Hellhole by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson Page A

from another; one long tunnel led all the way to the Pond of Birds. According to legend, two drownings had occurred as Aria Ongenet encouraged young noblemen to swim longer and longer distances as the price of her favors. After Aria’s death, the long tunnel to the pond had been sealed off for centuries, until Louis asked to have it reopened.
    “You have nothing to prove – you’ve already won my love,” Keana insisted when Louis first suggested swimming all of the pools underwater. His daring impulsiveness was precisely the opposite of the staid, conventional Bolton Crais.
    “It’s not for you that I must prove it,” Louis said. “It is for myself.”
    He stood in his red-and-gold swimsuit, gazing at the pools and considering the route he had decided to swim: all of the pools at once without coming up for air, including a passage through what he dubbed the “Tunnel of Death.” Keana did not find the facetious name the least bit amusing. The dashing nobleman had a muscular body, but he was no longer as young as he thought he was.
    Wearing a long blue summer dress with the Duchenet crest on the collar, she raised herself on tiptoes to kiss him. With a wink, Louis said, “I’ll think of a new love poem for you while I’m swimming.” Then he dove smoothly into the central pool and swam underwater faster than she’d ever seen him go.
    She watched him traverse each pool, never missing a stroke. With nervous steps, she hurried along the above-ground path to follow his progress, frustrated with his impetuosity.
    Their relationship was not much of a secret; poor Bolton pretended not to notice that he was being cuckolded, turned a deaf ear to the whispered gossip, but he wasn’t stupid. He and Keana had an “understanding,” and he was willing to overlook his wife’s activities.
    But her mother knew that Keana and her husband kept separate bedrooms, even separate residences most of the time. The lack of children to carry on the Duchenet (and Crais) bloodlines remained a cause for friction. Diadem Michella had not borne her own daughter until quite late in her child-bearing years.
    Once, in a heated argument, Michella had said, “If you can’t let Bolton give you a proper heir, you’d better not get pregnant by any of your other lotharios.” Incensed by the suggestion of promiscuity, Keana had stormed out of the Diadem’s palace and taken up permanent residence at the Cottage. There had been no one else for her besides Louis, not even dutiful sex with her husband for the past two years. Lord de Carre already had his own son and heir, the competent and reliable Cristoph who had recently taken over management of the Vielinger iperion mines so that Louis could devote his attention to her.
    Now Keana stood over the entrance to the long tunnel, looking down with concern and excitement as her lover stroked across the last small pool and then entered the dark waterway. Unable to see him anymore, she ran the length of the tunnel above ground to the outlet at the pond. Even here in the open air, she felt out of breath, and her heart was pounding.
    Why didn’t he surface? It was taking too long! Then she spotted movement just offshore in the murky pond, and Louis’s head and arms shot out of the water. He gasped for air, struggling to breathe. Not caring about her dress, Keana jumped into the pool and stood in the waist-deep water, holding him close. She felt his heart beating against hers, and she stroked his dark, wet hair. “Now will you stop being so foolish? There’s nothing you need to prove. Not to me or yourself.”
    Louis wiped water from his face, looked at her with a bemused expression. “Your dress and hair are soaked, my dearest.”
    She gave a rueful laugh, kissed him, then pushed away and swam across the pond. He caught up to her and said, “Here, let me help you with that.” In the warm water, he pulled at the wet fabric. She kissed his neck as he carried her to the grass, leaving her discarded