Regret My Hope
Only later was it learned that the traitor had been captured during one of his secret expeditions outside the valley, for he increasingly broke his uncle’s law and wandered far seeking rare materials. Brought before the Enemy’s most dangerous lieutenant was Alaessia’s son, and no torture was employed, for such was not that dread lord’s way.
No, indeed. Instead, the Eye offered him a gift.
—Gaemirwen of Dorael
The treeline rushed up a boulder-studded slope to swallow us, and Aeredh did not slow even when we were deep among snow-hooded evergreens. When he finally halted my teeth clicked together and the world revolved sickeningly before I stopped, too, my ear to his chest and his hand cupping my coral-braided head.
The iron casket trapped between us dug into my flesh, but I could not move. His other arm was about my waist, and the Crownless pressed me to him as if to muffle a child’s screaming.
There was nothing, I had not the breath. The forest was quiet save for the stealthy unsound of dawn, the creak of an occasional bough, and the thunder of an ageless heart under my cheek. I heard his pulse, slow and strong; I shut my eyes, wishing all this would go away and I would somehow find myself in our closet at Dun Rithell, Arn beside me, hearing the creak-clamor of a greathall waking to another day of irritations, annoyances, boredom, and all the duties I had chafed under.
His grasp gentled, but he did not turn me loose. The warm hand upon my hair stroked once, twice. My slippers were cold, for we were outside the valley now and winter still held the world in her bony fingertips. We rested upon snow as the Elder could, not sinking below its crust; the sensation was familiar, and the heartbeat in my right ear repeated I am, I am, I am.
It sounded like my mother’s when as a youngling I would rest against her, or Arn’s when I woke late at night from ordinary dreaming. Or my teacher Idra’s as I leaned listening-close to her chest during her final illness, though the slowness of her mortal pulse was that of illness and age, and an Elder’s is… otherwise.
“Peace,” he finally murmured in the Old Tongue. “Fear nothing, sun-girl. I am with you.”
Perhaps he thought me a horse, or some other brute creature in need of calming. In truth I felt like one, shaking with exhaustion and terror. The sound the draugr’s teeth made, clacking together—I knew, with miserable certainty, I would have nightmares from it. They would have to jostle aside those from the screaming, the ravaged corpses, the dark inside Taeron’s tower, the column of smoke bearing horrified faces… there was no shortage, I was replete with horror.
“I do not want it,” I said numbly. I could not even dream of my kin or my home, only of war and carnage. “I do not want it, take it away, why did you do this to me?”
“If I could…” The words died, and Aeredh took a deep breath. His arms tightened almost unbearably, and his fingers tensed upon my hair. “I cannot regret my hope, or our meeting. I live in fear of some harm coming to you; yet you are mortal and I will grieve unto my own passing when…” A shudder, his or mine, passed through us both.
“Let go.” I could not move, could barely breathe. “Aeredh. Please.”
“Should I?” His hand fell from my braids, though I still could not move. “Not even if they hang me from the walls of Agramar. Tell me—” His tone changed, became practical and businesslike, a man with a task to perform and a wary animal to shepherd. “No, never mind. Are you hurt?”
My head throbbed, the draugr’s cry still reverberating, and I could not think with an Elder holding me so.
Or, perhaps, only this particular Elder. “I cannot tell.” I was abruptly conscious of being alone with a man amid snow-choked trees. There is no such thing as propriety during battle and precious little of it during disaster, yet a hot wash of shame—married to some other inarticulate but terribly powerful feeling—suffused me. “Arneior. I have to… where is…”
“Probably upon our trail.” His heartbeat continued against my ear, and he was warm. If not for the sharp edges of the iron coffer squeezed between us, the closeness might even have been comforting. “I would not put it past her to hunt an Elder, even one taking great care.”
It was a compliment indeed, but I was not cheered. “She will find me.” The hope of that event was a slap of cold water, dousing every other feeling. “You can take this accursed thing and the cloak, and go where you will.”
“And leave you alone in the Wild? You think so little of me, my lady.” Aeredh did not move; the words vibrated in his chest along with his heartbeat, humming under my cheek. “The Enemy knows of an alkuine. Should you return to your riverside it will only be a matter of time before his servants descend upon the place. Dorael is better; even he cannot pierce Melair’s barrier, else he would have long before now.”
“You thought Waterstone was safe.” My voice shook. “Yet now this. If Arn and I return we can warn them, we can hide—”
Even I did not believe as much. But what else could I do, or say? Like a trapped bird battering itself against cage-walls, I knew only the desire to leave, to run. To go home, no matter if I foundered in the attempt.
Knowing I would not, could not, did not alter the urge.
“If you are held by the Elder, he has little reason to seek out your folk.” Quiet and logical, the Crownless continued. “He has ever considered Secondborn less, though amenable to many of his plans.”
“Just as the Elder do.” I stiffened, sought to pull away. My feet sank slightly in the snow-crust, though the thin, heavily embroidered shoes were not sodden yet. “Tarit is right. You care nothing for mortals.”
“Were I mortal we would both be dead several times over, Eol and your shieldmaid as well. But perhaps you are right, my lady.” Finally, he let me loose—though not by much. Now he had my shoulders, and examined my face. I wished my braids were fallen or I had the mantle’s broad, comforting hood to hide in. “I will bear your hatred; I deserve it.”
There was no place to seek shelter. Aeredh studied me; I could not help but return the favor. He held me above the snow, and there was no wall or lock behind his blue eyes. I did not know how to name what was in his gaze, only that it struck something akin inside me and I could still feel his heartbeat upon my cheek, resounding in my own wrists and throat. Perhaps it was merely some manner of seidhr-sympathy between us, for he had kept me alive during the freeze before we reached the Ice Door, and I had used his aid to draw a lichblade’s splinter from living flesh.
I had called, doubting even my own weirding, yet he answered. He asked me to go into the darkness of the tower, and I had. There was no way to blame him that was not also holding myself to account.
“I do not hate you.”Unsure and unwilling, the words left my mouth of their own accord, and in the Old Tongue as well. “I do not think I could.”
“Then I am content.” His grasp was oddly gentle, and his right thumb stroked my shoulder, a tiny movement. “We will rejoin your shieldmaid, and the others. Fear not.”
I had every reason for terror, but the sound—I am, I am—still echoed in my own pulse. I nodded, clutching the iron box, and either its trembling had eased or mine was so marked I could not feel otherwise.
Aeredh took me under his arm again. We set off, his steps shortened to match mine, leaving only faint impressions upon the time-packed snow.