Sometimes good scenes are cut for reasons of length, or because they do not advance the main plot.  The follwing scene was removed from The Betrayal for such reasons. 

This scene takes place after Eliani sets out for Fireshore and encounters Kelevon, as Turisan is awaiting her return to Glenhallow.

This bonus scene from The Betrayal appears exclusively at Book View Cafe. The Betrayal, from Del Rey Books, is available in print, ebook, and Kindle formats.  Learn more at http://aelven.com.

Copyright © 2009 by Pati Nagle. All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author. Exceptions are made for downloading this file to a computer for personal use.

"Remembering Surani"

Upon entering his chamber, Turisan was surprised to find his father seated by the hearth, dressed in a loose robe of soft green, the sort he usually only wore in his own chambers.  Jharan glanced up as Turisan came in. 

“Pardon my intrusion.  I wanted a word with you.” 

Turisan nodded.  “Of course.  Had I known, I would have returned sooner.  I have been with Heléri.” 

Jharan gave an absent nod.  He was frowning at the remains of the fire in the hearth.  Turisan sat down beside him and watched the coals glimmer for a while.  Orange heart and gray ash.  Sunriding’s colors. 

“What do you think of Ehranan’s theory?” 

Turisan glanced at his father.  “Sickness as the cause of the alben’s misdeeds?  It would explain much, I suppose.” 

“Yes.”  Jharan raised his head to meet Turisan’s gaze.  “Regardless of whether the sickness is widespread in Fireshore, this rider, this Kelevon, could be afflicted.  He could be bringing sickness to Glenhallow even now.” 

Cold fear poured through Turisan’s veins.  “No.  Even if it is true, it cannot be so easily spread, or anyone who had ever visited Fireshore would have succumbed to it.” 

Jharan’s frown lessened a little.  “You are right.  I am too anxious.” 

“If you wish it I will ride out and meet them.  Stop Kelevon from entering the city.” 

“Hm.  Not very hospitable, and if I am willing to risk my own son’s exposure to a dread illness, why not the whole city?” 

“If there is illness, Eliani is already in danger, and I will not hold apart from her.” 

A small smile softened Jharan’s face.  “No.  I thought not.”  He settled farther into his chair, stretching his feet toward the hearth.  “When Eliani was born, Felisan and I envisioned the two of you someday handfasting.” 

Turisan’s neck prickled.  He thought of Felisan’s account of their attempts to find mindspeech together. 

“It was mere idleness, of course.  You are both free souls.”

Not free of each other, Turisan thought.  He must make certain Eliani never regretted that. 

“Our gift might be of best use if we dwell apart.  She in Highstone, I here.” 

“Hm.  Perhaps.  Although Dironan and Dejharin both dwelt in Hollirued, and traveled by turns.  Their greatest service was at Westgard, I believe.” 

And ours may be at Midrange.  He did not voice the thought.  He knew it was in Jharan’s mind as well. 

Jharan shifted in his chair to regard his son.  “In fact, unless I am mistaken, all the great mindspeakers of legend came from Eastfæld.  You and Eliani are the first from other realms.” 

“I had not thought of that.”

“I have heard it said that mindspeech is an act of bliss greater than any save conception.” 

Turisan swallowed and looked at his hands, lying loosely clasped in his lap.  “It is―indescribable.  Never having conceived, I can make no comparison.” 

“Nor can I.  But having conceived, I have enjoyed a precious moment of the sort of closeness . . . you must share.  Two such moments.” 

Turisan looked at his father, seeing grief etched in his face.  Though it had happened more than a century ago, the death of his lady, Surani, and their daughter in childbirth still weighed upon Jharan. 

Turisan had been away serving in the Guard when his mother had crossed.  By the time word had reached him and he had returned to Glenhallow, Jharan had wrapped himself in silent mourning.  Turisan had grieved alone as well, and they had not spoken of it since, until now.

He watched his father’s face darken with the memories, feeling his own throat tighten.  He had missed his mother terribly, and grieved for the sister he never knew.  Even the continued residence in the palace of Jhinani, Surani’s sister, had been only a partial comfort. 

Jhinani had listened to Turisan's troubles when he dared not add them to his father’s burdens.  Turisan had sometimes wondered whether Jharan would form a bond with Jhinani, who was very like her sister, but if they had become intimate they had done so discreetly.  Jharan had made her proctor of Hallowhall, and treated her as a sister.  As far as Turisan knew, Jharan had remained alone since Surani had crossed. 

“Father . . .” 

Jharan turned his head to regard him with tear-brimming eyes.  Turisan reached a hand toward him.  Jharan gazed at it for a moment, then clasped his arm.  Turisan slid his hand down until their palms touched, khi leaping hot between them.  It was not the same as mindspeech, but it was closer than anything else. 

“I miss her, too.”

Jharan’s eyes closed and the tears escaped.  He ignored them, taking long breaths and gripping Turisan’s hand.  Finally he swallowed and opened his eyes to stare again at the embers in the hearth.  When he spoke his voice was rough. 

“I think that is why we all choose, eventually, to leave the world of flesh.  Sadness lessens, but it never really ends, and an ælven collects many sorrows over the centuries.” 

“Many joys, also.”

“True.”  Jharan squeezed his hand, then let go.  “I had not meant to trouble you with this.” 

“No, I am glad.  I have waited for you to speak of my mother’s crossing.  I wanted to tell you that I saw her.” 

“What?” 

Jharan turned a look of alarm to him, brushing away a tear.  Turisan gave a small smile. 

“At night, when I was on outpost duty.  She came to the ridge where I was standing sentry, and stood right before me, smiling.  I thought it was an imagining brought on by weariness, but when your summons came three days later I knew . . .” 

“She was saying goodbye to you.” 

“I think so.”  Turisan bit his lip.  “I did not know how to tell you.  I feared to add to your grief.” 

Jharan laughed, and reached across to embrace him.  Turisan closed his eyes and put his arms around his father, relieved.  He felt a barrier between them crumble, a wall so thin he had grown accustomed to it, now falling to reveal a greater love. 

“She watches over you.” 

“I know.  Sometimes I think I can feel her.” 

Jharan pulled back to look at him, raising a hand to smooth his son’s hair.  His dark eyes were filled with a soft light. 

“You are so like her, in many ways.  One of the joys you spoke of.”  He smiled, then stood up.  “I should leave you to your rest.  Thank you for listening to my concerns.” 

Turisan rose to accompany him to the door.  “Of course.  Thank you for honoring me with your confidence.” 

“You have given me wise counsel.  I should have sought your opinion more often.  I will, henceforward.” 

Turisan smiled, moved by this simple accolade.  It was not that his father never praised him, but somehow he had always seemed aloof.  That feeling was gone now. 

Turisan bade Jharan goodnight and watched him walk down the corridor, then softly closed the door.  A night of waiting lay before him, but he felt the time would pass more easily now.