The Oracle's Queen

  She had no idea if the exhausted wizards could carry out her threat, but then, neither did Odonis, and he had little reason to doubt her.

  She could see his jaw working through his beard as the man gritted his teeth in frustration. At last he bowed again. “As you say. Ten ships, with stores but no crew.”

  “You will surrender your banner, as an acknowledgment of your defeat here today. Before these witnesses, I place you under my sacred protection if you will leave my shores now. Land again, and I will leave none of you alive. I suggest you go at once, before I change my mind.”

  Odonis made her a last grudging bow and walked quickly back to his waiting boat. Tamír’s people jeered at his retreat.

  Tamír stood watching until he was well away, then sank down wearily on a stone as the night’s work caught up with her. “Tharin, pass the word that everyone is to rest a little before we head back. All of you,” she added, giving the Companions a meaningful look. Grinning, they spread out around her, lying on their cloaks on the beach.

  Ki stretched out beside her, leaning back on his elbows. He still had blood on his face, but a long stalk of wild oat hung from the corner of his mouth and he looked well content with the world.

  “That was a nice bit of fighting, Your Majesty, except for you charging off without us,” he said, just loud enough for her ears.

  “I thought you’d all keep up.”

  The stalk bobbed against Ki’s lip as he sucked on it in silence for a moment. “Now that you’re my queen, can I still tell you that I’ll kick your ass from here to Alestun if you do that again?”

  The last of the day’s tension dissolved as she let out a laugh and punched him roughly on the shoulder. “Yes, I think you still can.”

  Ki grinned up at her. “Well, since you managed to survive it, I guess I’ll tell you that I’ve heard what some of the warriors are saying. They think you’re god-touched by Sakor and the Lightbearer, all at once.”

  “I’m beginning to think so, too.” But she hadn’t forgotten that glimpse of Brother in the fray, either. It was the second time he’d aided her in battle, and she silently thanked him.

  Arkoniel was grateful for the respite. He’d never cast so many spells in such a short space of time before. Even Saruel was pallid beneath her markings as they retired to get their breath.

  Glancing back, Arkoniel saw Tamír and Ki sitting together down the beach. The way they were talking and smiling, they looked almost like the two young boys they’d been.

  Seasoned by tragedy and battle, and not yet sixteen. But she was not the first queen to take the throne so young, and others had been married and bedded at her age.

  And then there was Ki. He’d turn seventeen soon. As the wizard watched, he leaned over to Tamír and said something and they both laughed.

  Arkoniel felt another bittersweet tug at his heart as he allowed himself to lightly brush Ki’s mind. He loved Tamír with his whole heart, but there was still great confusion there.

  Still mindful of his promise, the wizard turned away without touching Tamír’s thoughts. Joining Saruel and Kiriar above the beach, he sprawled on the coarse grass there and closed his eyes. Every spell took its toll, but he’d never experienced a sense of depletion like this. What good would they be to Tamír in a real war if a single battle used up all their strength?

  The sun was just peaking over the horizon when a horn call roused him from his doze. The wizards rose with a collective groan. Arkoniel gave Saruel his hand and helped her to her feet.

  To his surprise, warriors and captains reached out and patted their backs and saluted them as they mounted and joined the others.

  “By the Light, that was a neat bit of magicking you lot did!” Jorvai exclaimed.

  Tamír gave Arkoniel a genuine smile. “The Third Orëska proved its worth today. We lost less than twoscore. I wonder what it would be like, to settle all disputes so easily,” she mused.

  Jorvai snorted. “Wouldn’t leave us warriors much to do, now would it?”

  Arkoniel couldn’t imagine magic ever supplanting war, and doubted if it would be a good thing if it did. War gave men like Jorvai purpose.

  Chapter 19

  Outriders carried the news of their success back to Ero and Tamír returned to find her people lining the roads, waving flowers and bright bits of cloth and chanting her name in an endless roar.

  At Illardi’s gate she drew her sword and proclaimed, “This victory belongs to Illior, protector of Skala!”

  They rode a circuit of the camps and Ero’s ruined eastern gate. She poured a soldier’s libation there for the spirits of all who’d died in the last battle and again gave thanks to Illior.

  They ended at Illardi’s courtyard and the soldiers took their leave. The commanders dismounted and followed Tamír into the temple of the stele, where the three masked priests of Afra stood waiting to greet her.

  “Tell me, my queen, do you now believe in the visions of the Lightbearer?” Imonus asked.

  “I do,” she replied, presenting him with the captured Plenimaran banner. “I present this trophy to Illior as a token of my gratitude. The vision was true, and saved many lives. We were not taken unaware this time.”

  “It is a sign, my queen. The covenant that was broken by Erius has been restored.”

  “I will uphold it as long as I rule.”

  Tamír held a victory feast the following night and sent ale and victuals out to the camps. Bonfires burned across the plain well into the night.

  Arkoniel was pleased to find himself and Iya at the head table once again, with the other wizards in places of honor among the nobles.

  Tamír entered the hall when all the others were seated. She wore a dark blue velvet gown embroidered with silver, with her sword hanging at her side. The golden circlet shone on her brow, contrasting with her black hair.

  “She looks rather pretty, don’t you think?” said Iya.

  Arkoniel had to agree although she still strode like a man. Ki was at her side, looking older and very noble in his dark velvet tunic. His long hair was drawn back in a braid, with the two thin warrior braids still loose on either side of his face. Arkoniel took a closer look at the other Companions and saw that the others had done the same, except for Nikides, who wore his hair pulled back in a simple queue.

  “Tamír’s idea, I believe,” Iya murmured. “I like it. Signifies a change.”

  Between the meat and fish courses, Tamír stood and poured the libation to the gods, then toasted her commanders. When the cheering had subsided, she turned to the wizards and saluted them with her mazer.

  “My friends,” she began, and Arkoniel’s heart skipped a beat as those dark eyes lingered on his face longer than the rest. “My friends, once again you have proven your great value and skill. Skala thanks you! No wizard who serves the Third Orëska will lack a roof over his head or food to eat in my city.”

  As they returned to their meal, Arkoniel leaned over to Iya and whispered, “Do you think we’re forgiven at last?”

  “I hope so. To protect her, we must remain close to her.”

  The feast broke up late in the evening, but Arkoniel lingered, hoping for a word with Tamír. She was about to retire but excused herself from the others and drew him across the hall to an unoccupied corner.

  “Yes?”

  Arkoniel smiled, feeling a little awkward. “I appreciated your kind words tonight. You know that I have given my life to you, but—well, I do hope you can find it in your heart to see me as a friend again.”

  Tamír was quiet for a moment, then held out her hand. “I’m sorry if I’ve been cold. It was hard, but now, I do truly see what we can accomplish together. This was meant to be. You and Iya have been faithful guardians.”

  Blinking back sudden tears, he sank to his knees before her and pressed his lips to her hand. “I will never leave you, my queen.”

  She chuckled. “Well, I hope you’ll leave me to go to bed.”

  “Of course.” Arkoniel rose and bow
ed.

  She turned to go, then paused, an odd look in her eyes—it was a question, with perhaps a hint of doubt. At last she said, “When I go to Afra, you and Iya will come with me, won’t you? Since Illior spoke to you there.”

  “Only to Iya,” Arkoniel reminded her.

  “You’ve carried the burden, too. I want you both with me.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Good. I’ll settle things in Atyion, then a journey.” She leaned closer and confided, “I’m actually looking forward to it. I don’t mind the fighting and feasting, but holding court is so boring! Well, good night.”

  Arkoniel stifled a laugh as he watched her rejoin the Companions and take her leave.

  Tamír took leave of her friends and went to her room with Ki.

  “That was a good feast,” Ki said, patting his belly happily. “A good feast for a good victory.”

  “It was,” Tamír agreed, but other thoughts had been nagging at her all day. “Can you imagine facing Korin like that?”

  “You’re still worried about a war with him.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I guess so, but what can you do? He’s made no effort to talk with you, just sat up there in Cirna gathering his army. You don’t think he’s doing that just to pass the time, do you?”

  “But I haven’t made any effort to contact him, have I?”

  “You’re the legitimate queen. It’s up to him to come to you.”

  Tamír let out an exasperated sigh and dropped into a chair. “That’s what Illardi and everyone else keeps telling me. But he won’t, and as queen, it’s up to me to keep the peace, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Well, yes—”

  “So I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to write to him. Privately, as kin, not an enemy.”

  “I don’t suppose a letter could do much harm,” he replied doubtfully. “Or much good either, probably.”

  “Go and fetch me a herald, will you? I won’t be long.” She paused, wondering what Iya or her generals would think of her plan. “Be discreet, won’t you?”

  Ki gave her a wry wink as he went out. “Is that what we call it, now that we’re all grown up?”

  Tamír went into the day room next to her bedchamber and sat down at the writing desk. Quill in hand, she stared at the blank parchment, searching for the right words. Nikides and Illardi helped her with her correspondence in court matters, but she wanted to speak to Korin from her heart, not in formal court language. The words flowed easily onto the parchment.

  ‘To Prince Korin, Beloved Cousin and Brother, I know you’ve had word of me, Kor, and what has happened. I know how hard it must be to believe, but it’s true …,

  By the time she finished the words were blurring before her. She wiped her eyes hastily on the sleeve of her gown, not wanting tears to spoil the page and signed it Your loving cousin and sister, Princess Tamír, who was Tobin. She didn’t realize Ki had come back until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “I sent Baldus down— Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She turned and threw her arms around his waist, pressing her face to the soft velvet of his tunic. He held her and after a moment she felt a hand stroke her hair.

  “He’s not worth this, you know!” he whispered. “He’s not worth your little finger!”

  She reluctantly released him, then sealed the letter with the expensive blue wax from the desk, pressing the Atyion signet into it. “There. Done.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Ki muttered, patting her shoulder.

  Baldus returned with the herald, a young man with a long blond braid that reached nearly to his waist and the sacred silver-capped baton of his office tucked into the belt of his blue tunic.

  “Ride to Cirna and deliver this to Prince Korin in private,” she told him, giving him the sealed missive. “No one else is to see it, you understand? Destroy it if necessary.”

  The herald touched the seal to his lips. “You have my oath, by Astellus the Traveler. I will deliver your message within the week, barring mishap on the roads.”

  “Good. Wait for Prince Korin’s reply. I’m leaving for Atyion soon, so bring me his answer there. A safe journey to you.”

  The herald bowed and strode out.

  “Atyion at last, eh?” Ki said, pleased.

  “And then Afra,” Tamír replied, picking at a drop of wax on the desktop.

  “You haven’t asked Arkoniel about what Brother said, have you?”

  “When would I have had time?” she asked, but knew that was only an excuse. Deep down, something was holding her back, even if it meant Brother’s continued anger.

  “Well, you should get some rest.”

  She looked up and found Ki fidgeting nervously as he glanced at the bed.

  Does he want to sleep with me again, or is he afraid I’ll ask him to? she wondered. She didn’t know which she wanted, either. It had been so easy the other night, when she was upset in the dark. Now it felt more awkward than ever.

  “Well—good night,” Ki mumbled, and settled the issue by disappearing quickly into the dressing room.

  “Good night.” Tamír stayed at the desk for some time, idly covering a sheet of parchment with designs and small sketches. She was in no hurry to lie down alone.

  Chapter 20

  With the first harvests in and planting over, more nobles came to Cirna seeking to pledge themselves to the new king. Lutha eagerly searched each band of newcomers for familiar faces. There weren’t many.

  Heralds arrived daily, but some of these messages were cool in tone and evasive about support. Others seemed to be sounding out the new king, weighing his influence against Tobin’s claim. They asked the same questions as the nobles who’d been cooling their heels here since spring: Why hadn’t he marched to reclaim his capital? Why did he remain at such a distant holding when the land needed him? Why had there been no royal progress? Some sent offers of their daughter’s hands, not knowing the king had already taken a wife.

  Korin and the others were returning from an early-morning ride on the south road when Lutha spotted a rider coming on at a hard gallop.

  “Look there,” he said, pointing.

  “A messenger,” said Lord Niryn, shading his eyes.

  The entourage reined in, and Captain Melnoth rode out with a few men to intercept him.

  The man didn’t slow his horse until he was almost upon them. Reining in his lathered horse, he called out, “I bring news for King Korin!”

  “Come,” Korin ordered.

  This was one of Niryn’s men. “I was spying at Ero, Majesty. There has been another Plenimaran raid. They attacked north of the city, and Prince Tobin defeated them.”

  “Did you witness the battle, Lenis?” asked Niryn.

  “Yes, my lord. They have powerful wizards at court there, using some sort of fire spells.”

  “What about my cousin?” Korin demanded, twisting the reins in his hands. “Is he still passing himself off as a girl?”

  “Yes, Majesty. I caught a glimpse of her—ah, him, as he rode out.”

  “And?” Korin demanded.

  The man smirked. “He makes a very homely girl, Majesty.”

  Most of the company laughed at that, but Caliel and Lutha exchanged concerned looks. This meant another feather in Tobin’s cap. His Illioran supporters would certainly see it as another sign of the god’s favor. Korin’s supporters here might, as well. They were growing increasingly restless, baffled by Korin’s refusal to move.

  “Shall I carry word on to the fortress, Majesty?” the messenger asked nervously.

  Korin looked to Niryn before he replied.

  The wizard shrugged. “There’s little hope of keeping this sort of news from traveling.”

  Korin waved the man on.

  “Damnation!” Alben exclaimed. “Lord Niryn, do you hear that? Another damn victory for Tobin, while we’re languishing up here, doing nothing!”

  “No doubt it was only a small raid, my lord,” Niryn replied calmly.
“Such things always grow in the telling.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Alben retorted.

  “He’s right, you know,” Lutha burst out. “We should be down there, holding off the enemy.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Korin ordered. “I say when we go or stay. You’ll do well to remember that, all of you!”

  Even so, Korin was seething as they rode back to the fortress. Whatever his reasons for staying here, Korin was as frustrated as the rest of them.

  * * *

  The news of the victory was met with all the resentment and frustration Lutha felt himself. That night in the great hall, and for many thereafter, there were dark looks and guarded grumbling. Warriors who’d fled the city with Korin burned anew with the shame. Could it be, Lutha heard men whispering, that there was something to this talk of prophecy?

  Yet no one dared question the king.

  Lutha marked the days off on the calendar stick and saw Ki’s birthday come and go. He and Caliel raised a wine cup to him that night and wondered if he’d celebrated it this year. Korin’s name day had been a forced, dreary affair.

  Things had not improved between Korin and Caliel. Cal still sat at Korin’s right hand, but where once all the Companions had often accompanied Korin to his chambers at night, now only Alben and Urmanis seemed welcome. Moriel the Toad was always lurking about where he was least wanted, too, and Korin seemed to have warmed to him, as well, and often included him in his private drinking circle, at least on the nights when Korin did not go straight to Nalia in her tower.

  They saw a bit more of the young consort these days. She came down to supper at the high table now and then, when Korin ate privately with his Companions.

  She and Korin still seemed ill at ease with each other, Lutha noted. Korin had been a loving and attentive husband to Aliya, but it was increasingly apparent that he felt no such affection for his new wife. Nalia was quiet, but did attempt a bit of polite conversation with whoever was sitting next to her. A few times she’d noticed Lutha staring at her and smiled shyly.