The Key of Amatahns Read online

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  Not long after, in her mother’s chambers, Janir sat on the soft bed with a poultice over her eye while her mother bathed a bruise on her arm. This chamber was the place Janir felt safest, the place she always came when afraid or upset. Even though the girl was supposed to have her own chambers now, she spent more time here than anywhere else. The silk curtains over the balcony were blowing in the wind behind them, while Janir traced patterns on the carpet with her bare foot. Although it seemed a happy, homey place to Janir, the girl had always thought her mother was sad here. It was like the sparkling walls and colorful tapestries were a prison.

  All children thought their mothers pretty, but Janir knew hers to be striking. With rich golden hair that tumbled to her waist, ruby lips, fair skin with long, dark eyelashes, and a slender, willowy figure, there were not many women to compare with her. Others had their own kind of beauty, but Janir still considered her mother to be without equal.

  “My poor child,” Aryana sighed, kneeling before her daughter. “Your brother has given you another lashing.”

  “We’re the same age—almost—but he’s been taller than me since we were two,” Janir mumbled, glancing at her battered reflection in the mirror across the room.

  “Oh, but he is little, Janir,” her mother contradicted. “Or at least, that is how he feels. He feels your father favors you. That is why he does this.”

  Janir couldn’t imagine why anyone would envy her. She could barely remember a time when the Lord Argetallam had looked at her kindly. Her brother had no right to be jealous. “I hate Lucan.”

  “Never say that.” Aryana assumed her scolding demeanor.

  “But he has done nothing but hurt me our whole lives. Why shouldn’t I hate him?”

  Her mother sighed, features softening. “Bricen can’t seem to understand the concept of affection. No one cares for him the same way I care for you. Besides, I have foreseen a life of hardship and tragedy for that boy. You should pity him.”

  Glancing at the bruises on her arms, Janir couldn’t help but think that if Lucan was bound for tragedy, he deserved it. “I never did anything to hurt him. I never do anything, but he doesn’t care. He…” Her words dissolved into sniffles and she took deep breaths to regain composure.

  “Oh, my child,” her mother sighed, blotting the dried blood from her nose. “Do not hate him. When the day comes, favor me and show him what compassion is.”

  “What day?”

  “The day he is at your mercy.”

  Janir didn’t ask for an explanation as her father swept into the room.

  “My lord.” Her mother bowed deeply, with submission, as she always did when he entered a room.

  Janir offered an awkward bow, holding the poultice to her face, more to escape those piercing eyes than anything.

  “You are leaving,” the Lord Argetallam said simply.

  “What?” Janir instantly wished that she had kept her mouth shut.

  His gaze slid to her. He looked calm, but so did a volcano before it erupted. “You know better than to question me, Janir.”

  “Yes, Lord Father.” She ducked her head submissively, but he wasn’t done.

  “You may be my firstborn, and heir to my kingdom by our laws, but you have the weakest powers of any of my children, and are therefore potentially dispensable,” he added the last detail in a dangerously neutral voice.

  Forcing herself to keep a straight face, Janir bowed deeper, as much as she could while still looking at him.

  Intervening, Janir’s mother rose and stood beside her daughter, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. Janir didn’t look up at Aryana, but she was certain that if she had she would have seen a pleading and beseeching look in the woman’s countenance.

  The Lord Argetallam shot a glance to Aryana and then fixed his attention on Janir once more. “You and your mother are going to the villa in Sanreal. Adasha is not safe as long as Lucan holds this loathing for you and his mother encourages it.

  “Mortahn Haverlas is making the arrangements. You will depart in ten days and go through the Norwin Pass, through the Brevian outlands, and from there on to Sanreal.” The Lord Argetallam paused as if waiting, but he had not asked a question and neither Janir nor her mother ventured to speak. “Perhaps some time away will help you grow a backbone.”

  Janir ducked her head ever so slightly lower.

  “Bricen’s cousin will be visiting soon,” Aryana said demurely. “It is possible that will distract her from fostering this rivalry.”

  “I do not believe that any more than you do,” the Lord Argetallam drily answered. “If anything, the Stlavish envoys will only embolden her and I would rather not deal with their protests at her absence—no.”

  Aryana did not argue. She inclined her head as if she had expected and agreed with his answer.

  “Do you foresee any ill coming about?”

  Aryana strode to a bureau against the wall. Opening a small drawer, she reached inside and raised a glowing golden orb. She faced the Lord Argetallam, glancing at him briefly before staring down into the depths of the sphere. Cradled in her hands, the orb made soft warbling sounds. Like a ball of liquid sunlight, it swirled and throbbed with a living glow.

  Janir’s mother was silent for several moments. Her gaze seemed to shift beyond what she could see with her eyes. Accustomed to that look, Janir watched her mother patiently, knowing that she would be back to normal in a moment.

  “Answer me, woman,” the Lord Argetallam clipped.

  Almost reluctantly drawing her gaze away from the orb, Janir’s mother replied. “Our child will be safe.”

  “Then you will depart as planned.” Her father spoke efficiently, hardly pausing for breath. And without another word, he moved to leave.

  But Janir’s mother stopped him. “My lord.” The Lord Argetallam looked impatiently back at Janir’s mother. “I just wanted to thank you.”

  “For what?” The Lord Argetallam raised one eyebrow in suspicion.

  “For giving me that which I love most in the world.” Her mother stroked Janir’s hair, the same rich gold as her own.

  “I will miss you, Aryana,” the Lord Argetallam brusquely stated. It was possibly the closest to a display of affection Janir had ever seen between them.

  Without another word, the Lord Argetallam spun on one heel and marched out of the room. The door slammed after him and Janir could breathe easy again.