Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

20

Mhera sighed, unceremoniously pulling the veil from her head. She kicked off her soiled slippers and raked her damp hair back from her cheeks.

"There, my lady; all is in readiness. Shall I help you undress?" Virri placed a pair of clean towels at the side of the washing tub, which steamed with hot water. The soothing fragrance of herbs rose into the air. Here in the chamber which had been Mhera's own since her infancy were the comforts of a noblewoman's life. The balcony door was slightly ajar, permitting a draft that stirred the curtains; the bed was lushly dressed with draperies of silk. Yet the walls were stark white, the floor bare of carpeting, and the dressings and trappings of the room were all gray.

It had nearly broken Mhera's heart to see the change. She had longed to look upon the vivid blues and greens and pinks of her girlhood bedchamber, but it seemed her uncle, in the interest of preserving her soul, had thought ahead and brought some of the Haven back to the palace for her. When had he done this, she wondered? How long had it been so, waiting for her return?

"No. Thank you, Virri. That will be all." Mhera smiled, but whatever warmth there may have been between them so many years ago had faded. "It is good to see your face. Truly. If you are not expected elsewhere, go have a cup of tea and rest your feet."

The servant smiled and bowed low. On her left cheek, her marke was bold. "Thank you, my lady."

Left alone, Mhera made quick work of bathing. Although she would have loved to luxuriate in the hot water, she knew to do so would be to embitter her return to the Haven. Hot water for bathing was an extravagance that was not permitted there. Mhera, on the brink of committing herself for life, would choose austerity to save herself the pain of self-pity. After drying her body, she donned her shift, then combed and plaited her hair into a long braid.

Finally, she pulled on her clean habit. Just as she was tying the wide belt, there was a knock at the door of her chamber. She hastened to finish, fumbling with her sleeves, and glanced toward where her veil lay draped over a chair.

She ignored it.

Feeling exposed, yet free, Mhera went to the door.

"My lady," Prince Koren said, bowing very low. Mhera felt the sting of the patronizing gesture. "Welcome back to the palace. How is life on that lonely rock with all those dried-up old women?"

Mhera pressed her lips together, meeting her cousin's eyes. She had not expected to feel relief upon seeing her family again, and this first meeting did not surprise her. She resolved to stand her ground. "I find it a welcome relief in many ways, Your Highness."

The prince smirked at her. He had no doubt caught her meaning. "Come. Your parents await you, and of course my father is most eager to see his little pet. I'm to escort you to meet them."

Mhera's stomach dropped. Her parents were here, too? And now she was to be escorted into their presence like a guest, someone who no longer belonged, and with her hair still wet ... Her mother would be disgusted. She had hoped for some time to herself to rest before running this gauntlet.

Mhera looked down at the damp spot on her habit under her braid, vacillating, but to refuse was impossible. She reluctantly accepted Koren's proffered arm, her long sleeve swaying between them as they began to walk. She could feel Koren's gaze taking in the modest robe with amusement.

The prince reached out to touch Mhera's damp braid. "Look, you carry back the salt water with you! How quaint. Poor girl. Does it pain you to contemplate what you cast aside in favor of that ill-fitting robe? Jewels. Your soft bed. Books. Wine. A husband."

Mhera bit back a reply. Let Koren believe it had been her choice. She changed the subject to him, instead. "How have you fared, Prince Koren? It has been so long."

"Well enough. I've married. You'll meet my wife in a few moments, I expect, and my son later this evening. My greatest occupation remains the rebellion. You have helped us some. It must give you great satisfaction, knowing the role you play in the war. Not many a woman can say such a thing."

Mhera was surprised, and not pleasantly, by his words. Using her gift was not satisfying to her. She knew, abstractly, that her visions might help her uncle advance in the war against the Arcborn rebels, and that much had been a small comfort, but she had never considered herself an active part of the effort. All she had wanted was to help capture Rhodana—not that she had much choice in the matter, for it was also her uncle's will. "I do not think of myself as involved in the war. Not like that."

"Oh, but you are, cousin. Your little visions have led to some victories—not least of all the capture of their bitch queen. You'll be as gratified as I will to see her head roll."

Mhera stopped walking and pulled herself away from her cousin. She met his satisfied gaze with confusion. Of course she knew Rhodana would be executed; that was why she had come home. She needed to witness it. She needed the closure.

But would she gratified? The thought of taking pleasure in death of any kind turned her stomach. "I have had quite enough of death to satisfy me, Koren. You speak of me as if I am some violence-monger. Hold your tongue."

The prince looked surprised to hear her sharp words, and annoyed as well. "What, play the innocent now? I'll say what I please to you!"

"And what, pray, do you please to say to my niece?"

Relief came to Mhera in a complicated flood, followed quickly by a pang of fear. The cool tones of the emperor had an instant effect on Koren. His face went red and he stepped back from her, lowering his head in a gesture of deference to his father, who was approaching behind Mhera's back.

Mhera turned slowly, looking down the hall to where Korvan stood attended by several servants and his councilor, Yorek. She looked at him for a moment, feeling faint with trepidation. Then, she sank to her knees on the cold, gleaming floor of the hallway and bowed her head. "Exalted One."

Emperor Korvan swept down the hall, tall and straight-backed. His plain golden circlet was the only symbol of his rank to be seen. The same aura of power that Mhera remembered from her youth surrounded him: a sense that he was a leader of men, not to be disobeyed.

Yet the emperor bent to take Mhera's hands and pulled her to her feet. He leaned in to place a kiss on her brow. "My dear little dove," he said, folding her into his arms. "Welcome home."

Mhera allowed herself to melt into the embrace. He held her as he'd held her one moonlit night when, as a girl, she walked down the dark hallways, confused and afraid. He held her as if he were her father, welcoming home a child who had been too long away. Mhera closed her eyes tightly, fighting the tears of relief and gratitude. Her throat burned with the urge to weep.

For several moments, they embraced. Forgiveness passed between them without the need for words: forgiveness for suffering, forgiveness for silence.

At length, Yorek gently said, "Your Grace, Princess Mharin and Ambassador Joris await your pleasure in the dining hall."

Korvan straightened. If anyone present in the hall noticed the huskiness of his voice, not a soul dared to comment upon it. "Of course, Yorek. Lady Mhera, come. Your parents are eager to see you. We are so fortunate that their visit has coincided with yours. I'm afraid I keep them very occupied on affairs of state."