Short Story: The Building Crescendo (Part II)
Continued: a story story from Eremon’s POV, which takes place during Defender of Histories: ch. 13-15.
Major spoilers ahead!! :) I wouldn’t recommend reading these if you haven’t delved into Defender yet.
(Did you miss Part I? Read it here.)
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.Part II
Eremon’s magic was more restless than usual by the time he reached Macha. He walked himself through the calming steps his healer, Ljós Beran, had taught him. Using the bit of Clan Beran’s healing magic he possessed, Eremon conjured an orb of golden power, then pressed it against his heart.
It absorbed easily into his body, calming him enough to knock on his mother’s door.
“Enter,” she said from within.
The sound of her voice made Eremon’s skin crawl. As he reached for the door’s handle, a little jolt of pain shot through the center of his chest—right where he’d placed the healing magic. He stumbled a bit, pushing the handle down before he was ready. As the chamber door swung open, he struggled to regain his footing, still shaken by the unexpected pain.
Macha was seated on a settee in the center of her vast chamber, fanning her face.
“Close it behind you,” she snapped.
Eremon clenched his fists. Without taking his eyes off her, he struck the door with his booted heel, slamming it shut.
“As you wish,” he said smoothly.
Macha ceased her fanning and peered hard at him.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.
“Nothing beyond the usual court annoyances,” Eremon answered, striding across the room and stopping before her. He gave her a little nod of acknowledgement, then clasped his hands behind his back. “I must say it’s rather early for an audience.”
“It should never be too early or too late for your mother,” Macha replied.
“If you expect me to marry, you must know I’ll be indisposed at both early and late hours.” He smirked. “And sometimes at midday.”
“Do not use that argument against me,” his mother sneered, closing her eyes and fanning her face. “Your misbehavior is giving me night terrors; precisely why I could not sleep.”
“You could not sleep because you were up spying all night.” Eremon dragged one of her chairs closer to the settee, then flipped it around backward and straddled it. He enjoyed her disgusted expression every time he disgraced the furnishings, as she put it.
“You know I detest that,” she said as he propped his arms against the chair’s back, lazing against it. “And I detest that clan filth you’ve taken up with.”
“As you’ve informed me and everyone else,” Eremon replied with a yawn. “Unfortunately for you, I do precisely what I want.”
“And you will have the council to answer to,” Macha replied. “Don’t forget I have favors to call in. Your precious Defender of Histories should watch herself.”
Eremon stilled, tilting his head to regard her. “Is that a threat, Macha?”
His mother swept a palm over her silver hair and gave him a heavy-lidded, arrogant leer. “Mother.”
He lowered her voice, leaning nearer. “I said, is that a threat?”
“You know what is expected of you,” Macha replied, snapping her fan shut and pointing it at Eremon’s face. “You’re to make a match with born nobility, not some commoner you titled for your own enjoyment.”
Eremon scoffed. “There’s no law requiring nobility from birth.”
“It is my rule for my child—for his best interest,” Macha said, her gaze darkening. “And if his father were still here, he would support it.”
“Father would have approved of Silira,” Eremon shot back, “or have you forgotten he was a friend of her family?”
“For all we know, her father was the cause of his death,” Macha spat. “If Arlen Mór had returned alive, he would have been tried and executed for it.”
“Then it’s a mercy the ocean killed him before you could.” Eremon sighed, shoving up and out of the chair. “What did you want? Your shrill cawing fatigues me.”
Macha sniffed. “Emyr Tarlach paid a handsome sum for you to dance that reel with his daughter last night—or did you forget?”
“Ah.” Eremon crossed his arms, contemplating. He knew very well what expectations he’d broken last night, and he was not sorry for it. Aidryn’s social-climbing parents and simpering sister deserved whatever humiliation they got for trying to bribe the Crown. “How large a sum, again?”
His mother cast her gaze aside, shrugging. “Large enough to fund the feast.”
“Then I shall have the treasurer return it to Emyr immediately,” Eremon replied, irked by her sidestepping.
“It was a substantial amount,” Macha protested weakly.
He remembered the exact weight in gold, too.
“Then your allowance will reimburse the family,” Eremon said, heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. “I won’t be bribed to choose any particular person, no matter how substantial the amount.”
Macha’s dark eyes flashed with contempt. “Caitir Tarlach is a most worthy match for a ruler of your status.”
Eremon kicked the chair aside, though what he really wanted was to shatter it against the far wall. “Then shove her under King La’hiran’s nose—make a better ally out of him.”
It was well known that the king of the neighboring continent, Iteloria, had been without a wife for many years now. Perhaps the preening Caitir and her disgustingly ambitious family would be better suited to his court.
“Emyr should do us all a favor and pay that girl’s way across the sea,” he added angrily.
And while he’s at it, he can ship Aidryn off, too.
Then again, sending Aidryn out of reach would create another complication Eremon didn’t want to think about.
His thoughts drifted to the ring he’d given Lira, and another searing burst of pain skittered through the center of his chest, sending a wave of heat rushing to his skin. With a hiss, he pressed a palm over his heart, which had begun to race.
“What is it?” Macha rose from her settee then, her harsh voice tinged with alarm. “Lie down; I’ll call for the healer.”
“I’m fine,” he bit out, holding up a hand to stay her. As much as he wanted his mother’s care and affection, she would do nothing but vex him further. She was not capable of comforting anyone or anything, and he had long since stopped seeking that from her. “I’ll go to him myself.”
He held himself steady and turned to go, though the pain was intense enough to have stopped him in his tracks.
“Will you never get an answer?” Macha asked from behind him. She had not followed, but instead remained in the center of the chamber.
Eremon paused. “An answer to what?”
“To what ails you. Surely, a healer from Clan Beran must have answers.”
He sighed, closing his eyes as he shook his head. His father had concealed the extent of Eremon’s magic from Macha, and it was just as well. She needn’t know it was powerful enough to destroy him from the inside out. “A crown is ailment enough. If you’ll excuse me.”
Without another look backward, Eremon let himself out of his mother’s chamber.
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