Note: This is a gay themed fantasy novel about kings and magic, love and war. Although I will often allude to sexual encounters, there are no scenes of sexual acts for this is, by and large, a love story. This author claims exclusive copyright to the characters, settings, and plot.
Dark Wishes
M.C. Gordon
Part Three: Fanna
Chapter One
The room was cold. The servants had built the fire as high as they dared in the fireplace of the master apartment in the old fortress castle. Still, cold wind managed to creep in from a thousand hidden cracks and crevices. It was going to be a very cold winter.
Fanna pulled the blanket more snugly around his shoulders and stirred the fire, hoping to coax a little more warmth from it. He had tried to convince Trelaine to move to a smaller apartment in the castle, one that would be easier to warm, but Trelaine insisted on staying in the apartment that he had used for nearly a hundred years, claiming that the memories kept him warm.
Fanna never asked what those memories were. He was not sure that he wanted to know. Trelaine would have told him, if he had asked. But Fanna never did and Trelaine finally stopped sitting in the garden holding a small box that contained a lock of golden hair.
Tears threatened to fall from Fanna's eyes as he thought about that long ago lover, but he held them back. Trelaine needed no tears from him tonight. Indeed, it seemed that the High King would need a steady mind and thoughtful conversation. Fanna watched his beloved as he stood beside the failing light from the window and read the message from King Artilan, grandson of Llewelyn.
"Is the news bad?" he asked as he sat marveling at the glow of Trelaine's alabaster skin in the fading light.
"Certainly not good," Trelaine replied. "Artilan writes to inform me that King Etamere of the nomads has requested an audience. I told you of the nomads, did I not?"
"Yes," Fanna replied. "You and King Llewelyn averted a war with them many years ago."
"Well, it seems that new marauders are approaching the northern boundary of their kingdom and Etamere may request aid from Artilan. He seeks my council."
Trelaine looked across the room toward the boy who sat beside the fireplace. No', he thought, he is not a boy. He is a young man and fills my heart with happiness.' Crossing the room, he took Fanna's hands in his own and raised him from the chair.
"We will discuss it tomorrow over our morning meal. The night is chilled. Come, let me warm you in our bed."
The room was still cold when Trelaine woke the next morning. The servants had tried to keep the fire hot in the ancient fireplace to no avail. Trelaine once again considered Fanna's request to move to a different apartment in the castle.
He gazed warmly at the unruly mop of red hair that had found a place of its own on his shoulder. His companion mumbled something incoherent and moved even closer to him. Trelaine reveled in the warmth of the body next to his.
Fanna had come to the court years earlier, as a mere lad of twelve. Trelaine chuckled silently to himself as he remembered Fanna then. Such an abundance of life and enthusiasm he had never seen before. The boy was constantly in trouble whether it was stealing cakes from the kitchen for himself and the hounds or chasing geese across the courtyard, the bundle of energy had upset the entire household. Trelain had finally taken the boy under his own hand before all of his personal staff rebelled.
Uneducated and of peasant stock, Fanna was an enigma. Everyone complained that the child was constantly underfoot. The horsemaster charged the boy was trying to charm the horses and disturbing their training; yet the animals responded to him. The archivist found him sneaking around, touching fragile records with the greatest of reverence.
"Boy," Trelaine said to him one day, "can you read?"
"No, Sire," the child answered.
"And yet you pester my archivist."
"I could read if I wanted to," had been the response of the willful child.
"Then you shall," Trelaine said and found a tutor for the waif.
A year passed before Trelaine took notice of the troublesome scamp again. He had been riding with his guard when they passed near one of many training areas. The land was at peace, but Trelaine had enough of Miralen's memories to know the value of keeping a trained military force.
He sat easily upon his black steed and watched a group of young boys being put through their paces with lance and sword by one of his captains. Curious about one of the lads, he summoned Captain Twillan to him.
"Who is the energetic boy with the red hair?" he asked.
"That one is Fanna, Majesty," Twillan responded, "the boy you sent to me last year."
Trelain tried, but could not recall the lad. "How does he progress?"
"The boy will never be a soldier, Majesty. He tries, indeed he does, and would fight like a whirlwind if need be. But the art of war is too foreign to his nature."
"See that he does his best then," Trelaine said and rode away, the boy once again forgotten.
Time seemed to move slowly for Trelaine. He busied himself with concern for every part of his realm and spent as little time in Elanen's capital as possible. Memories of Karandal echoed through the castle although he had slipped quietly from life forty years earlier.
King Riedel, the son of his old friend Llewelyn, died peacefully and Trelaine attended the formal rites of the funeral. Riedel had ruled Endril for nearly fifty years following the death of his father. At the coronation of his son, Artilan, Trelaine pledged his loyalty and friendship to the new king, already a middle-aged man.
He returned to Elanen in reduced spirits. None were now alive from the days when Trelaine, Karandal, and Llewelyn had joined together to fight the resurgence of the evil nature of the old Qell Lords.
It was dark when the High King and his retinue arrived in Aolane, the capital of his kingdom. He dismissed his guard and entered the castle just as a streak of lightning forked across the sky. A loud thunderclap followed and the heavens opened. Trelaine was drenched before he could gain access to his castle, his lonely home.
The head of his personal household, Egbert, greeted him at the door, taking the sodden cloak from his shoulders. "A warm bath awaits, M'Lord. The fire is warm and the candles lit in your apartment. Make haste, Sire, before you catch your death of a cold.
"Would that such could overcome me," Trelaine replied, so deeply despondent was he. Still, to spare his household any further worry, he hurried up the stairs to his chambers and allowed his personal servants to strip away his wet clothing and assist him into the tub of hot water near the crackling fire.
Egbert gathered the wet things and took them to the laundress, who was waiting in the enormous kitchen with the rest of the servants. "He is tired," Egbert told them. "Our Lord is but weary. Tomorrow will see him greet each of you and ease your concerns."
His eyes landed on a quiet, studious lad sitting at one of the large tables in the room. "You have not asked about your King, boy," Egbert said.
Eyes the deep green color of the forest gazed placidly back at him. "You said that my Lord is returned, Egbert," a soft baritone voice replied. "It pleases me to know that he is safely home."
Egbert judged that the time was right for this changeling to assume his duties in the royal household. From dull peasant, to adventurous and troublesome scamp, to refined dignity: the transformation still amazed Egbert. "Here, boy, take this tankard of warmed ale to the King."
"Yes, oh Master of my Life," Fanna replied, smiling as the used the affectionate name he called Egbert. "Your wish is my command."
Trelaine had finished his bath and sat in front of an open window. That rain blew in through the window, he seemed not to notice.
"Sire?" he heard a soft voice inquire. "Majesty?
Egbert bade me fetch this to you," the voice continued as the tankard of ale was placed on a nearby table.
Trelaine slowly opened his eyes. The figure that stood before him was a lad not long past puberty. The short sleeved tunic revealed arms that, while not greatly muscled, were well toned. A face that bore a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, and lively eyes topped a well-corded neck.
"Are you well, My Lord?" the young man inquired. "Perhaps your journey was more taxing than any realized. I could work the ache from your muscles if you wish. Perhaps I could play my harp and sing for you. Or, if you prefer, I could read to you. There are many scrolls in the royal archives that contain pleasant tales."
All the while, a buried memory niggled at Trelaine's mind until he focused on the dark auburn hair of the lad who tended him. "Can you read, boy?" he asked.
The smile that graced the handsome face caught at the King's heart. "I can now, My Lord," he replied, "thanks to your own graciousness."
"Your name?" Trelaine asked.
"I am Fanna," the lad replied.
"How old are you now?" Trelaine asked as the boy began to massage the ache from his shoulders.
"The healers believe I am in my nineteenth year, Sire," Fanna answered.
"It does not seem that long ago since first you came to Aolane." Trelaine laughed at a sudden memory.
"Cook almost left because of your antics, Fanna. Do you know how many times she came to me to complain that you stole pies when she set them to cool? Oh, rub harder there -- just below the shoulder blade."
Fanna complied and worked his thumbs into the tight muscles, willing them to relax. " `Twas Cook's fault, My Lord. She made most excellent pies. Had they not been so good I would not have stolen past the first one."
"You were an impudent rascal."
"I was, My Lord."
"Now you are impertinent."
"Indeed, my King. I can but hope that I am better mannered now. It would not speak well of my tutors through the years if I were still the rough peasant I once was."
The boy was working his own magic on Trelaine's aching muscles and the voice was pleasant to his ears.
The light, almost irreverant tone of the conversation was welcome. Trelaine had not been spoken to in such a manner since the early years of his life with Llewelyn, Octo, and Karandal.
Not wanting to lose himself further in a feeling of sadness and loss, he sought to encourage light banter from this unusual young man. "What else have you learned?" he asked.
"I can sit a horse reasonably well," the boy replied, "although they prefer me standing on the ground speaking to them than riding on their backs."
"Do you ride often?"
"When I must, Sire. I find that my feet are usually sufficient to carry me where I must go."
"You said you can read now," Trelain remarked.
"That is perhaps the greatest gift you have given me, My Lord. And I can work numbers. Egbert often asks me to check the household accounts. And I have learned to read the heavens. Shipmaster Sondal might ask you to send me to him that I may become the captain of one of his ships."
"Is that what you wish to do, Fanna?"
"I don't think so, Sire. I would prefer to remain here in Aolane. I can better serve my King here, I believe."
"What would you choose to do to serve your king and kingdom, Fanna?"
Trelaine was totally unprepared for the answer he saw in Fanna's eyes. "I will do whatever my King commands me to do."
Trelaine was at an unaccustomed loss. Many men had been available through the years to grant him pleasure for a night or a week. But he was not Ilafrain to take pleasure where he found it. The memories of his love for Xoachin and Karandal were strong, and it was not in his nature to separate physical pleasure from love.
The youth who gazed at him with such longing stirred him as no other had in a very long time. Still, he had never commanded any man to his bed.
"Leave me, Fanna," he ordered.
"Sire?" the boy asked, "have I offended you?"
"No," Trelaine responded. "You have not. I am weary and need to sleep. Return to me on the morrow and we will speak more. Go now, for I am tired."
Fanna did as ordered and left the room. He stopped just outside the King's chambers, sat on a small stool, and took up the harp that he had leaned against the stone wall when he brought the ale. Taking the harp onto his lap, he began to play softly.
His nimble fingers, the tips callused from hours of practice, played a gentle melody that he had heard mothers humming to their babes.
The heavy oak doors to the chamber muted the sound of the song but Trelaine could hear the boy and shook his head in disbelief. The lad had done as told and left the room, but that was as far as he obeyed. The King thought of going to the door and telling Fanna to go to his own sleeping quarters but the song was pleasant and eased his spirit. Instead, he lay on his bed and let himself go to the magic of the music.
Mindful of the knowledge that his King never slept in the dark, Fanna waited a time and then opened the door a crack. The ever-present candles were burning down and the King seemed to be sleeping. Fanna quietly entered the room and set about lighting fresh candles. He added wood to the fireplace and crossed to the bed.
Trelain lay on his side, his long black hair fallen over his face. Fanna gently brushed the hair back and gazed at the face of the man he so desired to love. Had, in fact, loved since the first time he had been hauled kicking and screaming before the High King. His crime had been stealing food. He did not remember what, most likely a loaf of freshly baked bread. He had expected to be thrown into prison but the King had smile kindly on him and given him to Egbert to be bathed and fed.
Trelaine summoned Egbert early the next morning. "I want the boy sent away."
Egbert stated at him. "Why, Your Majesty? Fanna is a good boy who shows much promise. I had hoped you would allow me to train him to assume my position when the time comes for me to step down."
"I do not want the boy near me," Trelaine replied.
"Where would you have me send him? Back to a hovel in the forest to be a woodcutter? If that is what you planned for his future then why did you have him educated?" Egbert was deeply upset at the thought of sending the tender hearted lad back to live as a peasant. "Do you realize what this will do to him?"
Fanna approached the King's apartment pleased that his music had helped his lord to sleep the night before. He had no doubt that Trelaine would one day look upon him with favor; he need only do everything he could to please his lord and bring him happiness.
He heard the raised voices as Trelaine and Egbert argued and stopped outside the door, troubled. It was unlike Egbert to raise his voice to anyone, most especially the King. He was turning to leave when he heard his name mentioned.
His heart sank when he heard the King say that he was to be sent away. He ran back down the long hallway, up the stairs to the servant's quarters, and threw himself down on his small pallet. Burying his head in his arms, he began to cry. How foolish he had been to think that the High King would even want to look upon such an uncultured person as himself.
He longed to run away; to lose himself in some dark and foreboding part of the deepest forest. He wanted to take his pain and humiliation far from Aolane and curl himself into so small a ball that he could be crushed beneath the hooves of one of the great war-horses. No one would miss him and the man he loved would be free of him.
But he knew those thoughts to be childish and he was no longer a child. He was a man and would act as one. The High King did not want his heart therefore his loyalty would have to suffice. He would go where Trelaine bade him go and show naught but gratitude for the decision regarding his future. Still, his heart hurt and he let himself go to the tears.
"I have no intention of sending him back to peasantry, Egbert. Send him to Endril. I should have fostered him years ago. Perhaps a year or more at Artilan's court will mature him."
"Why do you wish to send him away, Majesty?" the steward asked.
"Because I do not wish to fall in love again," Trelaine replied.
Chapter Two:
"I am sending you Fanna, a member of my household. Treat him kindly; keep his safe. Help him find someone to love for I do not wish him to love me," King Artilan read from the message his visitor from Elanen handed to a royal page.
Artilan signaled the guards to admit their guest and watched as the figure, cloaked and hooded in black, approached him. He noted the deep bow and bade the young man to rise. Studying the dark form before him, he told the page to assist their guest in removing his cloak.
Artilan stared at the magnificent creature and wondered if Trelaine had become taken of a fever that had scrambled his brain. The young man that stood before him was all the colors of autumn, from the magnificent dark auburn hair and deep green eyes to the golden tunic, he was the color of the forest as the leaves turn. Had Artilan been so inclined he would have had the lad in his bed before the hour was over.
"Do you know why you are here, Fanna?" he asked.
"No, Majesty," he replied softly. "I believe that I must have offended my gracious lord in some way."
"What am I to do with you?"
"I know not, Sire. I will do whatever is required of me. I can read and write, do well with numbers, and can sing and play the harp. I do not ride very well but have been trained in weaponry. I will serve you as I would have served my own king for that is his wish." His voice broke and he could not stop the tears from forming.
"Come with me, young Fanna," a gentle voice said as Fanna felt a hand touch his shoulder. He turned to look up at the stranger who addressed him. A smile greeted him from a friendly face. "The King has assigned you to my care until we can decide where you will best serve the household. My name is Grislen."
Fanna followed the man, obviously a person of importance by his dress and bearing, from the great hall and up a wide staircase.
"First we must see how far your training has taken you," the man said as they walked down a long, wide corridor. "Tomorrow is a resting day so I will not test you until the next day past that. Until then I will have my son show you the castle and grounds. The common areas of the castle are open to you. You are forbidden only the private apartments of the lords and ladies who reside within these walls."
Fanna listened closely as they walked. This man would be his new lord and, having resigned himself to this exile, he would do what he could to avoid humiliation.
"Ah, here we are," his companion said as they approached a large, heavy door.
The door was guarded by two men dressed in the black and gold which were the royal colors of Endril. They stood at attention, their feet braced apart and one hand resting against the small of their backs. In their other hands they held long pikes, crossed to halt entrance. As Fanna and his companion approached, they drew back their pikes and bowed.
"What manner of man is this?" Fanna wondered to himself.
The apartment they entered was large and richly adorned. Heavy brocade drapery fell across the windows, pulled back to admit light. The furniture was all of heavy oak and polished so deeply that it reflected the light.
"Sigil!" Grislen shouted, "come and meet our guest."
Fanna stared at the young man who entered the room. He was not much older than Fanna. Sunlight caused his hair, the color of winter wheat, to shine and hazel eyes sparkled with affection for the older man.
"Hello, Papa'," he said. "Have you brought me a new friend?"
"In a way. This is Fanna. He is being fostered here from King Trelaine's court at Aolane. Your uncle has asked us to see wherein lie his strengths and weaknesses. Fanna, this is my son, Sigil."
"Fostered, Sire?" Fanna asked. "Then I am not exiled from Elanen?" He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
"Oh no, lad," Grislen replied. "If the High King held court as others do, you would have been fostered here years ago. But His Majesty does things in his own time and his own way."
Fanna half believed the words Grislen spoke, and then he remembered Trelaine saying that he did not want Fanna near him. His momentary spark of hope was lost in the memory.
Sigil crossed to Fanna and took him by the hand. "We always take our noon meal here in our own apartments," he said. " Tis only the evening meal we have with the court. Whilst we wait for the servants to bring our food I will show you where you will sleep. Tis not a very large room, I fear. But it is near mine. And then we will traverse the wonders that are the castle. Oh, there is ever so much to show you. If we can escape the guards I will take you to the tower wherein the old wizard, Menfred, lived. He was the one who summoned the High King in the time of my great-grandfather. And then we shall prowl the ..."
Grislen watched as his son linked his arm through that of their lonely guest and babble endlessly of the adventures they might have. The lad might make a good companion for his son, who was also lonely.
That night Sigil heard Fanna weeping and entered the small cubicle across the hall from his own room. Kneeling down by Fanna's pallet he placed a small bundle next to him.
Fanna stilled and looked up at the handsome boy. "What is it?" he asked, sitting up.
"Not an `it', silly boy. This is Remeth, the only living kitten from a litter I found near the woods. Her mother and the rest were killed by a wild boar. Handle her gently for her leg is broken, as is your heart I think."
Fanna could no longer hold back the pain he felt and began to sob helplessly. Sigil sat beside him and held him in his arms until the sobs began to ease. "Let Remeth sing to you," he said as he eased Fanna down onto the pillow. "The old grandmother who set her leg for me said that she survived the attack because magic favors her. She has a healing magic in her songs."
Sigil sat beside his new friend until Fanna finally drifted off to sleep, Remeth lying contentedly on his chest. Sigil could hear the kitten purring even as he crossed the room. He certainly hoped that Remeth's songs did hold magic.
"Papa'," he said as he approached his father near the fireplace in the great room of the apartment.
"Yes?" Grislen asked.
"If the High King truly does not want Fanna, may I keep him?" Sigil asked.
"Fanna is a person, Sigil, not a thing. He is not yours to keep as if he were a pet or a tunic."
"I know that, Papa'. What I meant was, if the king he loves does not love him in return, may I try to win his heart?
"You may try, Sigil. If he wishes to stay with you then I will speak with my brother and find a permanent position for him here. But, if you cannot win his love then he is free to make his own choices. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Papa'. And I will do my best to win his love. Thank you."
Grislen shook his head. "At least he is better than the stable boy you dallied with."
. . .
"I ache in places unknown to mankind," Fanna said as Sigil smeared a smelly concoction on his tired muscles. "Phew! What is that; horse linament?"
"Almost," Sigil replied laughing. "The master healer had nothing that would work on my sore muscles so I went to the horsemaster. He gave me this to use.
It may smell, but it works."
Sigil was right and Fanna could feel the heat seeping into his aches. He had been Sigil's training partner for more than a fortnight. Strenuous as his training had been in Aolane, it was nothing compared to the brutal sessions he now faced. Each day saw them with the arms master for two hours, the horse master for two hours. They were allowed to rest only during the time they spent copying fading scrolls in the archives. The dance master claimed them, as did the blacksmith, the master healer, and the alchemist. Fanna's brain was as worn and tired as his body. He spent his evenings learning to serve the king's table and cleaning when the rest of the royal household had gone to bed.
"Can you rub a litter harder down the center of my back? Right ... oh, there. No, a little more up ... to the right. There!"
Sigil worked the tired muscles, kneading the knots away. As Fanna began to relax beneath his ministration, Sigil's hands changed from tense to a silky and sensuous touch, running gently along the back and arms of his new friend. Fanna sighed deeply and enjoyed the feeling momentarily before he felt Sigil's hands roam further down his back.
Fanna did not resist when Sigil eased him onto his back and leaned down to kiss him. His first feel of another's lips against his own caused his heart to leap and his lips to moan.
"Come with me," Sigil whispered. "My bed is softer than your pallet."
. . .
Trelaine, the High King of Elanen, cried out and sat up in his bed. Egbert burst through the door at the outcry. "What is amiss, My Lord?" he asked, concern written across his face.
"Nothing, Egbert. All is well. Merely a dream, nothing more."
Egbert checked the candles and replaced the ones that had burned down. "Good night, My Lord," he said.
"Good night, Egbert," Trelaine replied. When Egbert left, he thought about what had just happened. Why should he feel the rapture of Fanna's first knowledge of how it is with men? He had no bond with the boy. He had, in fact, sent the boy away because he desired no bond with any man. Still, he had known and felt Fanna's passion.
"I will not love him!" he announced to an empty room; empty save for a small furry beast who had sneaked unnoticed into the room and curled near the fireplace.
Chapter Three
Two years passed quickly for Fanna. His days were filled with study and training, his nights with gentle, and sometimes not so gentle, passion with Sigil. The two had grown in their friendship as well as love.
"Fanna," King Artilan said to him as they passed each other in one of the castle corridors one morning, "tend to me after the evening meal."
Fanna spent the day in curiosity over the summons. He found it difficult to concentrate which resulted in an ugly, but shallow, cut on his left shoulder during arms training and a pot of ink spilled on a scroll he was copying in the archive. The master healer had tended his would with a simple reminder to be more careful. The master archivist was not as kind and Fanna was told he would spend the next resting day working in the archives to learn the value of the written word.
Fanna was nervous as he approached the King's apartments for he seldom saw Artilan. The guards at the door lifted their pikes and granted him admission into the royal presence. Fanna gave his best bow. He had practiced it several times before the dressing mirror in Sigil's room to be sure he would make no mistakes: an action that had sent Sigil into fits of laughter.
"Pour each of us a cup of ale and come sit with me near the fireplace," Artilan said. "The night grows cold and my bones feel a chill. This is a bitter winter."
Fanna did as he was bid and handed the King his cup before sitting on a stool near the fireplace.
"How is it with you, Fanna," the King asked. "Are you happy here in Endril?"
"Yes, Majesty," Fanna replied. "I am most content with my life."
"I did not ask if you are content, lad. I asked if you are happy."
"Yes, Sire, I am," Fanna said. "I have more happiness than I had expected."
"The masters tell me that you are progressing quite well," Artilan remarked as he placed his cup on a nearby table. "You were not born to be a warrior but the arms master assures me that you could acquit yourself well in battle if need be. He believes that you would at least kill the enemy instead of yourself.
And your horsemanship is greatly improved. Also, the master archivist advises me that you have the fairest script of any he has ever seen."
"He might not speak so highly of me tonight, Sire."
"Oh? And why not?"
"I spilled an inkpot on a scroll today."
"Was the scroll saved?"
"Yes, My Lord. And I am to give up my resting day to work in the archives as a result."
"Do you like working in the archives, young Fanna?" the King asked.
"Oh, yes, My Lord. I like it very much." Fanna's voice betrayed the thrill he found working with the scrolls and tomes in the dusty room of the castle.
"Would it please you to be assigned to the archives as your duty in Endril? Master Craton grows in age and has asked for you to be apprenticed to him."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Fanna earnestly replied.
"I am pleased," Artilan said after a few sips of his ale, "that you and Sigil are fond of each other. My nephew was a solitary lad before you joined us. There are not many who are as the two of you. I had hoped once that the High King would show an interest in Sigil. He would have made a fitting consort for King Trelain. Sigil is, after all, kin to the King's last lover, Karandal."
"Kin to him?" Fanna asked in awe.
"Indeed," Artilan said as he threw more logs onto the fire. "My father married Kista, a daughter of Karandal's sister Selmaris and her husband Danel. She was my lady mother as well as Grislen's."
"Can you tell me more, Sire?" Fanna asked. He did love Sigil, but the deepest part of his heart and soul still belonged to his own High King.
"My father and grandfather knew both of them very well. They were often guests here. In fact, my brother's apartments were once reserved for Trelaine and Karandal alone. Their love for each other is legend in the ten kingdoms. Trelaine once had to be stopped from mindless slaughter when Karandal was in danger."
"I never knew that, My Lord," Fanna replied, hanging eagerly on each work Artilan spoke.
"There are detailed accounts of those years in the archives, lad," Artilan said. "Craton was a young man at the time and spent much time in their company. Perhaps he will tell you things he remembers that are not written down, if you can refrain from knocking over any more inkpots."
Artilan had watched the young man closely as they talked. "Fanna, do you love Sigil?"
"Oh, yes, Majesty," he replied.
"Enough that you would stay with him if King Trelaine summoned you back to Elanen.
Fanna's emotions played across his face. A few tears broke loose and slid down his cheeks as he replied, "I will stay with Sigil as long as he will have me, Sire, for I do love him. My King will not summon me. He sent me here in exile and has probably forgotten my existence. I am not so much a fool that I will place my dreams in a star so far away in the heavens that it cannot be reached. Sigil's love for me is real and binds me to him."
"The High King is very aware of your existence, Fanna," Artilan said, his manner very serious. "Shortly after your arrival he sent word that he wished to be kept informed of your progress and your happiness. He does not wish lightly for he knows the power of his wishes. I send him word of your progress each I time I have contact with him for any reason. Of your happiness? That I could only surmise. Knowing this, I ask you again. Would you go if he summoned you?"
Fanna raised his chin and summoned as much dignity as he could before responding. "I love Sigil.
I would only leave him if I heard from his own lips that he wished me gone, or if his voice was silenced in death."
To be continued.
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