The thought of Athan knifed through the numbness and struck her heart. She had left him there, alone at the tower. She had abandoned him as she had the wind. Now, she stood muted before the image of a king who had become a god. What would history tell of her story, if it remembered her at all?
“His Majesty’s family can trace their lineage back across a thousand years to the reign of Retgar and Faedra,” Aldric explained as he stood with her looking at the window. “My people have no gods, but from the stories, it is easy to see how humans would raise the acts of Retgar to godhood. They say he saved the word from falling into Demroth’s shadow. Some say the blight is the return of that shadow, and that Retgar will return to save the world once more.”
He touched her shoulder with the cold metal finger of his gauntleted hand. “I prefer to place my hopes in the hands of those who are already here.”
Leaving her with that thought, he gently coaxed her from the window and guided her down a hallway lit by lanterns and quickly darkening windows decked on each side with ornately embroidered silken drapes. The farther she stepped from the window, the thicker the fog in her mind became. ‘The dragon skull and the window.’ She repeated the thought, over and over, each time more a struggle than the last. ‘The dragon and the window.’ They had, for reasons unknown, given her moments of clarity despite the collar’s hold. ‘The dragon. The window.’
“Here we are.” Aldric stopped in front of two, arched hardwood doors, each gilded and carved with intricate scroll work. Aldric used a bronze knocker centering one door to announce their arrival then waited.
Barely a breath’s length passed before the door opened. An older man wearing a finely embroidered vest and clothing of silken fabric ushered them inside with the sweep of his hand and a poised bow to Aldric. “Welcome home, sir,” the man said in a soft but firm voice. “The king awaits you in his study.”
“Thank you, Roden.” Aldric stopped them inside a grand foyer and removed his armored gloves, hooking them onto his belt from a grommet stamped into each glove’s wrist. He removed his helmet and Dnara’s cloak, handing them to Roden before letting out a soft sigh at Dnara’s disheveled appearance. “I have half a mind to see you to a bath before presenting you to the king. You still have half the riverbank matted in your hair.” He reached up and plucked a few blades of grass from her hair to make his point.
“The staff have already begun preparing a bath in her room, sir,” Roden said. “It will be waiting for her once she has been introduced to the king.”
“Her room?” Aldric questioned, both eyebrows raising.
“Yes, sir,” Roden confirmed. “His Majesty had us prepare it as soon as your messenger announced her imminent arrival. It’s just down the hall.”
Aldric’s eyebrows raised higher. “Her room is in the Royal Wing?”
“Yes, sir.” If Roden had his own feelings on the matter, he kept mute about it.
“I see.” Aldric’s gaze settled back on Dnara, but his eyes told her how truly unsettled he’d become.
What he could see, she did not know, but it troubled him greatly. She stared back into his eyes, trying once again to push through the haze and latch onto his concern. The collar quickly adapted and ended her fight for the surface before it began, dragging her back down into the endless sea where emotions were out of reach and time meant nothing at all. With a deep inhale, Aldric’s face returned to its stoic mask of command. As the last hope to stray from their current path vanished, he set a hand upon her shoulder and steered her toward the fate she had chosen.
39
A fire snapped and crackled from within its large hearth, its black stone facade dominating one wall of the king’s study. Set on its thick mantel were various statuettes, an embossed golden plate, two trophies bearing miniature jousters on horseback, and an ornate box inlayed with blue sapphires and red fire stones. Above the mantle hung the portrait of an older man and woman, regal in their attire and beautifully rendered. Each bore a crown on their head befitting a king and queen.
Dnara stared into the fire as Aldric stepped into the room with her and Roden quietly closed the double doors behind them. The fire played shadows against the other three walls of the square room, two of them filled floor to ceiling with books and various treasures. The last wall, the one in front of them, backed a mahogany desk with a leaded window and two glass-inlayed doors leading out to a balcony beyond. The doors were open to the night, and on the balcony stood two figures, their silhouettes cast in the moon’s gentle sheen as they looked out into the sea cliffs below.
The sound of crashing waves carried into the room, pulling Dnara’s attention from the fire to the open glass door. Trapped beneath the haze, she could almost smell the salted air, but the blurred moonlight masked the figures on the balcony instead of defining their shapes, and she could feel no wind from the open door despite the rippling curtains flanking the window. As she stared onward into nothing, tired and longing for sleep, the tallest of the two figures raised up from its conversation with the other and looked into the room. The starstone at the back of her neck pulsed with strange, new vibrations, and she felt herself pulled towards the tall figure despite her body not moving a single inch.
Aldric stood poised beside her, back straight and eyes forward. The two figures on the balcony approached, their shadowed silhouettes taking shape as they left the moonlight and walked into the fire lit room. The shorter one paused at the doorway and the tall one stepped forward. The fire snapped and its flames licked the air. Aldric fell softly to one knee, his head bowed in fealty. Dnara remained standing, waiting for someone to tell her what she should do.
“My king,” Aldric said as he took Dnara’s hand and gave it a small tug down. When she did not kneel, he let out a disquieted sigh. “Please forgive her, my lord.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” King Lelandis Eldramoore replied with soft levity in his voice. “Rise, my friend. I am glad to have you home, and grateful for your service in bringing her here.”
Aldric stood up, resting on hand on the hilt of his sword and clasping Lelandis’s forearm with the other in a greeting reserved for very few who came within the king’s presence. “My king-”
“Ah,” Lelandis tsked with a cluck of his tongue and a raised finger.
“Lelandis,” Aldric corrected but hesitated before questioning the king’s health. “How are you?”
“Better now,” Lelandis said with a thin smile and turned his attention to Dnara. Taking in her mud stained clothes and disheveled hair, his smile grew into a smirk. “Although, perhaps it would have been better to have her bathe first.”
“I apologize for her appearance, Your Majesty. We-” Aldric stopped as Lelandis held up his hand again.
Lelandis stood staring at Dnara in silence as the fire crackled and cast its sheen across her face. She could only stare back, meeting a pair of golden brown eyes playfully young in their appraisal but filled with the authority granted by his crown. They also looked tired, lined underneath with the marks of restless sleep and a life lived burdened by worry. He did have a crown, a circlet of fine gold and fire stones, less elaborate than the older man’s in the painting but more practical for one to wear outside official matters. His hair, a golden brown to match his eyes, curled at the ends, and a shortly shorn beard served to age his young face. Dnara’s mind took in these features and forgot them in the same, unhurried breath.
Satisfied with his appraisal, Lelandis glanced over his shoulder to the figure standing at the open door. “You didn’t say she would be this beautiful, Delmurra.”
The figure waiting at the door stepped fully into the room, and Dnara struggled to give the woman’s shape clarity. Slender and handsome. Dnara hung onto those two words before adding a third. Old. Old, as in aged, yes, but there were years to this woman beyond what time could bring. Sharp, clear eyes, long silver hair draped over one shoulder in a braid, thin fingers and a simple yet stunning dress of the purest white. Circling her head, a ring of
silver set with a splendid multicolored starstone.
“I would not wish to deceive you with a promise of what I could not clearly see,” Delmurra replied to her king.
“She is beautiful, though,” Lelandis reiterated. “And quite... different, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, my lord,” Delmurra agreed with a small dip of her chin. “I can assure you, she is quite unique.”
“Mageraetas,” Aldric finally spoke after being shushed by his king. Although his voice held a tone of respect, it also carried one of confusion. “You have had a vision, then? Of Dnara?”
“Yes, Commander,” Delmurra answered. “And I knew it would be you who would capture her. I am quite pleased you decided to use the collar I gave you, as that part of my vision remained uncertain. You have a reputation for bringing in uncollared mageborne.”
“I prefer to only use them when necessary,” Aldric replied. “And as such, it was not I who collared her. She chose to put the collar on herself.”
Delmurra’s silver eyebrows arched high. “Interesting.”
“The collar you provided, however,” Aldric continued as Lelandis seemed content to continue appraising Dnara’s appearance. “I believe it may be defective. It has put her into a state of... detachment.” Aldric settled on the last word, saying with an afternote of distaste. “She is not well.”
“The collar is working as intended,” Delmurra assured. “Dnara, you should bow before your king.”
“Yes, Mageraetas,” Dnara replied in monotone before gracefully bowing to Lelandis.
“Dnara,” Lelandis whispered, as if testing the weight of her name on his tongue. “An unusual name for an unusual woman.” He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her bowed head up to meet his eyes. “It’s the eyes, I think. And... And you are certain of your vision, Delmurra?”
“I am, my lord,” Delmurra confirmed. “She is the one.”
“The one?” Aldric asked.
But Lelandis kept his attention squarely on Dnara as he lifted her chin higher until she stood up straight again. “And she will do as I wish?”
“You have but to ask,” Delmurra assured.
Lelandis took a step back and rubbed his chin in thought. “Dnara, stand on one leg.”
“Yes, sire.” Dnara lifted one leg off the ground.
Lelandis clapped once with an amused chortle. Commander Aldric looked on in growing unease. Dnara stood on one leg, her body teetering back and forth to keep the balance as she stared blankly into nothing. Slowly, Lelandis’s elation evaporated and he waved a hand in front of Dnara’s eyes.
“Is the collar truly necessary?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Delmurra replied. “It insures her compliance, and your safety.”
“But, what of her choice?” Lelandis argued then sighed. “Please, put your foot down, Dnara.”
“Yes, sire.” Dnara complied.
“Lelandis,” Aldric interjected before Delmurra could answer, forgoing his ingrained formalities and recapturing his king’s attention. “I’m not sure I understand. Is Dnara intended to be kept?”
“I’m no keeper,” Lelandis said with ire in his voice, then he pinched the bridge of his nose with a wince. Delmurra set a hand on the king’s tensed shoulder and slowly he relaxed. Inhaling deeply, he reopened his eyes and reassessed the situation with a sag of his expression. “Except, I suppose now I am.” He turned to Aldric with a plea for understanding in his eyes. “I am only doing what I must; what is best for the kingdom.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Aldric said. “I would never think you to do otherwise, but I still don’t understand. You wish her, a mageborne, to become your servant?”
“No, my friend.” Lelandis set a hand on Aldric’s broad shoulder. “She is to become my wife.”
Silence filled the room. Inside her prison of forced apathy, Dnara wanted to scream. The collar reverberated intensely against the base of her skull until her internal scream became a muffled whimper that drowned in the starstone’s void before it could be heard. Her eyes blinked slowly and a log in the fireplace split with a thunderous crack that broke the quiet.
“My lord,” Aldric spoke cautiously. “Mageborne or not, she is of unknown ancestry. Would the people accept her as queen?”
“Desperate times,” Lelandis replied, his gaze returning to Dnara. “Tell him of your vision, Delmurra. Help him understand.”
“As you wish, my king.”
Delmurra’s eyes became a luminous white and wind rushed through the open door to feed the fire. The flames leapt high in a roar and the wind rustled through papers on the desk. A book blew open, its pages turning. Though her limbs did not move, Dnara reached for her abandoned friend, but the wind did not caress her. It swirled around her, as if kept away, and the starstone in the collar sang a lamentation that only Dnara could hear.
Above the wind and the fire, Delmurra’s voice carried across the room in ominous monotone. “A child lost to time will emerge from the thorns a woman. With her walks the shadow and the hope of men. A promise is broken. A path is chosen. Ravens fall and a dragon roars as the fire dies and the wind rises. The King’s Sword strikes true and a misplaced queen is returned to her people. From her is reborn the savior of man.”
The wind settled. The fire dimmed. Delmurra’s eyes regained their pale blue color as her prophecy ended, leaving Commander Aldric speechless in its wake. Dnara tried to absorb the mage’s words and commit them to memory, but they quickly faded into the places of her mind kept out of reach by the collar. Although most of the lines could be left to interpretation, the last words relayed one singular conclusion.
“Savior of man,” Aldric whispered, his eyes searching the face of his king for the truth. “You believe Dnara is to be mother to Retgar’s return?”
“Yes.” Lelandis exhaled the word and let it hang within the room, his gaze cast solidly to a future only he could see. Blinking away the heavy nature of his thoughts, he gave Aldric the fraction of a smile. “Well, with my help, of course.”
Aldric glanced from his king to his charge, the girl who stood barely a woman and had placed all her trust into his hands by placing a collar around her own neck to save the lives of his men. Prophecy or not, his king’s decree or not, none of this sat well with Commander Aldric. “My king,-”
Lelandis held up a finger, silencing Aldric. “I know what you are to say, my friend. Prophecy or not, I don’t like the idea of wedding and bedding a woman without her own blessing any more than you do. I intend to give her the opportunity to-”
“My king,” Delmurra interjected but ended her argument as Lelandis shot her a look serving to remind her who wore the crown.
“I intend,” Lelandis continued with emphasis as his headache returned to wrinkle his brow, “to give her the opportunity to get to know me first. It is my hope that we will be well matched, or at least both agree to the importance of our union.”
Aldric opened his mouth, hesitated, then asked, “And if she does not?”
Lelandis shook his head and swallowed, as if the very thought disgusted him. When he looked back to Aldric, Lelandis resembled less a regal king and more a man at the end of an ever shortening rope. “I alone bear this crown and all that comes with it. I must do what is best for my people, Aldric. People are suffering. My people are dying. The blight spreads and hope wanes. You’ve seen it with your own eyes! Surely, you can understand? If there is but a small chance that this prophecy rings true, then I must take it!”
His last desperate words echoed off the book lined walls and out over the crashing sea beyond the balcony. With his eyes reddened by anguish and shoulders sagging under the weight of his crown, Lelandis stared at Dnara as she stared right through him, her detachment from the world unshaken by his raised voice and pleading gaze. As the unwavering nature of her doll-like apathy set in, Lelandis turned away and stared instead at the dwindling flames of a fireplace now lit mostly by embers.
“I hope you will stand with me, Aldri
c,” Lelandis said quietly, less a command to his soldier and more a plea to a dear friend. “And in time, forgive me,” he whispered to the dying firelight.
40
“Forgive me.” Muttered words tumbled from dry, cracked lips as all around him, the world moved even as he remained still. Rays of sunlight passed over shut eyelids, but they could not keep the shadows of his mind at bay. He had betrayed her, and then he had lost her. “Please, forgive me.”
“Hush now,” Garrett softly commanded, patting a damp cloth across Athan’s sweat-beaded brow. “There’ll be time enough to seek forgiveness once you are no longer teetering on the edge of death, my friend.”
Athan’s brow tightened as he tried to focus on Garrett’s voice, but the sharp pain digging into his chest kept breaking his concentration apart. The raven witch’s strange weapon remained lodged there, beneath a wound that did not bleed. Athan wondered if perhaps this is what a broken heart felt like.
If it was, then it was no less than he deserved. The pain didn’t hold a candle to the ache he felt when he thought of the way she had looked at him. Dnara. She’d placed her trust in him, and he’d destroyed it. That he’d awakened alone inside the fallen tower came as no surprise to him, even if the truth of it stung. But the self-pity and surprise had quickly shifted into alarm. Where had she gone? What had happened to her?
He remembered moments of lucid awareness in the broken tower. Cold, damp fog. The smell of decay. Treven neighing in the distance. Garrett and Jenny appearing like ghosts through the mist. Being lifted, strapped to Treven’s saddle and taken from the grove. Jenny leaving to follow Dnara’s tracks. The sun rising then falling then rising again in uncounted succession.
The movement now rocking his prone body back and forth grew unsteady then jostled harshly, causing Athan to moan. A harder jolt stole away his breath as the object dug deeper into his chest. He struggled to catch the breath and ended up choking on his own mucus mixed with the bitter tinge of blood.
When the Wind Speaks (Starstone Prophecies Book 1) Page 34
