by R. J. Larson
Ela approached her destroyer cautiously, relieved when Flame nosed her in welcome. After scenting Ela’s hair and brooding over the tender shoulder wound, Flame retreated toward the darkest area of her pen. A shadow moved just beyond the mother destroyer, black upon black; then a form appeared, all gangly legs, blocky body, long neck, and handsome little destroyer face. A second shadow moved behind the first, its inky mirrored-image. Ela slapped both hands over her mouth to stifle shrieks. Twins!
She danced around Kien and hugged him, whooping beneath her breath, “Twins! Twins!” Oh. Twin destroyers. “Oh no . . .”
Kien laughed and kissed her hair. “Well, that was a short celebration. What’s wrong, Prophet? Are you envisioning destroyer-disasters? Don’t worry. We can afford them.”
“But will Aeyrievale survive toddler-destroyers?” She returned to Flame’s pen and stared at the handsome babies. They eyed her as if she might be food. Oh, dear. Best to command this pair at once. She scowled and lowered her voice to absolute sternness. “No biting us! Not Ela, not Kien, and . . .” She hesitated, distracted as Bryce and Prill entered the stable yard. “Particularly no biting Bryce and Prill! See them? Obey!”
Small destroyer-grumblings answered, with stomps and huffs. Flame herded away the foals, who squealed in protest as if disgusted by the loss of potential food sources. Flame tossed her elegant head. Pet curveted. Which reminded Ela. “No kicking either!”
Bryce approached, a slight smile tracing his thin sun-browned face. “It seems Aeyrievale will now be known for aeryons, sapphires, and destroyers.” Somber again, he bowed to Kien, offering him a heavily sealed parchment. “My lord, this arrived last night after you retired.”
Obviously reluctant, Kien removed a dagger from his belt and slid it beneath the seal. He read the message, not appearing the least surprised. “A summons from the king.”
Bryce shut his eyes hard, then opened them as if preparing himself for bad news. “My lord, the last time Aeyrievale received such a parchment, our previous lord and lady were killed. I don’t intend to sound superstitious—I’m not—but is there any way to escape this summons?”
“No.” Ela cringed inwardly, wishing she’d bitten her tongue instead of speaking.
Kien stared at her, one dark eyebrow lifted. “Prophet, what haven’t you told us?”
“I can’t tell you much,” Ela replied gently. “But I notice you’re not surprised either, sir.”
Prill leaned into the conversation, her thin face as worried as Bryce’s. “Ela, what’s about to happen? Are you two in danger?”
The truth. “I don’t know.” She looked from her dear former chaperone to Bryce. “Ask everyone in Aeyrievale to pray for us while we’re gone. And pray for the king and the queen. Our enemies are gathering.”
For one chilled instant, looking inward again at her vision once more, Ela studied the young queen. Was she Atean? Could she be persuaded of her Creator’s love?
Sickened, Ela retreated from her vision.
From ashes and death.
With Kien and Prill looking on, Bryce placed a locked metal box on his worktable and handed Ela a key. As she accepted the key, Bryce explained, “We finally managed to retrieve this yesterday from our treasury—the tunnel leading up to the chamber was flooded. These are the few pieces that remained after our former Lady Aeyrievale’s death.”
Her murdered predecessor. Infinite? Did she love You?
Yes, His voice assured. She is now beyond her enemies’ reach.
But Ela, prophet of Parne, was not.
Beside Ela, Kien slid an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, somber. “It’s all right. Open the box, love.”
Ela pressed the key into the lock and slid its iron bar aside. Nestled among several leather pouches, an exquisite feather-patterned tiara of white and yellow gold glimmered with clear, intensely violet-blue sapphires, some dangling in elegant face-framing pendants.
Prill gasped. “Ela, it’s beautiful!”
Stunned, Ela could only nod. Slowly, she opened a leather pouch and withdrew its contents—a matched pair of intricate sapphire bracelets designed to cover the backs of her hands like mitts. She, plain Ela of Parne, was supposed to wear these? “These are spectacular. But—”
“Necessary,” Bryce interposed. “You represent Aeyrievale at court, lady. If we reopen our mines, you’ll have more to choose from within a few years.”
“Reopen the mines,” Kien told Bryce. “Continue with our plans as we’ve agreed.”
“Very well, sir. But if anything happens to you, we will close the mines immediately. Why pour Aeyrievale profits into Atean hands?”
Kien scowled—so ineffectively stern that Ela almost smiled. He said, “Bryce! Enough fretting. Reopen the mines! Let’s clear out our documents today and finish up any business before I leave.”
Back to business. Ela tucked the sapphires into their box and closed the lid. The jewelry reminded her of another yet-unfinished task. “We need to return your mother’s tiara to her.”
Gloom shadowed Kien’s face, no doubt provoked by distress for his still-grieving family. “Box it up and I’ll send it to the Tracelands with my next letter. We’ll also see to pasturing the destroyers. Naor found a near-perfect place. A meadow walled off and unwanted by the villagers or the aeryons, for this season at least. What else?”
Bryce cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at Prill. She blushed. “Ela, we’d prefer to be married before I leave with you for Munra.”
Remembering her visions, Ela shook her head. Before the pledged couple could misunderstand, she said, “Prill, you’re not accompanying us to Munra, so you’d best marry Bryce. While we’re gone, we’ll trust you to manage the destroyers and work on the improvements we’ve discussed—the chambers, the windows, and the gardens.”
“Good,” Kien said. “Now we can stop chaperoning those two.”
“Oh!” Prill sniffed. “We’ve never been the trouble you were, my lord—admit it!”
“Me? Trouble? Never!” He nudged Bryce. “What are the civil requirements for marriage in Aeyrievale?”
“Your say-so, sir.”
“I say so. Sir.” Kien grinned at Prill. “And lady. We’ll gather with all the villagers this evening, before sunset. Send word to Aeyrievale’s priest and go find your wedding clothes, both of you!”
As the betrothed couple hurried off, Kien touched Ela’s face. “You’ve been preoccupied this morning. What aren’t you telling me?”
What could she tell him? Trying not to revisit her vision, she hugged her husband tight. “We’re in danger. All four of us. You, me, the king, and the queen. Because of the temple, and our love for the Infinite. Truly, it won’t matter where we are. Our enemies will find us.”
Kien’s gray eyes darkened, somber as approaching clouds. “Will we die?”
“I don’t know.” Fragments of emotions and images cut at her now, so sharp that she flinched. Desperation rising, she explained, “I see only the queen, and—much as I wish I could—I can’t help her! I don’t know where you are, but I want you to be safe, and I’m praying for you and the king!” She shut her eyes against the tears, saw the vision, and stopped. Better to be with her husband now than in the vision. Hugging Kien again, Ela hid her face against his chest, inhaling his scent. “Promise me, whatever happens, you’ll stay alive and fight! If it’s a choice between somehow saving me or saving the king, then you must save the king! Promise!”
“What?” Kien held her at arm’s length, making her look at his now-ashen face. “Will I be forced to choose?”
“I don’t know. As ever, I can’t see your path. We must depend on the Infinite. But for Siphra’s sake, and the temple’s, the king is first—promise me!”
Kien shook his head. “Do not ask this of me! Don’t expect this of me, Ela, please. I’ll fail!” He pulled her close again, kissing her hair fiercely, his now-hushed words sounding like a tormented prayer. “Infinite, I will fail!”
In silence,
Ela prayed. Oh, Infinite, sustain my husband!
Let him live. . . .
Twining his fingers around Ela’s and breathing the ocean air, Kien paused and scanned the crowded, mazelike palace garden. Any reception, informal or not, was torment enough to make him flee. Except that with the courtiers scattered throughout the garden, he could speak to the king with less danger of being overheard. Akabe stood near an ornate fish pond, talking with Faine and Trillcliff while the queen lingered nearby, flanked by her noticeably untalkative ladies.
Leaning down to whisper to Ela, Kien admired her poise. She looked as if she’d been wearing golden hairbands and sapphires from birth. “Are the ladies shunning their queen?”
“It seems they dislike her. Poor lady.” Ela’s beautiful eyes reflected genuine compassion.
Amazing, that compassion. Particularly considering that this same young queen might soon draw Ela into a life-threatening situation. Must he choose between Ela and the king? No . . . He could not lose Ela. Not again.
Infinite? Please protect my wife! Kien lifted Ela’s hand and kissed her fingers, avoiding Aeyrievale’s sapphires in favor of her incredibly soft skin. “I love you!”
A nobleman’s cultivated, too-familiar voice interrupted from behind them. “Most moving, my lord. Such an example of wedded bliss should be honored by the entire court.”
“Ruestock!” Kien turned, his free hand instinctively moving to his sword as he glared at the oily, no doubt Atean lord—this conniver who’d once stolen Ela and whose scheming had contributed to Kien’s exile.
He’d gladly pay for one good, defensible reason to strike this man!
Even as he finished the thought, Kien glimpsed a flash of light in Ela’s hand—the branch, taking form. And Ela turned, her dark eyes mirroring its fiery white glow.
18
Ela clenched the prophet’s branch, longing to beat the sleek-haired Ruestock. Infinite, please?
No. Ask him, “How long will you test the Infinite?” Then warn him that he has chosen the wrong path.
All right. Ela held the glowing branch before the startled nobleman. “Lord Ruestock. How long will you test the Infinite? He warns that you have chosen the wrong path.”
He moistened his lips and stepped back, clearly unnerved. Yet, as ever, he sneered. And quibbled. “I . . . take it that this is a prophetic utterance, Lady Aeyrievale? A meaning quite apart from the garden path on which we now stand?”
“Yes.” Spirals of light expanded from the branch like unfurling vines, flowing over her, reaching for Ruestock.
The nobleman’s eyes widened. He bowed, then swiftly walked from the garden. What was the scoundrel planning? Infinite? I’m curious . . . how many times will You warn him?
As many as I please. He sent her a stern mental nudge, making her turn again.
Oh. Ela hid a wince. Everyone—servants, courtiers, king, and queen—stared at her and Kien, all unmoving, as if waiting for some unavoidable disaster.
Wonderful. Her formal introduction to court, and lovely sapphires or not, she was already an object of fear.
Kien adjusted his sword, then offered Ela his hand. “Prophet, shall we greet the king and his queen?” As they walked and smiled soothingly at the nervous courtiers, he asked, “What is Ruestock plotting?”
“Everything possible, I’m sure.”
“Is he Atean?”
“Yes, but for himself more than his goddess. He’s a meddler, schemer, and instigator.” And lecherous. But she couldn’t mention this to Kien. He’d fillet the man and end up in prison.
They approached the king and queen and bowed. The instant they straightened, Akabe’s formality lapsed into a warm grin, almost as charming as Kien’s. “Lord Aeyrievale. Lady Aeyrievale. Welcome.”
As Ela smiled, Kien said, “Majesty, thank you.”
Akabe nodded, some of his pleasure fading. “I’d say we’ve been bored without you, but, unfortunately, that wouldn’t be true. Lady Aeyrievale, you haven’t met the queen.” He looked down at the slender silent young woman standing beside him. “Caitria, this is Lady Aeyrievale. Parne’s prophet.”
Her gaze fixated on the still-glowing branch, Queen Caitria nodded and uttered one word. “Welcome.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” Ela shifted the branch away and smiled, trying to look harmless. Infinite, please, let the queen not faint. She’d be blamed, and—considering what they were about to face—she needed to earn the queen’s trust.
Infinite? A few hints? Please?
As the king and Kien turned away, talking with the other lords, the queen seemed to compose herself. “Lady Aeyrievale, these are my . . . companions, Lady Faine, Lady Trillcliff, and Lady Piton. Will you join us?”
“Gladly.” Or rather as glad as she could be. “Thank you.” A tremor of premonition slid over Ela’s skin. The young queen’s future terror presented itself now, making Ela’s heart race so violently that she had to take deep, calming breaths. Forget the ashes and death! Closing her thoughts to the vision, Ela focused on the queen, who was talking, her lovely face as wary as her voice.
“We saw you speaking to Lord Ruestock. What did you say to each other?”
“Lord Ruestock offered his compliments and I offered him guidance from the Infinite.” Noticing the haughty silver-haired Lady Faine’s suddenly avid expression, Ela added, “Ruestock was advised to reconsider certain choices he’s made.”
Lady Trillcliff aimed a prompting glance at the queen. “Introspection is always useful for self-improvement. It’s advice we might all accept.”
The queen looked away, her slim jaw visibly tensed. Obviously this wasn’t the first none-too-subtle hint she’d caught from Lady Trillcliff. Worse, Lady Faine and Lady Piton both nodded, approving their friend’s indirect criticism of the queen. As if stuffy lectures would delight anyone!
Be calm, Ela warned herself. Swatting thoughtless noblewomen wouldn’t help this situation, and no doubt the Infinite wouldn’t approve. Didn’t the queen have any attendants her own age?
When Lady Faine cleared her throat to speak, the queen turned to Ela in obvious desperation. “Lady Aeyrievale, will you walk with me to those steps? There’s a marvelous view of the ocean.”
“Yes, Majesty. Thank you. I love the ocean.”
“So do I.” Keeping herself warily away from the branch, the queen quickened her pace as they left the other ladies. When they were a safe distance apart from everyone, the queen burst out, “One more ‘you need to improve’ remark and I’ll scream!”
“Understandable, lady.”
“Furthermore, I hate Lord Ruestock! I wish the king would send him from court.”
Ela shuddered, unable to hide her disgust. “I agree. He’s . . . overly flirtatious!”
“With you too?” The queen stared as if contemplating a freak. “But you’re a . . . a prophet.”
Definite royal mistrust here. And did she sense . . . loneliness? Hmm. Ela kept her tone pleasant. “Lord Ruestock seems unable to control his, er, compliments to women, no matter who they are—prophet or not.”
Caitria reddened and looked away. “Lord Ruestock is one of my second cousins, and he hunts with my lord-father. Once, about five years ago—I was thirteen—Ruestock told me I was so pretty he ought to marry me and offer me to the goddess. And the look he gave me . . . I was terrified. But my lord-father overheard.”
Ela halted, sickened. “Obviously your father protected you.”
“If locking me away from everyone might be called protection.” She began to walk again, leading Ela up to a curving stone balustrade. A breeze swept up from the ocean far below, loosening light brown tendrils from her softly pinned hair. “Yet it’s not as if Father cared enough to speak to me beyond pronouncing punishments. Worse,” she continued, bitterness edging her voice, “he still hunts with Ruestock.”
“I’m sorry.” Ela sighed, thinking of her own father. Dan Roeh was a stern parent, but he often joked with Ela. And he’d always cherished Ela and her little s
ister, Tzana. Remembering her fragile baby sister and Dan’s grief at her death before Parne’s siege, Ela fought a stab of sorrow. She mustn’t burst into tears now. How sad that the queen never felt as loved by her own father.
Leaning on the balustrade, the queen hesitated. “Forgive me. I’ve said too much. But I’m half-wild after being lectured all morning. I trust you’ll not breathe a word of our conversation.”
“As I live, Majesty, I’ll tell no one.”
Caitria studied Ela now, seeming perplexed.
To gain royal insights, Ela dared her. “Say what you’re thinking.”
The queen paled. At last, evidently fearing Ela already knew, she said, “I think you’re not . . . tall enough. Or frightful enough. For a prophet.”
A laugh escaped before Ela could stifle it. Well, she’d asked. “I’m proof that the Infinite considers the heart rather than outward appearances. You expected someone more dignified. More—”
Hypocritical, pretentious, condemning, and small-minded.
Infinite! Bracing herself, Ela repeated, “Hypocritical, pretentious, condemning, and small-minded.”
Caitria gasped. “I didn’t say so!”
“No. But your Creator hears your thoughts concerning me and the other ladies.” As the queen blinked, seeming stunned, Ela added, “I don’t blame you. Thoughts can be impossible to control. And mortals are often hypocritical, pretentious, condemning, and small-minded, no matter what they believe.”
“True.” Queen Caitria tensed both hands on the balustrade now, as if she longed to leap over it and escape. “While we’re being so honest, I’ve no choice but to speak with you. My lord-husband all but commanded it.” She almost smiled at Ela. Almost. “At least for now I no longer think you hate me, or that you’ll strike me dead. But . . . you’re worrisome. Do you know all my thoughts?”
“Rest assured, Majesty, most of your thoughts remain known only to you and to the Infinite. I don’t see or hear everything.” Noting Caitria’s relief, Ela continued. “Soon, however, you’ll make your own choices concerning your life and your soul. Because other lives will be affected by your choices, you must be careful.”
