Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“I love you , Ki! If he’d killed you, I wouldn’t have wanted to live.”

Ki’s fingers tightened on hers again. “Know the feeling.”

She took an unsteady breath and smiled. “You called me ‘Tob’ when you woke up.”

He let out a faint laugh. “Knock on the head. Scrambled my brains.”

She hesitated, then asked softly, “Am I Tamír to you now?”

Ki studied her face in the dim light, then gave her a sleepy smile. “You’ll always be both, deep down. But it’s Tamír I see, and Tamír I kiss.”

A weight lifted from Tamír’s heart, not only from the words, but the warmth in his voice and eyes. “I don’t ever want to be without you!” The words tumbled out in a rush, and she couldn’t hold them back. “I hate having you sleep in other rooms, and feeling bad every time I touch you. I hate not knowing what we are to each other anymore. I—”

Ki squeezed her hand again. “Guess I better marry you and clear things up, eh?”

Tamír stared at him. “You’re delirious!”

The smile turned to a grin. “Maybe, but I know what I’m saying. Will you have me?”

A heady mix of joy and fear made her feel faint. “But what about—” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “With me?”

“We’ll manage. What do you say? Will the Queen of Skala take a grass knight son of a horse thief for her consort?”

She let out a shaky laugh. “You, and no other. Not ever.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

Tamír shifted her back more comfortably against the pack, with Ki’s head resting on her chest. It felt good, just as it used to, and yet different, too.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s settled.”

Mahti paused near the edge of the forest, looking back at the scattered fires and the distant glow inside the tent. Beyond lay the battlefield, where the spirits of the newly dead writhed and twisted like wisps of fog the rain could not dispel.

“Why, Great Mother, should we help such a people?” he whispered, shaking his head. But there was no answer for him, and no companion, either. Lhel was gone as surely as the demon spirit was gone. He wondered if he would meet her again, in the eyes of a child?

Gaining the cover of the trees a thought struck him and he stopped again and ran his hands carefully over the length of his oo’lu. It was still sound, with no sign of any cracking.

He smiled wryly as he shouldered it and continued toward the mountains. His journeying was not over yet. He didn’t mind, really. It was a good, strong horn. He only wondered who his new guide would be.

Tamír held Ki all night and kept him awake talking of the battle and her plans for a new city. They both shyly avoided the understanding they’d arrived at. It was too new, too fragile to dwell on with so much still before them. Watching Ki retch into a helmet was not conducive to such thoughts; either. His right cheek and eye were badly bruised, and his eye had swollen shut.

By dawn he was exhausted and uncomfortable but more alert. The rain had let up and they could hear people moving about outside, and the moans of the wounded. The smell of rank smoke came to them on the breeze, carried from the first of the pyres.

Lynx brought them breakfast—bread and a bit of good lamb stew sent up by the captain of one of the Gedre ships. He also had a healing tonic for Ki. He helped him drink it, then grinned. “You look like hell.”

Ki tried to scowl, grimaced in pain instead, and held up the middle finger of his good hand.

Lynx chuckled. “You are feeling better.”

“How are the others?” Tamír asked as she traded spoonfuls of the stew with Ki.

“Well enough. We’ve got pyres ready for Korin and the others. They’re eager to see you both, if you’re up to it.”

The tent wasn’t large enough for everyone, so Tamír stepped outside to make room. Lynx came out, too, and stood quietly by as she stretched the stiffness from her back. Tents had sprung up overnight, and more were being set up. The drysians were at work among the hundreds of wounded still in the open, and in the distance columns of black smoke rose against the morning sky. Several large pyres stood a little way off near the cliff edge. One was decorated with Korin’s banner and shield.

The clouds were shredding away in long tatters that promised better weather, and the dark blue sea was flecked with white.

“Looks like we finally get to dry out,” she murmured.

“A good thing, too. I’ve got moss on my ass.” Lynx gave her a sidelong glance and she caught his slight smile. “Are you two going to make an announcement or wait until we get back to Atyion?”

“You heard?” She could feel her cheeks going warm.

“No, but I’ve got eyes. Nik and I have had bets on it since we left Alestun. So it’s true? Ki finally came around?”

“You could say that.”

“About time, too.”

Her gaze strayed to the shrouded bodies still lying nearby. Tanil and Caliel were still there, keeping watch. “Don’t say anything yet. Korin should have proper mourning. He was a prince, after all.”

“And a friend.” Lynx’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper and he looked away. “If I hadn’t gone with you that night—”

“I am glad you ended up on my side. Are you?”

“I suppose I am.” He sighed and glanced back at Caliel and Tanil. “It’ll be harder for them.”

They burned Korin and the others that afternoon, with all the Companions as honor guard. Ki insisted on being carried out, and kept watch with them from a litter until his strength gave out. Caliel stood dry-eyed; Tanil was calm, but stunned.

Tamír and the others cut their horses’ manes and cast the strands on the pyres. Tamír cast in a lock of her own hair for Korin, Porion, and Lorin.

The fires burned all day and through most of the night, and when the ashes had cooled they were gathered in clay vessels to be carried away to the families of the dead. Tamír took Korin’s into her tent.

In answer to the question that had hung unanswered between her and Ki, and perhaps the whole camp by now, she spread her bedroll by his that night, and slept at his side, holding his hand.

Nalia woke in darkness to shouting and the sounds of horses in the courtyard below. For one startled instant she thought she must be dreaming of the night Korin first arrived.

Trembling, she sent Tomara off for news, then threw on a dressing gown and hurried out to the balcony. There were only a handful of riders there. She could not make out what was being said, but it did not sound like victory. When Tomara still did not return, she dressed quickly and sat down by the fire, toying nervously with the strand of pearls on her breast.

Her fears were confirmed. The door burst open and Lord Alben staggered in, leaning heavily on Tomara. His face and clothes were bloody, and his hair was tangled around his pale face.

“Tomara, fetch Lord Alben water, and wine! My lord, sit, please.”

Alben collapsed into the armchair and for a time they could get no sense out of him. Tomara bathed his face in rosewater to revive him while Nalia hovered anxiously, wringing her hands.

At last Alben recovered enough to speak. “Majesty!” he gasped, and his sudden tears confirmed their worst imaginings. “The king is dead!”

“We’re lost!” Tomara wailed. “Oh, my lady, what will become of you?”

Nalia sank down on a stool beside the distraught man, feeling faint and numb all at once. “When, my lord? How did he die?”

“Two—no, it’s three days now, at the hand of the traitor Tobin. I came away at once to warn you.” He clutched her hand more tightly. “You’re in danger here. You must flee!”