Chapter 30: So That the Lie May Come True

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, Auberon put his heart inside a stone that glowed as bright as the moon, and he gave that stone to a mortal girl, who swallowed it and made it part of herself. For all the years of her life, Auberon's heart beat next to her own, and when it came back to him after her death, it was no longer his heart alone, for a part of the girl remained within it.

"A descendant of your daughter prayed for the life of a child this morning," Auberon says, his voice quiet in the solitude of his room of portal, his secret place where even Tania Summerdream dares not follow. "I gave her the means to cure the illness, and the girl was saved."

The aurora hovering above the heart stone glows with approval. Most of the time, that's all the response Auberon gets for the deeds he does in her name, the little miracles that keep her people's belief in her alive.

Sometimes, the reward is greater, sometimes she comes herself, through the one portal in this room of portals that he may not enter, the portal into the place the mortals call the spirit realm. Auberon went there once, and it nearly killed him. She brought him there, and then she saved him. That's where it all began, when she swallowed his heart, and made him a part of her, and her a part of him.

In the stories her people tell of them, they share an eternal love, and perhaps those stories are what ties Auberon to her still, long after she died her mortal death. Or perhaps it's the stone, where her heart and his still beat, joined together in an unending song. Only Tania has ever asked Auberon why he continues to answer the prayers of the descendants a lover long dead, why he feeds their belief in the lie he created, and Auberon said only, "So that the lie may come true."

There are times when Auberon stops to wonder how deep the lie runs, if even this ghost in his arms is merely his own creation, and not a visitor from the realm of spirit at all, a fantasy bon of his unconscious mind, like the dreams of mortals, who create worlds as they sleep, and yet do not know they created it. He always told her, told Uvie, he makes himself remember her name, long lost to her own kind, fading from the memory of the world even as the stories persist, that real or not made no difference, and so he still believes. And so he gives himself to his ghostly lover, and loves her just as he did his Uvie, so long go.

"The river again," Reinier remarks as their path through the forest leads them back to the river's edge.

Reinier brought his men into the forest in the late morning, as soon as they could get away from Marrec and Gwencalon Avendale's hospitality. Marrec had assured them that the dragons in these parts were less aggressive than those of his native lands, and warned them their hunt might not bear any fruit, that dragons were hardly seen here at all.

"It's the wolves you want to watch out for in that forest," Marrec had confided in a whisper, as though he feared the wolves might hear him talking about them. "They aren't your regular wolves. There's magic in that forest. Be sure to be out of it before night falls."

Reinier Landgraab has no fear of wolves, regular or otherwise, nor is he afraid of the dangers nightfall may bring. But he may have no choice but to be out of the forest long before the sun sets, for every step they take deeper into the woods leads them back out again to this river at the forest's edge.

"Enchantment," Reinier says, "The forest itself keeps turning us around. We'll never get any further in on our own."

"We could find a guide?" Harald suggests.

"I doubt anyone in the village has ever braved these woods," Reinier says, "But, there are wild tribes who live in this forest. The same as the wild tribes who live in our forests at home, barbarians with tattooed arms, at home in places where creatures of magic live."

"You don't think we could get one of them to guide us into the forest?' Geeraad asks.

"No," Reinier shakes his head, "They have no love for our kind. But, that night I was attacked here, we saw one of those wild men with a village girl. If we could find her, we could make her take us to her wild lover..."

"You're sure it was a village girl?"

"She was wearing silks, yes," Reinier says, "And when we attacked the men, she fled toward the village, not the forest."

"Did you get a good look at her?"

"Unfortunately, no," Reinier answers, "She had red hair, and her dress suggested she was of the merchant class. Wealthy enough, but not noble."

"Good luck finding a girl in this village who isn't a redhead," Geeraard complains.

"We're more likely to meet up with the local lasses in the tavern than out here in the woods," Harald says brightly.

"She wasn't a bar wench," Reinier points out, but has to agree that they are getting nowhere out in the wilds.

"I'm beginning to think you enjoy making me look a fool," Treveur says, "All the village are waiting for us to announce a marriage day, and wondering why you are keeping me waiting."

"Do you care so much what the villagers say?" Gaelle answers with a teasing laugh.

"No, I don't," Treveur says, "But I do want to marry you. How long will you make me wait?"

Gaelle closes her eyes and sighs. Before Morvyn, Treveur Brannon was all she thought about. Her wild lover may have turned her heart, but Gaelle's head knows well where she belongs. She can no more bring Morvyn into the village as a husband than she could go and live with him in the forests. Not that he asked either of her, she reminds herself. Treveur is the sole heir of a large and prosperous farm, her parents and his both look forward to their match. And he was always kind to her, generous with his gifts, tender in his affections.

"I told my mother this morning to begin making the preparations for our wedding," Gaelle says,finding a sort of relief in saying it, making it real. Her future is here, with this man, and it's time for her to stop pretending anything else, "We'll be married before summer's end."

"You've made me the happiest of men," Treveur enthuses.

"Sterren!" Gwencalon calls out to her niece as she returns from Taran's house, "I have such news! Oh, such happy news!"

"I must speak with my uncle," Sterren says, making up any excuse to get away from gossiping with her aunt, "Has the Lord Landgraab returned from his hunt?" she asks hopefully before turning away. That's the real reason she's stopped at her uncle's before going back to her own house in the village, her desire to see him, speak with him, again.

"That's what I want to tell you!" Gwencalon rises to block Sterren from leaving, "Reinier Landgraab asked your uncle for your hand this morning! I knew he liked you, I saw it in the way he looked at you. But I hardly expected him to act so soon."

Sterren hadn't expected it at all, though she'd spent the night with him. "He asked my uncle for my hand?" she asks, confused, "He said nothing to me..."

"Well, that's their custom, where he's from," Gwencalon explains, "Your uncle explained that, and the young lord will be proposing to you himself as soon as he's back, I'm sure. He asked your uncle not to speak of it to you, though, so you must act surprised when he asks."

"That's an odd custom, asking a girl's a uncle for her hand," Sterren frowns.

"So what if it is?" Gwencalon asks, "We have some time before the men return from their hunt. Let me help you dress in something fitting to be proposed to in, and we can make plans for your wedding dress, and the feat. Oh, it will be such a grand feast!"

"You are getting ahead of yourself, Aunt," Sterren says, "He has not yet made his proposal, nor have I accepted it."

"He made his intentions clear to your uncle, in his eyes, it was a proposal," Gwencaloon says, "And you would not be such a fool as to reject a man like Reinier Landgraab. Come inside, now, so that we can curl your hair."

"Forgive me, aunt, but I must go back to the village now," Sterren says, backing away from her aunt's attempts to groom her.

As the sun begins to set, Reinierturns p at her door, alone. "I left my men at the tavern," he says, "I thought...you're angry with me," he changes the subject mid sentence when he notices the scowl on her face.

"I had to learn of your intention to marry me from my aunt," Sterren says, her voice cold and sharp.

Reinier frowns to hear that Marrec broke his word and told his wife about their discussion. "I meant no disrespect, Sterren," he explains, "I did not know your custom was so different from my own."

Sterren moves aside so he can enter her house. "If you had told me you wanted to marry me, I could have told you what our customs were and avoided this mess," she says.

"I told you I would speak to your uncle; any girl in my country would have understood from that that I meant to make a proposal. I was wrong to assume you would take my meaning, but, truly, I believed you'd understood my intent before you left me this morning."

Sterren pouts, unable to argue the point further. It was a misunderstanding of culture, and not something she should hold against him.

Reinier sees her anger break, and moves in swiftly to take her hands in his, "I cannot undo my mistake. But, I am sorry for it. And I ask you now, will you be my wife, Sterren?"

"Reinier, we've only known each other for one day, we can't possibly decide something like this so soon," Sterren says.

Stung by her rejection, even as softly spoken as it was, Reinier answers rashly, "You only knew me for one day before you took me into your bed!"

Sterren turns from him, her ire rising again, "And you of course have never gone to bed with a woman you had no intention of marrying?"

"Of course I have," Reinier admits, "Women of common birth..." he trails off as he realizes what he's saying.

"Then add me to your list of baseborn conquests and be done with me," Sterren shouts.

"Sterren, please, I didn't mean..." Reinier takes a deep breath, and steps closer to her, to start his plea over again.

"Sterren, this is not about class or land or money, it's not about who we've been with before we met, it's about you and me. I knew, while I watched you bandaging my hands, that I would love you. And you can tell me, or yourself, that all I am to you is a night's pleasure, but I know it isn't true, because I see the love your bear me in your eyes. Look into your heart Sterren, accept my love and be my wife."

"Reinier," she sighs his name, "I cannot deny, there's a strong attraction between us, and even in the short time since we've met, I do find that I care for you, very much..."

Reinier pulls her close to press his lips to her neck. "And I do...very much...enjoy your company..." she gasps between kisses.

"I am offering you my company for the rest of our lives, Sterren," he whispers, nuzzling her ear.

"I'm afraid I cannot think past the pleasure your company could bring right now," she giggles, leading him by the hand to her bedroom.

"You have still avoided answering my proposal," Reinier says, stroking her hair after they've made love on the rug by her fireplace.

"Because I don't like feeling rushed into this, Reinier. I don't want to refuse you outright; we do have feelings for each other. But it's too soon to say if those feelings are deep enough to last and sustain a marriage."

"Nothing would please me more than to court you for as long and as fervently as you would like, my dear heart, but I do not have the luxury of time. I must marry you soon, or not at all."

"What? Why?" Sterren asks, lifting herself up to look him in the eye.

"My father wishes me to marry Agneta Goth, and is already bargaining with her father over dowry and bride prices."

"And you cannot simply refuse to be sold off like property?"

"Refuse to do my father's will?" Reinier's eyes widen, "No, I cannot. I am a younger son, Sterren, and I am my father's to do with as he likes. But even he cannot cast asunder a marriage made under the eye of the Watcher. If I married you, he could not force me to marry another."

"And so you've been courting me just to get out of this unwanted marriage?" Sterren asks, her voice sharpening.

"No, in truth I was content enough with my father's choice. Agneta Goth is beautiful, and intelligent. There is no love between us, or even any interest, but I know my duty and was willing enough to carry it out. And then I met you, fell in love with you, and the thought of marrying the Goth princess is a torture to my mind. I'll have you, and no other."

"I'd be a good husband to you," Reinier promises softly after her silence goes on too long.

"I'm sure you would," she sighs, caressing his chest, feeling a little selfish about refusing to help him out of a marriage she knows she would resent being forced into, were she in his place. "I'm just not ready for this, that we're ready. How long do you have before it's too late?"

"By summer's end, my father and the Goths will have come to terms for an engagement that would bring shame on my family if I refused or ran off with another bride."

"Then, let me take this time to think on it, before I give you my answer," Sterren says