Part 10

There was sickly grey predawn light coloring the ceiling when she opened her eyes. She wasn't sure what was going on, but when she tried to move she felt the wincing pain in her side, and remembered all that had happened.

Something had woken her: a noise.

She turned her head to see Jordan, sprawled in a chair, in a troubled sleep. His head tossed from side to side and he mumbled unintelligibly. He wore the black stained clothing of the night before. She realized he must have stayed in this chair the entire night, watching over her.

She reached out and tapped his knee.

Even awakening his reflexes were instant--her hand was suddenly clutched in a vise grip, and his eyes burst open, wild and unfocused.

Then he saw her, and his shoulders slumped.

"I... I dreamed I had failed," he said. "I dreamed I had lost you."

"Never in a million years," she said.

His hand did not let go of hers.

"What happened after you healed me," she asked. "I don't remember much at all."

"Temaile came with us," he said. "She's in the dungeons now, awaiting trial. Master Telocuse is somewhere in the castle, also being watched over by your father's men. Your father is at the Daravon estate, taking over the maintenance. And you... Are alive."

"Thanks to you," she said.

"No," he said. "I failed you. I let you come to harm."

"Nonsense," she said.

"I did," he insisted. "I failed you with Paitr and I failed you now. Some First Lance I've turned out to be."

"Jordan, you'll never be able to protect everyone," she said. "Not even me. Someday something will happen that you can't prevent. That's just the way life works. In fact, it's already worked like that. But both times, you were there to help pick up the pieces. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you. And you're the one who always tells me that causing harm is a lot easier than not causing harm."

"I caused you harm," he said. "I failed."

"You failed to stop others from causing me harm, yes," she said. "But you did the exact opposite. You caused healing. That's the harder part, Jordan. That's why the First Lance only leads the armies--because any fool can do that. What's difficult is being a king--fostering the people, bringing them prosperity. That's what's hard."

"You'll make a good queen," he said. "All of that comes naturally to you."

"And it comes to you as well," she said. "Maybe not naturally, but it does come. And that's important, Jordan. When I ascend to the throne, this nation will have two monarchs. That's something special."

"Yes, but thanks to me there were almost no monarchs," Jordan said.

"All right, be contrary if you want," she grumped. "It's too early in the morning to have this argument. I'm going back to bed."

"I will keep the vigil," Jordan said.

"Oh no you won't," she said. "You need sleep too. You get in this bed right now and get some rest."

He hesitated. "My lady. Is that--"

"Your queen commands you," she said. She rolled onto her other side to make room for him and pulled the blankets up.

When she felt the edge of the comforter lift, she reached out, and only then realized he was not wearing any clothes. Immediately afterwards she realized that she was not wearing any clothes either. Jordan saw her face and lifted an eyebrow: "Now you see why I hesitate."

"Oh, never mind," she said. "We've seen it all before."

"Yes, but..." he said.

"Jordan," she exclaimed, sitting up, "are you nervous?" And then, "Ow," as she remembered why it might be smart not to move quickly any time soon.

Immediately he was beside her, easing her back down. "You should rest," he said.

"And so should you," she said. "I don't bite. And I don't snore. Lie down."

He did. She closed the covers around them and slid her arm across his waist, which caused him to jump. She sighed. "Jordan. It's just me."

"Yes," he said, "which is the problem." He took her hand with his own and led her arm lower, until she encountered his sword, bare and ready for action.

"Oh," she said.

"Yes," he said, and she thought he might actually be trying not to blush. Which made her smile. He was actually embarrassed about being erect around her?

"Jordan," she said. "That's been inside me. More than once. It doesn't bother me that your horn is awake, and it shouldn't bother you. It's natural, isn't it? It just means you love me."

"If... You say so, my lady," he said.

"I do," she said. "Now hush. I want to get some sleep. And so should you."

"As you say, my lady," he said.

"And another thing," she said, "you don't have to just lie there. You can hold me. It'd be perfectly natural. We are in bed together, after all."

He hesitated for a moment, then lifted his arm and put it around her, to draw her in closer. She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled up at him. "There, now, isn't this better?"

"As you say, my lady," he said.

She sighed. "You're hopeless, Jordan. We need to teach you to be a real human being."

"If my lady insists," he said, staring straight ahead.

"But I love you anyway," she said.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and his expression softened a little.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said.

"Done what?" she said.

"Stood there, and let... Temaile... Hit you," he said.

"Well, I couldn't've hit her," she said.

"Nonsense," he said. He turned on his shoulder to face her. "You've trained and trained well. You could've had her at any time."

"Yes, but I didn't want to," she said.

"Well, you didn't have to stand there," he said, "you could've sidestepped at any time."

"No," she said, "I couldn't've done that either. Listen to me, Jordan. I... I'd had enough."

He stared, not comprehending.

"I just didn't want to be part of it anymore. I didn't want to be part of the all the violence, the bloodshed. The killing. I didn't want anyone to raise a hand against anyone anymore. There was nothing I could've done, other than what I did. If I'd dodged, you would have hit her, or I would have had to hit her. Instead, look what's happened. I'm alive. You're alive. She's alive. We've left too many dead behind already, Jordan. I wasn't going to add to it."

He was silent for a time.

"I think... I think I knew that. Even as it happened. I think I knew that you were doing the only thing you could do. And... You saved her. You saved Temaile. Even if... Almost at the expense of your own life."

"You make me feel stupid," she mumbled. "My own enemy, and I take wounds to save her. Some person I am. I'm almost as stupid as she is."

"You shouldn't feel stupid," he said. "You should be proud. You were true to your own nature, Catheryne. You put aside the sword and reached out, with empty hands, to save. Healing is in you, just as much as violence is in me. Your nature is love, to love everyone, even your enemies. And you were true to that self, even to the point of... Death. No, you should be proud of yourself. As proud as I am."

She smiled at him. "You always know the right thing to say."

"I try," he said, with the slightest hint of satisfaction. "But I also have to say this: Don't ever do that again."

"Believe me," she said. "It's not an experience I care to repeat."

"Good," he said. "If you had died, Catheryne, I would have lost everything, there would have been nothing left for me."

She heard the strange intensity in his voice and looked into his eyes and saw the bleakness there--and suddenly wondered: just how would she feel, what would she be, if Jordan one day died?

It was a terrible thing to contemplate, and she shivered.

"One of us may die," she said. "It's a dangerous world, Jordan. Things happen. One day you will lead war in the Spring Lands, and face danger. Or one of us will get sick. Or one of us will drink some bad ennascintella. Things happen, Jordan."

"Yes," he said, "but Kyrei send that day be far off. And what I mean is, don't take risks. Don't put yourself in danger unless you absolutely have to."

She frowned at him. "The same goes for you, you know."

"I never put myself in danger unless it's necessary," he said. "And, besides..." He let himself down on his back again. "I never face danger I don't intend to return from."

"Fine words," she said, teasing. "Easy to say while lying in bed with a woman."

"I mean it," he said. His arm snaked around her, drew her close. "Because now I have someone to return to."

"Hmm," she said, pleased. "You always know the right thing to say."

Time passed, as it always does, and for Gabriele Basingame life turned slowly to what she would eventually come look upon as the happiest, simplest time of her life. And, as few people are lucky enough to do, she knew it would be so, and enjoyed the time as best she could--knowing that, inevitably, the idyll would end, and that she had better cherish her time as best she could. Her time with her father, her time with Moya Tilmitt, her time with Jordan. Their time.

Time with Jordan was most of the time. He was always there, sometimes out of sight but never out of mind, a shadow over her shoulder, a glimpse from the corner of her eye. She felt her presence near herself acutely, as if every nerve and sinew in her body were primed for his nearness, as if she were lodestone and he iron, turning ever to face him, turning ever to seek him.

The trial of Temaile Daravon was a massacre. Whatever she had seen in Catheryne's eyes that night, it had broken her spirit. She pled guilty--literally pled; she sat in silence through the entire trial, punctuated only by silent tears and the occasional free admittance of her guilt. She spoke of the things they did not know--how her father had, by intuitive leaps of logic, realized what Besson Telocuse's mysterious affliction was; how she had whispered to him in the night, and tempted him with her body, and driven him mad with desire, and prompted him to become a creature of death. She spoke of her ambition to be queen, and of the luxuries she had hoped to enjoy. She spoke sometimes; she sat dormant at others. Catheryne made herself attend, for it was the least she could do; Jordan sat with her, and if he had any comments or thoughts, he kept them to himself.

And then, some weeks later, came the news: Temaile had hanged herself in her cell, and the trial would end. She left only a hasty note, scribbled in wine on the floor: I'm sorry. Some disdained the funeral, disgusted by what she had become; others attended, and prayed for her soul. Catheryne was one of them.

"You don't truly believe in all this religion stuff, do you," Jordan asked her.

"I don't know," she said. "But I know that Temaile couldn't live with herself. And I hope that, somewhere, someone can help her learn."

Paitr Domenicos re-enlisted and traveled to the Spring Lands, to be stationed there permanently. Catheryne wsn't sure what he was trying to accomplish there, but the reports came back that he was flourishing, doing well, and she grew used to the hope that, perhaps, she would not have to attend another funeral soon. They had not spoken since the disastrous night in her chambers; any time they had passed each other in the halls of the Palace, he had turned his eyes and avoided her conversation. Eventually she had decided to leave him alone; she didn't think there was anything to be gained by confronting him, and if he wanted to stay away from her, well, honestly she had no real problem with that. She had made her mistake and learned from it, and he had made his mistake and learned from it; and that was a victory in itself.

Davina's social rehabilitation continued. Once or twice she decided to came to the trial; one of them, unfortunately, happened to be one of the days when Temaile decided to divulge some of the information on how she had twisted Besson Telocuse, and goaded him into the atrocities he had committed on the women he attacked. Catheryne didn't think this was deliberate; she had never claimed to know much about Temaile one way or another, but she was fairly sure that, now, Temaile would never have done anything to harm anyone again. Nonetheless, the testimony had reduced poor Davina to tears, and Catheryne and Jordan had come to her aid. On the whole, Catheryne thought it might be a victory, though: not only had the Princess-Heir been seen publicly supporting Davina, but Davina had been seen publicly acting as would any woman in her situation. They had reaffirmed Davina's normality, which was exactly what she needed, in Catheryne's opinion. As long as everyone kept thinking of Davina as some strange creature to be pitied, she would never be able to get on with her life. Now she had again become a normal person, or at least more of a normal person, in the eyes of all. It was all Catheryne could wish for.

Besson Telocuse's education proceeded apace. Whatever else Temaile Daravon had done to him, her twisting and motivational efforts had clearly been inefficient and must have required constant renewal; within days he had forgotten the old hows and whys of his life, and was learning the magics he wanted to. His education, Moya Tilmitt told them, was lopsided, for his pre-existing skills were totally uncatalogued and unregimented. Which made sense, Moya Tilmitt reminded them, since he was self-taught. But it caused problems. There were simple things that he should have known how to do but didn't, and highly advanced things he shouldn't have been able to do, but could. It was challenging work, to be sure, but Catheryne could see that Moya Tilmitt was enjoying it immensely. Clearly in this misfit student he had found his stride as a teacher.

They spent less time with Moya Tilmitt in those days; he was busy with Besson Telocuse, and sometimes with Father, working on a system to discover the unfound from the Eretrian population and send them to be trained, so that no one would ever be able to do what Temaile Daravon had done. With all his appointments, they had lessons with him only twice or three times a week. More and more he would leave them in a separate room and simply allow them to explore, shaping the waves of the Flow as they saw fit. "You've been under tutelage-mine for over a year-half now, and it is around this time that we start letting the students-young explore for themselves. You two have proven your trustworthiness and your capability time and again. I feel confident that you will be safe."

And of course, through it all there was Jordan.

They continued their exercises, training and sparring against each other. Catheryne intended never to use the silte again, except in times of direst need, it was good exercise to train this way. And now it was no longer work, no longer frustrating; it was easy, it was play. Her body was more adept at these movements, at these configurations; and she had lost the hesitations, the underconfidences, that had plagued her previous efforts. Now she could do it, and she knew she could do it. She would never be a trained and hardened soldier, Jordan said, but she could definitely defend herself until an opportunity for a finishing blow came up.

"But what's the point if I can't outfight someone," Catheryne asked Jordan.

"Because you don't need to outfight them," Jordan said. "You have other tools at your disposal. You have the Flow. You have the command of your royal lineage. You have the command of tactics and wisdom--you know when to strike from behind, and how to keep the enemy off-balance. And you have the command of yourself--you are a beautiful and desirable woman. You do not need to be able to deal with the advantages of a hardened soldier, because you know how to take those advantages away from him. And that is all you need to win."

Of course, after being injured as badly as she had been, it was several days before she was deemed fit enough and well enough to undertake strenuous activity. It was several days more before she felt ready to resume their combat training. But in the meanwhile, they found other ways to exercise.

The first few days were torturous: being constantly in each other's presence and touching each other pretty frequently--Jordan claimed she was still weak from her injury and needed support, but she thought it might have just been an excuse to touch her. She didn't mind at all. But there was no way she could handle a bed session without breaking something, and their constant contact only made the fires burn hotter. At times in those first few days it was almost torture to simply be around him. They were young, they were drunk with love, and the days were calm and blissful--but they could not touch each other. She never even kissed him--she knew that if she started, she'd never stop.

"All right," she said to Jordan. "I won't ever do that again. Because it will undoubtedly happen at a most inconvenient time."

"I am glad you have seen the wisdom in my words," he said.

"Whatever," she said. "You just want my flower." It was a vulgar statement, but delivered with a grin, and Jordan just raised an eyebrow.