Deborah Hale (12 page)

The young scholar was a decent enough fellow, but the two of them were as unalike as men could be. And given a choice between them, Rath had no illusions about who was the better man.

After Delyon left, Rath quickly slipped into his wedding robes, relieved to find they were a good deal looser than the tunics he worn on Margyle. Delyon had told him their brown color symbolized the fertile earth. When he emerged from his chamber into the courtyard, it was packed with men, talking quietly by candlelight.

Idrygon stepped forward with a woven circlet of leaves and placed it on Rath’s head. “We had better get going to reach the wedding grove by dawn. I hope you slept well, Highness. This is going to be a grand day.”

Rath nodded, stifling a yawn. This would be a grand day and he must do nothing to spoil it for Maura or these good folks. He tried to approach it as he might a coming battle—concentrating on the tasks at hand, while firmly locking away any distracting worries.

With his usual efficiency, Idrygon mustered all the men into a procession that headed off toward the wedding grove. As they walked, they sang a ritual chant in
twara,
of which Rath could make out a few words. It did not matter, though, for he’d been told the bridegroom took no part in the singing. He brought up the rear of the procession, following the bobbing lights of many candles through the predawn darkness.

Soon they reached the wedding grove, a cultivated ring of trees, shrubbery and flowers with four openings—one each for north, south, east and west. The bridegroom’s procession entered through the eastern one into a large grassy circle that sloped to a low mound at the center. The men walked around the rim of the circle, moving westward, while Idrygon led Rath to the middle of the grass, where they waited.

The moment he stopped, Rath could hear a high, clear cho
rus of women’s voices coming from the west. Soon the first women began to file into the grove through the western entrance, their chant weaving a haunting harmony with the men’s voices. They walked around the circle in the opposite direction the men had, while Madame Verise and one of Maura’s aunts led her toward Rath.

Maura wore a gown the color of spring leaves. Her ruddy curls hung loose over her shoulders and down her back, crowned with a wreath of flowers. By the flickering light of a hundred candles, and the first rays of dawn, she was a vision of near-unbearable beauty.

Suddenly the chanting stopped, and all the candles were blown out.

“Let us meditate with one pure will,” said Madame Verise in a quiet but resonant voice. “And ask that the gracious spirit of the Giver may hover over this holy place and bless the union of this man and woman.”

In the expectant silence that followed, Rath heard the distant pounding of the surf, the whisper of the breeze through the leaves and the first clear, sweet notes of birdsong to herald the rising sun. As he had on the swift, treacherous ride down that river from the mines, Rath felt a presence enfolding and uplifting him.

When at last Madame Verise began to pronounce the ritual of union, he was able to meet Maura’s gaze with a warm, untroubled smile.

“Elzaban and Maura. As you embark upon a lifetime voyage across the uncharted ocean of the future, we gather today to witness your compact of union and to invoke the Giver’s blessing upon you.”

She nodded to Rath, who held his right hand out to Maura, palm up, and spoke the words he had worked hard to memorize. “Maura, I offer myself to you—all that I have and all that I am. I promise to protect you, defend you, support and cherish you as long as I live.”

“Elzaban…” Maura stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar name and her voice sounded thick with unshed tears. “I accept you as my lifemate, with a joyous and thankful heart.”

Her right hand was cold as she laid it palm down upon his.

Madame Verise led the guests in a chant, asking the Giver to bless Rath with the strength, wisdom, tenderness and patience to fulfill his vows.

Then Maura extended her left hand to Rath. “Elzaban, I offer myself to you—all that I have and all that I am. I promise to sustain you, heal you, support and cherish you as long as I live.”

She had scarcely finished speaking when Rath laid his left hand upon hers. “Maura, I accept you as my lifemate, with a joyous and thankful heart.”

This time the company chanted a blessing upon Maura, while Rath stared deep into her eyes and silently begged the Giver to endow his bride with an extra measure of patience. She would need it.

When the chant ended, Madame Verise nodded to Rath and Maura, who raised both pairs of clasped hands toward the sky—a symbol of growth.

“All here witness,” proclaimed Madame Verise, “that Elzaban and Maura have freely pledged themselves to one another for life. May their union grow and flourish. And may it bear an abundance of sound, sweet fruit in the years to come.”

Rath flinched at the mention of the fruits of their union, but quickly shoved that renegade worry into a deep, dark corner of his mind. By the time he and Maura had lowered their clasped hands and she could see his face clearly, Rath flattered himself that she glimpsed nothing but what he wanted her to see—his joy, his pride and his love.

With hands still clasped between them, he leaned forward and sealed their vows with a kiss.

The rings of men and women ranged around the edge of the grove broke as the guests surged toward Rath and Maura to
offer their blessings. Those already wed hung back to let the younger folk reach the center of the circle first.

Untangling their hands, Maura lifted the circlet of flowers from her hair while Rath removed the garland of leaves from his. Then they threw the wedding wreaths into the air, where they broke apart, showering down on the approaching guests. Young men lunged after the falling leaves, while the maidens each tried to catch a flower that meant they would one day find true love.

Rath laughed with a full heart as he watched the merry scramble. Just then, he wished everyone in the kingdom could know the surpassing happiness he had found with his destined bride.

Maura had only ever witnessed one other wedding—her friend Sorsha’s. And it had been very different from this splendid ceremony. She and Langbard had gone with Sorsha and Newlyn to a tiny glade in Betchwood where the two had made their vows. All the while, they’d listened for any sound of a Hanish patrol or an outlaw band. Rather than tossing her bridal wreath in the air, Sorsha had carefully lifted it off her head and placed it on her friend’s, saying she hoped the Giver would bless Maura with a fine husband someday. At the time, Maura had judged the chances of that very slight.

Her eyes misted with tears.

“What is it, love?” Rath stopped laughing at the antics of the young folks scrambling for groom’s leaves and bridal blossoms. “Nothing wrong, is there?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never been happier. I only wish Sorsha could have been here today.”

For all she was delighted to have been welcomed into the bosom of a large, loving family and to have her Woodbury kin witness her ritual of union, Sorsha was her oldest and dearest friend. A friend who was still in danger of having her family torn apart, if the Han should discover the secret of Newlyn’s
past. A friend who had to observe the rituals of the Elderways in secret.

“Maybe it’s just as well she couldn’t be here.” Rath’s voice lilted with teasing humor. “I’m not sure Sorsha would have approved you wedding a dangerous character like me. She wasn’t too happy about you going off with me in the first place.”

His jest lifted Maura’s spirits as they received congratulations from all the company. “Sorsha would change her colors soon enough, I reckon, once she got to know you. You and her Newlyn are a good deal alike.”

Hand in hand, they led a merry procession that wound in and out through all the entrances to the grove. Finally they departed through the northern one, to signify that their union would endure through adversity. Remembering the hardships it had already withstood to reach this moment, Maura felt confident she and Rath could weather whatever storms the future might bring.

From the wedding grove, they walked back to her grandfather’s villa. A bountiful feast awaited them there, with food spread on long tables from which everyone could help themselves. Before anyone else could eat, Maura and Rath peeled two hard-boiled eggs decorated with
twaran
letters and fed them to each other.

“Well, this is fitting!” Maura chuckled. “Do you remember the morning after we left Windleford, how you peeled those eggs Sorsha gave us?”

“I do.” Rath’s dark eyes twinkled with glee. “Though if I’d known then what it meant, I might have thought twice.”

Afterward, they helped each other to more of the food—strands of bread twisted into fanciful shapes, wedges of flavorful cheese and pieces of island fruit threaded on wooden skewers in colorful patterns.
Sythwine
and
lipma
cordial flowed freely along with other delicious drinks Maura had never tasted before.

After Rath and Maura had eaten their fill, Idrygon and Ma
dame Verise summoned them away to change into their coronation robes for the ceremony that would take place at noon.

Madame Verise smiled through tears as she helped Maura into a gown the color of midsummer sunshine. “Bless the Giver that I should live to see the Destined Queen crowned. I only wish Nalene and Langbard could be here. They devoted their lives to making this happen. Though you are not their daughter by birth, your coronation still honors them and fulfills their hope.”

Maura clasped the old woman in a gentle embrace, and in their shared tears, the spirits of Langbard and his wife seemed very near, bestowing their special blessing upon her.

“Enough now.” Madame Verise at last thrust a handkerchief at Maura. “Dry your eyes, child. We cannot have the Destined Queen blubbering through her coronation.”

The crowning ceremony took place in the same hallowed glade as their ritual of union, which was fitting, Maura thought. In a way, she and Rath were being united with their people into one very large family. Rath looked so regal in robes that seemed to have been woven from threads of the deep blue Vestan sky. Maura even found herself thinking of him as
Elzaban.

Delyon read from a scroll that prophesied the coming of the Waiting King. The uncanny parallels between what had been foretold so long ago and the adventures she and Rath had shared to reach this moment gave Maura chills of wonder.

There were several chants by the assembled witnesses, calling down the Giver’s blessing on the new king and queen. Rath spoke his vows, similar to the ones he had made Maura, to protect and defend his kingdom. Then it was her turn to promise she would sustain and nurture her people.

She and Rath knelt before the young Oracle of Margyle, who looked a little uncertain. Maura flashed the child a reassuring smile, to remind her that they were no better prepared for this than she. Yet the Giver was with them, and all would be well.

The child stood a little taller as she looked out at the assem
bled crowd. “I am perhaps the only one here with memories of other Umbrian kings and queens crowned.” Her high young voice rang with the accumulated wisdom of all her predecessors. “But never has an oracle placed the crowns of our realm on the heads of two worthier sovereigns.”

She turned to Madame Verise and took from her a crown of ivory, carved to resemble the flower wreath Maura had worn in her hair that morning. Placing it on Maura’s head, she said, “Wear this crown, Destined Queen, in token of the Giver’s wisdom, courage and compassion. May your reign be long, peaceful and prosperous.”

Then she took a larger crown from Idrygon, also of ivory and carved as a ring of leaves. So skillful had been the artistry of the carver that Maura almost fancied it had been fashioned from real leaves, bleached to the color of fresh cream.

“Wear this crown, Elzaban, Waiting King, in token of the Giver’s wisdom, courage and compassion. May your reign be long, peaceful and prosperous.”

Signaling the newly crowned monarchs to rise, the Oracle turned to those gathered and cried, “Umbria waits no more!”

“W
hat shall we do next,
aira
?” Rath leaned back in the gently swaying hammock suspended between two tall tree trunks, shaded by a high canopy of broad leaves. Maura nestled against him. “Go for another swim in the lagoon? Catch some fish? Or wander through the woods to see if we can spot any monkeys?”

Following their coronation, they had spent a blissful week on the tiny island paradise of Tolin, where Madame Verise told them Langbard and his wife had spent their
nectarnights
many years ago. They had been given the use of a cozy little villa, with a breathtaking view of the lagoon from its bedroom balcony. The pantry had been stocked with all the food they would need for their stay. As well, there was plenty of fresh fish for the catching and an amazing variety of ripe fruit just waiting to be plucked.

But the thing Rath liked best about the place was its seclusion. Ever since Gull and his crew had brought them from Galene, they had not seen or heard another living soul. Unless you counted the monkeys, which they had not seen, either, though they’d heard haunting calls from the forest at night.

“Why must we go anywhere or do anything?” Maura ran her hand over his bare chest in a provocative caress. “For weeks and weeks, we’ve been on the move, always with something urgent to accomplish. I think we owe ourselves these nice lazy
nectarnights.
”

Rath chuckled. “I love it when you’re right, lady wife.”

He had a faint suspicion there was something they ought to be doing, or planning to do, but he could not remember what. And he was not sure he wanted to remember.

Madame Verise had given him and Maura a potion to bring with them to the island. She’d told them it was her wedding gift and said they were to drink a special toast with it as soon as they arrived. He and Maura had dutifully followed her instructions, though Rath hadn’t cared for the taste of it. The potion was supposed to do something, but Rath could not recall what.

Never mind! He had the most desirable woman in Umbria in his arms and a beautiful private paradise in which to enjoy her.

Maura looked up at the summer sky, or such bits of it as they could see through the thick leaves overhead. The wind had blown a vast billow of clouds over the island. “Perhaps we ought to go inside. It looks like another downpour is coming.”

“So it does,” said Rath. But he made no move to rise from the hammock.

The island weather was strange, with its brief but intense showers that left the ground steaming when the sun chased them away. Now that he was getting used to it, Rath preferred it to the long days of gray drizzle that sometimes blanketed the Hitherland, or the parching heat of the Southmark steppes.

“You know—” he wound a strand of Maura’s hair around his finger “—it’s hardly worth the bother of going in, the rain will be over so soon. And it isn’t cold.”

“But our clothes will get wet.”

Rath shrugged. “They dry out quick. Or…”

“Or…?” Maura hoisted herself up enough to rest her chin upon his chest.

“If you’re that worried about them getting wet, we could always take them off and put them underneath something. That, maybe?” He pointed to a large empty fruit bowl, woven from thin slats of wood. “If I turn it over on top of our clothes, they’ll be dry after the storm passes.”

“But
we’ll
be wet.” Maura shot Rath a mischievous grin to match the one on his face.

“Mmm.” He ran his hands over her body, guessing the sensation would feel even more delicious on her moist, naked skin. “Sounds tempting, doesn’t it?”

Maura’s eyes shimmered with the sultry heat of rain-drenched leaves after the sweet tempest of a storm. “You make anything sound tempting, outlaw.”

A distant roll of thunder echoed the rumble of Rath’s chuckle. “We’d better strip off quick, then, or we won’t have a choice.”

Luckily their clothes were easy to shed. Maura wore only a length of light linen that wrapped around her body and tied over one shoulder, while an even shorter scrap of cloth sheathed Rath from hip to thigh. After a bit of twitching and twisting, the small mound of linen soon lay sheltered under the bowl, while the newlyweds lay tangled in one another’s arms, flushed with desire that the approaching rain could not hope to quench.

As they exchanged hot, hungry kisses, they scarcely noticed the first drops of rain that spattered on their bare bodies. Rath hoisted Maura on top of him, so her legs straddled his belly and her firm, generous breasts nestled against his chest, while the tempting roundness of her backside was perfectly positioned for his hands to fondle.

The storm quickly gathered force. In spite of the thick awning of branches above them, warm summer rain soon teemed down over the lovers. Maura’s hair fell like a wet veil around Rath’s face as her lips ranged hungrily over his.

He strained to reach her breast with his mouth, and she obliged, arching up until he was able to catch the drops of rain that trickled from her nipple on his tongue. Each one set him pleasure-drunk with its musky sweetness. He ran his hands over her body, caressing the enticing curves and probing the beguiling clefts. The hammock swayed gently in time to their movements, two creatures in a primal garden giving and receiving the most potent pleasure.

Rath’s pulse galloped like the swift rolling drum of the rain on the roof of their villa. Desire swirled inside him, with the thrilling savagery of an ocean gale. His body roused to the touch, scent and taste of Maura until it was taut and fevered with need. When she lowered herself into him, he thrust up to meet her. Storm-tossed on a sea of sensation, powerful waves bore them up and swept them along ever higher and faster. Until one wild surge crested and broke over them, drowning them both in a vast ocean of ecstasy.

Rath subsided, just as the rain eased, his chest heaving as if he
had
barely escaped drowning. The raindrops trickling down his face heightened that feeling, but no matter—he knew as long as he held fast to Maura, they would wash up together somewhere he wanted to be.

As quickly as it had begun, the rain stopped and the sun seemed to shine all the brighter for the brief squall. The slow sway of the hammock lulled Rath and Maura into a lazy doze of peaceful contentment.

Whether an hour passed or only a moment, Rath could not be certain. But the sound of a voice calling a friendly greeting jarred him awake.

“Hello?” The voice belonged to Delyon—curse him. “Highnesses? Are you there?”

As both Rath and Maura tried to grab their clothes, the hammock twisted, dumping them onto the ground. Rath growled a curse under his breath. Maura shoved the loincloth into his hand. He fumbled to wrap it around him.

They’d just got themselves decently covered when Delyon appeared. “Oh, there you are! You had me worried when you didn’t answer. Were you caught out in that rain?”

Rath and Maura stammered out different replies at the same time, but Delyon showed no sign of guessing what he had almost interrupted. “Bad luck. Oh well, you have time to dry off before we have to leave.”

“Leave?” Rath wanted to throttle the handsome young scholar for even suggesting it. “We have to leave now? So soon?”

Delyon gave an apologetic nod and his bronzed complexion seemed to redden a little. Perhaps he was beginning to guess what they’d been up to. “It has been a week, after all. Preparations for the invasion are almost complete. I hope you got a good rest to ready yourselves.”

“Invasion?” Rath and Maura stared at one another and then at Delyon, as though he’d gone daft.

“The invasion to liberate the mainland…remember? It’s the reason you came to the Vestan Islands in the first place.”

Suddenly Rath did remember. That potion from Madame Verise had made him and Maura forget. Rath could now recall being doubtful it would work. But he’d been willing to try, for the sake of a few elusive, unshadowed days with Maura.

As it turned out, the potion had worked well. Perhaps too well. Suppressed memories flooded his mind now that they had been roused. A host of worries landed upon him like packs dropped from a high window. He staggered under their weight.

And the burden of his destiny felt all the heavier for having escaped its crush a little while.

To think only yesterday she and Rath had been taking their pleasure out in the rain, with not a care in the world!

As she sat by her husband’s side in the council chamber, Maura fought to suppress a sigh. How tempting it was to wish they could return to that secluded island paradise with a life
time supply of Madame Verise’s potion. But that would be cowardly and selfish.

Maura summoned thoughts of her friends Sorsha and Newlyn Swinley, Blen and Tesha Maynold, Boyd Tanner, Snake and Angareth. All those people were counting on her and Rath, whether they realized it or not. Then she remembered Langbard and Nalene, Exilda and her parents. She must do everything in her power to make certain their sacrifices had not been in vain.

Those thoughts acted like a magical tonic on Maura’s courage and will. With renewed concentration, she listened while Idrygon explained the details of his invasion plan.

He had brought a large wooden slab to lay on the floor in the center of the chamber, upon which a map of Umbria was molded in clay. Maura’s gaze swept over it, tracing the path of her quest to find the Waiting King.

“Your pardon, Idrygon.” The wizard Trochard rose from his seat and pointed to the tiny model ships being pushed across the board toward the Dusk Coast. “Your preparations have been most thorough, but the number of ships you have available and the number of fighters you have been able to raise will be but a pittance to the Hanish legions now occupying the kingdom. I fail to see how this invasion of yours can possibly succeed.”

He turned and made a curt bow toward Rath. “Not even with the Waiting King to lead them, for he has no magical army or special powers to…”

Rath’s hands clenched around the arms of his chair. Maura knew he must be struggling to “play the king in the council chamber” as she had bidden him.

“
If
you will permit me to continue, Trochard,” Idrygon snapped, “I believe your objections will be answered.”

“He is right, Trochard.” Madame Verise nodded for the redheaded wizard to sit down. “It has always been the custom of this Council to listen and consider before raising objections.”

Glaring at Idrygon, Trochard resumed his seat with a loud huff.

“As I was saying…” Idrygon pushed the tiny ships nearer the coast. They did look pitifully few. “Our strategy is not to meet the Han on an open field of battle. They are many, but they are spread thin over a wide area. By concentrating our small force in surprise attacks on key positions, I believe we can prevail.”

He gestured toward Rath. “And you are wrong to say His Highness has no special weapons or powers. The power of his legend is one of the most potent weapons any army could wish for. It will rally the mainlanders to our cause. They may not be well trained or equipped, but they could be a mighty force, properly wielded. And make no mistake—they
will
flock to the banner of the Waiting King!”

Maura had never warmed to the forceful, ambitious Idrygon as she had to his scholarly brother, but at that moment she could cheerfully have kissed him. Trochard squirmed in his seat as whispers of agreement passed among the Council members, even some of his own supporters.

With an air of grim triumph, Idrygon described how his force would attack Duskport and secure it as their base. From there, they would march across the Hitherland, liberating every town and village and gathering strength. “By the time we have cleansed Tarsh, Norest and Southmark of the Han, we will be ready to sweep down upon Westborne.”

Rath rose, drawing the gazes of all the Council.

“You wish to speak, Highness?” Idrygon asked.

“What about the mines?”

“Your pardon, Highness?”

“The Blood Moon mines.” Rath pointed toward Idrygon’s map. “You have heard of them?”

“Of course, Highness. What about them?”

“They must be one of our first targets. They are…” he searched for a word and winced when the best he could think of was “wrong. They are…” He tried again, his rugged features contorted with the effort.

“An affront.” Maura rose to stand beside him. “The mines are an affront to the Giver, and the Precepts and all it once meant to be Umbrian. The king is right. The mines cannot be allowed to continue their evil work if we have the means to stop them.”

Rath’s hand closed over hers with a grateful squeeze.

Idrygon’s features tightened into a scowl, which he was quick to subdue. “Your Highness’s concern for the most oppressed of your subjects is laudable. However, I fear a premature bid to liberate the mines would not only be doomed to failure itself, but might imperil our whole campaign.”

When Rath looked ready to object, Idrygon changed tactics. “You and I can discuss this further in private, Highness. Perhaps some way can be worked out to speed our liberation of the mines without jeopardizing our greater objective.”

Did Idrygon mean what he said? Maura wondered. Or was he just trying to keep Rath quiet so Trochard could not take advantage of a rift in their alliance? Glimpsing Rath’s thoughtful frown, she guessed he must be asking himself the same thing. He glanced at her and they resumed their seats without further protest while Idrygon outlined the rest of his plan.

“May I be permitted to speak
now
?” asked Trochard when Idrygon fell silent at last.

Madame Verise nodded, then cast an apologetic glance at Rath. “If it please Your Highness?”

“Have your say, Trochard.” Under his breath Rath muttered, “Before you burst from bottling it up.”

Maura bit the inside of her cheek to curb a most unqueenly chuckle.

“Your plan is quite clever, Idrygon,” said Trochard in a patronizing tone, “as far as it goes. But you cannot hope to avoid open battle with the Han forever. Once you make your first attack, they will mass and come after you. I fear you are too young to remember the tactics they used to conquer Umbria in the first place.”