Radiance (Wraith Kings Book 1)(30)
They’d taken tea but refused the food Tarawin offered, for which Ildiko was glad. Her stomach was in knots. This was a house in mourning and carried within it a hushed waiting, as if the very walls and floor held a breath as it waited for Talumey’s return.
When they finished their tea, Brishen pushed his cup aside. “Are you ready, Mistress Tarawin?”
She inhaled a slow breath, nodded, and rose from the table to retrieve a small crystal globe resting on a three-pronged stand on the mantel above the hearth. Brishen joined her in the middle of the room and gestured for Ildiko to remain in her seat.
Tarawin hesitated. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Your Highness? I can summon a priestess who will take the light and bring it to me.”
Brishen shook his head and sank to his knees in front of her. “This is audience enough, mistress. Your son fought and died in my service. It’s my honor to do this.”
The globe wobbled in Tarawin’s shaking hands at his answer. She held it out to Brishen who curved his hands over hers, slender fingers and black claws covering the pale orb.
The skin on Ildiko’s arms pebbled at the first line of the chant the two recited in unison. She recognized its cant and rhythm—the lamentation the Kai had used when the mortem lights had first filled their willing vessels.
She gasped and leapt to her feet as black lines like thorny vines sprouted under the skin of Brishen’s neck, speeding over his cheeks and across his forehead where they disappeared into his hairline. His closed eyelids twitched, cobwebbed with the same hideous lines, and his lips thinned back against his teeth.
Ildiko had never dabbled in magery, but she knew enough about spellwork to understand the dangers and lethality of interrupting it. This was powerful magic, painful magic, and all she could do was stand aside and wring her hands as her husband clutched the orb and convulsed on his knees, his speech stuttered and clumsy.
A dot of light illuminated the center of his chest, growing until it threatened to consume him and Tarawin whole. Ildiko turned her face away and shielded her eyes as a burst of blinding light filled the room. When she could see again, Brishen had slumped before Tarawin like a puppet with its strings cut.
Tarawin held the orb gingerly, its interior lit with the transferred mortem light until it resembled a small, glowing sun in her hands. She handed it to Atalan who took the globe, kissed it reverently and wrapped it in a silk cloth before setting it in a small chest set on the table where they’d taken their tea.
Assured the transfer of the mortem light was finished, Ildiko rushed to Brishen’s side. The jagged black tracery under his skin had disappeared, but he still needed help to stand. She and Tarawin led him to the chair he’d vacated earlier. After several more cups of tea and assurances to a worried Tarawin and equally concerned Ildiko, Brishen announced he was ready to leave.
He was a paler shade of gray when they left the house and leaned against his patient mount for support.
“Brishen?” Ildiko clasped his elbow, frightened by the dullness of his eyes and the way his shoulders drooped.
“I’m fine, Ildiko. Just give me a moment. Giving up a mortem light leaves an emptiness at first.” Brishen swiped a hand across his brow and offered Ildiko a feeble smile. “I grew used to Talumey’s memories. Did you know his mother often admonished him when he was little for constantly picking his nose?”
Ildiko’s nose twitched at the idea. With the set of claws the Kai sported on the ends of their fingers, it was a wonder Talumey still had his nose as an adult if he indulged in such a habit. “You did a fine thing bringing his mortem light back to her, though I’d imagine your parents would thrash you for kneeling before a merchant’s wife.”
As proud as any human prince of a royal house, her new husband was also amiable and seemingly unaware of his status. No prince, duke, or baron she ever met would ever bend a knee to someone below them, even if it was a mandatory part of a religious ritual.
Brishen snorted. “When I met with my father last evening to discuss the Beladine attack, he opened the conversation by pinning my ears back for lowering myself and shaming my house’s name.”
Having been a recipient of similar diatribes from her aunt, Ildiko sympathized. “I’m guessing you lost no sleep over his displeasure?”
He shrugged. “None whatsoever. If a simple genuflection of gratitude compromises my character and shames my house, then we are both less than shadow. There is more to royalty than blood and birthright, wife.”
They rode back to the palace, Ildiko’s grip tight around Brishen’s waist. He was too heavy for her to stop him from falling off his horse if he fainted, but at least she could slow the fall. He patted her hands occasionally as if to reassure her. She wished she’d chosen the carriage.
A small army of servants had greeted him in his chambers. Brishen hugged Ildiko, promised he’d check in on her later, collapsed across his bed and promptly fell asleep. She instructed the servants to leave him dressed and tossed a blanket over him. His personal servant assured her he’d keep watch and let Ildiko know if any problem arose.
Ildiko had kept to her room the remainder of the evening and stayed awake until almost dawn, her ears straining to hear any sound from the chamber next door. She fell asleep to the silence and awakened the next evening to Brishen at her door, none the worse for wear and with the offer to show her the royal gardens. They toured the paths. He knew nothing of flowers and plants, and she’d teased him that if they’d toured the armory, he’d be far more informative.