Sufferborn Read online

  Book 1

  J.C. Hartcarver

  Dorwik Publishing

  Sufferborn

  Copyright 2019 Jesslyn Carver

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below:

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  Or by mail:

  Dorwik Publishing

  P.O. Box 826

  Greenbrier, TN 37073

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold. This ebook may not be given away to other people (unless you’re using the Amazon Kindle lending program). If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover art “Open Heart” oil on linen, and all interior illustrations by Jesslyn Carver.

  Fan mail can be sent to J.C. Hartcarver via the “contact” page on her website: www.jchartcarver.com.

  ISBN: 978-0-9982104-6-9 (ebook)

  978-0-9982104-5-2 (hardback)

  978-0-9982104-4-5 (paperback)

  Dorwik Publishing

  Greenbrier, TN

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Her Sin

  Chapter 2: A Crown for the Deserved

  Chapter 3: Her Place

  Chapter 4: A Shield for his Fears

  Chapter 5: Her Kindness

  Chapter 6: An Honor for a Saehgahn

  Chapter 7: Her Guardian

  Chapter 8: A Companion for the Mercyman

  Chapter 9: Her Charity

  Chapter 10: Her Body

  Chapter 11: A Cake for the Currier

  Chapter 12: Her Dreams

  Chapter 13: A Jem for the Jeweler

  Chapter 14: Her Vow

  Chapter 15: Her Choice

  Chapter 16: Her Ecstasy

  Chapter 17: A Trip for the Lost

  Chapter 18: An Heir for the Kingsorcerer

  Chapter 19: A Hole for His Heart

  Chapter 20: Her Escort

  Chapter 21: A Bargain for the Kingsorcerer

  Chapter 22: A Plan for the Damned

  Chapter 23: Her Monster

  Chapter 24: Her Broken Stone

  Chapter 25: A Use for the Monster

  Chapter 26: A Letter for the Farhah

  Chapter 27: Her Religion

  Chapter 28: Her Friend Rem

  Chapter 29: Her Hands

  Chapter 30: Her Departure

  Chapter 31: An Order for the Saehgahn

  Chapter 32: Her Wound

  Illustrations

  Glossary

  For Timmy.

  Thanks for putting up with Dorhen.

  Prologue

  A spasm shot through Daghahen’s body. Dropping to the floor, he writhed and fought back a scream. Seconds later he relaxed, the ceiling blurring in his glazing vision.

  “No,” he groaned. “Please.” His eyelids closed, suddenly heavy. With a deep breath, he grasped the side of his bed and pulled himself up.

  The cloaking spell had failed, but at least the warning spell he’d cast over the area worked. Daghahen rushed out of the bedroom, whipping aside the canvas tarp acting as a door. He dashed to the hearth, stopped, and flitted to the basin, pausing to align his thoughts.

  The sound of a horse’s breath huffed outside. Long-forgotten nightmares he’d pushed deep into the darkest pits of his mind were crawling into the light again. A suffocating old sensation of being stuck in binding situations and being enslaved to shameful duties pressed on his heavy head once again, as if after fifteen years nothing had changed. The sweetness of freedom vanished. His brother had found him.

  Go outside and turn him away, Ibex instructed. The voice in his head usually offered good advice, though sometimes difficult or complicated. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard from Ibex in years.

  Daghahen approached the door and peeked through a thin, carved slot. He had built his little two-room cabin with security in mind; it possessed peepholes on each wall rather than windows. Not much could be seen from the current angle. He wiped his eyes, widened his stance, and opened the door.

  Outside, a cloaked figure swung his leg over the rump of a huge black horse and stepped onto the muddy ground. A fierce wind ripped through the dense, ice-covered trees. Removing his hood, the visitor turned toward Daghahen. A bright flare of yellow-blonde hair spilled out, as Daghahen remembered it.

  “Lambelhen.” The name crawled up Daghahen’s throat with a rush of bile. Lambelhen’s face displayed a new smoothness, like porcelain, with yellow eyes glassier than ever before.

  Lambelhen paused, his brow narrowed, and he pointed to Daghahen’s clothes. “What have you been doing?”

  Daghahen finally noticed the blood all over his woolen tabard. He brushed at the fabric with his hand, but the stains were set and dried. “Oh, um. Sorry. I forgot. I’m so…tired. What brought you all the way out here?”

  Lambelhen gave one of his signature fake smiles. “I’m passing through Norr. Thought I’d try and find you while I’m here. It’s been so long. How is my dear brother getting on?”

  Daghahen eyed him up and down again. “Must’ve been hard findin’ me.”

  Lambelhen’s smile slacked into a smirk. “Indeed. I could have missed it in this wilderness. How is it my only flesh and blood would leave so fast and go so far? And without a word of goodbye?”

  Daghahen’s heart hammered hard against his sore ribs. He shook his head. “I was called—called away.”

  “Did you build this house?” Lambelhen stepped forward.

  Daghahen took a tiny step back, staring at him. Gauging. Predicting. He let his eyes rest on a tree behind Lambelhen.

  “Yes. I wanted to see Norr, the place we were born… We spent so little time here. I wanted to see it, and I liked it here. I think I…lost track. Started to settle in.” Swallowing again, he managed a long blink, reluctant to open his eyes again. “I was comin’ back, but got delayed. I swear.”

  “I see,” Lambelhen said. “If I know my dear brother, he has no plan, no organization.”

  “I have a wife.” Daghahen narrowed his eyes at him. “As well as a child.”

  Lambelhen showed teeth. “How unexpected. How old is your child?”

  “Just a…a few hours actually.”

  “Male or female?”

  “A saeghar.”

  “Ah, always good luck to have a son born first. I must say, I always thought you would produce the rare farhah as a first child.” A smile spread wide on Lambelhen’s face. “That’s why you’re such a mess. I imagine delivering one’s own child would be an overwhelming job.”

  “First month, seventh day,” Daghahen said, frowning. “My child’s birth. It happened today.”

  Lambelhen cocked his head for a moment and drew his cloak tight around his shoulders. “It’s cold out today, isn’t it? Do I smell mint tea in there?”

  Daghahen pulled a long stream of air in, trying not to let it show. />
  A different voice rang musically from inside the house behind him. “Daghahen, do we have a visitor?”

  “Yes,” he called back.

  “Well, aren’t you going to bring him in? The draft is coming in.”

  Daghahen’s eyes grazed over his brother while he went over spell chants in his head to see if he remembered them. A gleaming sword in an exquisite scabbard hung off the newcomer’s hip.

  That’s it! Take it away from him. Take it!

  Daghahen responded to Ibex in his head, Now I know you’re nothing but a mad figment of my imagination, you crazy goat.

  Grinding his teeth, Daghahen stepped upon the threshold and widened the door.

  “How long have you been married?” Lambelhen entered the house, his eyes scanning the inside.

  “Almost a year.” Daghahen took his cloak and hung it on the wall.

  The sound of the beautiful feminine voice filled the air again. “Daghahen.” Whenever it called his name, he resisted wrenching his clothes and weeping. “Who is it?”

  “It’s my brother, here to call on us, my dear.”

  “Wonderful. Bring him in. Tell him not to be shy.”

  “Come this way,” Daghahen said. “They’re in the bedroom. Orinleah hasn’t even put him down yet.” Daghahen’s weak lips barely smiled.

  The tall, wooden heels of Lambelhen’s boots clomped on the hollow floor with that familiar impression of egocentricity, transporting Daghahen back to darker days when they had lived in confiscated wooden inns or the oppressive stone tower of Ilbith.

  Daghahen drew aside the tarp leading to the bedroom. Orinleah, his wife, sat against a pile of pillows, packed under all the blankets and skins they owned, cradling her sleeping infant. When the two brothers entered, her radiant, smiling presence offered an oasis of color and warmth in this bitter winter. Perfect little teeth glowed between her warm, pink lips. A silky lock of dark brown hair fell over one of her eyes, and she brushed it aside with a delicate hand.

  “Daghahen didn’t tell me he had a brother. Your name is—” Orinleah would’ve guessed it correctly. She seemed to have Desteer talents but ignored them. Thanks be to Daghahen’s lucky stars, she’d chosen to marry him.

  “Lambelhen,” he finished for her as he sat on the stool by the bed.

  “Lambelhen, like one who is headstrong?” she asked.

  “And you must be Orinleah.”

  She giggled, covering her mouth. “You two look alike.”

  “We’re twins, which means we’re practically the same flesh.”

  “How unusual. I’m honored to meet you, Lambelhen.” She held out her hand to him.

  Lambelhen hesitated before carrying out the elven custom of grasping her hand briefly in both of his. Daghahen watched his face, noting a slight twitch of his eyebrow.

  Orinleah flashed him a warm smile. “I’m happy to finally meet someone from Daghahen’s clan.”

  Her eyes flitted to Daghahen, and she shared her luminous smile with him as well. The lass beamed in the presence of their visitor after a long year being cooped up in this drafty cabin, all because of Daghahen and his selfishness. She’d chosen him and all the faults he harbored.

  “I’m happy I decided to come,” Lambelhen said.

  Cradling his head, she held out her swaddled child. “Meet your nephew now.”

  He leaned in. The baby’s dark hair matched his mother’s.

  She said, “His ears are perfectly shaped, like his father’s…and yours.” Orinleah paused and blushed at what she’d said.

  The infant let out a whine.

  “I’m in love with his eyes. He’s awakening, so look while you can.”

  The baby’s blue-green eyes flashed in the candlelight. Lambelhen turned away and cleared his throat. Daghahen sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

  “What’s the child’s name?” Lambelhen asked.

  Another blush touched her face. “Dorhen.”

  Lambelhen’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you mad?”

  “I’ve dreamt about this over and over, and no other name fits the way this one does.”

  “So…you’ve decided to jinx your house right at the start of it?”

  “No, not at all—”

  Lambelhen pointed a finger at her. “You should know even better than him.” His pointing finger changed to Daghahen.

  “I trust Orinleah’s decision,” Daghahen said.

  Lambelhen smirked and shook his head. “The forbidden name, that’s what you’ve given your first son.”

  Frowning and breathing harder, Orinleah said, “But the name is so—”

  “Insane?” Lambelhen finished for her. “It means ‘stranger.’ Every saehgahn with that name so far has been one.”

  “But Dorhen won’t be!”

  Daghahen stood and put a hand between his wife and his brother. “Stop this! You’re upsetting her.”

  Lambelhen didn’t offer any more protests.

  Orinleah cleared her throat. “I am faerhain,” she said, reminding them both. “I know what I’ve done might seem frightful, but I’ve never been so sure about anything in my whole life. It’s like he told me his name. It’s my duty to say it aloud. My mother and grandmother were apt at determining names too. They named all of their children perfectly; none grew up incomplete. As I feel complete in my name, I know it will be the same for him.”

  The two saehgahn, the male elves, blinked at her, and Daghahen turned to Lambelhen’s contorted face.

  “I know you don’t walk the path of tradition, but Orinleah and I do. If she says his name is Dorhen, I guess it must be. There. My saying it aloud completes the ceremony.” Daghahen reached over and stroked the baby’s dark brown hair. “Dorhen,” he said again, mostly for himself.

  Lambelhen scoffed. “Tradition? Your wife is barely old enough for her faerhain naming ceremony, and you insist on tradition?” He licked his lips, shifting in his seat, and jerked his head toward Daghahen. “Tell me, how did you convince the Desteer to let you have her? Did she send you the little wooden token? Better yet, tell me the story of how you met. Full of whimsies and romance, I’ll bet. Her family didn’t even know about it, did they? I’ll bet the Desteer didn’t know either.”

  Lambelhen turned his bright eyes back to Orinleah. “Tell me how you fell in love with him, darling. Was it the sweet words on Daghahen’s tongue? My brother has a special talent. Do you know of it?”

  Daghahen bristled. He’d grown so tired of Lambelhen’s mouth in the past, but the bastard never cared about anything past his own selfish desires.

  Orinleah looked at Daghahen, her innocent eyes sparkling. “Daghahen and I are married because I chose him. He’s my daghen-saehgahn, my husband and my guardian, as his name suggests. He carries his name, and so Dorhen will carry his too.” She glanced at the baby. “My son is strong.”

  She spoke truth. The books said to expect long labors for faerhain, and it had taken at least three days for Orinleah to give birth to their son. Praise to both the One Creator and the Bright One, no complications occurred. Orinleah had done well; she appeared bright again already. Dorhen himself was impressively heavy and loud.

  Lambelhen flared his hands. “Dorhen, then. The stranger. The one who brings bad luck to his clan.”

  Remember. Remember, Ibex’s voice rumbled.

  Daghahen perked up, dismissing Lambelhen’s cutting words. “Right. You said you wanted tea.” He rose and went straight to the hearth in the other room. He hadn’t slept in three days. He’d stayed on his feet, working hard to keep the house warm. His saehgahn protection instincts were peaking today.

  As Daghahen made his way back with a cup of tea, Lambelhen swept the tarp aside to emerge from the bedroom. His yellow eyes caught the dim firelight and glowed. They always did. Sometimes they flared bright enough to seem disembodied, like a wild animal on the prowl. Daghahen’s eyes were blue; their mother used to differentiate them by their eye colors when they were two little blonde saeghar playing in the mucky al
ley behind the old inn where they had grown up.

  He extended the steaming clay mug with both hands. “You came so far out of your way and managed to find my house. Sit and relax. Spin tales with me a bit before ya go.”

  Lambelhen waved the offering away. “Thanks, but I can’t stay long.”

  “Please. You must. You should.” He stepped to the side, blocked Lambelhen’s path, and pushed the mug closer.

  Lambelhen smirked, his eyes moving from the mug to Daghahen’s eyes. “No, Dag.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve been corresponding with the bishop of Carridax. You know, at the cathedral near the coast. He’s…shall I say…interested in what I do and what I offer.”

  Daghahen smiled. “You still work for Ilbith?”

  “Of course. It’s my home. My practice keeps my ailments in check, as always.” He fiddled with a huge ruby ring on his index finger as his eyes darted to the bedroom and back. “So as I was saying, the bishop and I have exchanged many letters, favors, and items. We’re friends, but now he’s ill and might die. He’s leaving me a fortune. Such is why I’m in the Lightlands again. I can’t stay long.”

  Lambelhen’s journey all the way down here from the Darklands for a bishop’s money sounded true enough. He’d donned plain clothing without his usual red cloak, which announced his Ilbith affiliation. Even if it was all true, how long had Lambelhen really been looking for him? Daghahen’s cabin was too far out of the way for a convenient and spontaneous visit.

  “Thanks for sharing the warmth of your home. But I sadly must leave—I was only passing through, after all. Lucky I found you at all.”

  “All right.” Daghahen set the mug on the hearth and used the old iron poker to stir the logs in the fire. “I understand. You were always busy. Ambition is the name of my dear brother. You know what ya want. I admire you. Well…”

  Daghahen savored the weight of the iron rod. His sweaty palm itched against the dingy old rag wrapped around its handle. How he’d love to put this poker into Lambelhen’s eye. He adjusted his fingers around the handle and squeezed.

  Lambelhen stared back at the bedroom tarp, behind which Daghahen’s innocent wife and child sat defenseless. Behind Lambelhen’s back, Daghahen hung the poker on his own belt like a sword and dropped his long, hanging tabard over it. He fetched his brother’s cloak off the peg.