The Royal Wizard (5 page)

Saeran nodded acceptance. “I honor an oath with another,” he said. “Truth for truth, loyalty for loyalty, sword for spell. From this day forth, your place shall be at my side, as my right hand. Until death or longer.” Then, though the ceremony was almost over, all the necessary words spoken, he added, “And you shall kneel to no one more.”

He grasped her shoulders, as was custom, and sealed the pledge with a kiss on each of her cheeks. “I thought you’d have me beheaded,” she whispered at the first kiss.

“Ribbit,” he replied at the second.

Once he stepped back, Nico approached and turned her to face him. “I have raised a magnificent wizard,” he said, affection shining in his eyes. “No father could hope for a better daughter. Nor wizard a better apprentice.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then moved his hands in the air between them, conjuring a robe. When it came into being, it floated in the air, billowing on an invisible current of magic. He settled it over her shoulders, closing the clasp at her throat. “I shall miss you, child,” Nico whispered and then released her. “Now go take your place.”

She nodded and woodenly walked up the stairs to stand behind the prince’s seat. From there, she watched Nico bow once more to the king and prince and walk away. As he retreated to the great door, Nia balled her hands into fists, refusing to let the tears fall. She would not cry out, or run after him. This was the way it had to be.

As the door closed behind Nico, the Others disappeared and Nia’s hands slowly uncurled. Who would take care of him now? Who would support him over the icy patches? Who would warm water for him to soak his feet? Who would make his tea?

For the rest of the night, Nia was not alive. She watched the banquet with vacant eyes, listened with deaf ears as the musicians played, and the king and his son conversed. She nodded when she ought, spoke when it was required, yet in her heart, she searched for Nico.

He was gone.

CHAPTER 4

The next day King Manfred announced he would be stepping down and relinquishing rule of Wilderheim to his son.

The news was unexpected, and Manfred, with Saeran and Nia at his side, spent the day assuring the nobles that Saeran was, indeed, ready and worthy of taking the throne.

“But he is just a boy!”

“Barely a score of years to his name!”

While the king tried as he might to tell them all again about his son’s great deeds and Saeran vowed all those things kings always vowed, Nia wanted to make herself deaf to escape all the noise, which kept getting worse the longer they talked. No platitudes would ever be enough to appease these people because their outrage had nothing to do with Saeran’s age or Manfred’s wishes. With Saeran just returned, they hadn’t had time to assure themselves of his favors. And they would do all they could to stall until those favors could be secured as Manfred’s had been when he’d taken the throne upon his father’s death. And with each moment the king tolerated their insolence, the nobles grew bolder, louder and even more insolent.

When she couldn’t stand it any longer, Nia strode forward. “Quiet,” she said, and all the noise stopped. The nobles still bickered, but nothing came out of their mouths.

 “Thank the gods.” Saeran sighed, not realizing everyone could still hear him.

Manfred was not amused. He glowered at both Nia and Saeran. “These are your people,” he said. “Will you ignore them this easily when you take the throne?”

“No,” Saeran replied. “But neither will I condone rebellious drivel that serves no purpose other than to fill the hall with noise. I am your son and heir. No one should be questioning my claim to the throne. Has such blatant bait to treason become accepted among your court since I last sat by your side?”

Nia smiled, watching the nobles’ mouths stop moving. “Well, they heard that last part, if nothing else,” she told the king and his son. “And as words go, it seems those were the only ones truly necessary.” Nia returned to her place behind Saeran and took apart her spell. When the two royals only stared at her, she nudged her chin to urge them to face their people. “They’re waiting.”

Saeran raised an eyebrow at his father, grinning smugly.

Manfred harrumphed and, keeping his laugh in check, Saeran faced the nobles.

He didn’t need to say another word. One after the other, they all dropped to one knee before him.

The following weeks passed with excruciating slowness as the preparations began for Prince Saeran’s coronation. King Manfred wanted everyone worth noting to attend the celebration. It was to take place in the spring, when the snow thawed and the roads were safe to travel.

Nia went through the motions, spoke when spoken to, but her mind was elsewhere. She missed Nico terribly. The study seemed so empty without him there. The servants had moved her belongings to his old chambers, one floor beneath the royal bedchambers, but Nia refused to sleep there. What if he came back one day? In her heart she knew he was gone, but magical things happened every day. Nico could find his youth again, and when he returned, he would need his own bed.

But no one had seen the wizard since he’d walked out of the great hall. Worried for his well being, the king had sent messengers in all directions, looking for him. He’d meant to reward Nico for all his years in the king’s service and never got the chance. If Nico was still alive, he was hiding somehow, from everyone including Nia because even scrying for him proved useless.

She had little time to stare into water with the coronation keeping her occupied. While the prince prepared with his father and all those in charge of orchestrating the celebration, Nia met with guards and cooks, maids and servants, everyone who had a function to perform in the castle. She spoke with them at length, learning about them and their trades. She enjoyed the conversations for the simple reason that she missed having someone to talk to.

They seemed to like her well enough. After she helped the butcher’s sick daughter and resolved a dispute between the milliner and baker, showing her willingness to aid commoners and merchants as well as nobles and kings, the townspeople embraced her as one of their own. And the more time she spent with them, the more at ease she began to feel. While she was in town, trading stories and jests, she didn’t have to be anyone but who she was. The Others didn’t show themselves anymore and soon she forgot there was more to being a wizard than standing by the king’s side all day long.

As winter continued, Nia acquired more work. There were more oaths and rituals to learn. As the royal wizard, she would be the one to place the crown on Prince Saeran’s head. It was a great honor, usually bestowed upon someone much older, but she wasn’t worried. The only one with the power to dismiss her now was the prince, but instead he seemed to have already gotten into the habit of asking her thoughts even after he’d spoken to his advisory council.

One day, when a great winter storm blew in, keeping everyone in their houses and in front of their hearths, Saeran summoned her to the meeting room. “I want to see my kingdom,” he said.

“I am sure after the coronation there will be a procession planned—”

“No, Nia. I have been gone for ten years. I want to see what’s become of Wilderheim. I need you to show me what the others won’t say.”

Nia bowed. “As you wish.” She knew of only one way to show him what he wanted to see. Closing her eyes, she drew on her magic and started writing in the air. The runes etched in light floated in a circle between them until she drew the last. Then the circle solidified and in its center an image took shape.

Saeran came closer, gazing at the castle as if from a great height. “This here, what is it? I don’t remember it being there before.”

“It’s an armory, Highness. Your father commissioned enough weapons to arm several battalions should they be needed. He also reinforced Castle Frastmir’s defenses. Here, here, and here, you see? That is for oil. The channels run through the walls to pour out around the perimeter.”

“He expected me to fail.”

“At first, perhaps. You were only a child, Highness. No one expected you to take command as you did, let alone lead Lyria to victory.”

His eyes darkened at the memory. “Halden couldn’t do it. Have you ever been to Lyria, Nia?”

“No, Highness.”

“It’s beautiful. The entire kingdom is a work of art. People journey there from all over the world. They have the greatest masters of music, art and poetry. It’s a place of peace and knowledge, meant to be open to those who seek it. They didn’t stand a chance against Aegiros. Halden is a great king, but he’s no warrior. All he knew to do was close the gates, and I thank the gods he had at least that much presence of mind.”

“Why didn’t the guard take command? Why did you?”

“Halden’s queen was expecting their first child, and he was not about to leave her side for even a moment. With them unable to do anything, I was next in line. My father forced the issue when he gave his order. Three thousand Wilderheim soldiers came to aid Lyria because of me, but only on the condition that they follow no one’s orders but mine under the threat of death to their families. He never meant for me to lead them. He only wanted to make sure no one would use me to bring down a kingdom—his or Halden’s. The soldiers were to protect me even at the cost of their lives. Many of them did.

“I would not have survived without them. They were the ones drawing up battle plans and leading the troops. Until the Aegirans were turned back, all I did was learn from them, issue the orders they themselves came up with, and watch them die carrying them out.”

“It must have been terrible.”

“Yes,” he said at length. “It was. Can you show me our borders?”

Nia turned back to her window spell and altered the view. For the rest of the day and half the night, she showed Saeran his kingdom and told him everything that happened and changed since he left. The prince proved to be an attentive student, genuinely curious about everything and concerned with the welfare of his people. While he made sure Wilderheim was properly guarded and defended, he also asked about the crops, the forests and game, the merchants and their trade routes.

When she told him the roads had been neglected, he took a quill and parchment and began writing down what needed to be done. Widerheim didn’t have a mountain of gold and jewels in its coffers, but it had skilled stone masons and a young wizard willing to lend her magic to the task.

By the time she finished explaining about the cycles of flood and drought along one of the major rivers, Nia was exhausted and Saeran looked to be no better. The candles had almost burned down. They’d go out soon, leaving only the hearth fire to light the chamber.

“Nia,” Saeran said.

“Hmm?”

He smiled at her, and she noticed the window spell had quietly dissolved, leaving individual symbols floating through the air between them. She must have dozed off.  “It’s late,” the prince said. “You should get some sleep.”

She nodded and rose from her seat, wincing at the pins and needles assaulting her legs. “Good night, Highness.”

“Good morning, Nia.”

* * *

Saeran sat irreverently across a chair, only half listening as the master of ceremonies explained the coronation rituals for the hundredth time. He gazed out the window which overlooked the courtyard. This far up, he could scarcely see its edge, but instead he saw over the castle wall. The fields stretched in that direction, all of them covered with snow. The sky was dark with heavy clouds. One storm may have passed but another was brewing in the distance. It wouldn’t be long before it reached them.

He shouldn’t be here. These meetings served no purpose other than make him restless. The council never discussed anything of import. All they did was give him lists to approve. Supply lists, food lists, lists of entertainers, lists of dignitaries, and lists of complaints. All centered around the coronation. Why couldn’t he simply take the crown now and move on? Why did everything have to have celebrations and feasts and revelries attached to it? A celebration for his return. One for his coronation. Another for his father, in remembrance of his reign. When did it end?

When was he supposed to do his duties as king? Or was this what his father had done all these years behind closed door? No, he wouldn’t believe that.

Saeran had yet to set a foot outside. If not for Nia, he would have no inkling of what Wilderheim truly looked like. He was slowly going mad trapped in here. His entire body hummed with the need to do something. Roll around in the snow like a child or ride for hours on end.

“Your Highness? Your Highness.”

Saeran looked at the master askance. There was a map of the castle on the table and several little flags dotted it. This meeting was to plan where the guests would be housed. Celebrations of this magnitude sometimes lasted a month, perhaps more. It would not do to place a crown prince next to an impoverished noble. The prince looked over the map and then back up at the master.

The man attempted a brittle smile, his voice tense with strained patience. “Would you care to finish the thought?”

The thought. What had he been talking about? There were so many thoughts and sayings the master fancied. Sometimes he had entire speeches composed of proverbs. He could have been talking about any number of them, one more useless than the other, but he stood on the ceremony of uttering them because it seemed to be his purpose in this room.

Saeran dropped his feet to the floor, straightening in his seat to stall for time.

“I am sure he would,” the king’s voice intruded on the tense silence, “if he had any idea what the beginning was.” He stood in the doorway, his eyes bright with amusement.

The master bowed so low his forehead almost touched his knees. “Your Majesty, what an unexpected surprise.”

King Manfred smiled. “Enough for today I think, Master Samson. We would not want the prince’s head to explode. Where would he wear the crown?”

Saeran almost jumped out of his seat. He tensed in anticipation, ready to kiss his father for freeing him from the clutches of this goblin. Yet he waited for his father’s words. He was not free to leave until the king said so. At least that was how it should have been. In truth, the king indulged his son perhaps a little too much.