Nia stood her ground, her gaze steady on some point beyond him as if none of it mattered one way or another, including him. The king forced his muscles to unclench enough to allow him to speak. “You think to abandon your post?”
“I am confident that you will not require my counsel for the time being. The journey ahead of these men is not a short one, but with my aid, we can all be back before a fortnight has passed.”
She was not asking him. The wizard was telling him she was leaving, in a way that dared him to argue. He couldn’t believe the months he’d known her to be a lie, yet here she stood as if none of it had happened. She’d deceived him then, or she was deceiving him now and how could he have a wizard he didn’t trust giving him counsel?
How could he have anyone but Nia at his side?
Trumpets blared, announcing the caravan’s approach and Nia flinched, light flaring out of her skin briefly before she pulled it back and Saeran’s eyes widened. She was hiding. He made himself push his emotions aside and truly look at her. He had never seen Nia as anything but composed in the great hall, ever the calm, steady strength at his back. Now she was tense, her posture rigid. She clutched her staff in a white-knuckled hold and her wolf pelt was gone. She looked tired, haunted and lost.
She looked as if she would rather be anywhere but here, and Saeran didn’t have the heart to force her to stay. “So be it,” he said and it felt right to say, though he could barely admit it to himself. “You leave by sunset.”
* * *
With the exception of last night, holding the window open for Saeran to tell his father he was getting married to the Aegiran girl was the most excruciating thing Nia had ever endured. Manfred knew the moment he saw his son that something was amiss, but he attributed it to the impending ceremony. No one wanted Saeran to marry the girl: not Manfred, not Halden, and certainly not Saeran, that was obvious.
He would do it because it was his duty, and because Nia gave him no other choice. By the time she let go of the spell she was exhausted and she still had to prepare for the journey into the most inhospitable land known to man. There was a reason why no one ever ventured far beyond Wilderheim’s northern border. Nothing lived there but creatures humans ought not tangle with.
Saeran sat forward in his chair, staring at the ground by her feet. His fists were clenched tight enough to shake the slightest bit, and she had to stop herself from reaching out to him. Rubbing her tired eyes, she rose from her seat and turned for the door.
“Don’t go,” he said. It was so soft Nia half thought she’d imagined it.
She turned back to face him. “I must.” There was no other way. She could tolerate being in the shadows, she could stand his anger or indifference, but she could not stand there and watch Saeran take a wife. When he did, Nia needed to be as far away as possible.
He smiled bitterly. “I remember when you spoke your oath to me; I believed every word you said. As long as need be, until death or longer. Do you know, I believe it still? I just never realized the one thing you would not be able to save me from is myself.”
One more time, Nia focused her Sight to scry the air and looked into the future, seeking any way to avoid this. What she saw was war. Hundreds of horses trampling fields, sowing salt in their wake and setting crops aflame. Swords clashing, magic burning through the night, and blood. So much blood. Death and disaster waited down every path she chose. An arrow through the chest. A blade across the neck. Poison in a chalice of wine. Treachery and deceit. She flinched each time she saw Saeran meet his end. Frastmir would burn to the ground one way or another, unless Nia did what she already knew had to be done. There was no other way. “This is the way it has to be.”
Saeran nodded, his eyes bleak. “I suppose it is.”
She was at the door when his voice stopped her a second time.
“I know you will not want to,” he said. “But come back to me anyway.”
* * *
Close to sunset the gates opened to admit the caravan. Over twenty riders entered, followed by a great tent-like carriage and an entourage of another twenty people on foot. Nia and the knights watched their progress from the stables. Their horses ready and their supplies packed, they came outside, to join the curious crowds in the courtyard.
A single wind instrument played in the tent-carriage, its melody sounding their soft fanfare. These were desert people. They wore long robes and cloth wound about their heads, their horses’ reigns adorned with tufts of ribbons and cords. The women were draped in robes from neck to foot and they wore veils to cover their hair and face. Nothing but their hands showed. An odd way to dress, Nia thought, but then they must be thinking the same about the northerners.
Wondering what Saeran would think of this, Nia glanced up at the keep windows. She could just make out his shadow in one of them. But he didn’t seem to be looking at the caravan. As soon as she caught sight of him, he stepped away from the window and out of sight.
No good to be leaving in pain, Stardust told her, gently butting his nose against her shoulder.
“I know,” she replied. “But it would be even worse if I stayed.”
The caravan stopped and the men dismounted as Nia swung into her own saddle and made ready to ride out. As she nudged Stardust forward, a bright glitter caught her eye. One of the men in the entourage was not a southerner. He dressed in robes, yes, but he wore no cloth around his head, and his hair was as fair as her own. About his neck hung a pendant. It was a glittering black stone as big as her palm, set in pale gold. Curious, Nia tried to get a better look, but with so many people milling in the courtyard, it was of no use. She gave up for the moment, shaking her head at her own silliness.
But when they passed close by, the pendant once more caught her eye as the man bowed. Her gaze became unfocused as she watched the pendant sway back and forth and in the haze, she saw a vision. No longer in the courtyard, she watched the dream unfold before her.
There were two women, the older teaching the younger her craft. She was a midwife, well liked and respected in her village. But soon, the vision showed her, the younger woman surpassed her mentor and fearing the old woman was no longer trustworthy, the villagers turned from her, to her apprentice.
The old midwife ran on stiff legs to a great rock that served as an altar and dropped to her aged knees. With her arms raised above her head, she beseeched the gods. She cried to the heavens, invoked incantations she had no knowledge of, shouted for all the gods she could name until one of them answered.
Lightning struck the altar, frightening her into fleeing for her life, but when she found her courage again and cautiously returned, she discovered a jewel. Taking it into her bony hands, she turned it to the light and Nia saw through her eyes the wicked gleam of Loki’s gaze in the depths of that black crystal.
In the next blink Nia was in the young apprentice’s cottage. The woman was asleep in her bed, wearing the pendant around her neck, a treasured gift from her mentor. The gleam of a knife by candlelight was the only thing to betray the old midwife before she plunged the blade into the sleeping woman’s chest. The apprentice died quietly, with no one the wiser and her murderer retrieved her gods given trinket with shaking hands.
As soon as she put it on, her posture straightened and she sighed, walking away with an easy step. Too easy for one so old.
Stardust jolted her and Nia blinked, finding herself the object of a curiously knowing gaze as the man with the pendant grinned at her. Before she could approach him, Stardust took off, leading the way out of the castle.
CHAPTER 16
The first stretch of the path north was easy enough, and they rode hard to make headway before the sun dipped low. The wide, well used dirt road wound through the forest for miles until it ended abruptly as if whoever traversed it suddenly decided they’d gone far enough and turned back the way they’d come. Beyond this point, there was nothing but trees.
Nia would have ridden on, but the knights grew wary of riding in the dark of night. The
moon wasn’t bright enough to touch the forest floor and lighting torches would only blind them to the shadows. They made camp under a giant oak and lit a small fire to stave off the chill of night. Once everything was done, they retreated together for prayer, leaving Nia alone to stare into the flames. Shapes danced within them, slender, sensuous waifs moving to the music of the night. Fire sprites.
They danced and they beckoned to her, smiling when she refused to join their play. “What do you want?” she asked, tired of being made a source of amusement.
The sprites laughed, making the fire crackle and spark.
Nia blew on the flames, banishing the sprites in lieu of a vision. Scrying flames was different than air or water, the images obscured by ash and smoke. It was also more difficult because fire touched Spirit and Soul. Asking something of the flames meant opening oneself to them, and more often than not, the fire pointed in two different directions. One leading to the object sought, the other to the one most desired, without revealing which was which. It was as close to deceit as an element could get and even then it was self-deceit which sent a petitioner the wrong way. Some desires ran so deep a person was not always aware of them.
“What do you see?”
Nia blinked through the flames at Lucca. She thought he’d gone to pray with the others. “I seek guidance to the treasure you are after,” she said.
“And?”
Nia gazed into the fire. From opposite sides two hands raised a chalice in a salute. One silver, inlaid with blood red stones and engraved with runes, the other gold with elaborate silver filigree depicting a winged man with horns and a tail. Both were reaching toward her, a choice between the two. It could mean any number of things and with her heart still bleeding over Saeran, it probably had to do with her choice to leave rather than stand by his side as she’d sworn to do. Red stones for her aching heart, wings to symbolize the freedom of flight. “I see two cups raised in offering.”
Lucca smiled somewhat sadly. “Our legends say there is a cup which once held the blood of our savior. It is said this cup is one of judgment. To those who serve god without question, it has the power to grant salvation. But those who serve only themselves get cast into damnation.”
“Do you believe this?”
“No. Man was given thought in order to question everything, even god.”
“But you just said only those who do not question will have salvation.”
He grinned. “Yes, well, not everyone interprets the words as I do.”
Curious, Nia studied the knight who spoke so little but said so much. “You are not here for the treasure of eternal life, are you?”
“And you are not here to lead us to it, are you?”
“Why else would I be here?”
“Why indeed?” Lucca stoked the fire. “Perhaps to run away from something? Or someone?”
A twig snapped, announcing the return of the others and Nia was grateful for the interruption. For the rest of the night, Alec played a thin wood whistle to entertain them and Nia stared into the flames, seeking guidance.
But every time she asked her silent question, only the two cups raised in answer.
* * *
The moment he lost sight of Nia and her company of knights Saeran felt hollow. He welcomed the Aegirans in the great hall as was his duty, meeting his intended for the first time and receiving the wedding gifts they’d brought with them, all while silently wishing he was anyone but himself. A small army had accompanied the girl here, many of whom would stay behind to ensure her well being and comfort.
Farraj, Saeran was relieved to learn, would return to his shansher as soon as the deed was done. He liked the man well enough, but he didn’t want him to linger. A warrior whose honor bound him as surely as any of Nia’s spells, he would give his life to protect those he served and Saeran could see how he doted on his princess. Should Farraj ever suspect Saeran of wrongdoing against her, he had no doubt he would find himself without a head.
To marry her at all felt wrong when his heart belonged to another. No, he did not want Farraj to stay long enough to discover that.
The girl’s name was Mari and there was never a moment when she was not surrounded by handmaidens, all cloaked and veiled to hide everything but their eyes. Saeran could not pick her out of a crowd if he tried. And they would remain estranged this way until their wedding night.
Saeran spoke the words, acknowledged the oath he’d taken years ago and sealed the pledge with another to ensure the Aegirans’ good will. He could not look away from the girl’s eyes. They were so very young.
When all the ceremonies of greeting were finished, the Aegirans were led to their chambers to rest after a long journey and Saeran escaped into the glen. His chest ached with each breath he took and all he wanted to do was mount a horse and ride as fast as he could out of the castle, away from the life of a king. Anywhere but here.
“Your father is not here.”
Saeran felt the earth tremble at Farraj’s footsteps but he could not face the man. “He rides this way as we speak,” he replied. The moment Manfred had heard the news, he’d ordered a carriage. If he changed the horses often and never stopped for the night as he intended, he would be here in two days time.
“It is good to see you well.”
“And you, Farraj.”
“Now noble talk over. We speak as men.”
The words felt like an order, compelling Saeran to turn and face the southerner. “Say your peace.”
In the years since the war, Farraj had changed. He’d acquired new scars in battle, and adornments to mark his victories. His hair was longer, graying on one side, but his eyes were as shrewd as Saeran remembered. “Where we come from the women are treasured.”
“They are bartered with,” Saeran said, instantly regretting his words.
Farraj drew himself up, but chose to overlook the insult. “They are protected and given to worthy men who can keep them safe. It is not so here. Mari is not strong like your women. She has lived only with other women and never known a man.”
Knowing he would be the one to change that made Saeran want to turn back time, undo the foolish deal he’d struck and take his chances down another path. “I expected as much,” he said with difficulty. “You have my word I will treat her gently.”
“She can never know you do not want her as wife.”
Taken aback, Saeran could only stare.
“In Aegiros she would have been one of a noble’s many wives, but cherished. Here she will be lonely queen. But her children kings and queens after her. For her it will be enough. But she cannot know she is reason for another’s heart pain. It would bring too much sadness for her to bear. Better she believe you will not love her than that you cannot. I ask this for favor. For Mari.”
Saeran blanched. “How did you know?”
Smiling a little, Farraj laid a hand on his shoulder. “I look in your eyes and see the woman you want. She is in your soul, and she is not my idrah Mari.”
“I will honor our agreement. I will be true to Mari.”
Farraj grunted. “This I know,” he said, stepping back. “You are man of honor. It is not an easy thing to be. Many winters ago, when you offered a life for a life, I knew then you would regret it. You bargained bravely for your people, young king. Bravely, but foolishly. For life of another you gave up your heart. A heart without life will sleep until it breathes again. But what is life without heart?” The Aegiran wise man touched a hand to his chest then to his mouth, and finally his forehead and he bowed at the waist. He returned to the castle, leaving Saeran alone in the dark glen.
CHAPTER 17
They made camp in the forest on the third night. The knights gathered wood for a fire and Nia lit it for them before she walked away, needing the comfort of solitude. It was difficult to find in a place where everything was alive and singing. Dozens of voices spoke to her, asking questions she didn’t want to dwell on and giving her advice she had no wish to hear. Well meaning creatures, they wer
e, and their presence infuriated her. How dare they broach the subject when they had no knowledge of what they were saying?
The trees wanted to know why she was there when her place was at Saeran’s side. The sparrows told her to go back and speak to him. The earth hummed to her that the woman he was to wed was not his true intended; that she did not belong. And the brook she crossed sang to her that it knew her heart and knew that it was no longer inside her.
With each new voice her anger rose. It was easier to confront than the pain. Nia had chosen this path. It had been her choice to teach Saeran and learn his heart in the process. Her choice to share her evenings with him, countless witching hours when sitting in silence next to him began to feel like the most wonderful thing in the world. She could have turned Saeran away countless times; could have refused him Beltaine night, but she hadn’t. And so it was her own fault she was there when he was miles away, wedding a southerner out of obligation.
You did not have to turn him away from your embrace, the earth whispered and the words stabbed at Nia.
She’d had no other choice. Not turn him away? Nia shivered. The king’s happiness might mean the world to her, but it would have mattered little to a kingdom torn apart.
No, Saeran had chosen this fate long ago, as had she. Wilderheim had to come first.
That she’d done what was right for the greater good, however, meant little when her soul howled in anguish at the crescent moon.
Knowing it was a mistake but unable to help herself, Nia weaved her hand through the air to conjure the castle. Just one peek, she told herself. A brief glance at Saeran and then she would put him out of her mind and finish what she’d started.
Light followed her movements, creating a window, and in its depths she saw the throne and Saeran seated upon it. He was somber as he watched the celebration in honor of his bride, but his gaze strayed often to the woman at his side.
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