Disclaimer: Anything that you recognise from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.
A/N: Thank you for the reviews/comments/advice! Mel, thanks for the advice on the books. I'm getting copies of the David Eddings books from the library, they sound good! :) I'm glad people are mostly liking the story so far. I'm not liking this chapter much, so hopefully the next one will go better. If people don't have time to review, don't worry, I can't always either. Feedback's good, but I'm not going to stress too much about it! Thanks again though, to the people who did! And to everyone who's reading this (the fic, not my boring A/N!).
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Daine's body physically jerked in reaction to the Elder's words. Immediately, and unconsciously, her head began to shake.
"No."
She blinked, realizing she'd voiced her instinctive denial. She was not alone in her disbelief. Azassandra's cheeks slowly flushed an indignant red, and both Daionarus and Lemerus looked skeptical.
The king's mouth opened. He visibly searched for words, face slack with shock. A tense silence ensued. Finally, the flabbergasted monarch seemed to gather his wits.
"What? I...what?"
If not his coherency.
"That's ridiculous," Daionarus stated flatly. "You must have been mistaken."
The older mage shook his head, frowning. "No. I know what I saw." He looked around, meeting a multitude of shocked stares. "I'm not suggesting that Jardan, of all people, is responsible for this!" he refuted, almost defensively. "I merely felt it my duty to report what I saw as unusual behaviour."
"Guzzling Blazewing blood," murmured a tall, brawny knight sardonically. "I'd call that a dashed sight more than unusual."
"Where is Jardan?" King Benjamin asked sharply. "I distinctly told him to be here."
"The mare, Warrior Maid, is foaling, Majesty," Lemerus spoke up. "It is, I believe, a breech birth, and Jardan's assistance was required."
Azassandra was studying her father's face, eyes teeming with incredulity. "Da, you don't actually believe that Jardan could have something to do with this! Do you?"
The king met her gaze impassively. "At the very least, Aza, he has some explaining to do."
Succumbing to a childish urge in her frustration, the princess stamped one resolute foot. "How can you even... You know that Jardan barely survived what happened to Kyria. What are you saying? That he manufactured her murder?"
"She was not murdered," Daionarus pointed out, distractedly. "She destroyed herself."
"She was murdered," Azassandra responded at once, mouth set in a grim line. "The Blazewings ruin and eventually take lives. It's murder." She paused. "Besides, Jardan was only sixteen when the first creatures attacked. He was too young."
"Old enough," muttered a sour-faced woman.
"He's always been a bit odd though, hasn't he?" another knight piped up hesitantly. "Reclusive little beggar, he was."
Daine scowled. She couldn't believe this. She hadn't known Jardan above a week, and she knew hogwash when she heard it.
Azassandra threw up her hands in disgust. "This is absurd!" She looked wildly around, and focused on the agitated Isorus. "How do you even know he's telling the truth?"
There was a startled hum and several of the company tutted disapprovingly. Apparently it wasn't the done thing to suggest that Elders had nefarious motives.
"Azassandra. That's enough!" Queen Lijana admonished her daughter. She sighed. "Nobody is accusing Jardan of anything." She glared around, daring opposition and looking surprisingly fierce. "We merely want to obtain his account of the night's events."
King Benjamin nodded stiffly. Extending one arm, he seized a red bell-pull. Within minutes, a servant bowed his way into the room.
"Your Majesty."
"Fetch Master Treylrawne, Simmonds. You should find him in the stables."
"Yes, milord. Without delay."
The door closed behind the attendant's eager efficiency, and tension descended like a heavy cloak.
"I'm sure he has a judicious explanation," Isorus garbled beneath his breath. "Yes, I'm quite sure he does."
Daine exhaled in a silent sigh, turning to look at the mage by her side. Numair was apparently absorbed in a tapestry on the wall opposite. She'd seen that intense glimmer in his eyes oft enough to recognize when her love was deep in thought.
Rubbing one hand over her middle, she tried to ignore the growing knot there. Apprehension was gnawing at her gut, and she switched her gaze to the open window, hoping to gain some peace from the outdoors. The sight of gathering storm clouds, however, did nothing to lessen her strange sense of fear.
She rolled her eyes. Since they'd arrived in the Isles, she'd become a fair doom-monger.
The door suddenly swung open, too swiftly, banging against ancient stones. With an apologetic glance at the royal family, Jardan caught it and closed it carefully. He looked up with a small polite smile, before pausing. Green eyes traveled warily from one face to another and Daine watched that familiar, hated, blankness slowly take hold.
"What's happened?" he asked grimly, looking questioningly at King Benjamin.
The king hesitated, all of a sudden looking twenty summers older. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Jardan. There's something...I'm sure there's perfectly fine reasoning behind it, but..."
"Behind what?" the younger man asked impatiently, when his ruler's words tailed off. "Have you discovered something about the Blazewings?"
"You tell us," a voice taunted.
"Braydon! Be quiet!" snapped Queen Lijana.
The smirking prince began to speak again but, catching his mother's eye, had second thoughts and sank into a mulish silence.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Jardan's words were quiet, his eyes dangerous.
Pushing away from his desk, the king straightened and, in unemotional tones, related Isorus' damning claim.
For one extended moment, the room seemed to adopt the dimensions and atmosphere of a tomb. Dreading her friend's reaction, Daine involuntarily winced. Her chest moved raggedly; to breathe seemed difficult.
"You think I created the Blazewings," Jardan uttered gradually, starkly. The softness of his voice was jarringly incompatible with his eyes, glittering feverishly against blanched white skin.
"No..." the king began, alarmed by his countenance.
"Yes." The retort hissed between clenched teeth. "Yes. You think I'm responsible for the scourge that destroyed my life!" All disbelieving restraint had vanished. Jardan was wildly, uncompromisingly, livid. And, Daine flinched, hurt to the bone. He'd been betrayed by those he respected, perhaps trusted, yet again. The anguished phrases continued, hurled out with cutting intensity. "You believe that I willfully made the filth that shattered a woman yesterday, which deprived an unborn babe of its father and slaughtered our warriors where they stood. Is that what you think?"
"Jardan..." Queen Lijana was horrified. She reached an imploring hand toward him, not attempting to hide the violent tremble of her fingers.
"I'm not condemning you, Jardan," Isorus said, rather desperately. "I think the world of you, son, you know that. If you'll just explain..."
Jardan's head moved back slightly. He was almost feral in his anger. One cold sweeping gaze encompassed them all.
"Gods damn every one of you."
Turning on his heel, he stalked from the room.
For some time after, the only movements in the royal quarters were the shadows teasing the floor beams.
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Rolling over in bed, restless and nauseated, Daine groaned quietly. Every time she closed her eyes, Jardan's stricken face glared at her in bitter accusation. She was wracked with guilt; she couldn't even rightly define why. And a persistent voice in her head kept niggling away, prodding her to beware a danger she couldn't identify.
"Odds bobs," she announced aloud, perfectly calmly. "I'm going mad."
A soft snore greeted this diagnosis. Daine watched her sleeping lover somberly. She rubbed a hand over her tired dry eyes, unable to even raise a smile at his deep slumber. She wished he was awake. She needed to hear another voice. She wanted reassurance, even if it was naught but empty promises. The People seemed to be staying away, which only added to her feelings of guilt, as if they somehow blamed her for their beloved Jardan's pain. Even Zek had abandoned her, she sulked, rather unfairly. The little marmoset had taken up residence in Lady Madelyn's room, for some reason. As if drawn to the bereaved woman's desperation, he had last been seen curled around her neck. And, for the first time since her husband's death, the young widow was sleeping.
Daine certainly didn't begrudge her the company – Gods knew the woman needed whatever comfort she could get – but, despite Numair's proximity, she felt oddly lonely. A heavy feeling dragged at her throat, and, to her immense disgust, she felt a fair strong inclination to cry. Shifting closer to the mage's body – curled up to accommodate the confines of her mattress – she pushed wayward curls roughly out of her face and rested her head against his belly. His skin was smooth and warm, and the gently lifting rhythm of his breathing soothed her. She lay as quietly as possible, willing sleep to take her quickly.
An hour later, she was still wakeful, and growing increasingly frustrated.
Forehead creased in a frown, Daine jumped when long fingers moved to stroke the lines away. She turned over and unhappily returned Numair's sleepy smile. Running a hand through his loose hair, he sat up slightly, looking at her with concern.
"You look awfully troubled, sweetling," he commented huskily. Gently encircling her arm with one hand, he tugged her toward him. She didn't resist, nestling close and rubbing her cheek against his neck. He smiled against the tickle of her hair and bent his head to see her better. "Is it Jardan?" he asked, his voice serious.
He felt, rather than saw, her shrug. "Partly," she mumbled, lips brushing his jaw. Numair tightened his hold briefly at the touch, then forced himself to relax.
"It was appalling," he acknowledged. "But he'll be alright, magelet. He's strong. He must be, to have pulled through what happened."
Daine remained silent for a moment. Then she twisted slightly in his embrace, and met his gaze. "Numair, what do you think of love?"
"Love?" he asked, yet he didn't seem surprised by the question.
"Mmm," she muttered, breaking eye contact and burrowing back into his arms. She barely breathed as she waited for his answer.
It was a long time in coming.
"I think," he said, finally, "That there are some things even beyond the explanation of mages." He sighed. "I don't why we love, sweet, or what it means exactly. But I do know how powerful it is."
"Even more powerful than black robe magic?" Daine teased, amusement lightly touching her face.
He tugged playfully on one curl, winding it round his finger. "Well, maybe not greater than my Gift, but still pretty potent," he conceded, smiling wickedly.
"D'you think love is bad? Destructive?" The words came out in a rush. She had to ask.
He sobered, and watched her for long minutes. Then he shook his head firmly. "No. I don't...I think love heals; it makes people stronger. It doesn't tear them down and destroy them. Hate does that; revenge, anger, bitterness, maybe. Not love. Even if it's betrayed, or not reciprocated, the knowledge that you were capable of that kind of feeling, that total faith in another being, is still there. It's what makes you alive and, if not wholly content and complete, at least as close as it's possible to be." He broke off and shrugged rather self-consciously, a tinge of red rising in his face. "Although I'm hardly the reigning authority on love. Mithros knows, I've had my fair share of cynicism."
He met her gaze. "You're the most important part of my life, magelet, and you make all the other madness worthwhile. And it's more than enough."
Daine was speechless. Numair was not one for long declarations of love, and she'd never heard him talk like that before. Ever.
Smiling slightly tremulously, she reached out to touch his cheek. "How'd you get so smart?" she asked, fighting for flippancy, terrified she might cry.
"Naturally brilliant, I've been told," he quipped, settling back against the pillows.
She lay still for a moment.
"I love you." Her voice was muted, but sincere.
"I love you too." He dropped a light kiss on her lips, then paused. "But if you keep me awake much longer, I may become less enamored."
Daine poked him hard in the ribs, and giggled.
"Go to sleep, Numair."
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Some time later, she was still wide awake, but feeling a lot happier.
Vows of devotion did that for a person.
Gently easing out from Numair's arms, she padded softly to the window, hoping the fresh air would make her sleepy. Leaning on the sill, she peered out. The light breeze on her face was warm, but the sky still looked ominous. Unlike the previous clear, starry nights, thick clouds knotted together, hanging low. Daine instinctively scanned the horizon, searching for moving shapes. After her previous experiences in the Isles, she was paranoid about shadows in flight. A movement caught her eye, and she frowned, squinting. Recognition was quickly joined by concern. The falcon soaring into the distance was emanating a very familiar glow. She didn't know what Jardan was up to, but acted on instinct. Climbing onto the stone ledge, she eased out the opening, and paused to collect herself. Then, in one swift motion, she pushed off from the wall and leapt into nothing.
A sudden flash of lightning lit the silhouette of a second falcon as it swooped to join the first.