Penthos: The Guardian Sea

Chapter Twenty-one: Paintings of Penthoserens

Jarissein erased a stray line, growling at the sketch paper. “I said hold still, Arielle Penthoseren! What part of ‘hold still’ don’t you understand?” He sighed, exasperated, and furrowed his brow.

     “The ‘still’ part,” she said with a smile. Her belly was round and full, with only days left until the birth of the child. “What name did you say you liked?”

     Jarissein put the drawing pencil between his teeth and walked from the desk, tilting Arielle’s head, moving her arm back into position, fussing over her hair. He took the pencil from his mouth and dropped it into a pocket to speak. “I like Orion. Or Ryo. Maybe Elijah.”

     “Mmm . . . I like the first one,” she said with a purr. She patted her belly, allowing Jarissein to move her arm back to where it belonged for the sketch that would become a portrait. It was tradition for the ladies of the house to have their portraits painted when they were near the time of delivery. Her mother had one done for every child she gave birth to so far.

     “Orion?” Jarissein said absently as he returned to the desk and resumed his task of sketching the princess. “I like it too. I think it’s one of the names of a great hunter from long ago. A human myth, I’m sure, from the Isolated Realm.” Arielle proceeded to roll her eyes at him. He knew that she was as much a sucker for the human myths as he was.

     “It’s pretty, and should justify the personality that my—OUR son will have,” Arielle corrected herself. She had been having difficulty accepting the child as his, publicly. They passed the baby off as Banviete rather than Narientel, and the Shaman couldn’t tell the difference. It would cause much argument and possibly bloodshed if they knew the child’s true parentage.

     Jarissein himself had been stripped of his rank when they explained it to her parents. Jhordyn had, against all odds, NOT killed him, but Serapheme looked positively murderous. She kept screaming about trust and betrayal. She had convinced Jhordyn to force him into the Oath of Knighthood.

     To many, the Oath of Knighthood was the worst punishment a Guard—or any man—could bring upon himself. This Oath, different from the Oath of the Guard, called for complete emotional and mental binding to the lady the knight bound himself to. He would never leave her side if he could consciously help it, and he would watch over her always, giving his life for her if necessary. It was as binding as the Oath of the Guard, and breaking it meant instantaneous unraveling of the soul by the means of Guardians. It was painful to have the very fabric of your being unraveled, so only a few had taken the Oath of Knighthood before.

     Jarissein shook his head. He had performed his duty as best he could, sleeping outside her door and accompanying her everywhere she went. Now, he had applied a skill of his—drawing—to an aspect of her life, giving everything he had for the princess. He looked at the drawing with an expert eye, making sure all the details of Arielle’s face and clothing were correct. “I hope he looks like you, like the Shaman said he would. It would be a problem if he had purple eyes and black hair. She may believe us about our story, but I know she doubts us. She thinks something’s off about the child, and there’s no need to get your family riled up because it looks like him.”

     Arielle sighed, plainly resentful when it came to speaking about the real father of the unborn infant. She changed the subject hastily. “Is it finished yet? I’ve been sitting here for hours, and I don’t think little Orion appreciates it much.”

     Jarissein moved from behind the desk again, this time bringing the sketch paper with him. His light, nearly white blonde hair was falling in his eyes as he laid the paper carefully in the princess’s delicate but strong hands. “I hope you like it,” he said nervously, afraid of judgment.

     Jarissein stood with bated breath as her eyes roved the paper slowly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she said, “Jarissein, it’s beautiful.” She turned and stood; Jarissein helped her with a hand on her elbow. She hugged him as close as she could with her rounded stomach. “Thank you,” she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. “Thank you a thousand times, for everything.”

     “No need, Penthoseren. I owed you for showing me that being an emotionless bastard is not the way to live.”

     Arielle laughed, and Jarissein put a hand to her stomach. “We’ll see you soon, Orion,” he said, and bent down to kiss her stomach. He was happy for the first time in forever. It dawned on him that this was what he had always wanted. It felt like a cheap way to get it, calling another man’s child his own, but he had it.

     What was so wrong with that?

Later that night, as Jarissein sat outside Arielle’s door thinking over his fatherhood and his future, he remembered something from not so long ago. A vision shown to him by the true keepers of the Guardian Sea. They haunted him as he drifted off to sleep, his head leaned against the vine-cushioned marble wall of the palace.

     A dream of the princess, his princess. Her belly was full and she was smiling to him.

     A dream of her again, running down the steps of the palace so hard she flew.

     Arielle, lying in a pool of her own blood as her innards hung outside her body. He plucked her up and wept into her hair before taking her and a small bundle back to the palace. His shouts for help were not long ignored, but he felt an intense sense of pain and loss, not entirely hers as felt by him, but not entirely his either . . .

     Jarissein woke with a start, his banner dropping to the sanded floor with a thud. His heart was racing as he remembered what the Siren had told him. “There is no changing it.”

     He knew of Fate and the Trinity, and he knew of the Guardians and the multiple Worlds of the Infinity. He knew that many believed in a Path that was always to be followed, and never questioned. It was often said that even if you knew your Fate and you tried to avoid it, it would only lead you further along the Path set for you, and into that future as a certainty.

     There was no escaping what was to come.

     Even the Prophet of the Council from so many years ago, who had foreseen great and terrible things, had done nothing to avoid the future. She knew that you could not change your destiny.

     Jarissein sighed. If the Siren had shown him the truth, then Fate meant for his princess, his lady to die. To leave this life before she had a chance to live it. Ripped away from him for Fate’s own amusement.

     He wouldn’t let it, he decided. Through all the days of the princess’s life, he would remain by her side. Not just as a knight, but as a companion. He would keep her safe and happy. He would watch as she married and had more children, aching inside just so she could be happy. But at least she would be safe, and alive, if he stayed by her side for all of eternity.

     All his life he knew he, Jarissein, was no ordinary demon. A born warrior and strategist, a rare-eyed boy trained in the art of death and war by his uncles. And if he was so special, why should he not be able to avoid the Path? Keep the princess from harm? He would try. With every breath left in him and every beat of his heart until his last, he would try.

     He realized then something that may very well have saved the princess from her terrible Fate, or secured it, if only he would have spoken it sooner: Oh, Trinity. He was in love with her.

     All the while, a dark force was planning his revenge.