How the huntsmen had stared in fright at the prince’s countenance, unsure of which answer would bring his wrath down upon their heads. Ah, but the prince needed no answer, for he knew it already.
The walls described how he made the four men tie each other’s hands and lead each other outside the castle. And then it was the earth itself who whispered to her of Saeran’s angry words. “Were I to be fair, I would give you that selfsame poison to drink and watch you writhe in pain. And you would drink it again, for each animal that died from it, shaking in agony.”
The huntsmen, the earth told her, shuddered and fell to their knees begging for mercy, but the prince had none to spare them, for he knew they’d had none for the beasts.
And so, a great oak groaned, the four huntsmen were hanged from his branches, dancing in the wind.
Such was the prince’s justice.
But then the breeze slipped through a crack into her study, hissing a secret in her ears. For as the prince had stood before the men preparing to be hung, as he’d watched them weep and pray, he’d whispered it to the winds: “For Nia.”
“Enough,” Nia told the walls, the earth, and the breeze. “No more rumors. No more death or secrets.” And she closed her eyes, willing herself not to dream when sleep claimed her.
Dreams found her anyway, childish memories grown into a nightmare to haunt her day and night. She sat in her tree, telling it all her woes. Eirwen was being cruel again. She’d heard a merchant caravan passing not far from their cottage and Nia wanted so desperately to see them, but Eirwen refused to let her. It was too dangerous, she said. They had no business with those people, she said.
But she could hide, Nia argued. They wouldn’t even know she was there!
Eirwen would hear none of it. One day Nia would understand. Eirwen had promised she would keep Nia safe.
In her anger, Nia screamed at the old woman, ugly words she’d never meant to say and, ashamed of herself, she ran here. But then it got dark, too dangerous to walk through the forest on her own. Instead, Nia fell asleep in that tree and dreamed of singing. She sang to a river and its waters rose up to her, tendrils of it caressing her cheek like a mother’s touch. Then more of it rose, reaching to her, cradling her, answering her voice with a melody of its own. A song of home to drown out Eirwen’s cry…
Nia started awake, then again when she saw Saeran right next to her.
She sat up on her pallet. “Your Highness!”
“Wizard,” he replied. “Why do you sleep under the castle when there are dozens of much nicer places you could rest your head?” He looked around the dark room. He wouldn’t see more than shadow, the large table and the overflowing bookshelves behind the archway. No point wasting candlelight when all she did was sleep.
Nia struggled off the pallet, her legs unsteady. She was fully dressed but felt raw and exposed with Saeran watching her. No one but she and Nico ever stepped foot in the underground study. “What are you doing here?”
Saeran caught her elbows to steady her as he led her to sit at the table. He was smiling, and she couldn’t fathom what might have amused him. “Calm yourself,” he said, “I am the prince, remember? I can go wherever I please.”
Nia sparked the torches with a thought and a small burst of magic. They flared to life, filling the chamber with light until she could see him clearly. He looked worn, tired. His clothes were disheveled as if he’d slept in them, and though he smiled, it was a weary smile.
“What princely business brings you to my private study?” she asked, glancing at the pitcher of water some distance away. She was so thirsty her lips stuck together, but the pitcher was too far. If she tried to call to it with her magic still so weak, it would fall and shatter halfway to the table.
“At first,” the prince said, following her gaze, “I looked for you in Nico’s old chambers.” He left her to retrieve the pitcher and poured her a goblet of water. “But it looked as if no one had stepped foot in it in months. Then…” He handed her the goblet and resumed his seat. “I inquired among the maids where the wizard was housed, and they pointed me to another chamber, across from Nico’s. But that one looked the same, so I asked, very politely, where my royal wizard might be found, and they pointed to the ground.”
“Hmm.” Nia drank from the goblet, feeling her strength return a little more with each sip.
Seeing she would not speak, Saeran grinned. “And so I found my way here to give you something and found you sleeping. I knocked, mind you. And called your name. Several times. You did not move at all, so I came closer to find you were barely breathing. Naturally, I became worried. But you looked so peaceful I was loath to wake you. Instead I decided to wait for you to awaken on your own.”
Nia blushed. It was a wizard’s sleep she’d slept, something a body forced on the mind when one’s strength was depleted. For a wizard to drain herself of magic completely meant death. To restore herself, Nia needed rest and time. She would not have awakened, even if he’d tried to rouse her. “And how long have you waited?” she asked, dreading his answer.
Saeran shrugged. “Not long. Half a day, perhaps.”
Nia choked. “Half a day?”
The prince’s good humor faded. His eyes grew serious and his lips compressed into a tight line. “I want you to teach me,” he said. “Every spell an incantation you know, I need to learn. What happened with the huntsmen can never happen again. They could have poisoned the streams and killed us all.”
She stared at him agog. “You want me to teach you magic?”
Saeran nodded.
“I…I’m not sure I can.” Rather, she wasn’t sure it was wise to try. True, no one knew what they were capable of until they attempted it. Magic could be found in the oddest places and many went through their entire lives changing the world in subtle ways without being aware of it. But there were also those hungry for power which would forever be denied to them. What if Saeran didn’t have any magic in him, no matter how much he wanted it? What if he blamed her?
“You can try,” he said.
He was in earnest! Nia shifted in her seat, wincing at the ache in her back. Could she defy a royal order if he gave it? “You mentioned you’ve brought me something,” she said, stalling for time. “It wouldn’t by any chance happen to be food, would it?”
Saeran grinned. “Wait here. I will call for a tray.”
Nia sighed when he left the study, looking around for guidance. “Nico,” she whispered, “what have you gotten me into?” She fancied she could almost hear him laugh at her in gentle mockery.
The prince returned, placing a stack of parchment on the table. “We begin now.”
“Wait, I have not said yes.”
“I told the runner to bring two trays. I am starving. We can eat here, can we not?” he asked, reaching for the pitcher again to pour himself some water.
“Yes, but I—”
“Yes is spoken. You may begin your instruction.” He sat down facing her like an eager school boy, waiting for her to speak.
Nia glared at him. “Very well. We begin.”
“Excellent!” Saeran nodded. “What do I do first?”
“You close your mouth and listen.”
“What—”
“Shh!”
He quieted.
“Listen until you hear everything. Every movement of the air as you breathe, every beat of your heart, the hum of the candle flame, the chatter of mice…everything.”
Saeran shifted to find a more comfortable position and strained his ears to listen. “I hear nothing.”
“You are not listening hard enough. Concentrate. It helps if you close your eyes.” She closed her own to demonstrate. “Put everything from your mind but the sounds, and listen not only with your ears, but with your heart.”
Saeran breathed in deeply and held his breath, counting heartbeats. He could hear them getting louder, but only because they were thrumming in his head now. Expelling the air from his lungs in an explosive sigh, Saeran shook hims
elf and tried again. He drummed his fingers on the table—that he could hear. He tapped his foot. Also a sound his keen ears were able to pick up. Besides that, he heard nothing. “This is boring. When can I work a spell?”
“When you learn to hear what is around you,” she said without opening her yes. “A thing will tell you how it wants to be changed. It will know your intent and help you achieve it. A pitcher will know when you want it to float next to the table instead of sitting on it. It will do as you command. But a flower will not obey a command to grow if it knows your only intent is to pluck it.”
There was wisdom in her words. She sat unmoving, composed, but still at ease. Saeran’s backside was starting to ache from sitting on the hard chair, yet Nia didn’t show any discomfort at all. Her control over herself was astounding.
She knew what to do and was the only one who could teach him. He would have to learn on her terms and trust she would lead him true. Saeran closed his eyes again and quieted his mind. For a long time, nothing happened. He heard nothing but his own breathing, felt nothing but his weight sinking into the chair.
But then it began to change. Slowly, he began feeling lighter, almost floating. His hands felt warm, his head swam. The flicker of torchlight cast shadows on his eyelids, and he followed the movement as if he could see the real flames dancing.
Suddenly he heard them. Two torches, then three, and then all of them. They were singing! Not in the sense of a human voice, but it was a melody nonetheless. They sang in the direction of the book shelves, as if performing for them, and Saeran’s awareness floated toward the dark alcove. The scrolls and tomes there whispered. He could hear words so ancient and powerful they sent a chill up his spine, and he knew such knowledge in the wrong hands could destroy with impunity.
Wary of it, Saeran withdrew.
He pictured Nia in his mind, sitting in front of him, regal as any queen, and suddenly he heard her breath as he did his own. He heard her heart beat like a drum to the rhythm of life all around him.
Saeran opened his eyes, amazed when the sounds didn’t dull. He saw Nia there, and she was so beautiful it pained him. She hadn’t moved, sitting quietly with her eyes closed. Saeran had faced armies, felt warriors’ souls leave their bodies and seen peace at last in their dying eyes. He’d met with great kings, masters of every trade, wizards and holy men; sought their knowledge and wisdom. Nia’s silence was more profound than anything those men had ever taught him. Her serenity seeped into his bones and made him feel as if no ill or plight could touch him as long as she was there.
He leaned toward her, captivated by this strange, beautiful dream, and reached out to touch her. His fingers brushed through her hair, and the golden strands chimed for him a harmony of countless strings. Nia tensed. But she didn’t move. Saeran felt like a master musician, playing the silken strands to yield a melody that shamed the most accomplished bards.
The music all around him grew louder to compliment his movements. He did it again, savoring the sound as clear as crystal, and then he leaned closer still and touched his mouth to hers.
The song quieted. His ears became deaf to everything but the beat of his heart, thumping in perfect unison to hers. He kissed her softly, reverently, and Nia yielded to him with a sigh that shivered through his soul.
In that moment, Saeran sensed everything stop and wished it could stay that way forever. Shrouded in silence, hidden in the depths of time itself, Nia looped her arms around his neck and he pulled her closer still. The table was gone. They floated together in a warm current of air that folded around them like a blanket.
They had no anchor to latch on to except each other. Saeran held Nia so tightly he could feel her heartbeat against his chest, yet it still wasn’t enough. He needed more. Her heart set the rhythm of his. Saeran wanted inside her skin, to touch her soul and bind it to his.
Sounds began to intrude. Someone was approaching.
A sharp knock at the door rang out in deafening echoes, jolting Saeran and Nia out of the trance and they fell to the ground several feet apart.
Nia stared at the prince, frozen in shock, unable to look away. Her heart was racing so fast she couldn’t catch her breath. Saeran seemed similarly incapacitated. He looked as if he wished to say something, but couldn’t find his voice. And neither of them dared to blink.
The knock came again.
“Enter,” Saeran managed to say, pushing to his feet. The last contact broken, Nia exhaled at last.
The servant opened the heavy door and entered, stopping just inside, his mouth agape. The table was overturned and the chairs lay in broken heaps against the walls opposite each other. Candlesticks were strewn all over the floor among piles of parchment and scrolls, the tapestries half torn off the walls. It looked as if a storm had raged through the study, catching the prince and his wizard in its path.
“I…” Liam began but never finished. He offered the large tray instead. “Food.”
“Thank you,” Saeran said, reaching for the goblet at his feet but the pitcher he sought was shattered by the book shelves. “You may set it down on the floor there.”
Liam looked concerned. “You Highness, I could send for maids to straighten up—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nia said, grateful to have found her voice. She rose and tried her best to smooth her hair back. “Thank you, Liam. That will be all.”
Doubtful but obedient, Liam set the tray down, bowed and retreated to the safety of the castle above.
There was silence for long moments after he was gone. Nia didn’t trust herself to look at Saeran, but she felt his gaze on her the entire time. The he swallowed hard and said, “Time really stopped. I did not dream it, did I?”
Nia nodded. “Time stopped.”
“Was that supposed to happen?”
Nia met his gaze uncertainly. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
Saeran looked away, searching through the mess on the floor. He retrieved the bundle and came toward her.
Nia shrank away, making him stop in his tracks. “I came to give you this,” he said, placing the bundle on what used to be her pallet. “It did not seem right to leave it lying in the woods. I burned the rest.” Then he turned on his heels and left, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.
Only when he was gone did Nia move again. She took the bundle and carefully untied the cloth.
Inside was the wolf’s pelt.
CHAPTER 7
“Something is bothering you.”
Saeran looked away from the window at his father. “What?”
“I said something is bothering you,” Manfred repeated. “And before the crown has even touched your head. This does not put my mind at ease about leaving, son.”
“Oh. It’s nothing, really.” He looked back out at the children playing in the wet, melting snow. “Only…time.”
“Time?”
“Yes, time. It comes, it goes. Never stops. Have you ever thought about time, Father?”
“I don’t believe I have. Time, you say?”
Warming to the subject, Saeran came to the table covered with long sheets of cloth. “Is this the whole of time or only a part of it? Is there an end to time? Where is the beginning? Does it move from past to present, or is it still and we are the ones who move? And what if it stops?” He crumpled the fabric together. “Does anyone else notice?” He looked to his father for an answer. “What do you think?”
“I…”
“Because if all of time stopped, nothing should have moved.” He wasn’t certain anything had moved. But everything had. There hadn’t been a single thing in Nia’s study that hadn’t shifted, flown, fallen or shattered. How had that happened? The lack of answers maddened him, especially when he couldn’t ask the one person who might have the answers.
But would she? Nia had looked just as stunned that day. Then again, a wizard probably encountered stranger things every day. She would have already forgotten about it. No doubt. Put it right out of her mind.
&n
bsp; How could she? Time had stopped! Or they had stopped. Or the world had, or…something. He’d kissed other girls before, and that had never happened. And one or two of them had been witches.
“Well, I see you are otherwise engaged. I will leave you to it, then.”
And that kiss! What had he been thinking? Why for the love of Freya had he stopped?
He couldn’t be thinking this way. It was exactly the sort of thing his father had accused him of being too weak to resist. “When are you set to depart?” he asked Manfred. “Father?”
The king was gone.
Saeran frowned and followed him out into the hall, watching his beloved father hurry away as fast as dignifiedly possible. Shaking his head, Saeran returned to his window.
Spring was coming. Soon all the snow would be gone and everything would be green again. The ceremony was to take place in a fortnight, and the dignitaries from other lands were already on their way. Halden wouldn’t be among them. News had reached Frastmir that his youngest child had the fever. Less than a year old, the boy probably hadn’t lasted long enough for the message to arrive.
Another reason for Manfred to go to his brother. As soon as Saeran had the crown on his head and the burden of a kingdom on his shoulders, his father would be gone and there would be only him and Nia to look after Wilderheim. People would bow and come to him with their concerns and disputes, expecting him to know what was best and what was needed. He would never again walk through the villages without an escort, and people would forever see him as only a king.
Saeran didn’t know why that suddenly seemed like such a bad thing. Everyone wanted to be king, or at the very least noble. He smiled, watching a little girl scoop snow and water into her hand and dump it down the back of a boy’s neck. All he’d ever wanted was to be at peace. After so many years of destruction and death, just peace.
Perhaps with Nia at his side, he might finally find it.
The Royal Wizard Page 6
