Breath of Angel (33 page)

When she rose, he grinned at her. He pointed to the shields. “You see the past.” He gazed into her eyes. “I see the future.”

Lord Beker directed a servant carrying a stark wooden chair to set it at an angle to the king’s. He said, “We’ll have a more comfortable chair made for you, my lady. For now, perhaps this will do.”

Melaia sat down as Lord Beker retired. She hadn’t wanted to be in this position, but in one afternoon everything had turned on its head. She folded her hands. Her palms were clammy.

“My father was the last in a long line of warrior kings who collected the shields of those they conquered,” said King Laetham. “Even tribes who bargained for peace without war sent shields as part of the price. These shields now remind me that we are a kingdom of peace. I am no warrior, and I wish to have no enemies. My entire purpose is to rule in peace and prosperity.”

Melaia found herself fascinated with the king as he talked. His demeanor was regal, even though his thinness accentuated his high cheekbones and narrow nose, giving him a gaunt look. His beard and full, dark hair, sprinkled with gray, were newly trimmed. She could see why her mother had found him
handsome, but she found his words baffling. Was he under the impression that he had no enemies?

“That is my story,” he concluded. “The simple story of a simple, single-minded man.” He paused and studied Melaia. “I’ve done all the talking. Surely you have something to say. I perceive you as a very brave woman.”

Melaia felt her face redden. “I must confess that I’m a bit overwhelmed. I learned only yesterday that you’re my father.”

“As I learned only yesterday that you’re my daughter. So perhaps we can be overwhelmed together.” He leaned over and gingerly took her bandaged hand. “I learned all I could about you last night.”

Melaia raised her eyebrows. “So you’re sure I’m Dreia’s daughter?”

“I’m sure. You have her eyes.”

“So I’ve been told.” Melaia felt the pulse of his hand on hers and tried to frame her next words respectfully. She cleared her throat. “Would you be willing to tell me about my mother?”

The king set her hand back on her lap and smiled sadly. “I think your mother has overwhelmed us both.” He sank back into his chair. “I suppose it’s my turn to confess. I’ve been a fool, and I’ve paid the price.” He motioned to a servant who stood nearby.

The man took up two silver pitchers, one in each hand. Into each of two goblets, he poured wine and citrus water, the two streams mingling as they flowed into the cups.

When the king had his goblet and Melaia hers, he waved the servant out of the room. Although they were now alone, the king spoke in a low voice. Melaia sipped the tangy wine and leaned forward to hear him.

“I was young when I became king. I married an island princess to seal a peace treaty with the southern isles. But she was very young and very homesick and couldn’t seem to carry a child all the way to birth. She died trying to give me an heir, and I was grieved. For many years, in spite of counsel otherwise, I remained unmarried. Then came Dreia. You might say she wooed me out of my melancholy.”

Indeed she did
, thought Melaia. Dreia had chosen well. Melaia could see it: a handsome man, strong, well schooled, with resources at his disposal, guards and comains at his beck and call.

“I enjoyed Dreia. She was the colorful, creative, energetic partner to my staid, stubborn, retreating nature. I clung to her, annoyed that she seemed so flighty. But the more I held to her, the more restless she became. She took extended trips into the countryside when, as queen, she should have sat beside me on the throne. It angered me.”

“Maybe it was her disposition,” said Melaia, hoping King Laetham would affirm that Dreia was Angelaeon. “Maybe she found her inspiration in the wide, free world of nature rather than in the confined walls of the city.”

“That was the cause of the trouble. Exactly.” He swirled his wine, staring into it as intently as Zastra had gazed into her oil-water. “Rumors began to circulate that Dreia journeyed hither and yon to meet a lover. Lady Zastra claimed she had seen them together. So when Dreia told me she was with child, I refused to believe the child was mine. Lady Zastra confirmed my suspicions, so I banished Dreia. I missed her so much I turned to strong drink. Not this watered stuff.” He saluted Melaia with his goblet.

After a moment Melaia said, “I’ve been told Dreia was the angel guardian of the Wisdom Tree.”

The king snorted. “Is that story still going around? Part of her creative imagining. She was a good storyteller. Some people truly believed the tale.”

“Did Zastra—”

“A schemer, that woman. Wormed her way to the top. Zastra and her daughter Tahn took it upon themselves to soothe me in my distress. I was a fool not to stop them, but I was disinterested in everything. How patiently they wove their web. ‘A king must have an heir. A king must have an heir. A king must have an heir,’ they droned. They were as relentless as water dripping on stone. Eventually I married Tahn. Eventually I got her with child. Meantime, Zastra brought a new physician to court, one who claimed to have a healing potion for the melancholy that often besets me.”

“Rejius.”

“You know of him? Of course.” He gazed at her bandaged wrist. “It turns out his healing potion not only numbed my melancholy; it also numbed my mind. Privately, Tahn was against Rejius and said so. She advised me to send him away. I was awaiting Lord Beker’s return from a journey, to get his advice on the matter, when Tahn was trapped in a fire in one of our outbuildings. She died with our unborn child.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Melaia, appalled at the pain her father had suffered.

“Lord Beker exploded, to put it mildly. He’s a friend from my childhood, a wise and soft-spoken man, but he yelled at me for the first time. Accused me of destroying my heirs and the future of Camrithia. ‘Dreia was faithful,’ he shouted. ‘Her child was yours.’ He wanted me to search for the child—for you—but it was too late. I was too numb.” He set his cup on the table. “The rest you know better than I. But I was a fool.” He slid out of his chair and dropped to his knees before Melaia. “I don’t deserve you.”

She gasped. Surely this was not proper. “Your Majesty … Sire … My Lord …”

He looked her in the eye. “Father. I want to be the father I should have been. If you’ll have me.”

Melaia blinked at him. If she would have him? Here was her chance to back out, but looking at his hopeful, beseeching face, she couldn’t do it. Besides, she had already confessed to being his daughter in front of witnesses in the great hall. She had made her decision then.

Emotions swirled in her heart like wine and citrus water. Holding her goblet in her left hand, she took the king’s hands with her right, although it pained her wrist. She stood, raising him to his feet.

He took her goblet and set it beside his, then turned to her, his eyebrows raised.

“Father,” she said and smiled. She would worry about the rest of the world later. Right now, the word was joy on her tongue. “Father.”

He laughed, warm, soft, and strong. Then she was in his arms, and he was stroking her hair. “Can we make up for the lost time?” he asked.

“We can try,” she said.

“We can try,” he echoed. “We can try.”

And try they did. Bereft of his physician, King Laetham rapidly regained his strength. Within the week he arranged for Melaia’s coronation and gave her the queen’s apartment at the palace. Every day he took Melaia out in his carriage and showed her the sights of Qanreef. She had seen much of it already but didn’t say so, for she enjoyed his delight in showing her his favorite city. She suspected he was also proving to the people that he was alive and well and that their future was secure.

But while the king’s face reflected joy and hope, Lord Beker’s revealed concern. Melaia watched the advisor nudge her father toward serious discussions about the state of affairs in Camrithia. “After the coronation,” the king would say. Or, “Give me some time to heal.”

Melaia concluded that her father was a stubborn man. Delightful but stubborn. She wondered if he might say the same of her someday, for though he was her father, Dreia was her mother, and she had no intention of abandoning her task of restoring the Tree.

On coronation day Melaia gazed out the south tower window at Seaspinner’s misty form, which danced for a moment on the crest of a breaking wave. Ships coursed their way to the open sea, their sails billowing in the wind.

“Let me unwrap your bandage before I go,” said Livia. “I want to know that I leave you healed.” She sat beside the north window with her feathered white wings peeking in a curve over her shoulders. She had come to say farewell while Hanni and the girls dressed in the room downstairs.

Melaia examined her wrapped wrist as she trudged across the room.

“Is there anything you want to discuss before I go?” asked Livia.

“One thing I’ve wondered: why didn’t the Firstborn take the harps long ago? Why now?”

“At first he wasn’t aware that the harps existed.”

“How did he find out?” Melaia held out her wrist.

Livia gently unbound it. “Probably through Benasin. The Second-born has loved Dreia since he first met her at the Tree. They kept up with each other.”

Melaia laughed. “Enough to have a child. Jarrod.”

“But they had to stay on the run, because Rejius was constantly hounding Benasin.” Livia felt Melaia’s wrist. “Healed.” She folded her arms.

“Why would Benasin tell the Firstborn about the harps?”

“Do you think Lord Rejius is above torturing his own brother for information?”

Melaia rubbed her wrist. “Is the Firstborn’s daughter like him?”

“Stalia. She was a skillful warrior. Fought in the angel wars. I hear she’s fierce, but that’s all I know. She lives in the Dregmoors. I imagine the Firstborn keeps her under his thumb.”

“So somehow the Firstborn made Benasin tell him about the harps, but he didn’t learn where the harps were hidden.”

“I don’t think Benasin knew. Dreia hid them very well, just as she hid you. There’s still one harp that no one has found. Isn’t it interesting? All the harps stayed hidden until you were of age. I assume that was Dreia’s plan.”

“So Lord Rejius has one harp, which he stole from Dreia. And I have one. And there’s one more hidden somewhere. I have a great deal of work to do before we can unite them.”

“Then you
do
intend to carry on.”

“Of course.” Melaia flexed her hand. “But can’t you stay to help?”

“I’ve already overstayed,” said Livia. “By the law of the earthbound Erielyon, when we commit to serve someone, we restrict the use of our wings to saving life or returning home. Once we’ve flown, we must then go home. Such a law protects our race. I broke the rule after I flew to Navia to help Pym protect Hanni and her priestesses, but I had little choice then. Now I’m not needed.”

“But you are. I don’t know my next steps. How do I find two more kyparis
harps and restore the Tree while learning to oversee a court and a kingdom as my father expects me to do?”

“Melaia.” Livia looked her firmly in the eye. “You know more than you think. Trust yourself to do what’s right. I promise you’ll have a great deal of help.” Livia hoisted herself onto the window ledge and drew her knees to her chest. For a moment she gazed out, fully framed by the window. Then she looked at Melaia and smiled. “Until we meet again, may the wind blow your way.”

As Livia leaped out, her wings spread, and she rose into the air.

Melaia felt her own heart pulsing to Livia’s wingbeats as she headed north, rising higher and higher, getting smaller and smaller, until she was out of sight. And free.

Melaia sat on the ledge and stared after her, feeling empty. Tiny and tired and empty.

“I thought Livia was helping you get ready.” Hanni stepped into the room, wearing her gold-trimmed, priestly blue cloak.

“Livia had to go home.”

“Before your coronation?”

“The law of the Erielyon.”

“Ah.” Hanni smoothed her hair back. “I came to tell you it’s time. Your father is waiting.”

Melaia squared her shoulders, took up her harp, and went with Hanni to the girls’ room. They greeted her, twirling in the gowns they would have worn at Hanni’s wedding. Hanni had agreed to allow them to wear the soft-flowing gowns this once.

A drak skittered up from a bench to the windowsill.

“Stay close, Peron,” said Melaia. “I promise you’ll get to wear a gown at least once before Hanni cloaks you in blue again.” But her voice cracked on the last words. She had no idea whether Peron would ever be whole again.

As Peron fluttered out, Melaia led Hanni and the girls downstairs. Pym met them at the bottom step. One of his arms was in a sling, but he wore a new sword, presented to him by the king for his valor.

“Charms and chantments, ladies! You all look comely this day.” He blushed. “Not that you haven’t looked comely before, you understand, but—” He unsettled his hair with his fingers.

The girls giggled. Melaia laughed. “You look quite noble yourself,” she said as he stepped into his bandy-legged stride beside her.

Together they descended the broad front staircase and strolled out into the sunshine. Melaia was amazed by the crowd in the courtyard. Tables of food and drink lined the perimeter of the grounds, and everyone was in a festive mood. As soon as they noticed Melaia, a cheer went up. It was like a grand hug, and it grew louder as she approached the raised platform, where banners flapped in the breeze.