The Royal Wizard (26 page)

But for the moment, he was more than happy to simply be. Saeran closed his eyes and, with the dragon’s fire still burning inside him, warding away the chill of death, allowed healing sleep to claim him as well.

In his dreams, he soared high above mountains and streams, playing among the sun-warmed clouds. And wherever he flew, though he couldn’t see her, he felt Nia at his side. 

CHAPTER 27

Mari walked out into the courtyard, wandering toward the kitchens. She had no appetite, but for the child’s sake she would eat as the wizard had told her.

The sounds coming from the king’s chamber were horrible. It was as if a great thunderstorm had become trapped there. Things were crashing, guards, priests, and healers shouting and running to lend assistance. They didn’t yet know their efforts were of less use now than they had been before the wizard returned.

Now that she has, Mari knew precisely why the king adored her so. The wizard was a beauty beyond beauty, and her eyes were ancient with knowledge so profound that mere humans could never grasp it. Mari was a creature of the desert, of hot sands and burning sun. The wizard had been created from air and water, at once mysterious and familiar. Where Mari was a shadow, a ghost, the wizard shone like a star, guiding and brilliant.

How could the queen ever compete with such a creature? She, who had not even been born here, when the wizard seemed part of the land itself. And she was as much part of the king.

The queen steeled herself not to sigh. The king would recover, that much she now believed. And when he did, he’d have the wizard at his side without cease to ensure he would not fall ill again. And Mari would fade into the background, into their shadow, as had always been her fate. It was useless to fight it. She’d been reared to defer to others, why should she have come to believe that would ever change?

She paused beneath the stone archway, in shadows cast by her castle home. Mari didn’t envy the wizard her magics. Aegiros had its own magic men and women, and she had seen them struggle for years on end to learn how to channel the will of the gods. They could do much harm before they learned. Many did not survive at all; the terrible power turned on them with such force no one could stop it.

Mari had no magic of her own, but she could sometimes feel it in others. The wizard Nia was far more powerful than any other she had ever met. Yes, the wizard would heal Saeran, of that she had no doubt. But even now, through the din and noise inside his chamber far above, Mari could hear their pained screams, and she shuddered to think about what was happening in there. The wizard was welcome to her gifts. Mari had no desire for them, or the pain that came with them.

Someone fell through an open doorway across the courtyard. Mari started and, remembering she had not veiled herself, shifted deeper into the darkness. But she kept watch in case she was needed. The man on the ground curled in on himself, groaning, then shot straight and arched as if he was a puppet being moved by some greater force. He cried out in pain, echoing the screams within the castle.

Mari was about to go to his aid, but then his fingers curled to claw at the hard packed earth as he thrashed. His body smoked, though Mari could see no flames. The sight frightened her; she recognized the workings of evil spells even from this distance and hid behind the corner. The wail he let out terrified her. It shifted like some demon from the depths of hell, as if several voices cried out from a single being.

And then his appearance began to change, flickering between short-haired youth and a shriveled, gray-haired mass. He was ancient one moment, a woman the next, then a man, his body contorting in ways that made him writhe in agony.

He clawed at his chest and then tore away a chain with a heavy pendant, flinging it aside. But it would not leave him. It slid back toward him until it was in his hand once more, glittering in the night like a black star.

Mari whispered a soft prayer of protection. Whatever the wizard was doing, it was affecting this creature, and there could only be one reason for that.

She ran into the kitchens and closed the door before the man-demon could rise and sight her. Her heart raced and her belly ached with fear. A brave woman would have stayed to discover who had poisoned her king. A strong woman would have confronted him, regardless of the danger to herself. Mari was neither.

Another of those sharp, burning pains stabbed through her, and she collapsed into a chair, fighting the darkness threatening to overwhelm her. Something was wrong with her. The pain in her womb was a bad portent and fear for her unborn child made her shiver.

When the wizard finished with the king, she would ask her aid. Surely, if Nia helped the king, she would help Mari as well. All she wanted was for the child to be safe.

But there was to be no speaking to the royal wizard.

When Mari felt strong enough to stand once more, her gown came away from the chair soaked. The last thing she saw before she fainted was the pool of blood where she had sat a moment ago.

* * *

Ali al-Hassan, third son of the third son of Melorn the True, loyal warrior of
shansher
Dhakir the Conqueror, and faithful servant and protector of
shensari
Mari of the North could not sleep. He had stood his watch from sunup until sunset, guarding his
shensari
and her husband as was his duty. Now it was his time to rest, yet he could not.

The
shensari
was troubled. She would not rest or eat while her husband lay dying, and it was beginning to take a toll on her. It was no good for her to do this, especially now that she was with child. For her sake Ali wished the king’s torment would end, one way or another. No warrior wanted to die in such a way. There was no honor or glory in withering away from disease. A man should die by blade or arrow. In battle, protecting his family, serving his
shansher.

If the
shensari
would allow, Ali would end the king’s life the honorable way. But she loved him and would not hear of it. And so she tended him day and night and prayed for his recovery, while the rest of them guarded day and night and prayed for her well being.

A great noise erupted in the castle. Ali drew his sword but saw no enemy to slay. The noises were like a terrible demon dervish raging inside the castle, striking fear into his soul. He retreated, though he kept a watchful eye for the
shensari
. When he saw her strolling in the courtyard, he was relieved.

Sheathing his sword, he turned the other way toward the stables. No matter that these people were so strange, they bred magnificent horses and cared for them quite well. Their stables were clean and well tended, their horses never wanted for food, and no rider was allowed to mount one without proper gear.

Ali liked horses. They always soothed his troubled mind.

Tonight, even the animals were disturbed by the noise. A small mare snorted in her stall, stomping her hooves and shaking her head. The male next to her kicked back at the wall, his eyes wide with fear. A new mother nosed her little one who cowered against her side, hiding his head beneath her neck. Ali shuddered and stroked a beautiful steed’s neck, pretending he did not hear.

But then someone screamed outside, and that he could not ignore. Drawing his sword once more, he ran toward it and burst through the kitchen door to see the
shensari
falling to the ground. “Mari!”

Ali caught her, saw all the blood, and his bones turned cold. He shook her, called her name, but she would not wake. “Help,” he called. “Help! Someone!”

No one answered. Ali scooped her body into his arms, terrified at how small and light she was. He carried her outside to where they all slept, bellowing for his comrades. “Hamdan! Bakri! Najjar!
Shensari bahran sephri!
”

They came running, as they’d been trained. Hamdan took one look at the
shensari
and swore a vile oath. “Fetch the midwife,” he ordered Najjar. “Bakri, help me.”

They cleared one of the beds and laid their mistress upon it. Hamdan lit candles for light and Bakri gathered linens and rags. None of them would dare touch her skin; to see her face bare was bad enough. But Ali was most worried about how pale she was, how bloodless her lips. She had been cold in his arms before and now she would not stir at all.

When Najjar returned with the midwife and Mari’s hand maiden, the men left the room and let them tend her.

“Who did this?” Hamdan demanded.

“I saw no one,” Ali answered, though he wasn’t certain himself. His main concern had been the
shensari
. He had not searched for whoever might have harmed her.

“Could it be the babe?” Bakri said. “My sister lost a child once. I was the one who found her. It was much the same as the
shensari
, but Sibaal was awake, and she was in great pain.”

They stood in silence awhile. Ali did not know what to say. If it was as Bakri said, then the
shensari
was blessed to have fainted rather than endure such pain. But that she would not wake worried him.

The midwife, Wurud, came out then. Her gaze was downcast and she would not look at any of them.

“What is it, woman? Speak!”

“It is not good.”

“What do we do?”

Wurud looked at Ali, met his gaze, and he could see tears in her eyes. “Pray,” she said.

Ali met eyes with Hamdan and saw the same helpless anger in him as well. There had to be a villain to slay for this. Ali intended to find him.

With a curt nod, he stalked back to the kitchen where he’d left his sword. The sight of his
shensari
’s blood on the floor made him sick to his soul, but he steeled himself. He was a warrior. He would do what he did best. Kill the enemy.

He was headed for the opposite door when it opened and a man stumbled in. He looked as if he’d gone through a great battle, barely keeping his feet under him. Gasping for breath, he reached for a chair but seeing the blood on it thought better of sitting. “Is the bitch dead?” he rasped, his voice almost unrecognizable.

But Ali knew this man. Or thought he did. “You? You did this?”

The man harrumphed and groaned. “Then she lives. Pity.”

Incensed, Ali roared his rage at him, brandishing his sword.

The man only laughed.

Ali charged him, ready to take his head but with a wave of his hand, the man sent him flying back. And still he laughed.

Ali got back to his feet, his sword arm shaking. What witchery was this? He came forward a second time, intent on the demon despite his fear. For his
shensari
, he would do this. He would kill the demon and avenge her.

Laughing harder, the man pointed a finger and Ali’s sword clattered to the ground. Baffled, Ali looked down at the weapon and then at the hand which used to hold it. It was gone, his wrist turned to ash. And the ash was spreading up his arm.

Gods help me,
he prayed, watching his other arm disintegrate. There was no pain, only fear, and the feeling of his self falling apart, body and soul. When he fell to the ground, desperate prayers slipped past his lips, useless whispers no one would ever hear. No one would ever know who he was or how he’d died.

His last prayer was for his
shensari
, that she wake and heal, and live a happy… 

CHAPTER 28

Nia woke to Saeran’s call. She opened her eyes, though they wanted to stay closed, and rose to her elbows. She was in Nico’s study. How she got there, she didn’t know, nor how much time had passed since she’d collapsed. Her head pounded and every bone in her body ached. Her legs would not support her and without her staff, she had to brace herself against the walls and table to stay on her feet.

Someone had dressed her in a night gown. She didn’t care. With a swirl of her hand she hoped to conjure clothes, but nothing happened and the action only made her sway more. She leaned precariously to the side and took the blanket that had covered her, draping it over her shoulders for warmth. There was no time to waste. Saeran’s call came again, stronger than the first one, which had somehow managed to wake her from a wizard’s sleep.

It gave her strength enough to make her way to the staircase, but she was forced to crawl up to the courtyard. She was winded and shivering by the time she made it there.
What is happening?
she thought to the dragon, but was too weak to reach him. There was no answer.

“Micah,” she called softly, willing her voice to carry to the stables. That much, it seemed, she could manage. The boy came out frowning, looking around for the person who had disturbed him from his duties. When he spotted Nia, sitting against the wall, his eyes widened and he came running.

“What’s happened?” he asked, helping her up and then holding her up when she couldn’t stand on her own.

“Don’t know,” she said. “Need to get to the king.”

“Aye, then, at once,” Micah said with a nod and turned toward the royal chambers. “Would you have me carry you?” he asked when her dragging feet snared on a stair.

Nia shook her head. “Dignity, my friend,” she told him, attempting a smile. “I would like to keep what little I have left.” Her words were slurring. She didn’t have the strength to speak with her usual authority.

“You turned the castle upside down night before last. Brought a dying king back to roarin’ life. There’s much dignity to be flaunted.”

The assurance made her feel little better. A full day and night she’d been unconscious, and should have stayed that way longer to heal completely. Her chest still ached from the dragon’s fire, and the memory of it made her skin sting and burn. It was too much too soon. Whatever Saeran wanted of her, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to grant. Not in this state. And knowing he wouldn’t have summoned her for any trifling matter, she dreaded what awaited her.

There was a crowd gathered before the queen’s bedchamber. Nia planted her feet, stopping Micah’s progress. Every healer she knew was standing before her, chanting and praying, looking at her with both hope and defeat. She smelled incense burning inside, heard the walls whispering, but couldn’t make sense of any of it.