Sean Russell - The Shadow Roads

Lady Beatrice came forward and kissed him on both cheeks,her pride unspoken but hidden from no one. Dease found he had to sit down. Hebeckoned a servant and asked for wine, and when it came he drained his glass inone draught. It didn’t help. He had lost everything he once valued, and thisnight he had lost twice, though neither had been his to possess.

I have given up my hopes , he thought. Letsome good come of it .

Lady Beatrice stood with her hand upon the stack of documents,looking a little uncertain. Toren pushed open the shutters, letting the nightair spill in over the windowsill.

“Nothing like this has ever been done in the long history ofthe Renne. Thirty-one people gave up their claim to the throne, all in onenight. I fear come morning there will be some who regret this decision.”

“Too late. It is done,” Toren said. He closed his eyes andlet the cool air bathe his face.

“Not quite done. There is one more person who must agree tothis course. I expect you’ll want me to speak to her?”

“No. I will do this myself, Mother.”

“You should have spoken to her before you did this.”

“She wouldn’t have agreed. But now …. I have some leverage.”Toren turned away from the window and gazed at his mother standing in the lightof a chandelier. Her face seemed flushed in the candles’ warm light. “I willtell you honestly, Mother, I would rather face the servants of Death than woundLlyn.”

“It is not a wound. It is release. She will be free to giveher love to Carral Wills, who loves her with all his open heart. You are allthat stops her.”

Toren nodded.

“You are giving up a great deal this night, my son,” LadyBeatrice said. “First your position in the family, now the adoration of awoman whom I respect more than almost any other. Who will you be in themorning?”

“I will be the champion of Lady Llyn and Carral Wills and oftheir children-that is if they will let me.”

“I think they will consider it an honor.”

“Then I have one last task this night.” Toren bowed to hismother and turned toward the door.

“Toren?” Lady Beatrice said, stopping him in his tracks. “Itwill be more difficult than you know, giving up your position. People will stilllook to you for leadership, for answers.”

“I know, but I will not undermine Llyn and Lord Carral.Their authority must be paramount. Too much depends on it.”

Llyn was surprised to have a visitor at this hour, let aloneToren saying that it was most urgent. Llyn stood in the garden beneath theshadows of a lace maple, the silhouette of Toren visible above. She thought himbeautiful even in this poor light, his bearing noble without being proud. Itwas one of the things she loved about him.

For a second she glanced down at the golden mask she held inher hands. It was still wet and did not seem to dry. Just the thought of itstole her breath away.

“You are hurt,” Lynn said.

“I’ve sustained greater wounds in tournaments, if truth istold. A few days will see me whole.”

“I am glad of that.”

Toren fell silent, and Llyn sensed he had some news that hedid not want to give. Someone has died ! she thought suddenly.

“You have something to tell me,” she prompted.

“Yes,” Toren admitted. “I have come from a council withnews.” He drew himself up a little. “I have renounced my claims to the mythicalthrone and will no longer sit at the head of the Renne council table.”

“Oh,” Llyn said as though she’d been pinched. “I suppose Ishould not be surprised. Dease, then, has taken up your duties?”

“No, Dease has signed away his own claims, as have severalothers.”

“What in this strange world is going on beyond my garden?Who is the titular head of the Renne now?”

“You, Llyn.”

She laughed. “It is late for jokes, Cousin,” she chided.

“It is not a joke, Llyn. It’s the truth. We have all givenup our place in the succession in favor of you.”

A cool wind seemed to blow through her. She felt as thoughshe balanced upon a precipitous ledge and dared not look down. “This is notright. No one spoke to me of this.”

“You would have refused.”

“I do refuse,” she said hastily. “I will not accept thisresponsibility.”

“Even if it means the end of our feud with the Wills andpeace for our children and their children after them?”

Llyn sat down upon the small bench beneath the tree. “Cousin,please …” she pleaded. “You can’t ask this of me.”

“And I won’t, if you insist, but let me ask you this. Do youlove Carral Wills?”

She glanced down at the mask she still held in her hands,then up at the obscured silhouette of Toren Renne. Her mouth went dry, and thewords evaporated.

She loved them both-Carral and Toren. She also knew whyToren was asking this question. And she knew what answering it would mean.

“Llyn?” Toren said softly. “I love you as a sister, but LordCarral … he loves you as you deserve to be loved.” Toren took a quickbreath. “Your children will be the heirs of both our houses-Renne and Wills.They will be our hope for peace.”

She felt herself nod, and glanced down again at the mask sheturned in her hands. But I will be healed , she thought. You will beable to look upon me without pity or revulsion. You might even think me …beautiful .

She knew these thoughts were not worthy of her-but she couldnot deny her feelings. Shame . She had felt shame all her life. Shamethat she was a monster. That people couldn’t look upon her without horror.

“We are asking a great sacrifice, I know. But peace Llyn…. Is it not worth any sacrifice?”

She felt herself nod. “Yes,” she whispered, the single wordsounding like a final judgment.

“Of course, if you don’t love Lord Carral,” Toren said, “thenyou should refuse.”

“I do love him,” she said, and turned her gaze up. She couldjust see Toren through the leaves, his perfect frame dark against the lightspilling from within. How long had he embodied everything she hoped for? Toolong, apparently.

“Then you will accept this?” Toren asked.

“Lord Carral has not asked for my hand.”

Toren seemed a bit surprised. “Perhaps he needs to be sureof your feelings for him.”

“Perhaps.”

“May I tell Lady Beatrice that you have agreed?”

“I will speak with her myself.”

Toren nodded. “Llyn …? I owe you thanks. I know how difficultthis will be for you.”

“No you don’t,” Llyn whispered to herself.

Toren hesitated a second. “Good night to you, Cousin.”

“And you,” she answered.

Llyn sat for a while after Toren had gone, feeling morehollow than the mask she turned over and over. All her hopes for so many yearshad centered on Toren, as foolish as they had been. She had always known that,but her feelings were stronger than her reason. Just a brief moment in hiscompany was all it took to fan them back to flames. And now would the flames goout? She didn’t know. She hoped that they would-and that they would not.

Rising, Llyn went inside and found Lord Carral sitting by anopen window. Without a word she slipped into his lap and pressed her faceagainst him, her eyes closed.

Neither spoke for some time, then Llyn said; “What is it youdo?”

“I am letting the night air wash over me and indulging sentiment,to be honest. Memories have been finding me this evening. Memories of my wife,but of Elise most of all. With a little effort I can recall any number of moments-muchof her life, I suspect.”

“She is still alive, Carral. You must remember that.”

“But if I’m never with her again, is she not dead to me?”