The Onyx Throne - Book One

Allora squinted as light pressed against her eyes. Sleep. She needed more sleep. The bed beneath her was warm, soft and familiar, the fabric of her pillow pleasant and comforting against her skin. Not completely awake in that in-between place where returning to the world of dreams was still possible, she turned on her side, away from the light and adjusted her pillow, looking for the cool spot. There it was. Allora sighed and began to drift back down.

She inhaled a deep breath, her body sinking further on the exhale, and her nose caught the scent of sun fruit blossoms. Sabenn must have snuck into her room this morning to place fresh ones. Allora would have to thank her. But not now. Now was the time for sleep. No one had come to wake her for her shift, so it must be third sun. Vish bless Sabenn for the sun fruit blossoms though.

Sabenn died the night of the coup. You came across her body in the halls. Her stomach had been sliced open and she had crumpled against the wall and lay in a puddle of her own blood and entrails.

The memory crashed into Allora with the force of an avalanche as it all came back to her. She sat up with a scream so sharp her own ears started ringing. She looked around, eyes squinted and saw her surroundings. She was in her room in the palace.

The battle! The blood and the pain. So much death. None would get past her. What? How?

"Mitchell!?!" Allora screamed, her breath coming in gasps. She was sweating, her chest was getting tight. She flailed around to find her sword but it wasn't there. So many soldiers! There had been so many!

"Mitchell!" she yelled again, her voice near panic as she tried to get up, but her body was weak. She crumpled to the floor in a heap.

The door to her outer chambers burst open and Mitchell was there. He was alive! He was tall and strong, his wide shoulders filled the doorway and his blue eyes like the sky found hers.

In a flash he was on his knees picking her up in his arms.

"I got you," he said, his voice soothing the terror that threatened to overwhelm her. "It's okay, I got you."

He picked her up like a child, cradling her trembling form to his. She clutched at his shirt and buried her face in his neck, breathing him in. Her chest shuddered as her mind struggled to make sense of what she saw.

"That healer is going to get a talking to," Mitchell muttered. "A little disoriented when she wakes up. We'll see how disoriented he is with my foot up his ass!"

Mitchell tried to lay her back in the bed but Allora clung to him and wouldn't let him rise.

"Okay," he told her. "I'll stay."

He got into the bed with her and held her as her breathing slowed. He caressed her hair and whispered to her that it was okay and that she was safe.

"You are alive," Allora said at last, her voice uncertain.

"I am."

"You completed the bond?"

"I did."

"Then... Is it...?" Allora's voice caught in her throat and she struggled to get the words out. "Is it over?"

Mitchell bent his head to look down into her eyes. She could see pain in them, but also his love for her.

"For now. We have taken back the city. The soldiers who survived have been captured, though some got away. We did it. You did it, Allora."

Mitchell leaned down and kissed her head.

Allora could almost not comprehend what she was hearing.

Suddenly she laughed and the laughter kept going. As her body shook with it, it began to change, however. All the pain and the heartache; all the misery, the fear, the rage, and the loss. It all came pouring out of her. Everything she had endured, everything she had seen and sacrificed, and everything she had lost since the last time she slept in this bed. It was like a dragon breaking from its prison and it raged through her.

From somewhere deep within, she felt a black void of madness begin to grow. As the tears ran like the Oryn down her face, as years of anguish that she had kept suppressed broke free from the dark place she'd forced it into, she felt her mind begin to surrender. As her body sobbed until she couldn't breathe, the madness sought to claim her and she didn't think she had the will to resist it. So much. It was too much for any one person to bear. Too much. It was crushing her, pulling her down, ripping her apart.

Then, through that bubbling madness, she heard Mitchell's deep voice calling to her, telling her everything was okay. Her pain crashed against him and he was the Skybreaker Peaks. The more she cried, the closer he held her. He was the rock she clung to as all that had happened to her, all that she'd done, tried to sweep her away. But Mitchell did not let her go.

"I've got you," he said, again and again. "I've got you."

"Do not let me go!" Allora cried, near panicked. She was slipping away. She could feel it. Something was pulling at her, dragging her down to the depths. "Do not let me go, Mitchell! Please do not!"

"Never."

Allora lost herself for a bit and she remembered little after that. Except for Mitchell's voice in her ear, whispering that he loved her. Except for his arms holding her tight as her body shook. A different sort of blackness overcame her then, but it was not madness. It was peace.

The next time Allora woke, it was dark except for Vish's pale blue radiance through her windows. Beside her, she felt Mitchell, still there and pressed against her. His breathing was deep and even and just the sound of it calmed her. To her surprise, she felt something warm pressed to her back as well. Then she heard the snoring and, despite herself, she smiled. The three of them were together. They had all survived and she was home.

Allora's eyes sought the night sky, but she couldn't see the moon without shifting and she didn't want to risk waking up her two bedmates.

"Lady Vish," Allora whispered, so softly that even she could barely hear it, "goddess of my mother's people, this humble servant thanks you. Thank you for your guidance and thank you for Mitchell." Allora paused and rolled her eyes. "And thank you for Lethelin as well. I know we still have much to do to save your child, but I am grateful for the peace we have now. Please ask Denass to tell my mother and father of our success. And tell them I love them."

Allora lay awake for a little while longer, listening and watching. She felt for that place inside of her where she had forced all her rage and pain and found it was empty. There was a raw, wounded sensation but it was the feeling of a wound that had begun to heal. She was free of it. The relief was so intense she almost started to cry again. She had made it.

Allora didn't know when it happened, but she detected a change in Mitchell's breathing. As she turned her gaze from the window to his face, he found his eyes open and watching her, the normal sky blue a deep sapphire in the room's darkness.

"Haaa yoo," she said softly.

"Hey, you."

A warmth spread through her at his words. They were simple, but she understood the weight of them. That angry, raw place inside her didn't hurt quite as badly as before.

She brought her hand up and traced it down his jaw line, rough with stubble, and then around his lips, up the ridge of his nose, and through his long, unkempt hair. They lay like that in silence for awhile and slowly, Mitchell's eyes slid closed and back to sleep. Allora followed soon after.

***

The next few days were a blur for Mitchell and the girls. With the power structure in the city gone, there was a mad dash to restore order. It didn't help that Allora and the rest of the knights had been exhausted near to the point of death by the time the battle ended and all of them, not just Allora, had been placed into what amounted to a magically-induced coma for them to recover. Mitchell had been working through Cenedra and one of Falen's lieutenants and some of his people as they were the only ones awake and functional immediately after the battle. They'd put him in touch with what city guard commanders and community organizers they could and slowly, order was restored. He supposed they probably should have had a plan for that, but with everything else going on, it hadn't come up.

The knights each had a list of injuries longer than Mitchell's arm, not the least of which was prolonged mana drain, and—in the case of Khardin, an arm that had been too badly scorched to heal and had needed to be amputated. Apparently healing magic needed something living to regrow and couldn't work on dead or charred flesh. If anything, the dwarf seemed to like the change.

"Aye, gives me more character," he had said upon waking and being given the news. "It'll only add to my legend. Might even earn me a new wife or two. The ladies love a good battle scar, aye."

Mitchell had laughed and clasped his good shoulder.

"I am forever in your debt, Commander Khardin," he said somberly.

"I'm just a sergeant, my lord, aye."

"No longer. After this fight, I am raising all of you to commanders. You're just the first I've visited today. You answered the call, you saved my life, and you saved Allora's and Lethelin's. If there's ever anything you need, as long as it is within my power to give it, it is yours. I swear it, by Stollar's holy light."

"Aye, my lord, I…"

The stone-skinned old dwarf actually got a little misty-eyed at the compliment and, instead of speaking any further, nodded and performed the ritual salute with his good arm.

Mitchell nodded, gripped his shoulder once more, and bid him to take as much rest as he needed.

And so it had gone, with Mitchell visiting each of the battered knights as they'd woken up. He'd given thanks and the promotion to each one. Gilriel was already a commander, having served on the Council of Eight, and Mitchell told her the job was hers again, if she wanted it. She said she would consider it, but made no promises.

Mitchell could not believe that everyone was still alive. But as he'd talked with each of them about the fight that he had missed out on, it became clear to whom they credited their success. Each of them named Allora as the force that kept them going when they were well past exhaustion. By rights, they all should have died, but—when they had felt like they had no more to give—they saw her there, fighting beyond all mortal endurance, the found it within themselves to keep going.

"That woman..." Eldrick said and his voice trailed off in the middle of recounting of his recollections of the battle to Mitchell and a scribe that had been brought from somewhere. Suddenly, a look of deep pain spread into his hard features. "My lord, I am a veteran of many battles. I have fought my way across this land since I first earned my sword, going on seventy years now. Even after I stepped down from my duties as a knight, I worked as a ranger with my sister, running patrols into the Shadow Glenn, the Peaks, and out into the islands to the south to hunt pirates. My sister and I even took a commission for two years on a wave dancer ship. But in all those years, I have never seen one fight as she did. Even now, I don't know how she managed it. And I am deeply ashamed that I ever doubted her. It is a black mark on my soul that I will answer to Denass for when it is time for me to leave this plane. She is truly the Lord Captain."

"She has been fighting to save Awen for a long time," Mitchell said, somewhat taken aback by the man's admission. "It is all that has driven her since this began."

"My lord Mitchell," Eldrick began as a somewhat bemused smile crossed over his face, "she was not fighting for Awen. Not fully, at any rate. She was fighting to protect you."

Mitchell opened his mouth to reply, but found he didn't know what to say. He thanked the man and took his leave.

Of all the knights who had returned, only Hackett was committed to leaving.

"I've got two wives and a husband, two children of my own, plus three more besides, and four grandchildren, with one more on the way, my lord Mitchell. Something I never could have had while I served."

"I thought knights were free to marry?"

"Oh, they are, that's not what I mean, my lord. But Bethell, my first wife, would not be able to endure the stress of me being sent off on campaigns. Anell could, I think, they both still have Raffin, but… Well, I liked being there for my children as they grew. I figured that's all a man can really ask and when the grandchildren came, I considered each one a gift above and beyond what I'd earned. But now that this fight is done, I want to be there for the fourth one, too."

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Mitchell nodded his understanding.

"You have served with honor and distinction, and you will leave with the rank of commander, the same as everyone else, and the pension that goes with it. I hope to return Awenor to peace soon enough."

"Thank you, my lord Mitchell!"

Mitchell shook his hand, despite it being an unfamiliar gesture here, and the halfling warrior adapted readily enough.

"My lord," Hackett called, as Mitchell was heading for the door, a note of hesitation in his voice. "If it's alright with my daughter Lynae, if she has a girl, I would like to ask her to name her Allora. And if it's a boy, Mitchell. Would that be alright?"

Mitchell paused to consider, trying to give the question the proper weight that Hackett seemed to think it deserved.

"On one condition," Mitchell said, after a somber pause.

"Speak it, my lord."

"When this is all over, and if we've driven Milandris out and things have settled down, that you bring your whole family to the palace so that we may meet them. Your children and grandchildren deserve to hear the tale of what you did, straight from the horse's mouth.

"Of course! It would be our honor, my lord. But… what is a horse?"

***

"I'm really not comfortable with all this," Mitchell said as he stared at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

"Is something wrong with my work, my lord?" Holfo said, looking suddenly in distress. The notion that his work might not be perfectly to his customer's liking seemed to have that effect on him.

"No, no," Mitchell told him. "I just don't normally wear clothes like this. I look like a peaco—"

Mitchell stopped himself. They didn't have peacocks on this world. At least not that he had heard of. He had to stop mixing in English. What was it Lethelin had said once?

"I look like a glitter fish… um… swimming about in the water."

Holfo calmed, then seemed to consider.

"I suppose we could shorten the cape in the back. Simplify the front waist coat, I think. Remove the false dragon scales. It would be a bit of a bold statement, though, what with you being the monarch."

"Why's that?"

"It would put the other nobles on edge, I suspect, my lord. Their capes should not be longer than yours, and if you show up with a shorter one, it would make them look like braggarts and that they held their deeds in higher esteem than your own."

"Would that be bad?"

Mitchell had exactly zero experience in what he had learned over the last few days was called The Veiled Dance; the maneuvering of nobles for better positioning. He knew he was going to have to learn though, and it was not a task he looked forward to.

Holfo looked pensive and he started chewing on his lower lip. Mitchell had only met him yesterday, but he already recognized that gesture as one he got when he was pondering something difficult.

"May I speak freely, my lord Mitchell?

"I would prefer it if you always did that, Holfo. I have little patience for games."

His deep brown eyes darted around the room as if afraid they would be overheard, but they were alone with Allora off handling duties as the Lord Captain, and Lethelin doing... well, whatever it was she did.

"The other noble houses were quick to bend the knee to Milandris, and then his governor, Sanit, who, I'm to understand, died in the battle?"

Mitchell nodded.

"That's what they tell me. He was in the contingent at the main gates when the guardians were activated."

"To the void with him," Holfo cursed, then seemed to remember where he was, and bowed. "Apologies, my lord. I did not mean to speak so in your presence."

Mitchell chuckled.

"It's fine. You were saying?"

"Yes… um… well, the nobles fell in line rather quickly, and, while I don't think any of them truly supported Milandris, they also put up no resistance to his rule. They surrendered some of their local forces to fill out his mercenary numbers. Not enough to pose a threat, but more as a show of obedience. I imagine that, what with your ascension to the throne and the retaking of the city that they will be feeling a bit like they've placed their head in the dragon's maw. Will you punish them for siding with Milandris or will you pardon them? Or perhaps inflict some other form of retribution that they have not yet imagined.

"If I may be so bold as to advise you, my lord..."

Mitchell nodded.

"You may."

"Showing up in more simple attire to your own coronation while they will be wearing their finest adornments would be a clever way to indicate that you think their accomplishments paltry and weak. It will make them fear what you will do next. If you, who marched on the city and retook the throne right from under Milandris's forces in a single afternoon, think so little of your accomplishments as to wear simple dress, what right would they have to dress in so gaudy a fashion?"

Mitchell thought about that and smiled.

"We have a saying where I'm from, Holfo. Less is more."

Holfo considered the odd phrase but it was clear he didn't understand it, so Mitchell took a moment to explain it to him. Once he got it, his eyes lit up and he chuckled.

"Oh, I like that very much, my lord. Less is more. Indeed!"

"Can you do that?"

"Of course, my lord."

Mitchell gave him the go ahead, and the halfling set to work plucking things off here, snipping thread there, stripping it down to the bare essentials, but adding very subtle touches back in.

"Tell me, Holfo. How is it that a tailor knows so much about The Veiled Dance?"

The halfling looked up where he was making some adjustments to the thin black sash that cut smartly across Mitchell's chest, and he scoffed.

"I am not just a tailor, my lord Mitchell. I am the tailor. I serve most of the noble houses and several of the powerful merchants in the city. And my apprentices serve more beyond that. You don't rise to that sort of position without picking up a thing or two."

The short man grinned and Mitchell matched it with one of his own.

"And why would you trust me with this sort of information? You just met me yesterday. You don't know if I will be a good monarch or bad. You don't really know what kind of man I am. For that matter, how do I know if I can trust you? How do I know you are not loyal to one of the other noble families and are using this as an opportunity to make me look weak at my coronation?"

Mitchell trusted that Allora would not let that happen, but he still thought it a pertinent question to ask the tailor, even if just to see his reaction.

Holfo stopped smiling then. He stood up and looked thoughtful and then he gave Mitchell a level look.

"I served King Baylor in his time, and I served Lord Captain Travelor as well. My first wife, Prida, served the Lord Captain's wife, Allora's mother, Kahlen. She was a member of the Council of Eight, and a commander as well. My third son apprenticed at Prida's feet and my daughter Cily, with my second wife Ennen, apprenticed at my feet with Baylor and Lord Captain Travelor, both. We have always served the knights and the throne."

"You've served with distinction," Mitchell said, "but you didn't answer the question."

"I tailored the clothes that Lord Captain Travelor wore to Lord Captain Allora's induction ceremony when she was seven high suns old. I did so again when they were preparing for her graduation ceremony. I watched the Lord Captain grow, from when she was nothing but a bulge in her mother's womb as Prida was called in to adjust Lady Kahlen's clothes while her belly swelled, until that terrible night when Milandris came.

"Lord Captain Travelor and Commander Kahlen were two of the finest people I have ever known. And I have known many. Some are not worth the scrapings from the bottom of a jivi paddock. But few are the match of Lord Travelor and his wife. And Lord Captain Allora is every bit their daughter. And she loves you. She would die for you. I see it every time she looks at you. That is all I need to know about you, my lord Mitchell. If I knew nothing else, that would be enough."

Mitchell didn't quite know what to do with that sort of admission. He felt a knot of emotion form up in his chest and his eyes began to moisten. It was such a powerful declaration that Mitchell found himself momentarily overwhelmed. He took a breath and got ahold of himself. Then he placed a hand on the tailor's shoulder.

"Thank you, Holfo. That means a lot."

Holfo nodded and then his professionalism asserted itself once more. Over the next half hour, Holfo made his final adjustments and then scratched several notations in his ledger and began to undress Mitchell with assurances that he would work through the day and into the night to have it completed by the morning.

As the hafling was packing up to go, Mitchell stopped him.

"Tell me, Holfo, have you met Lady Lethelin?"

Holfo wobbled his head.

"Not personally, my lord, but I have seen her a couple of times. Usually with either you or Lady Allora. She is quite striking. Do you wish us to prepare something for her as well? I can assign Cily to make her something. Cily has a flair for the edgier styles and I suspect that would suit Lady Lethelin well."

"Perhaps, but that's a problem for later. If I set an appointment for you, would you meet and talk with her?"

"Of course, my lord Mitchell. But, if we are not to discuss fashion, what is it we would talk about?"

Mitchell cocked an eyebrow and gave the tailor a sly grin.

"Dancing."

***

"Knock, knock," Mitchell said, tapping on the frame of the door lightly as he stepped into Allora's chambers.

The sun was setting and the sky beyond Allora's large windows had an excellent view of the western palace grounds. He could see the effects the newly returned groundskeepers were having on the long neglected gardens, even from the third floor window. Bushes were getting trimmed back, paths cleared away, and there was even a fountain already up and running.

Through the bedroom door off of the small sitting room, Allora's voice called out.

"Dok, dok, not nok, nok," she corrected, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"No no," he heard Lethelin say. "Let him. My thumping finger hasn't had a good work out in a dragon's age."

Mitchell smiled, hearing both of them together and stepped in, closing the door behind him. Despite the small size, the room was well appointed. It had one couch along the right wall that could seat three, albeit a little tightly, and two small chairs around a table barely big enough for two plates to sit next to each other. The two windows in this room were tall, almost Mitchell's full height, and hung with light blue curtains. The walls were an off-white plaster, now cracked in several places, with green wallpaper acting as wainscotting which was peeling in several places since the palace had been abandoned for two years. Such cosmetic repairs were very low on the list of priorities at the moment.

There was also a mix between a hearth and a Franklin stove that sat against the left wall, and this served as a heat source when it was cold. Heat stones—sometimes called fire drakes, he'd learned – could be placed inside and they would warm the whole room for hours. He'd used the same sort of magic item on his trip over the mountains. No burning wood or coal. No ash or smoke. It just needed someone with a little magical knowhow

Once Allora had been feeling better, Mitchell had commented that this seemed like an awfully nice room for an Onyx Knight fresh out of training. He had expected her to have to sleep in the barracks, now in the process of being rebuilt. It had been one of the burned-out buildings on the palace grounds and it had taken some of the worst damage.

Allora had admitted that this had been her room as a young girl, before her seventh high sun when she had been permitted to join the knights. It was a privilege she'd had since her father was the Lord Commander and her mother a commander and on the Council of Eight. Her family did have land about two days ride to the west near the region called the High Valley, but because of their duties to the monarch and the Knights, they lived at the palace most of the year. When Allora had joined up, she had been expected to stay in the barracks with the rest of the trainees and was only allowed to sleep in her own quarters on holidays if she'd been given leave.

Mitchell stepped into the bedroom and saw Allora sitting up on her bed with Lethelin sitting cross-legged in front of her, and Allora was brushing her hair. He then did a double-take and saw it was a much bigger bed than the one they'd woken up in that morning.

"I see we got our new furnishings," Mitchell said, smiling.

Given that the room was Allora's when she was a child, the original bed had not been that large, nor had it smelled all that fresh when they'd first reclaimed the space. Someone had brought in a newer one as quickly as they could, but it had been the same size as the original that had been thrown out because it matched the frame. All of them trying to squeeze into it had been less than ideal. However, the notion of sleeping apart from the two women felt wrong to Mitchell, and he had been surprised that they had felt the same.

So, they'd suffered through the tight space the last two days. Until the royal quarters could be remodeled, this is where they had opted to stay. Mitchell hadn't even suggested that Allora take her parents' old room.

"Yes," Allora said, looking up and smiling. "It is much better."

A look of consternation then passed over her features and she looked back at Lethelin's head.

"Wait, was that 141 or 151? I lost count."

"Not even close. That was only 121."

Allora reached up a long finger and plucked a single strand of red-orange hair from Lethelin's head.

"Ouch!" the thief yelped. "Balls, woman, alright! 151!"

"That is what I thought," Allora said primly, then gave Mitchell a grin from behind her head.

Lethelin rubbed vigorously at the spot on her head where the hair had been yanked out, but wisely chose not to comment further.

"What's this all about?" Mitchell asked the pair as he had to nearly bite his tongue to stop from laughing.

"She lost a bet. And not very graciously, I might add!"

"Do you want to lose more hair? Because that is how you lose more hair. And I would not have lost if you had not cheated."

"I didn't cheat!"

"160!" Allora stated with emphasis.

"What was the game?"

"It's called The Sea Fairies. Three cards, shuffled around, and you have to pick the winner. She lost so she has to brush my hair 200 times."

Mitchell chuckled openly then.

"You know, my father told me something once. He said "Never play poker with a man named Doc".

"What is poker?" Allora asked, pausing her strokes.

"A card game."

"Why do you not play with a man named Doc?"

"It's a way of saying don't play a card game with him because he is likely a much better player than you. Lethelin is a member of the thieves guild, honey. Those games are used to trick people out of their money. She's probably been playing them almost as long as you've been using a sword."

Allora narrowed her eyes and glared at the back of Lethelin's head.

"So you did cheat!"

"No, I didn't cheat! I didn't need to," Lethelin protested. "I know how to move the cards so that the one you think is your card isn't. I can even make you pick the one I want."

Allora looked at Mitchell to confirm her words and he nodded.

"We have a similar game on Earth. That's how they do it."

Allora finished her last ten strokes in silence before placing the brush down.

Lethelin ran her fingers through her long red hair and smiled appreciatively before scooting around and giving Allora a quick peck on the lips.

"Want me to brush yours next?"

"That would be nice. And I want you to show me how to play this card game later, when we have time. I want to learn more about this world. I fear it is an area of my education that is lacking."

They readjusted on the bed and Lethelin began to pull the brush through Allora's raven locks. Mitchell watched as the knight's eyes rolled back in near ecstasy at those first few thick sweeps of the brush and she could not contain the groan as the tension was eased from her scalp. Mitchell took the opportunity to crawl up onto the bed with them and he placed his head in Allora's lap. She began to idly run her fingers through his hair and scratched his head which caused Mitchell to break out in goose bumps, or as they were called here, fairy tracks.

All was silent for a time. Just the steady rhythm of the brush strokes and the soft sounds of Allora's breathing. There were things to talk about, plans to make, people to meet, and there were still the battalions of troops stationed all through the country with which they had to deal. Taking back the city did not win them the war. Mitchell reminded himself that while he could see those enemy soldiers now when he was upon the throne, he had no army to send after them. City guardsmen did not a military force make. They were not out of the woods yet. But for now, that didn't matter. For now, it was enough just to be with the two women he loved with no one pestering them, no reports to read, no strategies to plan. He'd left strict instructions not to bother him unless a dragon attacked the city or Milandris showed up to surrender and offer his head.

Mitchell allowed himself to doze as Allora's hands massaged his scalp and he was feeling very relaxed when he heard an unmistakable sound. It was the sound of lips on skin. It was then that he noticed that Allora's hands had stopped their gentle caresses. He opened his eyes and looked up to see that Allora had her head off to one side and Lethelin was leaning over her shoulder and kissing her neck. As he watched, Lethelin's eyes found his and gave him a wink.

"Mitchell, love?" Allora said, a touch breathlessly.

"Yes?"

"Did you leave orders for us not to be disturbed tonight?"

"I did."

"Good."

Allora turned then, and grabbed a handful of Lethelin's long red hair, and kissed her full on the mouth.