The Oracle's Queen (68 page)

As much as she wanted to trust Lord Lutha, she dreaded the morrow. “Please, Dalna!” she whispered, pressing her hands over the slight swell below her bodice. “Let my child be spared. She's all I have.”

Tomara had gone down for news, but came hurrying back, her face white with fear. “It's that wizard, my lady! He asks to come to you. What shall we do?”

“Let him in.” Nalia stood by the hearth, bracing herself against the mantelpiece. Was this to be her answer? Would he quietly kill her or blight her child after all?

Master Arkoniel did not look very threatening. He was younger than Niryn and had a friendly, open face. She saw
none of Niryn's cunning in this one, but she had been fooled before.

He bowed, then remained standing. “Highness, forgive my intrusion. Lutha and the others told me something of your treatment here, enough for me to guess that you are a woman who has been grievously wronged. Niryn was a vile creature, and many of your husband's less noble actions must be laid at that villain's feet.”

“I would like to believe that,” Nalia murmured.

They stood a moment longer like that, sizing each other up, then he smiled again. “I think you could do with a nice cup of tea. If you show me where the makings are, I'll brew it.”

Astonished and wary, Nalia watched closely as the man warmed the pot and measured out the leaves. Did he mean to poison her? She saw no sign of it, and when it was steeped he poured for both of them and took a long sip. She took a hesitant sip of her own.

“Is it to your liking, Highness? My mistress taught me to make it rather strong.”

“Your mistress?” she asked, wondering if he meant a lover.

“The wizard who was my teacher,” he explained.

“Ah.”

They fell silent again, but presently he set his cup aside and gazed at her thoughtfully.

“Did you kill Niryn?”

“I did. Does that shock you?”

“Not really. I know what the man was capable of, and if I'm not mistaken, so do you.”

Nalia shivered and said nothing.

“I sense something of his foul taint lingering on you, my lady. If you would allow me, I can remove it.”

Nalia gripped her cup tightly, torn between revulsion at the thought of any vestige of Niryn, and fear of trickery.

“By my hands and heart and eyes, lady. I would never
hurt you, or the child,” Arkoniel said, guessing her thoughts once again.

Nalia struggled with herself a little longer, but when he did not press her, she finally nodded. If he was going to betray her with that kindly manner and reassuring words, better to know it at once and be done with it.

Arkoniel drew out a slender crystal wand and held it between his palms as he closed his eyes. “Ah yes, there it is,” he said after a moment. He rested a hand on her head and Nalia felt a tingling warmth course through her body. It felt nothing like Niryn's magic; this was like sunlight compared to frost.

“You are free, my lady,” he told her, returning to the other chair.

Nalia wondered how to test it. Not knowing what else to do, she blurted out, “Niryn seduced me.”

“Ah, I see.” The wizard did not appear shocked by the news, only sad. “Well, he has no more hold on you. As long as you are under Queen Tamír's protection, I will see to it that no one abuses you so again. You have my oath on that.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Why are you doing this? Why does Tamír send such people to me when I bear the child of her rival?”

“Because she knows what it is to suffer, and because she loved Korin very much, even at the end when he had no love left for her. When you meet her, you will see for yourself.” He rose and bowed. “Rest well tonight, dear lady. You have nothing more to fear.”

Nalia sat by the fire for a long time after he left, caught between sorrow and hope.

L
utha returned with Lady Nalia a week later. In keeping with her status, Tamír sat on a cloak-draped stool outside her tent with her nobles around her and her army massed in two large squares, forming an avenue through the great camp. Ki was on his feet again, and in his proper place at her side, still impressively bruised and wearing his arm in a sling.

Caliel had politely refused the baldric she'd offered him, and no more had to be spoken between them. He stood apart with some of the nobles, Tanil close beside him, as always. The two were inseparable.

As the returning force approached, Tamír was surprised to see that their number had greatly increased. The mystery was solved when Lutha and Nyanis rode up with a third rider between them.

“Tharin!” Throwing dignity to the wind, Tamír jumped to her feet and ran to meet him.

Tharin swung down from the saddle and caught her in his arms with a stifled grunt.

“Are you wounded?” she asked, backing up again to search him for blood.

“It's nothing serious,” he assured her. “Lord Nevus gave us a good fight before I killed him. It was the same day we got word of your victory here.” He looked down at the Sword hanging at her side, and touched the hilt reverently. “At last, it hangs at the side of a true queen.”

Ki limped over to join them, and Tharin laughed at the sight of him as they clasped hands. “Looks like you have a few tales to tell, yourself.”

“More than you know,” he replied with a pained smile.

“I'm glad to see you, Tharin, but what are you doing here?” asked Tamír, walking him back to her makeshift throne.

“After we routed Nevus and burned the ships Korin sent, I pushed north, thinking I'd meet you coming the other way. We reached the isthmus in time to meet with Lutha and Nyanis and I decided to carry word to you myself. Atyion is secure and the last of the northern lords are declaring their loyalty in very loud voices. I only had to kill a few on the way. Ki, your brother sends his regards. Rilmar held out under siege and your family is well.”

When the Companions and her generals had greeted the others, Lutha sent a messenger back to summon Nalia.

Nalia arrived, mounted on a fine white horse and escorted by Arkoniel and the two Aurënfaie commanders. Tamír recognized her at once from Lutha's description. She was indeed homely, and the wine-colored stain was pronounced, but Tamír also saw the mix of fear and gentle dignity in her eyes and bearing.

Arkoniel helped her dismount and gave her his arm as he escorted her to Tamír. “Queen Tamír, allow me to present Lady Nalia, Prince Korin's wife.”

“Your Majesty.” Nalia made Tamír a deep curtsy and remained on one knee before her, trembling.

Tamír's heart went out to her at once. Rising, she took the young woman's hand and drew her to her feet. “Welcome, cousin. It grieves me to meet you at last under such sad circumstances.” She motioned to Lynx and he stepped forward with the jar containing Korin's ashes. Nalia looked at a loss and did not move to take them. Instead, she clasped her hands over her heart and gave Tamír an imploring look.

“Lord Lutha and Master Arkoniel have been most kind to me and have given me many assurances, but I must hear it from your own lips. What are your intentions toward my child?”

“You are pregnant, then?” Nalia was still very slender.

“Yes, Majesty. The baby will be born in the spring.”

“You are Royal Kin, and your child shares my blood. If you will give me your oath to uphold my right to the throne and put aside all claims of your own, then you will be welcome in my court and given titles and lands in keeping with your station.”

“You have my oath, with all my heart!” Nalia exclaimed softly. “I know nothing of court life, and ask nothing but to live in peace.”

“I wish the same for you, cousin. Lord Caliel, Lord Tanil, step forward.”

Caliel gave her a questioning look, but did as she asked, drawing Tanil along by the arm. “My lords, will you become the liegemen of Lady Nalia, and protect her and her child as long as they are in need of you?”

“We will, Majesty,” Caliel replied as understanding dawned. “You are most kind.”

“That's settled, then,” Tamír said. “You see, my lady, you are not without friends at my court. Lord Lutha also holds you in high esteem. I hope you will call him friend, as well.”

Nalia curtsied again, her eyes bright with tears. “Thank you, Majesty. I hope—” She paused and Tamír saw how her gaze strayed to the funeral jar. “I hope one day I may understand, Majesty.”

“I hope so, too. Tomorrow we will start the march back to Atyion. Dine with me tonight and rest well.”

T
amír made her farewells to the Aurënfaie that evening, exchanged oaths and treaties with them before her nobles and wizards. After they'd taken their leave, she saw Nalia to her tent, then turned with Ki for their own. Arkoniel took note of the arrangement but only smiled.

W
hile the rest of the army made ready to march the next morning, Arkoniel and Tamír rode back to the cliffs above
the harbor. Reining in, they gazed out across the water in silence. They could just make out the sails of the Gedre ships in the distance, speeding homeward under a clear sky.

“It's not a bad configuration for a seaport, if you mean to trade mostly with the 'faie,” Arkoniel noted. “What about the rest of Skala?”

“I'll find a way,” she mused. “It will be harder for the Plenimarans to surprise us here. I've been scouting while you were gone. Mahti was right. There's good water, and good soil, too, and plenty of stone and forest for building.” She looked around, eyes shining with anticipation. “I can already see it, Arkoniel! It will be better than Ero ever was.”

“A great, shining city, with a castle of wizards at its heart,” Arkoniel murmured, smiling.

As a child, Tamír had thought him very homely and awkward, and often rather foolish. She saw him with different eyes now, or perhaps he'd changed as much as she had. “You'll help me build it, won't you?”

“Of course.” He glanced at her and smiled as he added, “Majesty.”

A
rkoniel could already see the walls rising, too, and already imagined the safe haven they would create for all the wandering wizards, and all the lost children like Wythnir and the others. He felt the weight of the travel-stained bag against his knee, still hanging from his saddlebow as it had from Iya's. He would make a safe place for that burden, too. He didn't mind it so much now. Still dangerous and baffling, the ugly, evil bowl joined him to Iya and the Guardians who'd come before—and to all who would come after, too. Perhaps Wythnir had come to him for that purpose, to be the next Guardian?

“I will serve you always, Tamír, daughter of Ariani,” he murmured. “I will give you wizards the like of which the Three Lands have never seen.”

“I know.” She went quiet again and he sensed she was
working up to something. “Ki and I are going to be married.”

He chuckled at her shyness. “I should certainly hope so. Lhel would be so disappointed if you didn't.”

“She knew?”

“She saw it even when you were children. She liked him very much. Even Iya had to admit that he was more than he seemed at first.” He paused and chuckled softly. “Turnips, vipers, and moles.”

“What?”

“Oh, just something she said. Ki was the only boy she thought worthy of you.”

“I never have understood her.” She trailed off, and he guessed that she was uncomfortable speaking of Iya to him.

“It's all right, Tamír.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I dreamed of this place so often. Ki was with me and I'd try to kiss him, but I always fell over the cliff or woke up before I could. Visions are odd things, aren't they?”

“They are indeed. The gods show us a possible future, but nothing is ever fixed. It's up to us to grasp those dreams and shape them. There's always a choice to be made.”

“If that's true, then I could have chosen to run away, couldn't I? There were so many times when I thought of it.”

“Perhaps the Lightbearer chose you because you wouldn't.”

She stared thoughtfully out over the sea for some time, then nodded. “I think you're right.”

She looked around one last time, and Arkoniel saw the future in those blue eyes before she laughed and kicked her horse into a gallop.

Arkoniel laughed too, long and gladly, and followed her, as he always would.

Only sheep wander the Palatine now, and even Atyion has faded. Remoni became Rhíminee to suit Skalan tongues, but the meaning remains the same. Good water. Rhíminee, the life spring of Skala's golden age
.

‘
We wizards are stones in a river's course, watching the rush of life whirl past.'

I think of your words often, Iya, as I walk the streets of Tamír's shining city. From my balcony I can still trace the walls she laid out that year, with a spring at its center. The old city lies like the yolk in an egg surrounded by the additions of her successors. I know it would please her to see the building continue. That was her true calling, after all, even more than warrior or queen
.

To the north, where Cirna fortress stood, lies the great canal we hewed for her, the first gift of the Third Orëska to the new capital. Her statue still guards it, carved when she was older. How often I've gazed up into that solemn face; but in my heart she will always be sixteen, standing with Ki in a swirl of bright autumn leaves as they declare their union before the people, with all their friends around them
.

Tamír and Ki. Queen and Consort. Fast friends and peerless warriors until the end. The two of you are forever entwined in my heart. Your descendents are strong and beautiful and honorable
.
I still catch glimpses of you both in eyes of darkest blue or brown
.

Rhíminee has forgotten the others—Tharin, the Companions, Niryn. Rhius and Ariani. Erius and Korin are shadowed names in the lineage, a cautionary tale. Even you, Tamír—Tamír the Great, they call you now—you are only a half-told tale. Just as well. Brother and Tobin are the twin darknesses at the heart of the pearl; it's only the luster that matters
.