Deborah Hale (11 page)

A short while later, the
Phantom
made harbor at a small port. Gull offered to accompany Maura in search of her relatives, but she declined with thanks. She wasn’t quite sure what her mother’s kin might make of the flamboyant smuggler. She wished Rath had been able to come with her, but he was busy with Idrygon, studying old maps and discussing strategy for the coming invasion.

A few children gathered near the wharf to see what manner of visitor the ship had brought. They reminded Maura of the boys and girls back in Windleford. But these carefree younglings never had to worry about picking up a pain spike or running into a Hanish hound that had slipped its chain.

“Good day, mistress,” said the oldest boy, nudged forward by his friends. “Are you looking for someone? We can show you the way.”

“Why, thank you, young sir,” said Maura. “I have come looking for the Woodbury family.”

The children laughed until the boy shushed them. “Any special one, mistress? There’s Woodburys aplenty on Galene.” He motioned forward a small girl, her ruddy hair plaited in four long braids that looked to be the fashion here. “Jophie is a Woodbury. Quilla’s ma was born a Woodbury and so was Gath’s. Both my granddames were.”

“Really?” Maura looked around at them, a smile stretching her lips wide, while a tear tingled in the corner of her eye. This was the first time she had met anyone with her kin-name. “No wonder you are all so handsome, then! My mother was Dareth Woodbury and I was told she came from Galene. Perhaps if you could take me to one of the elders of the family who might remember her.”

The boy thought for a moment. “My house is near and my granddames are smart as anything. They tell me lots of stories about the old days. I reckon they’d know about your mother if anybody would.”

“Very well, then.” Maura took two small girls by the hand. “Lead me to them, if you would be so kind.”

The children conducted Maura down a narrow path that wound through the village to a house that looked like Idrygon’s, only less grand. Thick vines climbed over the stippled white walls, and a fragrance of wholesome sweetness from the tiny blue vine flowers perfumed the air.

“Granna Lib! Granna Jule!” The boy’s voice rang through the center courtyard of the house. “Visitor to see you!”

“Visitor?” A tall, slender woman strode into the courtyard carrying a basket of flax tow in one hand and a distaff spindle in the other. “Who would be visiting at this hour?”

Another woman, grayer and a bit more stooped, followed the first. “What did the boy say, Lib?”

The woman with the spinning gear turned and shouted, “Visitor, Jule!”

“Oh. Who’d be calling at this hour?”

The two women peered at Maura.

She bowed. “Your pardon if I have called at a bad time. I have come from Margyle in hope of finding some of my kin. My name is Maura and my mother was Dareth Woodbury.”

Lib’s basket dropped to the tile floor of the courtyard with a soft thud, followed by the clatter of the falling spindle. She seemed not to notice as she stared at Maura. Her hand trembled as she raised it to her lips.

“What did the lass say?” demanded Jule.

“The girl claims—” Lib’s voice cracked with emotion “—she’s Dareth’s daughter.”

“Dareth?” Jule picked up the fallen spindle and basket. “Oh, that can’t be. There must be some mistake.”

“Look at her, though. The very image.”

Jule stepped closer, her head cocked like a bird’s, staring. “So she is. But how can it be?”

Lib recovered her shattered composure. “Well, don’t stand there like a stranger, my dear.” She took Maura’s arm. “Come in! I am your mother’s aunt and Jule here is a cousin of ours.”

“Run off and play,” she called to the children. “All but you,
Bran.” She beckoned her grandson. “You were a good smart lad to bring the lady here. Now I want you to go around and fetch Auntie Zelle and Uncle Mayer…” She rattled off a list of names so long it made Maura’s head spin.

“Are those
all
my kin?” she asked when the boy had run off on his errand. After years of having no one but Langbard, and him no blood relation, the thought of such a large family overwhelmed her…but in the most pleasant way.

“Oh my, no, dear.” Lib chuckled. “That’s not half of them! Only the ones nearest related that live handiest.”

“Dareth’s child?” Jule shook her head as Lib drew Maura toward some chairs clustered in a shaded corner of the courtyard. “Whoever would have thought it? What became of poor Dareth? The last we heard, she and Vaylen had been captured by the Han. Then never a word until now.”

Maura took a seat between her kinswomen and told them everything she knew of her mother, which was pitifully little. She concluded with a question that left her breathless and a little dizzy. “Who was this Vaylen you spoke of? And how did my mother come to be on the mainland for the Han to capture?”

The two women looked at each other, as if silently arguing who should be the one to break the news.

Finally Lib spoke. “Vaylen was the son of the last Margrave of Tarsh. He led a rebellion against the Han. Oh, it must be all of twenty years ago. For a time Tarsh was free.”

Tarsh, free? That came as surprising news to Maura.

“My brother, Brandel—” Lib’s voice caught for a moment “—your grandfather, was fierce in his support of Vaylen. He said if Tarsh could hold on to the freedom it had won, then Norest might rise up next, then Southmark or the Hitherland. He was forever urging the Council to send more aid to Tarsh, but many of the sages felt it would put the Islands in danger if the Han found out we were abetting the rebels.”

No wonder Idrygon had spoken well of her grandfather,
Maura thought. Brandel Woodbury sounded like a man very much after his heart. But where did her mother fit into all this?

Lib wasted no time coming to that. “After a great deal of secret communication with Tarsh, Brandel agreed to send one of his daughters to marry Vaylen. He thought if there was a Vestan-born descendant of Abrielle on the throne of Tarsh, the Council might find a little more courage and generosity in its dealings with the rebels.”

“So this Vaylen was my father? And you say both he and my mother were captured by the Han?”

The two old woman gave weary nods, as though this grief were a weight they had carried on their hearts for many years.

“Libeth should have been the one to go.” Maura’s great-aunt sighed. “But she was a delicate creature, so Dareth offered to take her place. She had met Vaylen years before, when he’d come to the Islands as a guest of her father, and she thought well of him.”

“I warned Brandel,” Jule grumbled. “Told him he had no business sending his daughter off to marry a man she hardly knew. And into such danger.”

“Hmmph!” Lib clearly did not hold with criticism of her brother. “What a waste you weren’t apprenticed to the Oracle of Margyle! You know very well Dareth had her heart set on going.”

“She’d have done
anything
to please her father,” Jule muttered, just loud enough for Maura to hear.

For the first time Maura sensed a true connection with the mother she had never known. She’d felt the same way about Langbard. In fact, all that had kept her moving forward during those first difficult days of her quest had been the determination not to let him down.

“None of the Council knew,” Lib continued, “but the ship that carried Dareth to Tarsh was loaded with weapons and supplies to aid the rebels…”

Her voice trailed off and her eyes took on a distant look, as if she were watching that ship from long ago sail away.

After a few moments, Maura’s curiosity got the better of her. “Then what happened?”

“Oh!” Lib roused with a start from her pensive daze. “By and by the ship came back. So we knew Dareth had reached the mainland safely. After that we heard no more for the longest while. Then word came that Tarsh had been overrun by the Han. The Margrave had been killed and the Han had captured Vaylen and Dareth.”

Even in the shade, the courtyard was warm. Yet a chill rippled through Maura.

“Brandel wouldn’t believe they were dead.” Jule shook her head. “He used to get provoked when anybody spoke of them as if they were. And whenever a ship sailed into the harbor, he’d be the first one down to the wharf in case Dareth might be aboard.”

“The old fool.” Lib wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I wish he’d lived to see Dareth’s daughter set foot on Galene.”

Maura wished so, too. There were many questions she would have liked to ask him.

A muted clamor of voices and footsteps approached.

Lib heaved a sigh and rose from her chair. “That’ll be some of the rest of the family come to see you for themselves, my dear. I hope you don’t mind my sending for them?”

Maura shook her head. “I have waited such a long time to meet all of you.”

More and more Woodbury relatives poured into the little house, until the courtyard could scarcely hold them. Maura’s head began to spin from all the names and faces and convoluted connections.

“…this is Wildon Broadroot. His mother was a first cousin of your grandmother’s. And here’s Cousin Kedrith. She’s one of the Westbay branch of the family…”

Yet in each eager, smiling face, Maura caught a glimpse of something strangely familiar. A bit of her mother, or of herself,
perhaps. As the hours passed, she listened to endless introductions, received bashful bows and vigorous embraces, heard stories of Dareth Woodbury’s younger years that brought her mother alive to her for the first time.

She remembered the night she and Rath had stopped in the foothills of the mountains and soaked their aching flesh in a warm spring pool. This gathering of her family was like a warm spring for her spirit—reviving and renewing her in places she had never realized were empty or weary.

Yet part of her remained detached from it all, mulling over the brave, tragic account of her parents. No wonder her mother had died of a broken heart that even Langbard could not heal, even with all his skill and devotion. And what had become of her father? Had he been tortured to death by the Echtroi? Or sent to the mines where his spirit had perished before his body?

Though part of Maura wished she could stay on peaceful Galene forever, basking in the quiet joy of kinship, another part itched to get back to the mainland. Liberating Umbria had become something more than her destiny. It was now a hallowed duty she owed her parents—to finish the task they had begun. A task that had cost them everything.

“W
hen you found your family, you didn’t do it by half measures, did you,
aira?
” Rath wrapped his arms around Maura from behind, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “If we must have a big, fancy wedding and crowning ceremony, I reckon this is a good place for it.”

They stood in the large courtyard of the house that had belonged to Maura’s grandfather. The house in which her mother had been born. A festive celebration swirled around them as twilight dappled the vast western horizon. Merry music from string and wind instruments floated on the evening air along with the mouthwatering fragrances of fresh bread, roasted meat and fruit stewed in honey.

Maura’s past two weeks on the island of Galene had been like a dream come true—going wherever she liked, whenever she wished without the smallest fear. A perfect blend of safety and freedom. She’d been rapturously welcomed by her kin, a precious boon indeed after growing up with no family and few friends. Only one thing had been missing to complete her happiness.

Then Rath had arrived from Margyle aboard the
Phantom,
along with the Oracle and the whole Council of Sages to take part in their wedding and crowning ceremonies.

Now Idrygon stood in one corner of the courtyard involved in a grave discussion with some of Maura’s uncles and cousins. Madame Verise danced by in the arms of Captain Gull, looking as if she was enjoying herself immensely. Beyond the courtyard, the Oracle of Margyle was playing a hiding game with young Bran and some other Galeni children. Delyon perched on the edge of the fountain, poring over an old scroll from Brandel Woodbury’s private library. Gull’s hillcat sat on Delyon’s lap, content to suffer the occasional absentminded scratch behind the ears.

Maura’s happiness should have been complete. But the brooding distraction she had sensed in Rath before she’d left Margyle had not lifted, hard as he tried to hide it. Maura wished he would confide in her whatever was troubling him. Was she a fool if she could not figure it out for herself? Or did she guess the truth but not want to face it?

“Shall we steal away for a walk on the beach?” She reached down to twine her fingers through one of the hands Rath had clasped around her waist “We’ve hardly had a moment alone since you got here, and the shore is so beautiful.”

For an instant, Rath seemed not to hear her. Then her words must have sunk in, for he squeezed her hand and he spoke with forced brightness. “That sounds like a fine idea. Let’s go.”

It took them a little while to wend their way through the crowd. Some of Maura’s cousins who had not met Rath stopped them for introductions. They waved to the children who were running to hide from their new playmate.

“You had better find good cover,” Rath teased, “if you hope to stay hidden from an oracle who can see the future.”

“Why did you have to remind them she’s the Oracle?” Maura chided him. “She is still only a child, after all—one who doesn’t often get to enjoy games with others her age.”

“You’re right.” Rath scowled and kicked the turf as they walked. “It just doesn’t seem right—a child that age with a head full of memories she can’t understand and a gift of foresight she can’t make sense of.”

“People might say the same of you and me. A king who has never commanded an army. A queen who has never set foot in a palace. We cannot help those limitations and we’re trying our best in spite of them.”

“So we are,” muttered Rath as they picked their way down a steep slope to the shore. “I only hope our best will be good enough.”

“It has been so far.” Maura told him what she and the young Oracle had concluded, about how the Giver might work all the better through flawed instruments like them.

Rath mulled over her words as they pried off their shoes. “It would be comforting to believe that.”

“Can you not believe it?” Maura tugged him toward the edge of the shore, where fine, wet sand welcomed their feet with its cool caress and white-foamed waves rolled in one upon the other in a ceaseless, soothing rhythm. “Here, of all places?”

Rath stared into the distant, broad horizon blushed with twilight into the vivid hues of the island flowers. Even its serenity and splendor could not ease the subtle tightness around his eyes.

“My mother stood here once,” said Maura, “and looked out at a sunset like this one. It is the most vivid memory Langbard passed to me from her. When I first saw this place with my own eyes, it took my breath away. Not just because of its beauty, but because of the closeness I felt to her.”

They ambled along the beach, the cool surf breaking over their feet, and the tangy ocean breeze whispering through their hair. Overhead, seafowl wheeled and glided, their haunting cries echoing through the gathering dusk. Her hand holding tight to his, Maura told Rath as much of her mother’s story as she had learned from her kinfolk.

“Your mother was a brave lass,” said Rath when she had finished. “Like her daughter. Your father sounds a noble fellow, too. It is a shame you never knew them, and that they gave their lives for nothing.”

“But don’t you see?” Maura turned toward him. “It wasn’t for nothing. If my mother had never gone to Tarsh and begotten me, then somehow escaped from the Han and found her way to Windleford, all those prophesies of the Destined Queen would never have come true. The ones about my being descended from Abrielle and raised by Langbard. If we succeed in liberating Umbria, my parents will not have died in vain.”

Her words did not dispel the cloud that hung over Rath.

“What is troubling you,
aira
?” She reached up to brush the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “And do not insult my wit by pretending nothing is.”

“Taken lessons from your little friend, the Oracle, have you?” Though his voice sounded gruff, he leaned into her caress, nuzzling her hand with his cheek, which was shaved closer than she had ever felt it before. It seemed almost to belong to another man.

“You are not so hard to read,” she teased him, “like one of Delyon’s ancient scrolls. You are more like a tavern sign, with the words writ large and plain, and a picture carved above them for good measure. Out with it, now. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think.”

“All right, then.” He inhaled a deep breath of the briny ocean air. “There is something I must know from you, and it
must
be the truth, mind.”

“Rath Talward!” She jerked her hand back as if he had stung it. “Do you think I would lie to you?”

“To spare my feelings? Aye, you would. Or if you felt you had other good reason. Remember how you strung me along on our journey to Prum, with tales of an old aunt and an arranged match you had to make?”

“That was different!” Maura protested. “I hardly knew you back then. And it would have been dangerous to go about telling everyone I met that I was the Destined Queen. Now that we are to wed, you will have the truth from me, I promise.”

A chill wave of worry broke over her, quenching her flash of anger. What question could he mean to ask that he feared she might not answer truthfully?

“We are soon to be wed,” Rath repeated. “And I need to know, are you wedding me because I am your heart’s choice? Or is it like your mother, who went to her marriage for the sake of duty and destiny? You promised me the truth, remember.”

Relief swamped Maura with such force she might have crumpled onto the sand if Rath had not caught her by the arms.

Instead, she collapsed against him, giving his broad chest a token swat. “You fretted yourself and me over
that
? Of course you are the choice of my heart! It almost tore me in two when I thought the Waiting King would come between us.”

“But you chose him before you knew we were one and the same. I remember our journey to the Secret Glade and how you were prepared to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of your people. I cannot accept such a sacrifice from you,
aira.
”

Maura raised her face to meet the challenge of his gaze. “
We
made that decision together, remember? I cannot swear how I might have chosen if you had set yourself to change my mind.”

“Truly?”

Did he
want
to doubt her? Or was it just that doubt and distrust were still stronger in him than belief and hope?

“How can I convince you? Being your destined partner is the one part of my fate I can embrace with a joyful heart and no reservations. Have you forgotten our joining of spirits, when you saw yourself through my eyes and tasted the flavor of my love for you?”

“Perhaps I had forgotten, a little.” He canted his head and
leaned toward her. “Looking back now, it all seems like a dream—too good to be true.”

“Perhaps this will remind you.” Maura slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, pulling him toward her.

Her lips met his, parting in welcome. He kissed her with all the hoarded yearning of their journey, when it had seemed impossible that they would ever be together like this.

Even as she responded to his anxious ardor, Maura could not help wondering if there was something more troubling him. Something he could not bring himself to share with her. Perhaps something he had not fully acknowledged to himself.

She pulled back from him just far enough to murmur, “What about you?”

“Me?” He lifted her off her feet and spun around until she squealed with laughter. “Can you suppose for a moment that I am not eager to wed you?”

“Not that,” she said when he had finally set her back on her feet. “I practically dragged you out of Everwood. But I do not want you to accept the crown and all that goes with it only for my sake.”

“Not such a bad reason, is it?”

Perhaps he had made himself dizzy spinning around. Now he clung to her for support, as she sensed he would in the years to come. He was a strong, forceful man, but there were other kinds of strength and Maura knew there might be times ahead when he would need to call upon hers.

“Not a bad reason, just not good enough. I want you to do this because it is the right thing to do. And because it is
your
destiny.”

“Do not fret yourself.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her brow, like a benediction. “I wasn’t thinking right that morn in Everwood. The whole notion of being the Waiting King had thrown me off balance, like that spinning did just now. And I had a good many wrong ideas I’ve since learned the truth of.”

Maura listened for a false or forced note in his voice, but heard none.

Rath took her face in his hands and gazed deep into her eyes by the dying light of day. “Now that I have seen what life is like here on the Islands—what it
could
be like on the mainland—I cannot rest until I have done everything in my power to make it so.”

“Spoken like a true king,” Maura whispered.

“I still doubt we can oust the Han from Umbria all by ourselves. Though, who knows…if the Giver wills it? But we will not be alone. Idrygon has been preparing for this day for years. Waiting and hoping that I would come to lead the force he has assembled.”

His words stirred and reassured Maura. “You’re convinced we can prevail now, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Rath looked so regal in his confidence, she wished she had the crown in her hands to nestle on his windblown hair.

Then the banished shadow returned to darken his gaze. He gathered Maura close again, as if she were a frightened child in need of his comfort. Or perhaps the other way around.

“I am convinced we can prevail,” he repeated in a harsh whisper. “But at what cost?”

At what cost?
Those words haunted Rath’s dreams on the night before his wedding and crowning ceremonies.

What Maura had told him about her parents did nothing to ease his dread. Quite the opposite. He might have reconciled himself to a heroic death like the kind her father had suffered. But to endure the loss of his beloved, as her mother had—the thought of it sapped his courage.

He rolled over in the narrow bed he’d been provided by one of Maura’s relatives, cursing the custom that they must sleep apart during the days leading up to their wedding. He had not minded it so much while she’d been off to Galene visiting her
kin. Now that they were on the same island again, he could scarcely bear to be parted from her.

If she’d been sharing his bed now, he could have held her close, soothed by the warmth of her body, the whisper of her breathing and the murmur of her heartbeat. He could have convinced himself to savor whatever time they had and trust to the Giver’s providence that it would not be cut short.

No matter what the young Oracle prophesied.

Thinking back over his talk with Maura on the beach, he burned with shame for questioning
her
honesty when he had been hiding something from her. But he could not blight her happiness by telling her the truth. From now on, he must keep his worries better hidden from her—not writ large with pictures like a tavern sign!

“Highness!” Someone shook Rath’s shoulder.

He came awake with a violent start, to find his hand around Delyon’s neck.

“Your pardon!” He let go at once. “Don’t ever wake me sudden like that.”

“No harm done.” Delyon’s voice sounded hoarse as he rubbed his throat. “My brother sent me to fetch you. It will soon be dawn—time for the ceremony.”

As Deylon set down the candle he was carrying on a small table beside the bed, Rath thanked the Giver that the young scholar hadn’t dropped it on the bedclothes during their brief struggle.

“Your robes are all laid out over there.” Delyon pointed to a low chest in the far corner. “You’d better hurry.”

Rath scrambled out of bed. “I’ll be right along.”

As he headed for the door, Delyon paused and turned. “Highness?”

“Yes?” After two weeks in Idrygon’s household, Rath was slowly getting used to answering to that title.

“I wish you every joy in your union, sire.” Delyon bowed. “It will be an honor to witness the joining and crowning of the Waiting King and the Destined Queen.”

“Um…thank you.” Rath knew he sounded gruff and awkward, but he couldn’t help himself.