“I can’t just stay here and watch the female I love go crazy!” Brand exclaimed, so loudly that several heads turned and a few other warriors stared at him in surprise. He didn’t give a damn, though—he was too upset about Allara to care what anyone thought of him. “I have to do something for her, Sylvan,” he said desperately. “I just don’t know what! How can I ease the burden of guilt she feels? How can I help her clear her mind and start fresh? I love her, damn it! There must be something I can do.”
“Maybe there is.” Sylvan frowned thoughtfully. “When you talked about easing her guilt and clearing her mind, it gave me an idea. Have you thought about taking her to the Sacred Grove for a Cleansing Ceremony?”
“No.” Brand shook his head. “She doesn’t believe in the Goddess—as far as I can tell, she still worships the Q’ess gods—whoever they may be.”
“It doesn’t matter if she believes or not—the Goddess can offer healing,” Sylvan insisted. “Why don’t you let me set it up? I’m sure I can get a special dispensation from the Council to allow you take her to the Sacred Grove. At the very least, you’d be getting her out of your suite.”
“That’s true.” Brand nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe it would help at that.” He sighed. “Honestly, at this point, I’m desperate enough to try anything.”
“I’ll set it up for later on tonight,” Sylvan promised.
“Thank you, Commander.” Brand nodded gratefully. “And now, I’d better get back. I was only able to leave because Allara was finally sleeping so I knew she couldn’t hurt herself.”
“Did the sedative I prescribed help, then?” Sylvan asked.
Brand nodded. “When I finally got her to take it. But I’m afraid it will be wearing off soon. I’d better go.”
“I’ll speak to the Head Priestess and the Council,” Sylvan told him. “Be ready later this evening.” He offered Brand his arm and Brand took it.
“Thank you,” he said again. “I just hope this helps. If it doesn’t…” He shook his head. “I’m all out of ideas.”
“Have faith,” Sylvan said comfortingly. “The Goddess is willing to help when we call on her. She’s never failed me yet.”
“Nor me,” Brand admitted. “But I’ve never had a problem like this one before.”
He still didn’t know if the Goddess would care about a foreign female who didn’t even know her or worship her. Still, he had no other ideas of how to help his wife and he was, as the humans said, “at the end of his rope.”
“Have faith,” Sylvan said again. “I’ll see you later tonight.”
He clapped Brand on the shoulder and left to go make the arrangements.
Brand, with a sigh, headed back to his suite. He only hoped the Cleansing Ceremony would help Allara.
If it didn’t, he didn’t know what else to do.
Forty-Five
Stupid girl—evil girl! You should have killed him—you failed to complete your mission!
You tried to kill your husband—what a horrible person you are! Why are you even still alive?
Kill yourself!!!
Allara curled into a ball on the bed and put her hands over her ears, as though she could block out the awful internal voices the way she could block external ones. But it didn’t matter what she did, the voices tormented her.
One voice sounded like her aunt—it whispered again and again what a failure she was, how she had shamed her family and her people, and how every one of the Q’ess despised her now and reviled her name.
The other voice was Allara’s own internal voice—or it sounded like it, anyway. It shouted at her that she was a horrible person—a horrible wife. Brand had been nothing but sweet and kind to her and she had repaid him with a dagger in the chest.
Both voices constantly castigated and blamed her. And both urged suicide.
But Brand had made that impossible. For some reason, even though she had tried to kill him, he wanted to keep her alive. He had removed, hidden, or replaced anything and everything Allara could have used to end herself, making it impossible to do what the voices demanded.
Why? Allara wondered. Why does he stop me when I so richly deserve death? Why does he want to keep me near him after what I did?
Forgiveness for a fault was a foreign notion to her. The Q’ess did not forgive a grievance—ever. Hence the Blood Feud which had been started three and thirty generations before. Once you had sinned or disgraced yourself in some way in Q’ess society, you were never allowed to forget it and you were certainly never forgiven for it. So the idea that Brand could forgive her for something as huge as attempting to murder him, was beyond Allara’s understanding.
He shouldn’t forgive me, she thought, looking down at her hands. He shouldn’t even want to. I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I only deserve death. I—
“There you are, sweetheart. Did you have a good nap?”
It was Brand, standing in the bedroom doorway. His handsome face was haggard and there was a look of deep anxiety in his golden eyes.
Allara looked down at her hands.
“I am well, Brand,” she said dully, though it wasn’t true. “Thank you for asking.”
“Baby, why don’t you call me ‘husband’ anymore?” He came to sit beside her on the bed. He tried to put an arm around her but Allara shrugged it off and moved away. She didn’t deserve comfort.
Nor did she deserve to call him ‘husband’ anymore.
When she didn’t answer after a moment, Brand tried again.
“We’re going to get out of the suite tonight, for a little while,” he told her. “Take a walk down to the Sacred Grove. You know—the place we were married? Well, married the first time, anyway. If you count the Song House, I guess we’ve been married twice.”
“Yes, Brand,” Allara murmured tonelessly, still looking down at her hands. She didn’t know if getting out of the suite would help her or not. She only knew she didn’t deserve anything good or nice ever again. And the idea of seeing where they were first married—when she had been planning to kill him even then—wasn’t particularly pleasant.
“I wish you’d call me ‘husband’ again.” He sighed. “Anyway, we’ll be going in a few hours. Why don’t you take a nice long shower and get changed? You’ll feel better if you do.”
Allara thought about asking if she could take a swim in the bathing pool instead, but she knew he probably wouldn’t let her. He’d enabled the child-safety locks on the pool—which formed a hard, impenetrable surface over the water and refused to allow her in—after he’d caught her trying to get the poison pill out of her wedding gown.
“Why do you care if I feel better?” she asked, looking up at him. “Why should you ever care about me again?”
“Because I love you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Gods, Allara, I love you so damn much! And I don’t blame you for what happened—how many times do I have to tell you that? You were brainwashed as a child.” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “Baby, you were abused.”