The Royal Wizard (8 page)

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.

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 ceremony was a short affair. No grand speeches or oaths. It consisted of presenting the new king and Nia’s placing the crown upon his head. To make up for the lack, Manfred had commanded a feast to be held afterward in celebration of all good things.

The grand hall was filled to the brim like a giant treasure chest of jewels, and Nia didn’t know where to look first. Colors swirled all around her as jugglers, performers, flame breathers, dancers, and guests moved about. There was soft cloth everywhere, covering the walls and ceilings like a tent, and it billowed in the breeze coming in through the topmost windows, giving the illusion that everything moved.

Wine flowed freely and there was food aplenty. The tables were laden and bards played in honor of the newly crowned king. Important guests had come from all over the kingdom and beyond to witness the coronation. Two kings had come, allies of King Manfred, to witness the occasion, bringing with them their entire courts. Those who had no room in the castle took up residence with wealthy nobles in the realm. Knights set up tents in the outer bailey, leaving the inner courtyard open for fairs and more revelry.

In the chaos of merry making, rules seemed to be forgotten. Nobles mingled with commoners, men took liberties behind the cover of columns and tapestries, queens drank their fill with no regard to decorum, even allowing touches that should not have been allowed. No one seemed to mind.

Nia rose from her seat at the crowded table to find a more open spot from which to view the festivities. She found refuge in a dark corner and cast a spell to shield it and herself from sight. Safe inside her hiding place, she could see everything without being part of it.

Faces paraded before her, carefree and joyous, paying no heed to anything but their own revelry. Several times a juggler passed in front of her, or a flame breather displayed his art. Nia admired their skill. Their discipline was astonishing.

Saeran himself seemed to be everywhere at once. Several people have already commented within her hearing how unseemly it was for a king to be so restless. It was tradition for the king to sit his throne and observe the revelry, not walk about and be part of it.

Saeran happened to overhear one such comment. He turned to the man who’d spoken and raised a brow. “If you think you can sit that throne all night, take it. I will find myself a more comfortable seat.”

Nia eyed the royal seat and had to agree. It was made of black metal, its back and armrests covered with grooves and thick knot work which formed the symbols of Wilderheim. There was a thin cushion on it, but it looked no more comfortable than the rest of the throne. No wonder Saeran refused to sit on it.

Having settled that, Saeran turned to move on. He was three paces from her when he stopped and looked around, frowning. He couldn’t see her. Nor hear her, quiet as she was. Her spell was perfect. Nia had spent weeks making certain of it.

Saeran tipped his head and stepped back, looking at the wall on either side of her.

“Is something wrong, your Majesty?”

Saeran took the noble by the arm and pulled him closer. “Lord Dunbar, look at this. What do you see?”

The portly man wiggled his ruddy moustache. “Nothing, your Majesty.”

“You see the wall, do you not?”

Dunbar squinted. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Then you do not see nothing.”

“Yes, your Majesty. I mean, no, your Majesty. Is everything all right, your Majesty?”

Saeran grinned and Nia scowled at him. “Thank you, Dunbar. You have confirmed what I thought. There is nothing here to be seen.”

The celebration went on and on, even after the king and his father took their leave of the festivities. When the noise rose to an unbearable pitch, Nia left as well. She wasn’t yet ready to sleep and instead went out to the courtyard. The moon was full in the clear night sky. She lifted her face to it and breathed of the spring air. All around her everything was returning to life. The night had music of its own, and Nia could almost dance to it.

Countless stars twinkled and winked at her. They called to her, beckoned her closer.
Come fly with us,
they said, and Nia was tempted. But she knew better than to succumb to that temptation. Those who dared to fly up to the stars never returned. Some scrolls said it was because the night sky was the gateway to Valhalla, others that such beauty and splendor was unbearable and it burned the poor creature to ashes.

Yet there were stories of a wizard so pure of heart that he was accepted among the stars and became one of them. But when he began to miss his beloved, the stars returned him to the ground and he brought a piece of one with him, to gift the one he loved.

“Can you command the moon closer?”

Nia smiled, without turning to face the new king. “Of course. What sort of wizard would I be if I could not? But simply because a thing can be done does not mean it should be done.”

“A flower will not bloom simply to be plucked,” he quoted in passing.