The Royal Wizard (17 page)

“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, Farraj 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 were, 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 here 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 here 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.

A child. She was draped in colorful silks, the bottom of her face covered with a transparent veil. Her eyes were beautiful. Dark and exotic, both innocent and sensual. She was a beauty, to be sure. And Saeran had noticed it as well. When he turned to gaze at her, his eyes became dream hazed and a small smile pulled on his mouth.

Nia turned away with a whimper. She let the spell dissolve and sank to a fallen tree trunk, burying her face in her hands. She couldn’t breathe; didn’t trust herself to release the air in her lungs, lest it take her voice with it. If she cried now, she would never stop.

It was done. Saeran was married. He had his queen just as Nia had wished for him the night of his coronation. She would sit by his side, guide his hand, and ease the burden of ruling a kingdom. She would be his friend and hold him when he needed to be held, kiss him when he came to her each night. She would give him heirs unlike any Wilderheim has ever seen.

It’s as it should be,
she told herself.
My place was always in the shadow.
Hugging the wolf skin closer around her she lifted her gaze to the stars. Not for the first time she wondered what Nico would have wanted her to do. But then her thoughts turned dark, wondering why the old wizard had even brought her to the castle, made her face things she’d never wanted to see, and then abandoned her when she needed him most. He must have foreseen this as a possibility.

In the shadows, a dark form stirred. It was Lucca. This morning when she’d greeted each of the knights he’d coldly informed her that he was not truly a knight and that he did not wish to be addressed by the title. She’d heard him cry out in his sleep the night before and knew he suffered his own nightmares which made him surly in the mornings. But whatever he dreamed, he never told her and she never asked.

Now, a fair way from the camp fire and the rest of their company, he kept his distance, hiding in shadows rather than stepping into the light of the moon. He addressed her from that darkness as if its embrace was the only reason he could speak the words at all. “I know your pain,” he said, his voice so hollow it called to her, and she reached out unbidden to his mind. “It is the pain of loss, same as mine.”

His memories rose like mist in her mind, pulling her into his past without being invited. She saw a child suffering with fever, his worried mother sitting by his bedside while Lucca hunted like a madman for a healer, a priest, a witch, anyone who could help his dying son. She saw a kindly old priest enter the house in his absence to console the mother and light a candle by the child’s bedside, saying a prayer for his recovery. Then the priest left. Exhausted, the praying mother fell asleep on her knees. The candle tumbled, sparked a flame in the thresh and within moments the entire house was ablaze.

“They tell you it will pass,” Lucca said, banishing her back into herself. “They tell you to give yourself to god and let him take the pain away. It is all a lie, wizard. Pain like that never goes away. And it only becomes worse with time.” 

 “Among my people we believe our loved ones await us beyond death,” she said.

“Your gods are not mine. The one I worshiped took my wife and children from me because I loved them more than him.” His harsh tone made her flinch. “You cannot imagine the hatred I hold for him, and for that he will keep me from them forever.”

Nia’s heart broke for him. This was the torment he lived with day and night, mourning his family, cursing his god. Lucca had lost everything, and in his despair the pain had become all he had. It was overwhelming, the kind of grief that scarred the soul. It went beyond her ability to heal and she wasn’t fool enough to try. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

Heavy rustling footsteps put an end to their conversation. Lucca retreated deeper into the night and then disappeared all together.

“Lady Nia.”

Nia did not face Arnaud. “I told you not to call me a lady. I am not noble.”

“You are something,” he said coming closer. Lowering himself next to her, he plucked a sleeping flower to toy with. “May I ask you a question?”

“You may not.”

“Why have you decided to join us? It is because of the king, is it not?” He pulled on the flower, forcing it open and tearing off its petals. Nia’s hand twitched every time she heard the delicate rip. Still raw from Lucca’s memories, it aggravated her much more than it would have under normal circumstances. Where she felt an odd kinship with Lucca, Arnaud’s presence was forceful, bothersome. She wanted him gone. “Matters of the heart are—”

“None of your affair,” she snapped. “My reasons for coming with you are my own and you have no need to guess at them. Rest assured, I will get you to your treasure, and I will lead you back again. But my obligation to you goes no further than…” She never finished the sentence. Her skin prickled and the wolf pelt’s hackles rose as if he was still alive and scented danger.

Power was in the air; not her own. It controlled the wind and made it spy. She stretched her senses to find the source but it was beyond her boundaries. Its magic tasted different than her own or anything Other she had thus far encountered. It made her shudder, for she knew that this grand display was only a hint of its true potential.

“What is it?” Arnaud rose to his feet, hand on his sword, looking for an enemy to slay.