Islana's Story
Islana regarded herself and her dress critically in the mirror. The seamstress waited nervously, and Erra looked on impassively.
She now looked healthier than she had since returning to Kalatsu. The pregnancy itself hadn't begun to show, though Ryn told her it should soon; but having been home for a month, and eating and exercising well, meant she had gained back the weight she'd lost, the scars had begun to fade, and the bags under her eyes, while still noticeable, where no longer quite so prominent.
That was really the problem: they were from not sleeping well. She still had nightmares, several times a week; and on the nights when dreams didn't force her awake, she had trouble sleeping to begin with. No matter how many times she justified to herself that she'd done the right thing, the guilt she felt about Cleran wouldn't leave her. And she was lonely—achingly lonely for him.
As strange as it still was that they'd come together, they had fit so well. They'd both been outcasts—him for his status as a bastard, her for running away to become a Knight. They'd felt so many of the same frustrations and fears, and had given each other someone to cling to. She had needed him, he'd seemed to know instinctively how to calm her when she was terrified—both when she'd been his prisoner, and when he'd been hers. And she was certain he'd needed her as well...
But it was too late for that, now. She'd done what she was sure was the only option, and not only had he been forgiven by Dysis, he'd somehow become equally as important in Arpiar. And, heartbroken though he might have been at the time, she was sure this was better in the long run. They'd never have been able to stay together, and at least this way, he would never regret that. And she had more than enough practice at ignoring personal loss.
This way was better.
"I can't move in this," Islana declared, pulling herself back to the reflection in the mirror. The seamstress winced—Islana had made her feelings on dressing as a Princess very well known. She'd already rejected three dresses for the same reason.
Erra rolled his eyes. "You don't need to move in it," he reminded her. "You're going to be sitting, and perhaps dancing—and those dances will be courtly and controlled."
"I can't protect myself in this," she clarified. Which was true; the bodice and sleeves hindered her upper body movement, though at least this time, the seamstress had given the skirt enough room for her to be able to run—it might catch on things, but the material was thin and delicate, and she was strong enough to rip it, if it came to that.
"You'll have an escort of my best private armsmen to protect you," Erra told her.
"And I should trust them?"
"I do."
She scoffed. Erra's personal army had no love for her, and little interest in her safety. He had recruited them from everywhere on Kalatsu, from families that had lost loved ones to the Warriors, but who felt that the Knights were not doing enough to protect them. There was so much bitterness in so many people—the kind Erra had shared for so long. He'd harnessed that, and raised an army that outnumbered the Knights.
And it had done exactly what he'd promised. Though a large number of guards protected him at his stronghold palace in Kal'Ishka, there were members of this personal army stationed in every city, and in many smaller towns. In cities, there were enough to defend against attacks; in towns, the armsmen drilled local men in fighting and taught them to work together as a militia. And though the army couldn't save every town from slave raids, it had cut the number in half.
But that same army hadn't shared Erra's change of heart. Not towards the Goddess, and certainly not towards Islana. She had been a symbol of everything the Knights stood for, and had used that position to openly defy Erra many times. Of course his personal armsmen had no interest in her safety.
And after everything she'd been through, Islana had no intentions of leaving her safety in anyone else's hands.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 28: Kaleal's Blade
Ocan stood back and observed the dining hall of Aleann Manor. Though the manor was quite sizable, few rooms were designed to accommodate so many people at once, so it only made sense that the dining hall, the largest room available, was the one where all parties involved with the negotiations gathered.
The Voice of Kaleal, Kalin Malistar, sat at one end on the table. He was dressed well, in the light buttoned shirt and breeches that nearly all nobility wore on Arpiar—but covered in a deep blue and silver robe, to remind the gathering of just who he was. As though anyone could forget.
At his right was a Knight, the old man who spoke their language natively. Ocan was sure he was the reason he'd lost his shadow slave. Dysis had implied as much.
The other Knight who'd arrived, Jereh, was standing in the back of the room, sword at her side, looking at the proceedings impassively. Ocan clenched a fist silently, hardly believing that she would be allowed to walk freely through the manor she'd destroyed.
Dysis sat at the other end of the long table, hands folded in front of him. He watched calmly as people around him spoke and argued, occasionally glancing at the middle of the table for support. That was where the bastard sat, in the middle of everything. And Dysis kept stopping to make eye contact with him, looking for subtle nods and agreement. Ocan narrowed his eyes—the bastard trying to usurp his half-brother's power, as usual. Why Dysis allowed it, Ocan didn't understand. Why Dysis allowed any of this... this travesty to come to pass, Ocan didn't understand.
Two of the High Families sat on either side of the table. Lord Kaveran and his son sat on one side, near Dysis; on the other side was Rickard Dalasan and his wife. Across from them, at Cleran's side, sat Serissa Alayrin, still insisting on fulfilling her husband's duties—she had allowed Shoris to sit with her at the table, but not to come into his inheritance as High Lord. Disgraceful. And finally, sitting on Cleran's other side was Lord Taylin Sanasset, with his nephew—and heir—Talathis Sanasset. Retainers, Warriors, and servants (though, unsurprisingly, no slaves) sat at the edges of the room, waiting to be called on. Ocan sat among them, watching.
Watching, and waiting.
Something felt distinctly wrong to Cleran. He couldn't quite put his finger on what; the room was rife with tension to begin with. and Dalasan kept glancing nervously at Dysis, their body language begging for his approval with every word they spoke. On the other hand, they positively glowered at every word Cleran said. Which he expected.
But at the other side of the table, Serissa had smoothly assumed the burden of representing herself and Lord Taylin. Taylin's nephew kept shifting, uncomfortable, clearly wishing to speak for himself. But he was only the heir; he did many of Taylin's duties, as the Lord was too old and frail to do most of them himself, but he was not the one who would be voting on, or signing, the Agreement.
Everyone was nervous. Their voices were as calm and measured as possible, of course; no one dared to be rude. But he could feel it. And he could also feel something deeper, something more sinister. The room was too crowded with people—and with their feelings—to tell quite what it was that he sensed, nor from whom he felt it, but Cleran could tell that there was definitely something wrong.
It was an edict from Kalin, not an agreement, that the slaves would be freed. The agreement was over how—releasing everyone immediately would flood Kalatsu with refugees who had no skills except labor, and didn't even speak the language; at the same time, it would leave Arpiar's workforce decimated, and wreck havoc on its harvest. So the argument was over timing; how to move freed slaves in a way that would leave both Islands able to cope.
Cleran did his best to sit back and listen, and try to sort out who was feeling what, who was lying, and who was so angry. But the emotions were overwhelming and coming at him from all directions; he wasn't practiced enough at using his ability to sense feelings that he was able to get much figured out.
By the time the group was ready to give up for lunch, he was as frustrated as everyone else at he table, and keeping calm only by an act of will. The emotions he was feeling were affecting him, and he wasn't sure anymore which were his own and which were external.
As lunch was being served, most people got up to stretch; the morning session had been long and difficult. Cleran stepped outside the room to try and catch his breath, and a moment later, Kalin was there, Jall at his side.
"If you'd like some unasked for advice, block everything out," Kalin said quietly.
Cleran turned to stare at him. "How did you know?"
"When we first met, you must have noticed there was something... more with me in the room." Cleran nodded. "That was Kaleal—my bond with Her is strong, and more direct when I try to... assess people. As, I would assume, yours is with Ocando."
"You felt it?"
"I do, and I used to try and use it much more. But it makes people distrust you, once they know what you're doing." His voice went sharp, momentarily, and Cleran met his eyes.
"There is something not right in the room. I don't know who or what, but something is wrong. I don't want to be open to an attack."
"And who do you think is going to attack?" Kalin demanded. "My people know enough about mistakes to never risk confrontation when I'm in the room. There is no danger from us."
"I didn't say there was," Cleran answered. "Just that I can feel a danger, and don't want to be unprepared for it."
Kalin regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded. "Be careful, then; emotions are powerful and can be as overwhelming to you as to the person who feels them. That I know from experience."
He didn't enlighten Cleran as to what experience, but Cleran nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Kalin nodded and he and Jall walked off. Cleran watched them thoughtfully, wondering if Kalin had been able to sense what he was doing only because of his own experiences, or if it was obvious to the rest of the room. But no one else gave him so much as a sideways glance, and the dirty looks were the same ones he'd been receiving for weeks.
Cleran spent the meal trying to pin down the emotion again, but it had shifted and he wasn't sure how. It felt dimmer, and was hard to sense with everyone else's nerves crowding him and making him nervous.
The chatter at lunch was also awkward and muted. It was almost a relief when the meal was finished, and several of the assigned helpers from the edges of the room moved forward to clear the dishes and clean the table. The group included both servants and Warriors, though Cleran was still surprised to see Ocan stand to join him.
And that was when he felt it.
All of the wrong emotions he'd sensed earlier came to the surface and practically assaulted him. As Ocan moved, Cleran felt paralyzed, overcome by the combination of rage, loathing, determination, and righteousness—stunned. He watched as Ocan leaned down next to Dysis, as though to pick up a plate or cup, saw the knife blade appear in his hand from beneath his sleeve, saw him lurch forward—
He saw blood and the emotions screamed at him. Pride, power, accomplishment; terror, shock. He tried to move, but faltered, the screams in the room began to echo the screams in his mind and he couldn't focus to shut it all out. He felt the heat growing in his head, saw with the same orange-tinted vision he'd had before first discovering his identity, and felt the flames growing within him—
And then from nowhere there was a sliver of calm, and another one, forcing themselves into his mind. One felt distinctly like Kalin's presence, the same one he'd mentioned earlier. But even as he managed to shut down the flames and heat and return to his own senses, he saw where the other source of calm came from.
Jereh had been silent in the room, at its edge, she now had a sword in her hand. Cleran stood, still frozen with shock, and she raised it and sliced at Ocan. Ocan was armed, but not expecting it; he tried to parry with his knife and ended up with a slice up his arm. He dropped the knife and went for his sword, pulling away from her, but it was too late.
Jereh moved quickly and efficiently. He parried once, clumsily, his hand slick with blood. His sword slipped and Jereh stabbed low, at his torso; her blade came back bloody. Bloody, and glowing.
Ocan staggered and fell, and Jereh froze for a moment. The glow around her blade was an iridescent blue, bright and hard to look at. The light began to crawl up her arm and consume her, even as she sheathed the blade, still bloody, and stepped over to Dysis.
Cleran was no longer in shock, simply spellbound. The stab wound had gotten Dysis's chest, but not his heart; even so, it was bleeding badly and Dysis was wheezing, gasping for air.
Jereh pulled his shirt open unceremoniously, and placed both hands over the wound. The glow now covered her entirely, and grew brighter; everyone winced away from the light, even Cleran.
It faded slowly, and the room went silent. Jereh stepped back. The wound was no longer bleeding, and Dysis's eyes were closed, but his breathing was steady. Cleran shifted his gaze back to Jereh. Her eyes were unfocused, and still tinted with a blue glow. They closed, and she fainted.
[eyecatch]
Tiernan was the first person to start moving, within moments he was at Dysis's side. Cleran started to move, then stopped and shouted for quiet and calm; when no one responded he reached for the flames in his mind and flared every candle in the room up several feet. It shocked most people into silence, and he said more calmly, "If everyone would be quiet."
When no one moved or spoke, he returned the flames to normal and didn't bother to spare a thought for the melted wax now caking the tables. He turned to Tiernan, who met his gaze quickly. "He's... fine. Breathing well, strong heartbeat... No wound. Unconscious, though."
Cleran let out a deep breath, relieved.
"And Jereh?" Kalin asked, sounding choked.
Tiernan knelt in the pool of blood that had formed between Jereh and Ocan, and checked her the same way as he'd checked Dysis. "I don't know," he said finally. "Her heart and her breaths—slow. Really slow."
Cleran shot a look at Kalin, who looked stricken. "The Healer she was training—the boy. Send him to her room. Please. Jall—"
Jall was already standing and crossed the room. He crouched down to pick up Jereh as carefully as he could, then turned to look at Kalin and Cleran. "If I were you, I'd probably adjourn for the day."
Cleran glanced at Kalin, who nodded. "Very well. I want a Warrior to escort each guest here back to their quarters and wait with them for word from me." He looked at the line of Warriors at the back of the room, who looked just as stunned as he'd felt, but even so he didn't want to take chances. He named two of the present Warriors who he knew fairly well, and whose loyalties he was fairly sure of, to accompany Lady Serissa, Lord Taylin, and then another to stay with Dysis; he didn't want to take any chances there. He also gave orders to have Ocan, who was either dead or dying, and he didn't much care which, brought to the rarely used dungeon cell.
He followed Kalin and Jall out of the room and to the quarters they were using. Jall lay Jereh across her bed, and Cleran felt a stab of guilt that he was here, and not with Dysis. But Dysis was well protected, and Healed. And whatever was wrong with Jereh had happened when she had saved him, and Healed him.
The Healer slave, with Tiernan on his heels, hurried into the room and saw her. He bit his lip.
"Find out what's wrong with her," Cleran said. "Help her and you're free."
The boy blinked once and nodded. He walked to the bed and sat next to Jereh, cross-legged, and put a palm to her forehead. Kalin stepped forward, and put a hand on the boy's neck; he looked startled for a moment, but then nodded. Kalin's hand began to glow steadily, with the light Cleran had seen from Healers before—not as intense as the one Jereh had shone with, but very similar. The boy's hand lit too, and he closed his eyes.
There was nothing but silence for several minutes. Jall began to pace, and finally tapped Cleran's shoulder and gestured to the doorway. They stepped outside, leaving the door open so they could see what happened clearly, and spoke quietly. Tiernan glanced at them, but stood beside the bed, intently watching Jereh.
"Do you know what this means, if she—when she wakes?" Jall murmured.
"That Dysis owes her his life—that Arpiar owes her its gratitude."
"Aside from that."
Cleran shook his head no.
"I felt it, and I'm sure Kalin did too. Kaleal chose her."
"Chose her for what?"
"To take over for me." Jall gave him a serious look. "I've wondered for several years. Now I'm sure."
Cleran nodded. "And what will you do?"
Jall smiled. "Retire, and get to know my niece. Maybe take up whittling."
"Whittling?"
Jall shrugged. "I already know how to use a knife. I suppose I'll need a hobby, if I'm no longer fighting Kalin's battles."
Cleran smiled. "Congratulations... You won't miss it?"
"Not at all."
"Do you think she'll be able to do it?"
Jall nodded. "I wasn't sure before. I am now."
Cleran glanced inside, but nothing had changed. "He's more powerful than any of our Healers, but untrained. I can call for more help."
Jall glanced in nervously, and nodded. "Have someone here waiting. It can't hurt."
Cleran nodded and stepped back into the room; rank had some privileges, and one was that he could send Tiernan to find a Healer, and stay with Jereh and Kalin himself. Tiernan gave Jereh a long, lingering look, then nodded and hurried off. But his footsteps were still echoing down the hallway when Kalin stirred, and the boy slowly followed him.
It was the boy who spoke. "She poured much of herself into Healing his Holiness. It was a death wound."
"But she Healed it," Cleran said.
The boy nodded. "His body was badly injured, but his mind—his soul..." He looked at Kalin, and trailed off.
"He was dying," Kalin said. "His soul was moving on. She Healed his body, and brought his soul back, but at great cost to herself. That's why attempting to heal a death wound often takes the Healer as well."
"So what's going to happen?" Cleran asked.
A silence filled the room. But it was Jall who filled it. "We pray. People have been brought back from further into death before."
Kalin dipped his head. "Her connection to Kaleal would have to be very deep."
"It is," Jall said. "You must know."
Kalin nodded. "It's there, but new. I think without it, she would never have been able to save Dysis."
Cleran blinked, a memory ringing through his mind with sudden clarity.
"But if you ever need me, you can find me here. Now that you know the way."
"I don't know the way."
"Yes, you do. It's inside you now."
He shut his eyes, the quiet speech in the room fading away. He remembered what it had looked like, the stars and the grass. The vast meadow, and the slight melancholy—
"Hello," Ilyan said easily. He was lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky.
"Jereh is dying," Cleran said without preamble. "She saved my brother's life, and she's dying."
Ilyan sat up. "That's very serious, Cleran."
"Can you help her?"
"She truly gave her life for his?"
Cleran nodded. "As far as I know."
"Well, then." Ilyan, the Angel of Sacrifice, pointed up at the sky, and it blurred for a moment. The landscape faded.
Cleran wasn't sure what he was seeing. The slave, Kalin, and Jall, were all standing above Jereh; Ilyan was in the room too, but not clearly. His presence was a shining silver light hovering above Jereh. Focusing on it made him dizzy; it looked like a shadow that were cast from nothing. It shifted every time Cleran stared at them.
He waited tensely, murmuring a prayer himself. He didn't feel an answer forming in response, but before he could begin to panic, Ilyan began to fade.
Then Jereh's eyes opened.
"Welcome back," Jall said quietly.
"I saw an angel," Jereh murmured. "Ilyan..."
"He was here," Kalin answered.
"I was—I was floating," she murmured. "Alone. I felt you, Kalin, but I couldn't find you. And then there was Ilyan, and—I felt others, but don't know who they were. They were all so powerful." Her voice sounded haunted, she was barely whispering. "It was peaceful, calm. I wanted to follow them, but they wouldn't let me. Ilyan showed me the way back.
"He brought me back. He said I had work to do."
Jall nodded. "You do."
She looked at him, and tried to sit up, but changed her mind and lay back down. "He didn't tell me what that meant."
"It means you're the Blade, Jereh. And good luck to you."
Jereh stared at him, as though she didn't understand, and it still hadn't sunk in entirely when Tiernan returned, a harried looking Healer with him.
"Oh," he said. "You're awake."
"Is Dysis..." Cleran started.
"Fine," the Healer said. "Asleep. I was pulled away from him to tend her."
"Thank you," Jereh said simply.
"May I go?" he demanded of Cleran.
Cleran gestured at the door, rolling his eyes. Tiernan stepped up to the bed, however. "How are you?"
"Tired, and thirsty."
Tiernan nodded. "I should have thought of that. I'll go get you water."
"Thank you, Tiernan," she said quietly.
He gave her a fast smile and hurried off again.
Cleran watched him go and raised an eyebrow. He didn't remember Tiernan and Jereh as being so friendly, particularly not after he learned of Jereh's role in the Massacre. He made a note to ask about that later, as well.
"I'm going to check on my brother," he decided. "Jereh—thank you." He paused. "How... How were you so prepared?"
"You never believed a Warrior would turn against you," she said simply. "But I never trusted Ocan."
Cleran nodded. Something else to think about.
Kerev Alayrin stood at the edge of the kitchen, watching the subdued workers prepare dinner. The workers were a mix of servants and slaves, under the cook's careful gaze. All slaves at the Aleann Manor were well treated, at Serissa's insistence, but given the negotiations going on in the Manor, this was a particularly delicate time. The slaves were being treated extremely well (in fact, they were being given a slight stipend, and all slaves were now being given the same meals as those in the Manor itself) and kept out of sight of the negotiations. Not that it fooled anyone; Kerev was certain that the group from Kalatsu knew what was going on.
Not being much of a cook himself, he was up to his elbows I soapy water when Eliz walked in. He could give direction at least as well when he was working himself, and he always felt awkward standing around watching others work. And given the day's events, he'd realized, everyone else was too distracted to take care of trivial things like getting food on the table.
Eliz looked around at the workers in the kitchen for a moment, then took a towel and began to dry and put away dishes as Kerev finished them. He said nothing for a long time, not noticing who she was; then when he looked up he did a doubletake. "Lady Tanners?"
"Lord Alayrin," she answered. "I—I wasn't sure anyone had thought about..."
He nodded. "The Manor is my responsibility, as my mother is kept too busy with the Agreement to worry about hosting."
"And so you agreed to take care of the women's work?" she asked.
Kerev gave her an amused look. "Someone had to do it," he answered, finishing the last dish. He turned to one of the slaves and began to give instructions on table setting and preparing the food for serving. "And anyway," he said, turning back to Eliz, "my mother—the Lady of the house—hasn't set foot in a kitchen in my lifetime."
"And so you, her son, have that...honor?"
"I, as her youngest son, have the honor of doing things my mother and older brother are too busy for," he answered. "And if that includes running a household, so it goes."
Eliz raised an eyebrow. "And you have yet to marry a woman to take this work away from you. You'd think even the younger son of a High Lord would have his pick of Ladies."
Kerev raised an eyebrow. "Who's to say I haven't?"
Eliz place a hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow herself. "You rogue," she said coyly.
"As though you're anything else yourself?" he answered.
"Are you insulting my honor?" she demanded.
"Do you have any honor left underneath that very, very light skirt of yours?"
She set her jaw. "A gentleman shouldn't say such things about a lady."
"If I see a lady, I'll hold my tongue." But he smiled, then told her, "Your game with Cleran can't last forever, Eliz; my mother is hoping to see him married off into the Kelanister family to cement this agreement."
Eliz stared at him for a moment, clearly surprised. "That's... unfortunate. For the Holy Son, of course."
"Of course." Kerev sounded amused. "So when your brother inherits your family's land and your prospect has deserted you, what comes next? Lord Sanasset will hardly allow his son to wed a woman who's so well known for... Well. Tiernan's reputation is far too important for that, his father would never allow it."
"I can be very persuasive, Kerev," she said.
"I've noticed that once or twice myself." He gave her a smug look. "But you would hardly have noticed me noticing; you were too busy batting your eyelashes at my brother."
"Kerev?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Shoris and I are close, and I don't envy him the responsibility that comes with his inheritance. Compared to that, my own inheritance—this Manor, in fact—is small. Though I suppose I might need help with it eventually. If I could find a Lady of decent station, that is, who might be content with wedding a landed second son. Whose family has a certain amount of influence."
Eliz stared at him, then slowly smiled. "If I see such a Lady, I'll be sure to let her know you're looking for her. Though I don't know if the Holy Son would be pleased..."
"You've already told me that he doesn't love you. He's honorable enough; what sort of man would hold you regardless?"
"Kerev..." Lisandra said quietly. "This is probably a kinder offer than I deserve. Are you sure it's what you want?"
"As I said, you never noticed me." Kerev leaned back against the counter, and looked out the window, embarrassed. "It's what I've wanted for a very long time."
Eliz gazed at him for a moment. She didn't know him well, though she had known him for quite some time; like his brother, he'd always been a gentleman. But he'd always been easier going than his brother, probably because he didn't have the responsibility of being Heir. When they'd talked, they'd gotten along well, though Eliz had never paid him much attention.
But then, Eliz was also never one who had planned to hold out for love. Manipulation, with the goal of ending in marriage, was the only tool she'd ever had. This would give her a marriage nearly as good as her lofty goals, and she'd always been willing to do far worse than getting along well.
She smiled at Kerev. "Well, then," she said quietly.
[CLOSING CREDITS]