The Royal Wizard (9 page)

Nia gaped at him and then laughed. “What are you wearing?”

Saeran grinned. Now lying on the bench, he inspected his tattered sleeve and breeches torn off at one calf. He looked absolutely bedraggled. “A disguise,” he told. “Someone should have told you, child, I am the king. The only way to do anything without being noticed is to wear a disguise.”

“My sincerest sympathies, your Majesty,” she said. “And yet…” Without warning she pushed him off the bench to the ground. “If you insist on dressing as a commoner, you’d best get used to being treated as one.” Then she regally seated herself on the bench he’d vacated.

Saeran pulled on her hair in retaliation as he sat next to her from the other side.

“I smell sheep’s dung,” she noted absently.

“It is part of the disguise,” he replied in kind.

“I’m sure.”

After a moment of easy silence, Saeran shifted with a wince. “I would like to continue my lessons.”

Nia nodded. “You have practiced on your own.” He had somehow known where she was hiding in the banquet hall. “You notice things now that not many others do.”

Saeran shrugged. “Well, I notice the obvious. When a hall full of people shifts to leave a sizable portion of empty space, one tends to wonder why.” Nia pushed at him, but the grin he gave her faded too quickly. “I tried to…the time. I could not make it stop again.”

Nia didn’t look at him. “Neither could I.” Though she doubted her methods were the same as his. She wasn’t as oblivious as she might sometimes appear. There were several maids and ladies tittering to others about the young king’s robust spirit. While she’d searched her books and scrolls for the smallest hint to explain what had happened, Saeran had gone around kissing strange women, and Nia did not like it. Not at all.

But that was neither here nor there. Unknown magic was unpredictable. Something like this could happen again, trap them in time somehow, and what if they never got out?

She drew her knee onto the bench to face him. As she did so, she changed. Her robes disappeared, replaced by a simple peasant’s dress, her hair pleated itself into a rope to hang down her back and shoes melted from her feet. “I tried to find an explanation in the scrolls. There isn’t one. Any reference to time always says the same. It cannot, and should not, be tampered with.”

“Then how do you explain what happened?”

“I don’t,” she said, frustrated at her own shortcoming. “I can’t.”

“Perhaps we should try to do it again.”

“Again? I don’t even know how we did it the first time.”

We kissed.
Neither of them said it. The knowledge was simply there.

“We cannot,” she said, straightening in her seat again.

Saeran swung his leg over to straddle the bench and face her. “Why? Keep in mind, Nia, you speak to a man from a royal lineage. A king. And I do not like being denied.”

“In your place, I would start getting used to it. I am not here for your amusement. If that is what you want, there is a bevy of willing bodies for you to seek out. I hear you have already given some a try. I am sure they would welcome you back with open arms.”

Saeran reached out to her face, but a small blue spark burned his fingers, her way of refusing his touch. Saeran pulled back with a huff. “Nia, face me.”

She didn’t move.

“Please,” he said.

Nia hesitated, but as much as she felt like a spurned lover, she wasn’t. Saeran was her king and she’d sworn to serve him. A tantrum was not acceptable behavior from a wizard. Once she had convinced herself of this, she turned only her face toward him.

“You misunderstand my intentions. A bevy of willing bodies? That is not what I want. Not from you.”

 “Then what do you want?”

“I want you to look at me and see a man, not a king. I want you to laugh with me and talk with me, to be my companion and friend.”

He shouldn’t be saying such things. There had to be balance between justice and magic. Her duty was not only to the king, but to all of Wilderheim, and Nia had to be able to put the needs of the kingdom above Saeran’s if it came to that. Her heart was not hers to share.

“I need your magic, Nia,” he said, “but I also need you. Let me be your friend. Let me hold you when you need to be held. Like that day in the woods.” He reached out again. “Let me kiss you—”

“Why?” Nia cried. He had to know this couldn’t be! He would have to take a wife soon, a princess or noble who would give him more land and wealth, make him a stronger king and give him heirs. Saeran had far more obligations as king than he knew, and no matter how sincerely he looked into her eyes now, Nia had no place in his future, except as a wizard.

“Because,” he said fiercely, cupping her face in his hands, “the first time we kissed time stopped. That has to mean something.”

Humans ever lived at the whim of the gods. They toyed with lives, gambled for destinies. They could be unrepentantly cruel or generous beyond one’s wildest dreams. But one never knew which of the two would be their lot.

Nia had felt something when Saeran kissed her. Something too powerful to be imagined and too subtle to be the result of a spell. Time had stopped, and she had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t have if anyone but Saeran had kissed her.

How was she supposed to explain that?

She wasn’t. The kingdom had to come first. As much as she wanted to believe Saeran cared for her, a deep sense of unease held her back. Something was coming and she wasn’t sure either of them was truly prepared for it. Saeran would need a wizard at his side, a weapon and a tool. Not a friend. Not a lovesick girl dreaming of a star she would never be allowed to touch.

When he leaned closer, Nia covered his hands with hers and pulled them away. Stroking his cheek, trying to ignore that bewildered, hurt look in his eyes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “May Woden smile upon your reign, your Majesty. May you never have the need to go to war again, and may your kingdom love you and prosper. Let Freyr send you a woman to love and cherish and give you heirs. For it can never be me.”

Rising to her feet, Nia became the royal wizard once again, her robes flowing around her and her hair shining silver in the moonlight. Her gait was fluid as she walked away, carried by magic when her step faltered.

“What about my lessons?” Saeran called after her.

“Tomorrow,” she replied, not trusting herself to face him again. “In the glen.”

CHAPTER 8

Nia returned to her study, never so grateful to have a sturdy door between her and the rest of the world. The torches were cold, but two dozen candles burned bright to illuminate the space. In the past, this must have been a prison, perhaps even a torture chamber. There were still metal rings embedded in the stone walls from which shackles could be hung. The archway had hinges on one side and a hole on the other where the cage door would have locked.

Instead of thieves or murderers, it now held ancient words scribed on parchment spelled to withstand the test of time. Instead of torture implements, there was a makeshift washstand, a small altar to the gods, and a table with but two chairs to it and its surface reserved only for manuscripts and tomes.

Nia had done what she could to set everything back to rights. She’d managed to repair many of the things that had been broken, but some she’d had to replace. There was a proper bed where her simple pallet used to be and a wooden chest to hold her few belongings.

She ought to be sleeping in her chamber in the castle, but she liked it here better. It was familiar. Safe. Nico’s presence was still here, a comfort to her always. The sneaky old man had left a part of himself behind. Everywhere she looked, in small cracks and crevices, Nico had stored away pockets of his magic. Perhaps nothing more than raw magic, perhaps some secret message left just for her. Nia didn’t want to disturb them to find out. As long as they were here, Nia could pretend he was only a call away.

She yawned, weary of the day, already dreading tomorrow. She had hoped Saeran would give up on this quest for magic after what happened last time. Instead it only seemed to have made him more eager. “Why does he do this?” she asked aloud, frowning.

For you,
the walls returned from all sides. Scowling, she poured water into her crystal scrying bowl and set it on the table. “Not for me,” she said. “Do you know why?”

For you,
the walls insisted.

She’d show them. Gazing deep into the bowl, she let her will sink into the water, seeking the future. “You’ll see. He does not…he cannot…”

As images began to form, her words trailed away. Instead of an older king, she saw the boy Saeran had been years ago. He was sitting at a long table with king Halden and a number of Wilderheim’s soldiers at one end. At the other sat warriors of another kind. They had shirts made of dark red cloth, and leather armor shaped like scales. They were dark skinned and black haired, in contrast to Saeran and Halden’s fair northern complexion. These had to be Aegirans.

Between the two groups was a window to another place. Nia couldn’t see into it, but she could hear the voices speaking from inside it. “You threaten us at your own peril, Farraj. You are beaten. Accept your failure with honor.”

“There is no honor in failure!” The one called Farraj snapped. “We will come. Many more. You have magic men, we bring our own. You hide in your stone houses. Where we come from, stone crumbles into sand. Nothing will stop us!”

His warriors shouted their agreement, some reaching for the curved swords strapped to their sides. There were only a handful, the ones sent back to demand recompense for the men they’d lost in the fight. It was customary in the desert lands of Aegiros for the winning side to appease the conquered with a tribute to bury the bad blood between them. Nico had made Nia learn this early on, while the war still raged. Life was precious, and no matter how foolishly lost, it had to be repaid. To deny the Aegirans this was a great affront to them, fueling their rage at having been defeated.

“You raze our cities and expect payment in return?” Manfred demanded. “By the gods, I have never been so insulted in my life! Bring your armies, Farraj. We will water our fields with their blood!”

Halden paled as the Aegirans began shouting angrily, shoving away from the table, readying to fight.

“Wait,” Saeran said. No one heard him so he stood and shouted it again. “Wait! There is another way.”

“Saeran, sit down,” Manfred ordered, but the prince would not be silenced.

Instead of listening to his father, he looked to the guard sitting at his left, a man wearing a bloody bandage over one eye. Whatever he saw in the man’s face made Saeran’s shoulders droop with a sigh. “There is a way to resolve this. Life for a life, that is what you want, Farraj, is it not?”

“
Rah!
”

Saeran held up his hands. “Then have mine.”

“No!” Halden and Manfred shouted at the same time. Halden was on his feet in an instant, trying to push the boy behind him.

“When there is no wheat to pay the life price,” Saeran said, “A marriage can be brokered between the clans to ensure peace.”

“Saeran, stop!”

But he didn’t. “I can never leave Wilderheim,” he said. “But if you will accept, I will marry a daughter of Aegiros as a symbol of peace between our kingdoms.”

Farraj stroked his beard, staring at the prince. His tribesmen whispered harsh words in his ear, clearly unhappy he was even considering Saeran’s proposal. He heard them, one and all, nodded to each in turn, but when he faced Saeran again, it was his word alone that mattered.

Manfred was rambling, saying the boy had no authority to speak on behalf of Wilderheim or Lyria. His frantic arguments only served to convince the foreigner of Saeran’s importance. That the prince hadn’t dropped his gaze from Farraj’s didn’t help matters, either.

Farraj twitched his head to the side, indicating for Saeran to meet him halfway. Each with four men behind them, the two met in the middle of the room. The Aegiran official was tall among his people, but at sixteen, Saeran was almost of a height with him. “You are correct,” Farraj said. “A marriage can end fighting. We call this
ramesh feh.
My
shansher
has two daughters. The older promised to another. You marry younger. Pay bride price. There will be peace.”

“Consider carefully, Highness,” the guard advised, but they both knew there was little more to consider. As prince and heir to the crown of Wilderheim, Saeran would have eventually had to make a politically advantageous marriage. Now would be as good a time as any. Aegiros was a kingdom of tribes bound by custom and each had a sort of king, called
shansher
.  To marry one’s daughter was equivalent to marrying a northern princess. Saeran would gain not only peace, but a powerful ally as well.

“I understand what I am doing,” Saeran replied. To Farraj he said, “No more will die.”

“No more.” The foreigner held out his hand.

Saeran stared into his eyes for a moment longer, making Farraj’s mouth twitch with amusement. When they clasped forearms, the deal was struck. Farraj touched a hand to his heart, then his forehead. He bowed to Saeran and his company before all of them walked out of the room without another word.

Nia dissolved the vision with a wordless cry, stumbling away from the table.

For you. For you. For you,
the walls chanted over and over.

Nia slapped her hands over her ears. “Stop it!”

For you. For you. For you.

Torches flared to brilliant light, burning higher and brighter than they should. The flames licked the ceiling slithering in her direction, adding their voices to the walls.

“Enough!” Furious tears blurred her vision. Her magic pulsed inside her skin, leaking from her hands, creating bursts of light and heat.

For you. For you…

Nia screamed.

The study plunged into blessed dark silence. With all the flames extinguished and the walls turned mute, nothing else dared intrude on her solitude.

Left to herself, Nia found her bed by touch, laid down upon it, and buried her face in her pillow to weep in peace.