Maggie Furey - Aurian

“How can you ask? How dare you come here, after all the anguish you’ve caused us?”

“What do you mean?” He grasped her shoulders. “What has happened? Tell me!”

“All right!” Verla spat. She shook herself free from his grip. “After what happened,” she said grimly, “Jard refused to let Sara bear your child. He took her to a back-street midwife in the city.”

“No!” Anvar tried out in horror.

“Oh, yes. The woman got rid of the babe, but things went amiss, and now Sara will never bear children.”

Anvar sank to his knees on the snowy path, his head in his hands. “Oh, Gods,” he whispered. Sara! His child!

“After that,” Verla continued remorselessly, “Jard sold her in marriage to Vannor.”

“What? The Vannor?” Anvar gasped. No one crossed the most powerful merchant in the city—especially if they had heard the dark rumors about his violent past on the wharves, before he became rich and respectable.

“The same,” Verla said bitterly. “He didn’t mind that she was barren. He has children from his first wife. He wanted Sara in his bed, and he was prepared to pay. I don’t know whether she’s happy—we never see her. I hope you’re pleased with what you’ve done, Anvar. Now get away from here. I never want to set eyes on you again!”

Anvar was opening his mouth to protest, when a heavy blow cracked across the back of his head. Stunned and half blind with pain, he collapsed onto the snow. The last thing he heard was Jard’s voice. “Well done, Verla! Tie him up, while I go-for the Guards.” The miller seized his hand, examining the brand by the light of the torch he carried. “There’s sure to be a reward for a runaway bondservant.”

It was Midwinter’s Night, the longest of the year, and D’arvan, lying awake, had counted many dark hours before Davorshan returned with the dawn to the rooms that he shared with his brother. D’arvan had been left in no doubt as to the way in which his twin had passed the night. With his concentration distracted by passion, Davorshan’s shielding was fitful; his link with his brother was too strong and reflexive to be broken on a whim. D’arvan had been tortured by such thoughts, such feelings, such glimpses of Eliseth, lying naked on a white fur coverlet. The chiming silver of her laugh—the burning of her touch, imprinted on his skin as it was on his brother’s—the slippery touch of cool satin sheets—his own lone and shameful spending, which had echoed the climax of Davorshan’s frantic lust and in its passing left him drained and guilty, and sick at heart.

Even after the storm of Davorshan’s passion had finally and mercifully spent itself, D’arvan had passed a wretched night. His thoughts, still scattered by the shock of the brutal, abrupt isolation from his twin’s mind and the maelstrom of lust that had followed, had been wavering back and forth between grief and anger and guilt—blaming his brother, blaming Eliseth, and blaming himself. Davorshan is all I have—that thought wove through and through the others in an endless litany of despair. It’s always been that way, but now he has someone else . . . What will I do without him?

Throughout their lives, the twins had been forced to depend on one another, D’arvan could barely remember his father and mother—Bavordran and Adrina had elected to pass from their lives when he had been very small, but the fact that they had chosen to bear two infants, and then abandoned them so precipitately, made no sense to the young Mage. The older Magefolk would never speak of it, but his parents had not been happy together, D’arvan was sure—as sure as he was that his mother, at least, had not wanted to leave him. He had a vague, confused memory of a savage quarrel, and Adrina’s face all streaked with tears as she rocked him to sleep. He had never seen her again. With their parents gone, the twins had been raised, in a careless fashion, by Meiriel and Finbarr and the Academy’s servants, and had very naturally compensated for the lack of parental love by their devotion to one another—a bond that had been suddenly, and savagely, severed by Eliseth.

Before Davorshan entered their room, D’arvan had sensed his return. He always knew when his brother was close. And though he dreaded seeing his twin once more, he was glad of any respite from his anguished thoughts—until the brother of his soul crept in, grinning smugly, and reeking of wine and Eliseth’s heavy perfume. He tiptoed past D’arvan’s bed without sparing him a single glance.

“It’s all right—I’m awake. You needn’t bother to creep!” The venom in his own voice surprised D’arvan—but the anger had won out, after all.

Davorshan lacked even the grace to look guilty. Not for a single moment did his complacent expression alter. Shrugging, he sat down on the bottom of D’arvan’s bed, all openness and charm, his hostile shielding seemingly banished. “You have good reason to be angry with me,” he said. “Listen, D’ar—I’m sorry about what happened earlier, at the feast. It was just that I wanted to be alone with Eliseth—you’ll see how it is, when you find someone of your own. I never meant to shut you out so suddenly, but there are some things that you just cannot share —not even with your own dear brother.”

Even a few short hours ago, D’arvan would have believed him. Would have trusted him, and rejoiced that their differences had been explained, and dismissed. Davorshan’s mind was open to him once more, in all its old comforting familiarity. Except . . . Acting on pure instinct, D’arvan swept up all the bitterness and treachery and pain that had formed the dregs of this wretched night, and fashioned them into a lancelike probe of will that stabbed searchingly into his brother’s mind.

Davorshan had no warning—no time in which to react. “Curse you!” he shrieked, recoiling and slamming up a block with which to foil the piercing attack. But it was too late. D’arvan’s probe had already encountered the hard, dark, pulsing core of secrets that his brother had so cunningly concealed behind his open guise.

Shaking, D’arvan snatched back his probe as though he had been burned. Gods—why did I do it? he thought despairingly. Why couldn’t I leave well enough alone? This second betrayal hurts even worse than the first!

“Why did you do that?” Davorshan’s sorrowful whisper echoed his thoughts. “I want this—I want her, and nothing— not even you—will keep me from her! But truly, brother, I had no wish to hurt you.”

It might have been the truth—Davorshan certainly seemed sincere—but D’arvan had had enough of lies and treachery. He could not risk a third betrayal. “Leave me alone—just leave me alone!” For the first time in his life, he closed his mind to his brother, and turned his face away, staring steadfastly at the wall through tear-blurred eyes until he heard Davorshan seek his bed. It was the hardest, most painful thing he had ever done. To distract his mind from the crushing weight of loneliness, he fueled his faltering courage with his anger against his brother, and forced himself to think of Aurian and her offer. Perhaps she was right—if he could no longer count on his brother, perhaps he ought to meet other people. After the Solstice, he would ask her to take him to the Garrison. Until then, he would simply mourn.

The muscles in Aurian’s back and shoulders screamed in protest. The sword felt unbelievably heavy in her tired hands. She stepped back to give herself a little extra time to react, her blade lifted defensively as she watched Forral through narrowed eyes, trying to anticipate his next move. It was a quick sideways strike—low, almost taking her legs out from under her. Aurian jumped back, parrying clumsily, feeling the shock of the clashing blades run numbingly through her hands. She caught the quick white flash of Forral’s grin through his curling brown beard.