Disclaimer (which I've been forgetting lately – 'pologies): Don't own,
won't ever own it.
Well, guys, this is the pivotal chapter, the bit where we remember that this fic runs as if the ending of The Realms of the Gods never happened. Why don't you have a read, eh?
P.S I started this story one week after I turned 15. Thus, I hope to have the final chapter up one week after my 16th birthday. That'll be on the, er, 10th of March, so as to celebrate the 1st birthday of this fic by finishing it. Therefore, hopefully there will be quite a few updates in the next, er three days!
P.P.S Check out A Pocket Full of Rye by Coral Dragon – it's better than this. She tells me, since I know her and since AN chapters aren't allowed, that she's sorry about the wait for an update, but school has been killing her.
Too tired to answer the reviews at length, therefore I'll just say thank you to all those who reviewed:
Arizona Bay, CrAzYhOrSeGiRl88, friendly neighboor, bojanglesbisuit, Yellow
Zinnia, Shieldmaiden, horseluver, socal-schitzophrenic, simi, clarylissa, Queen's
Own, Fire Mage6, aly the thief, XXX, Ed the Sock and Richard Whitney.
'Tis better to have loved and lost?
Daine marvelled at the splendour of the Great Hall as she entered. Soft illumination flickered from the mage-lights set on the walls and below was a flowing sea of colour. Shades and tones of every description mingled and merged before her eyes, fashions of the strangest and dowdiest styles graced all attending. On a raised dais at one end of the room, there was an orchestra assembled; the sweetest music was being played by the musicians, lingering delicately in the air like drops of mist. A number of tables formed a large group at one side of the hall, the other side reserved for the socialising and the dancing that would follow the feast. She could see several pages garbed in the royal uniform milling around the crowd, offering refreshments to everyone.
Kitten tugged on her skirts lightly and pointed in a certain direction. Daine let her gaze sweep further around the room, and found a particular group of people in the place where Kitten was looking. Resplendent in beautiful finery, the King and the Queen sat regally on two enormous gilded thrones, greeting everyone who was presented to them. To their left stood the Lioness in purple satin and her husband, Baron George of Pirate's Swoop; they were talking amicably with Buri, commander of the Riders who was making excited gestures into the air. Daine had to do a double take at the formidable commander. She couldn't recollect ever having seen Buri in a dress before, though she certainly did make a striking picture, donned in crimson skirts.
Daine flashed a grin at Numair, noticing that he too had seen their friends. He smiled back at her, albeit a tad nervously, his face a little paler than usual. He must be worried what the others will think of us, she realised. She was nervous too, naturally, but she hadn't really expected him to be apprehensive - Numair was usually so strong and confident. His worry did nothing to appease the fresh bouts of butterflies that were currently causing chaos in her stomach. Subconsciously, her grip on his arm tightened as she tensed. A reassuring squeeze on her hand was hardly felt as they began to descend the stairs and as the herald announced their names. Everyone's heads turned towards them, surprised to have heard them being announced together. One glance at the couple making their way down the grand stairway was enough to raise suspicion in the minds of many. He was holding her a little too close, his arm a little too possessive for him just to be escorting her as a favour to his student. Immediately, the whispers started.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the couple turned and made their way towards the Royals, studiously ignoring the curious stares that were sent in their direction, accompanied by new rumour. Feeling the presence of so many eyes looking at her, Daine shrank closer to Numair, who risked a small grin down at her. The smile, however, did not mask the trepidation still there in his own eyes. He couldn't care less exactly what the court thought of them, but their friends, no, their opinion truly did matter. After all, both he and his Magelet had fled their native lands and sought sanctuary in Tortall; they had learned to love not only the country, but also their friends there. To have this relationship shunned would be to be cast from their family – again. He chanced a glance at those whom they were approaching, and hardly dared to hope that he saw a smile hovering about the King's mouth. Upon reaching the thrones, he executed a neat bow and felt Daine curtsy next to him. Feeling this gave him a surge of confidence and he straightened, a brief challenge sparking in his dark gaze.
The king laughed gently. "There's no need to treat this as a battle, Numair," he remarked softly. "The only thing I'm going to call you up about is the fact that you obviously didn't trust us enough to inform us of this, ah, development sooner."
Numair smiled and joined the circle of friends. "Forgive us, Jon. We were still adjusting to it ourselves."
"To be honest, some of us knew about it," Numair shot a surprised look at Buri. "Or at least," she amended, "we had an idea." A smug expression settled on her features upon seeing the worried glances the couple were trading. She noticed that she had managed to pique the curiosity of the others too, for she didn't indulge in idle gossip normally. "Well, you see, the problem with your bedroom being in the barracks is that certain visitors will be noticed by early-rising Horsemistresses, like Onua. She told me, naturally, but I haven't really had the chance to spread the news yet."
"For which we are grateful," Numair replied, somewhat abashed at the manner of their discovery. A little chuckle greeted him from his left. He looked down to see Daine smiling in amusement. "What, may I ask, is so amusing, Magelet?"
Daine tried to repress the twinkle in her eye. "Well, Evin did tell me not so long ago that he thought Onua had spotted you this morning. I didn' think she'd be a gossip."
"Great Gods," Jon murmured. "Even the Rider knows before I do. How I'm supposed to portray the image of an omniscient king if I don't even know what's happening in the lives of my friends? My felicitations to the both of you, and although I wish I could stay, I see that some of the Lords over there desire my presence." He rose gracefully and flashing a quick smile at the group around him strolled over to where the expectant nobles were waiting.
Thayet cast a glance around the room. "It looks like you've put a damper on the evenings of quite a few of the ladies here. No doubt they had hoped to monopolise Numair's attention."
The mage let out an inelegant snort. "They might as well get used to it. I'll have none of them," he slipped an arm about Daine's waist and smiled tenderly at her. "There isn't any way we're going to separate, is there, sweetling?"
Only Alanna noticed the brief hesitation before Daine answered, and the flicker of sorrow that lasted only an instant in her eyes. Thayet stood and extended her hand to Daine. "Come, child. I do believe we have much to discuss, about, well, certain things," she teased lightly. The two of them drifted off, leaving Alanna and Numair behind, Buri having disappeared some time before.
"Thus the female mind," commented Numair dryly in a voice of long- suffering. He sobered when he saw the expression on Alanna's face. She drew him aside, into the privacy of a nearby alcove, away from the nosy crowd. Scrutinizing his face carefully, she could discern no emotion other than slight confusion and a faint, lingering pride. Numair placed a hand on her shoulder.
"What's wrong? Something is certainly troubling you and it's not just the ball, is it?"
She looked up, a bright gleam in her eyes, but not one that reflected happiness. Pity creased her brow and a sad sigh escaped her lips. It frightened him, though he couldn't tell why. There was nothing to be sad about, surely? Alanna lifted a hand and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped its confines, stalling for time. Her eyes closed briefly.
"You told me that she was dying, Numair."
Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't an accusation, but an inquiry, and had the effect of stripping everything but desperate hope from him. He looked down at his restless hands, in order to avoid meeting her gaze.
"She was, but she told me that she was better, that all the sickness had gone."
"And you believed her?"
"I don't know. She had a point when she claimed that the healers would be no use in determining the truth of the matter, because they are unable to deal with immortal magic and its consequences of such a magnitude as this." He risked a glance at his friends face, and almost recoiled when he saw the extent of the disbelief that was written there. "She wouldn't lie to me, Alanna. She loves me." His voice rose slightly in defiance.
The Champion made a noise of impatience. "Numair, are you really that blind? Can you not think of any reason why someone might lie to a person they loved?" She took a step forward and grabbed his chin, forcing him to face what was really happening. Realisation of what he knew, what he had always known dawned and the walls of denial that had protected him for so long fell from his eyes. "No," he whispered. "It's too cruel."
Alanna's countenance softened in the face of his grief. "She had your best interests at heart, Numair. It was foolish of her, we both know that, but she only wanted to protect. But you can't deny the truth." She gazed out across the myriad of people in front of them. "Even from here I can see that she is too pale, and her movements are tired. She's put too much strength into maintaining this lie, and now she has very little strength. If . . . something were to happen, she wouldn't be able to resist."
"I know," rasped Numair. He sat down on a nearby chair, shaking, his hands clenching as his knuckles turned white from the strain. Alanna crouched beside him, and took one of his hands between hers. They sat in silence for a while, still hidden from the view of others. Alanna finally broke the uneasy quiet.
"Numair, you need to go back out there, and find Daine, lest people begin to think that this isn't really anything for you, just another to add to this list." She felt his whole body stiffen, and his eyes snapped open, blazing ebony fire. She hastened to soothe him, knowing that his state was now volatile, to say the least. "I'm not suggesting anything, but you know how fickle the court is. Go and find Daine, and try to act the same as you always have. If this is how she wants it to be, you must respect that. After all, you are now part of the lie, as elaborate as it is, and you have to help her continue to convince everyone of . . . this."
He rose, albeit reluctantly. "You are right, Alanna, as usual." The underlying grief in his voice wrenched her heart, but she forced herself to ignore it. "Besides, I imagine the feast will be starting soon. No doubt she is hungry – I can't have her waste away. After all, when we get married, everyone will expect her to outlive me, and that won't happen if she doesn't eat properly." With that, he moved off to find his beloved.
"Indeed it won't," she acquiesced quietly. She couldn't decide what was worse: unacknowledged denial, or a delusion fuelled by grief. Only one thing was certain. This wouldn't end happily.
*****
The feast was nothing less than spectacular. Food of every variety and arrangement graced all the tables, but even the richest delicacy tasted like ash in certain people's mouths. Nevertheless, their false gaiety met everyone else's and no-one was any wiser for the time being – their thoughts all focused on the rest of the evening, the dancing that would follow once everyone had rested.
In the divine realms, someone still gazed intently into a liquid mirror, and watched events unfold with bated breath, trembling with trepidation. Then they felt the summons from the Great Gods. It was about to begin.
*****
Daine sat down with a rustle of skirts, worn out from the dancing. Her energy had lasted perhaps forty minutes, not long, but longer than if she had been using her magic. Tonight, she thought to herself, something is going to happen tonight. I know it. She was so lost in her contemplations that she didn't notice that someone was talking to her until they rapped her knuckles. She jumped and looked across from her to see that Numair had sat himself down and was waiting fairly patiently for him for her to pay attention.
"Sorry," she smiled apologetically. "I was lost in my thoughts."
"Obviously." His smile was less than carefree, seemingly forced, for his eyes were empty and dark. "If you've succeeded in bringing yourself back to the present, perhaps we can talk?"
Daine fidgeted in her seat. That wasn't a question and she knew it. She had also noticed the lack of any address when he had spoken – he hadn't even said her name, let alone the familiar endearment of 'magelet.' And his eyes, they were so cold and expressionless and she didn't know why. Then it struck her. Oh Gods, she realised, he knows. He knows exactly how much I've been lyin' to him. He knows what's going to happen. This isn't good, this really isn't good. Trembling slightly, she interlaced her fingers, withdrew them and then tangled them again, trying to ignore everything other than them.
"Daine?" There was a note of warning in his voice, the faintest hint of a growl. He had tried so hard to follow Alanna's commands, but Gods help him it was too difficult. Every time he looked at Daine he was swamped by fear of what was going to happen. It was selfish really; he couldn't tell if he was scared of losing her because of the pain it might cause her, or the pain it would cause him. It wouldn't have taken Daine long to figure out that he was hiding something. She's not so much of a fool as I am, he thought bitterly. His fear had turned quickly into anger as the evening progressed. He observed her more closely now, and just a little while into the dancing he had seen the fatigue take a sudden fierce grip on her, and that was the final straw. She wasn't helping anyone by covering up things the way she was, and he had to make sure she knew it, regardless of the place they were in.
She looked up, guilty. "Sorry," she whispered.
"For what?" he hissed quietly. "Not answering me immediately? Being too tired to dance? Or for lying about everything? Don't think I can't see through your actions, Daine, as oblivious as I was at first. There's probably not a single damned person in this room who hasn't sensed that something is amiss with you!" He was being unreasonable, irrational, he knew that, but no-one could really blame given the circumstances.
"Not about everything, Numair!" she burst out, and suddenly remembering where they were, she lowered her voice. "I didn't tell you that I was fair sick, but only because I wanted to protect you! I was very stupid, I think, to do this, but I didn't want to hurt you, or make everything feel really sad because we'd always know that it wouldn't last. Please believe me when I say I did it 'cause I love you, Numair. I really do." Her voice trailed off in a whisper, a pathetic catch in it. Immediately, Numair was by her side, his anger mostly cooled by the sorrow in her face. He caught one of her hands in his and held it close.
"Ah, magelet, I'm sorry. I'm scared, sweetling, I'm so scared."
She flung herself into his arms at his confession and he held her for a long moment, as if Fate would snatch her from him that very instant. They ignored the curious glances their little display was receiving. No-on else really mattered.
After a moment, a curly head emerged and Daine settled back on her chair, still holding his hand tightly. A single tear was making a watery track down her soft cheek and Numair went to brush it away with his thumb. She caught his gaze, and after debating for a second, she ventured a question.
"Numair, where are your family?"
He stiffened almost imperceptibly, his mouth tightening slightly and she feared that yet again she had said the wrong thing. His voice was more cold and detached than she had ever heard it when he spoke.
"I do not have one. The people that I used to call family disowned me as soon as they heard the first breath of scandal that had my name coupled with the word treason in the same sentence. They were very, ah, loyal to the emperor, and the shame that my supposed crime would bring upon them if they still admitted to their relation to me was more than they could bear." His face softened slightly as he looked at Daine and saw the shock she felt. "I don't really regret it. I'm better off without them. Besides, for what it's worth, you're my family now." A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips and she felt a burning rush of guilt. She forced a smile as he brushed a kiss onto the tip of her fingers, a courtly gesture.
"Yes, I suppose I am."
*****
The evening slipped by almost unnoticed by some, except by Daine who still couldn't shake that feeling of dread that had haunted her all day. The time was already half an hour past midnight. She was resting at the side of the hall, sipping a glass of wine and talking softly with Alanna when a wave of pain unfurled its wings within her belly. It flew through her body, burning poisonously wherever it passed. She gasped, clutching her friend for support as she felt a furious heat spread through her; her blood boiled and spat in her veins, surging against itself in tides of pain for dominance. The glass she was holding shattered in her vice-like grip and its remains slipped from her fingers to fall to the floor. Where the sharpened shards had cut her skin silver blood flowed freely, streaking over her palm in tiny rivulets of colour. The world was spinning, she couldn't see past the black mist that had dropped before her eyes. All she could feel was the agony wracking her slight frame; someone's arms wrapped about her, trying to keep her upright, but the contact only intensified. From far away a desperate voice called out to her, but she couldn't distinguish the words through the haze that surrounded her.
Suddenly her world exploded into light, everything tinted by silver as her body arched forward, like a grotesque puppet on a string. This wasn't happening to her, she felt far too detached for it to be real; the pain had been replaced by a startling numbness and in this cold, surreal world she heard nothing but her own ragged breathing. Daine saw ladies screaming and men staring in horror and out of morbid fascination; she saw Alanna being repelled by some unknown force; she saw Numair, frantic, dropping to his knees before her, and reaching out for her; then she saw nothing.
*****
Numair was crouched there on the floor, cradling Daine's warm body to his chest. She was warm, so warm, and if he tried hard enough, he was sure that he could feel her breathing still. He dipped his head slightly, and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. It didn't matter that she didn't respond; after all, she was probably tired. She had expended an awful lot of energy to produce a magical display of that degree. Unaware of the tears that were beginning to slip silently down his cheeks, he murmured softly to her, urging her to wake up as images of what he had seen flashed through his mind, a moment lasting for eternity.
The sight had been terrible, but oddly beautiful at the same time. He had glanced over at his magelet, who had been standing with Alanna when he saw her face contort in pain. A quiet scream tumbled from her lips as the glass which she had been holding shattered and her body began to collapse to the floor. Even as Alanna had tried to reach for her, a visible aura of silver magic, the magic of immortals sprung from her skin. When Daine's eyes had snapped open, their gentle blue-grey had sharpened into metallic silver. This was when the first fit of panic seized Numair. His mind failed to recognise what was happening, but the transformation of her eyes into something so unfamiliar scared him. Something had taken over his magelet, and at that very minute was stealing her from him unchallenged. A vortex of terror had lashed out in his very core and he could only watch with dread as her body writhed and tensed under the magical onslaught. He was vaguely aware of the fact that his feet had been carrying him towards her, his voice straining to save her when the final burst of magic had surge through her defenceless frame. The flash was blinding, but somehow he managed to arrive at her side, reaching out in time to catch her defeated body. Now most of the magic had gone; just a trace remained, lighting the soft edges of her face with a gentle glow.
Numair jerked back to the present, and suddenly he became aware of the fact that Daine still hadn't moved, but lay in his embrace as silent as a ghost. A ghost. These words echoed in his head, and he suddenly saw her lifeless form anew, and her bloodless face soaked in tears which weren't hers. A cry of agony burst suddenly from his chest, and deep inside of him he felt something vital break irreparably. It was too soon, gods, it was too soon! She couldn't have gone, he needed her here now, they had so much more to do, so much more to say; he wasn't prepared for her to leave him so early, he would never have been prepared. From a distance he heard a voice, hoarse with fear and grief, screaming, begging and pleading with someone to come back. It couldn't be his voice; a mage like him didn't scream and weep, but a man like him did, he realised. From his icy well of grief he recognised that it was his voice, and again he felt the weight of his dead lover in his arms. Magic couldn't solve anything this time.
Numair was unaware of everything around him. He didn't notice the continued presence of the court, despite their noises of disbelief and numerous fits of vapours amongst the women, nor did he notice his friends, consumed as he was in sorrow, but frightened to approach him. They felt the raw magic radiating off him in his grief-induced fury, and could only watch helplessly as the greatest mage in Tortall, and reformed rake of the court broke down in the middle of the Great all, watched by all. There was a sudden blaze of silver to the right of the man, and much to the astonishment of all present, bar one, a stately badger appeared. When he spoke his voice reverberated clearly in the minds of everyone.
You knew this was going to happen, mage. You are not stupid. Why then do you grieve like this was entirely unexpected?
Numair's head snapped up at the sound of the voice of Daine's mentor, his eyes blazing ebony fire. He clutched her tighter against his chest, as if he were afraid that the badger would try and steal her body from him as well. A violent passion stirred within his breast at the sight of the apathetic creature standing before him.
"What do you care?" he snarled. "You wouldn't understand a foolish mortal emotion like love, would you? I grieve because she is . . . was everything to me, and now you bloody-minded gods with your asinine games have stolen her away from me!"
Enough! barked the badger. We have stolen nothing. She does not belong to you.
"But she does." Numair interrupted. "Through the love I bear for her, and that she bore for me, she was mine. Give her back to me, now."
The badger walked over to where Numair was still crouched on the ground, and raising his muzzle in a haughty gesture, he stared intently at the man. You would take her away from her parents? The mother she missed so desperately, and the father she longed to know? Her immortal blood won the battle. You are not the only one who cares for her.
Numair started slightly in shock. Of course he knew that her parents cared for her also, but it had not occurred to him that her death would take her to their embraces. His anger was stripped away from him in that moment, leaving him feeling lost and vulnerable. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"But she's my family too, Lord Badger. I can't bear to be separated from her in life as well as in death."
The badger gazed at him with something akin to understanding and pity. The choice for her life is hers. Pray she chooses well. He glanced at the body Numair still held. To accept this, you must let go completely. Relinquish your hold on all her mortal ties.
"But-"
Let her go, mage, let her go.
Slowly, Numair unfolded his clasp on her and as he lowered her gently to the ground, Daine's body shimmered once again with that accursed magic and faded from sight. He let forth a strangled cry as she disappeared, but all that was left was a stray breath of wind.
*****
Wow, that was the longest chapter I've ever written! Reward me and review me. (I've also not been well these past few days, so reviews out of sympathy for my fragile state are also welcome.)
Well, guys, this is the pivotal chapter, the bit where we remember that this fic runs as if the ending of The Realms of the Gods never happened. Why don't you have a read, eh?
P.S I started this story one week after I turned 15. Thus, I hope to have the final chapter up one week after my 16th birthday. That'll be on the, er, 10th of March, so as to celebrate the 1st birthday of this fic by finishing it. Therefore, hopefully there will be quite a few updates in the next, er three days!
P.P.S Check out A Pocket Full of Rye by Coral Dragon – it's better than this. She tells me, since I know her and since AN chapters aren't allowed, that she's sorry about the wait for an update, but school has been killing her.
Too tired to answer the reviews at length, therefore I'll just say thank you to all those who reviewed:
Arizona Bay, CrAzYhOrSeGiRl88, friendly neighboor, bojanglesbisuit, Yellow
Zinnia, Shieldmaiden, horseluver, socal-schitzophrenic, simi, clarylissa, Queen's
Own, Fire Mage6, aly the thief, XXX, Ed the Sock and Richard Whitney.
'Tis better to have loved and lost?
Daine marvelled at the splendour of the Great Hall as she entered. Soft illumination flickered from the mage-lights set on the walls and below was a flowing sea of colour. Shades and tones of every description mingled and merged before her eyes, fashions of the strangest and dowdiest styles graced all attending. On a raised dais at one end of the room, there was an orchestra assembled; the sweetest music was being played by the musicians, lingering delicately in the air like drops of mist. A number of tables formed a large group at one side of the hall, the other side reserved for the socialising and the dancing that would follow the feast. She could see several pages garbed in the royal uniform milling around the crowd, offering refreshments to everyone.
Kitten tugged on her skirts lightly and pointed in a certain direction. Daine let her gaze sweep further around the room, and found a particular group of people in the place where Kitten was looking. Resplendent in beautiful finery, the King and the Queen sat regally on two enormous gilded thrones, greeting everyone who was presented to them. To their left stood the Lioness in purple satin and her husband, Baron George of Pirate's Swoop; they were talking amicably with Buri, commander of the Riders who was making excited gestures into the air. Daine had to do a double take at the formidable commander. She couldn't recollect ever having seen Buri in a dress before, though she certainly did make a striking picture, donned in crimson skirts.
Daine flashed a grin at Numair, noticing that he too had seen their friends. He smiled back at her, albeit a tad nervously, his face a little paler than usual. He must be worried what the others will think of us, she realised. She was nervous too, naturally, but she hadn't really expected him to be apprehensive - Numair was usually so strong and confident. His worry did nothing to appease the fresh bouts of butterflies that were currently causing chaos in her stomach. Subconsciously, her grip on his arm tightened as she tensed. A reassuring squeeze on her hand was hardly felt as they began to descend the stairs and as the herald announced their names. Everyone's heads turned towards them, surprised to have heard them being announced together. One glance at the couple making their way down the grand stairway was enough to raise suspicion in the minds of many. He was holding her a little too close, his arm a little too possessive for him just to be escorting her as a favour to his student. Immediately, the whispers started.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the couple turned and made their way towards the Royals, studiously ignoring the curious stares that were sent in their direction, accompanied by new rumour. Feeling the presence of so many eyes looking at her, Daine shrank closer to Numair, who risked a small grin down at her. The smile, however, did not mask the trepidation still there in his own eyes. He couldn't care less exactly what the court thought of them, but their friends, no, their opinion truly did matter. After all, both he and his Magelet had fled their native lands and sought sanctuary in Tortall; they had learned to love not only the country, but also their friends there. To have this relationship shunned would be to be cast from their family – again. He chanced a glance at those whom they were approaching, and hardly dared to hope that he saw a smile hovering about the King's mouth. Upon reaching the thrones, he executed a neat bow and felt Daine curtsy next to him. Feeling this gave him a surge of confidence and he straightened, a brief challenge sparking in his dark gaze.
The king laughed gently. "There's no need to treat this as a battle, Numair," he remarked softly. "The only thing I'm going to call you up about is the fact that you obviously didn't trust us enough to inform us of this, ah, development sooner."
Numair smiled and joined the circle of friends. "Forgive us, Jon. We were still adjusting to it ourselves."
"To be honest, some of us knew about it," Numair shot a surprised look at Buri. "Or at least," she amended, "we had an idea." A smug expression settled on her features upon seeing the worried glances the couple were trading. She noticed that she had managed to pique the curiosity of the others too, for she didn't indulge in idle gossip normally. "Well, you see, the problem with your bedroom being in the barracks is that certain visitors will be noticed by early-rising Horsemistresses, like Onua. She told me, naturally, but I haven't really had the chance to spread the news yet."
"For which we are grateful," Numair replied, somewhat abashed at the manner of their discovery. A little chuckle greeted him from his left. He looked down to see Daine smiling in amusement. "What, may I ask, is so amusing, Magelet?"
Daine tried to repress the twinkle in her eye. "Well, Evin did tell me not so long ago that he thought Onua had spotted you this morning. I didn' think she'd be a gossip."
"Great Gods," Jon murmured. "Even the Rider knows before I do. How I'm supposed to portray the image of an omniscient king if I don't even know what's happening in the lives of my friends? My felicitations to the both of you, and although I wish I could stay, I see that some of the Lords over there desire my presence." He rose gracefully and flashing a quick smile at the group around him strolled over to where the expectant nobles were waiting.
Thayet cast a glance around the room. "It looks like you've put a damper on the evenings of quite a few of the ladies here. No doubt they had hoped to monopolise Numair's attention."
The mage let out an inelegant snort. "They might as well get used to it. I'll have none of them," he slipped an arm about Daine's waist and smiled tenderly at her. "There isn't any way we're going to separate, is there, sweetling?"
Only Alanna noticed the brief hesitation before Daine answered, and the flicker of sorrow that lasted only an instant in her eyes. Thayet stood and extended her hand to Daine. "Come, child. I do believe we have much to discuss, about, well, certain things," she teased lightly. The two of them drifted off, leaving Alanna and Numair behind, Buri having disappeared some time before.
"Thus the female mind," commented Numair dryly in a voice of long- suffering. He sobered when he saw the expression on Alanna's face. She drew him aside, into the privacy of a nearby alcove, away from the nosy crowd. Scrutinizing his face carefully, she could discern no emotion other than slight confusion and a faint, lingering pride. Numair placed a hand on her shoulder.
"What's wrong? Something is certainly troubling you and it's not just the ball, is it?"
She looked up, a bright gleam in her eyes, but not one that reflected happiness. Pity creased her brow and a sad sigh escaped her lips. It frightened him, though he couldn't tell why. There was nothing to be sad about, surely? Alanna lifted a hand and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped its confines, stalling for time. Her eyes closed briefly.
"You told me that she was dying, Numair."
Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't an accusation, but an inquiry, and had the effect of stripping everything but desperate hope from him. He looked down at his restless hands, in order to avoid meeting her gaze.
"She was, but she told me that she was better, that all the sickness had gone."
"And you believed her?"
"I don't know. She had a point when she claimed that the healers would be no use in determining the truth of the matter, because they are unable to deal with immortal magic and its consequences of such a magnitude as this." He risked a glance at his friends face, and almost recoiled when he saw the extent of the disbelief that was written there. "She wouldn't lie to me, Alanna. She loves me." His voice rose slightly in defiance.
The Champion made a noise of impatience. "Numair, are you really that blind? Can you not think of any reason why someone might lie to a person they loved?" She took a step forward and grabbed his chin, forcing him to face what was really happening. Realisation of what he knew, what he had always known dawned and the walls of denial that had protected him for so long fell from his eyes. "No," he whispered. "It's too cruel."
Alanna's countenance softened in the face of his grief. "She had your best interests at heart, Numair. It was foolish of her, we both know that, but she only wanted to protect. But you can't deny the truth." She gazed out across the myriad of people in front of them. "Even from here I can see that she is too pale, and her movements are tired. She's put too much strength into maintaining this lie, and now she has very little strength. If . . . something were to happen, she wouldn't be able to resist."
"I know," rasped Numair. He sat down on a nearby chair, shaking, his hands clenching as his knuckles turned white from the strain. Alanna crouched beside him, and took one of his hands between hers. They sat in silence for a while, still hidden from the view of others. Alanna finally broke the uneasy quiet.
"Numair, you need to go back out there, and find Daine, lest people begin to think that this isn't really anything for you, just another to add to this list." She felt his whole body stiffen, and his eyes snapped open, blazing ebony fire. She hastened to soothe him, knowing that his state was now volatile, to say the least. "I'm not suggesting anything, but you know how fickle the court is. Go and find Daine, and try to act the same as you always have. If this is how she wants it to be, you must respect that. After all, you are now part of the lie, as elaborate as it is, and you have to help her continue to convince everyone of . . . this."
He rose, albeit reluctantly. "You are right, Alanna, as usual." The underlying grief in his voice wrenched her heart, but she forced herself to ignore it. "Besides, I imagine the feast will be starting soon. No doubt she is hungry – I can't have her waste away. After all, when we get married, everyone will expect her to outlive me, and that won't happen if she doesn't eat properly." With that, he moved off to find his beloved.
"Indeed it won't," she acquiesced quietly. She couldn't decide what was worse: unacknowledged denial, or a delusion fuelled by grief. Only one thing was certain. This wouldn't end happily.
*****
The feast was nothing less than spectacular. Food of every variety and arrangement graced all the tables, but even the richest delicacy tasted like ash in certain people's mouths. Nevertheless, their false gaiety met everyone else's and no-one was any wiser for the time being – their thoughts all focused on the rest of the evening, the dancing that would follow once everyone had rested.
In the divine realms, someone still gazed intently into a liquid mirror, and watched events unfold with bated breath, trembling with trepidation. Then they felt the summons from the Great Gods. It was about to begin.
*****
Daine sat down with a rustle of skirts, worn out from the dancing. Her energy had lasted perhaps forty minutes, not long, but longer than if she had been using her magic. Tonight, she thought to herself, something is going to happen tonight. I know it. She was so lost in her contemplations that she didn't notice that someone was talking to her until they rapped her knuckles. She jumped and looked across from her to see that Numair had sat himself down and was waiting fairly patiently for him for her to pay attention.
"Sorry," she smiled apologetically. "I was lost in my thoughts."
"Obviously." His smile was less than carefree, seemingly forced, for his eyes were empty and dark. "If you've succeeded in bringing yourself back to the present, perhaps we can talk?"
Daine fidgeted in her seat. That wasn't a question and she knew it. She had also noticed the lack of any address when he had spoken – he hadn't even said her name, let alone the familiar endearment of 'magelet.' And his eyes, they were so cold and expressionless and she didn't know why. Then it struck her. Oh Gods, she realised, he knows. He knows exactly how much I've been lyin' to him. He knows what's going to happen. This isn't good, this really isn't good. Trembling slightly, she interlaced her fingers, withdrew them and then tangled them again, trying to ignore everything other than them.
"Daine?" There was a note of warning in his voice, the faintest hint of a growl. He had tried so hard to follow Alanna's commands, but Gods help him it was too difficult. Every time he looked at Daine he was swamped by fear of what was going to happen. It was selfish really; he couldn't tell if he was scared of losing her because of the pain it might cause her, or the pain it would cause him. It wouldn't have taken Daine long to figure out that he was hiding something. She's not so much of a fool as I am, he thought bitterly. His fear had turned quickly into anger as the evening progressed. He observed her more closely now, and just a little while into the dancing he had seen the fatigue take a sudden fierce grip on her, and that was the final straw. She wasn't helping anyone by covering up things the way she was, and he had to make sure she knew it, regardless of the place they were in.
She looked up, guilty. "Sorry," she whispered.
"For what?" he hissed quietly. "Not answering me immediately? Being too tired to dance? Or for lying about everything? Don't think I can't see through your actions, Daine, as oblivious as I was at first. There's probably not a single damned person in this room who hasn't sensed that something is amiss with you!" He was being unreasonable, irrational, he knew that, but no-one could really blame given the circumstances.
"Not about everything, Numair!" she burst out, and suddenly remembering where they were, she lowered her voice. "I didn't tell you that I was fair sick, but only because I wanted to protect you! I was very stupid, I think, to do this, but I didn't want to hurt you, or make everything feel really sad because we'd always know that it wouldn't last. Please believe me when I say I did it 'cause I love you, Numair. I really do." Her voice trailed off in a whisper, a pathetic catch in it. Immediately, Numair was by her side, his anger mostly cooled by the sorrow in her face. He caught one of her hands in his and held it close.
"Ah, magelet, I'm sorry. I'm scared, sweetling, I'm so scared."
She flung herself into his arms at his confession and he held her for a long moment, as if Fate would snatch her from him that very instant. They ignored the curious glances their little display was receiving. No-on else really mattered.
After a moment, a curly head emerged and Daine settled back on her chair, still holding his hand tightly. A single tear was making a watery track down her soft cheek and Numair went to brush it away with his thumb. She caught his gaze, and after debating for a second, she ventured a question.
"Numair, where are your family?"
He stiffened almost imperceptibly, his mouth tightening slightly and she feared that yet again she had said the wrong thing. His voice was more cold and detached than she had ever heard it when he spoke.
"I do not have one. The people that I used to call family disowned me as soon as they heard the first breath of scandal that had my name coupled with the word treason in the same sentence. They were very, ah, loyal to the emperor, and the shame that my supposed crime would bring upon them if they still admitted to their relation to me was more than they could bear." His face softened slightly as he looked at Daine and saw the shock she felt. "I don't really regret it. I'm better off without them. Besides, for what it's worth, you're my family now." A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips and she felt a burning rush of guilt. She forced a smile as he brushed a kiss onto the tip of her fingers, a courtly gesture.
"Yes, I suppose I am."
*****
The evening slipped by almost unnoticed by some, except by Daine who still couldn't shake that feeling of dread that had haunted her all day. The time was already half an hour past midnight. She was resting at the side of the hall, sipping a glass of wine and talking softly with Alanna when a wave of pain unfurled its wings within her belly. It flew through her body, burning poisonously wherever it passed. She gasped, clutching her friend for support as she felt a furious heat spread through her; her blood boiled and spat in her veins, surging against itself in tides of pain for dominance. The glass she was holding shattered in her vice-like grip and its remains slipped from her fingers to fall to the floor. Where the sharpened shards had cut her skin silver blood flowed freely, streaking over her palm in tiny rivulets of colour. The world was spinning, she couldn't see past the black mist that had dropped before her eyes. All she could feel was the agony wracking her slight frame; someone's arms wrapped about her, trying to keep her upright, but the contact only intensified. From far away a desperate voice called out to her, but she couldn't distinguish the words through the haze that surrounded her.
Suddenly her world exploded into light, everything tinted by silver as her body arched forward, like a grotesque puppet on a string. This wasn't happening to her, she felt far too detached for it to be real; the pain had been replaced by a startling numbness and in this cold, surreal world she heard nothing but her own ragged breathing. Daine saw ladies screaming and men staring in horror and out of morbid fascination; she saw Alanna being repelled by some unknown force; she saw Numair, frantic, dropping to his knees before her, and reaching out for her; then she saw nothing.
*****
Numair was crouched there on the floor, cradling Daine's warm body to his chest. She was warm, so warm, and if he tried hard enough, he was sure that he could feel her breathing still. He dipped his head slightly, and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. It didn't matter that she didn't respond; after all, she was probably tired. She had expended an awful lot of energy to produce a magical display of that degree. Unaware of the tears that were beginning to slip silently down his cheeks, he murmured softly to her, urging her to wake up as images of what he had seen flashed through his mind, a moment lasting for eternity.
The sight had been terrible, but oddly beautiful at the same time. He had glanced over at his magelet, who had been standing with Alanna when he saw her face contort in pain. A quiet scream tumbled from her lips as the glass which she had been holding shattered and her body began to collapse to the floor. Even as Alanna had tried to reach for her, a visible aura of silver magic, the magic of immortals sprung from her skin. When Daine's eyes had snapped open, their gentle blue-grey had sharpened into metallic silver. This was when the first fit of panic seized Numair. His mind failed to recognise what was happening, but the transformation of her eyes into something so unfamiliar scared him. Something had taken over his magelet, and at that very minute was stealing her from him unchallenged. A vortex of terror had lashed out in his very core and he could only watch with dread as her body writhed and tensed under the magical onslaught. He was vaguely aware of the fact that his feet had been carrying him towards her, his voice straining to save her when the final burst of magic had surge through her defenceless frame. The flash was blinding, but somehow he managed to arrive at her side, reaching out in time to catch her defeated body. Now most of the magic had gone; just a trace remained, lighting the soft edges of her face with a gentle glow.
Numair jerked back to the present, and suddenly he became aware of the fact that Daine still hadn't moved, but lay in his embrace as silent as a ghost. A ghost. These words echoed in his head, and he suddenly saw her lifeless form anew, and her bloodless face soaked in tears which weren't hers. A cry of agony burst suddenly from his chest, and deep inside of him he felt something vital break irreparably. It was too soon, gods, it was too soon! She couldn't have gone, he needed her here now, they had so much more to do, so much more to say; he wasn't prepared for her to leave him so early, he would never have been prepared. From a distance he heard a voice, hoarse with fear and grief, screaming, begging and pleading with someone to come back. It couldn't be his voice; a mage like him didn't scream and weep, but a man like him did, he realised. From his icy well of grief he recognised that it was his voice, and again he felt the weight of his dead lover in his arms. Magic couldn't solve anything this time.
Numair was unaware of everything around him. He didn't notice the continued presence of the court, despite their noises of disbelief and numerous fits of vapours amongst the women, nor did he notice his friends, consumed as he was in sorrow, but frightened to approach him. They felt the raw magic radiating off him in his grief-induced fury, and could only watch helplessly as the greatest mage in Tortall, and reformed rake of the court broke down in the middle of the Great all, watched by all. There was a sudden blaze of silver to the right of the man, and much to the astonishment of all present, bar one, a stately badger appeared. When he spoke his voice reverberated clearly in the minds of everyone.
You knew this was going to happen, mage. You are not stupid. Why then do you grieve like this was entirely unexpected?
Numair's head snapped up at the sound of the voice of Daine's mentor, his eyes blazing ebony fire. He clutched her tighter against his chest, as if he were afraid that the badger would try and steal her body from him as well. A violent passion stirred within his breast at the sight of the apathetic creature standing before him.
"What do you care?" he snarled. "You wouldn't understand a foolish mortal emotion like love, would you? I grieve because she is . . . was everything to me, and now you bloody-minded gods with your asinine games have stolen her away from me!"
Enough! barked the badger. We have stolen nothing. She does not belong to you.
"But she does." Numair interrupted. "Through the love I bear for her, and that she bore for me, she was mine. Give her back to me, now."
The badger walked over to where Numair was still crouched on the ground, and raising his muzzle in a haughty gesture, he stared intently at the man. You would take her away from her parents? The mother she missed so desperately, and the father she longed to know? Her immortal blood won the battle. You are not the only one who cares for her.
Numair started slightly in shock. Of course he knew that her parents cared for her also, but it had not occurred to him that her death would take her to their embraces. His anger was stripped away from him in that moment, leaving him feeling lost and vulnerable. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"But she's my family too, Lord Badger. I can't bear to be separated from her in life as well as in death."
The badger gazed at him with something akin to understanding and pity. The choice for her life is hers. Pray she chooses well. He glanced at the body Numair still held. To accept this, you must let go completely. Relinquish your hold on all her mortal ties.
"But-"
Let her go, mage, let her go.
Slowly, Numair unfolded his clasp on her and as he lowered her gently to the ground, Daine's body shimmered once again with that accursed magic and faded from sight. He let forth a strangled cry as she disappeared, but all that was left was a stray breath of wind.
*****
Wow, that was the longest chapter I've ever written! Reward me and review me. (I've also not been well these past few days, so reviews out of sympathy for my fragile state are also welcome.)