannot be civilized, he must remain prisoner." He sat, his body condemning him. "I thought." Jareth paused. "I hoped..."
Linia and Amr stood, quietly departing. Sarah flicked a glance at them. Her eyes gleaming with sorrow. She whispered, her voice tight. "You did the right thing. I am sorry." She took a deep breath, if she wanted to say more. But she didn't.
"He is winning, Sarah. Don't let him. Jason is his own worst enemy now."
"My fault."
He examined her. Took her hand where he had dropped it in his haste. Squeezed it. "We will make it better."
She looked at him, a glint in her eye. "Will we?"
"I swear it."
Jareth ruminated the promise. He had hidden truth from his Champion. When she discovered his lie, she may leave. And she may never come back. It was a threat he had to carefully sift. To caress the murky metal from the shining gem. He still hoped. He wished. The hand squeezing him also tugged at his heart, at the black hole that had been there in her stead. Sarah had returned. The shadow that he became, deep within, elongated. Removed its silky presence. She could be the death of him.
She could be his salvation. For once, he wanted to be hers, as well.
Sarah excused herself from Jareth. She couldn't eat. Food tasted like the leather of hide in her mouth. Dry and withered. Jareth took the blame, shifted it onto himself, but she knew… She lost, both her son and the battle that had raged when she took him from Desmond. Jason had become his father. Prideful, stubborn, hateful when confronted.
She cringed, a displaced feeling crowding her. Remembrance—she had forgotten the pain, the agonies of being a single mother. And forgotten… she frowned. She forgot something, something exquisite and beautiful and disturbing at the same time.
The passing whim etched into her. Tantalizing. Staying just an inch away from recalling everything. She turned the corner. Stopped.
Ain stood there, a tray of food in her hand. The woman smiled, welcoming and kind as she had always been. Sarah smiled back, but unsure. She had never been alone with her before.
Ain gestured to the food, her eyes bright. "I am taking this to my son. Do you want to come with me to visit him? He speaks of you." The message was clear in the bland invitation. You are not wanted. Stay away...
Sarah debated. Her throat congealed like a bitter pill to swallow. She was the other woman. She was the wrecker of dream. She shook her head.
"No, but give him my hello." Silence. Tense; an uneasy lurching of breath, caught in tangle like spider silk. Ready to catch and devour, the hungry spider resting in her web, staring with beady watchful eyes.
"I will." Ain didn't move. "I am glad you came, Sarah of the Labyrinth." The woman cocked her head, examining her. Her eyes shallow with a tinge of warmth. Not for her, but for the kill. Creeping, creeping. Slowing to bite, the arachnid.
"Thank you." She flinched. She hadn't heard the term spoken so plain. So defiant. Sarah of the Labyrinth. Perhaps Sarah had belonged once. Not now, in the capacity she fulfilled.
"My fiance spoke of you often. He was not the same when you left." Sarah, the other woman. The thief. The destroyer. The one that will never win.
"I'm sorry."
Ain shrugged. "I am glad I was able to pick up the pieces. It took some time before the king trusted me. But as you know, we have a son." Warning, warning to stay away. To retract emotion. To never feel again.
Sarah nodded, her chest tight. Ain continued, her voice deceptively light. "I will do anything for Jaren."
"I understand."
Ain tilted her head. "Do you?"
"I am a mother also."
"Yes," said with a slow release of breath. "I heard." Ain smiled, that soft, seductive tease. She gestured up the hallway. "He is waiting. I must go to him." She perused Sarah, her eyes mysterious and dark. "Take care, Champion. The king won't allow himself to be vilified again." Entitlement, duly earned. A stamp of ownership, filtered into the easy transaction. Sarah's lips pressed tight. She nodded. Yes. She knew.
"I'm glad we are in accord, dear Sarah." Ain sauntered away. It wasn't until she turned the corner, gone from sight, that Sarah breathed again.
Ain was not so forgiving, after all.
