Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

Caliel gave her a questioning look, but did as she asked, drawing Tanil along by the arm. “My lords, will you become the liegemen of Lady Nalia, and protect her and her child as long as they are in need of you?”

“We will, Majesty,” Caliel replied as understanding dawned. “You are most kind.”

“That’s settled, then,” Tamír said. “You see, my lady, you are not without friends at my court. Lord Lutha also holds you in high esteem. I hope you will call him friend, as well.”

Nalia curtsied again, her eyes bright with tears. “Thank you, Majesty. I hope—” She paused and Tamír saw how her gaze strayed to the funeral jar. “I hope one day I may understand, Majesty.”

“I hope so, too. Tomorrow we will start the march back to Atyion. Dine with me tonight and rest well.”

Tamír made her farewells to the Aurënfaie that evening, exchanged oaths and treaties with them before her nobles and wizards. After they’d taken their leave, she saw Nalia to her tent, then turned with Ki for their own. Arkoniel took note of the arrangement but only smiled.

While the rest of the army made ready to march the next morning, Arkoniel and Tamír rode back to the cliffs above the harbor. Reining in, they gazed out across the water in silence. They could just make out the sails of the Gedre ships in the distance, speeding homeward under a clear sky.

“It’s not a bad configuration for a seaport, if you mean to trade mostly with the ’faie,” Arkoniel noted. “What about the rest of Skala?”

“I’ll find a way,” she mused. “It will be harder for the Plenimarans to surprise us here. I’ve been scouting while you were gone. Mahti was right. There’s good water, and good soil, too, and plenty of stone and forest for building.” She looked around, eyes shining with anticipation. “I can already see it, Arkoniel! It will be better than Ero ever was.”

“A great, shining city, with a castle of wizards at its heart,” Arkoniel murmured, smiling.

As a child, Tamír had thought him very homely and awkward, and often rather foolish. She saw him with different eyes now, or perhaps he’d changed as much as she had. “You’ll help me build it, won’t you?”

“Of course.” He glanced at her and smiled as he added, “Majesty.”

Arkoniel could already see the walls rising, too, and already imagined the safe haven they would create for all the wandering wizards, and all the lost children like Wythnir and the others. He felt the weight of the travel-stained bag against his knee, still hanging from his saddlebow as it had from Iya’s. He would make a safe place for that burden, too. He didn’t mind it so much now. Still dangerous and baffling, the ugly, evil bowl joined him to Iya and the Guardians who’d come before—and to all who would come after, too. Perhaps Wythnir had come to him for that purpose, to be the next Guardian?

“I will serve you always, Tamír, daughter of Ariani,” he murmured. “I will give you wizards the like of which the Three Lands have never seen.”

“I know.” She went quiet again and he sensed she was working up to something. “Ki and I are going to be married.”

He chuckled at her shyness. “I should certainly hope so. Lhel would be so disappointed if you didn’t.”

“She knew?”

“She saw it even when you were children. She liked him very much. Even Iya had to admit that he was more than he seemed at first.” He paused and chuckled softly. “Turnips, vipers, and moles.”

“What?”

“Oh, just something she said. Ki was the only boy she thought worthy of you.”

“I never have understood her.” She trailed off, and he guessed that she was uncomfortable speaking of Iya to him.

“It’s all right, Tamír.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I dreamed of this place so often. Ki was with me and I’d try to kiss him, but I always fell over the cliff or woke up before I could. Visions are odd things, aren’t they?”

“They are indeed. The gods show us a possible future, but nothing is ever fixed. It’s up to us to grasp those dreams and shape them. There’s always a choice to be made.”

“If that’s true, then I could have chosen to run away, couldn’t I? There were so many times when I thought of it.”

“Perhaps the Lightbearer chose you because you wouldn’t.”

She stared thoughtfully out over the sea for some time, then nodded. “I think you’re right.”

She looked around one last time, and Arkoniel saw the future in those blue eyes before she laughed and kicked her horse into a gallop.

Arkoniel laughed too, long and gladly, and followed her, as he always would.

Only sheep wander the Palatine now, and even Atyion has faded. Remoni became Rhíminee to suit Skalan tongues, but the meaning remains the same. Good water. Rhíminee, the life spring of Skala’s golden age.

‘We wizards are stones in a river’s course, watching the rush of life whirl past.’

I think of your words often, Iya, as I walk the streets of Tamír’s shining city. From my balcony I can still trace the walls she laid out that year, with a spring at its center. The old city lies like the yolk in an egg surrounded by the additions of her successors. I know it would please her to see the building continue. That was her true calling, after all, even more than warrior or queen.

To the north, where Cirna fortress stood, lies the great canal we hewed for her, the first gift of the Third Orëska to the new capital. Her statue still guards it, carved when she was older. How often I’ve gazed up into that solemn face; but in my heart she will always be sixteen, standing with Ki in a swirl of bright autumn leaves as they declare their union before the people, with all their friends around them.

Tamír and Ki. Queen and Consort. Fast friends and peerless warriors until the end. The two of you are forever entwined in my heart. Your descendents are strong and beautiful and honorable. I still catch glimpses of you both in eyes of darkest blue or brown.

Rhíminee has forgotten the others—Tharin, the Companions, Niryn. Rhius and Ariani. Erius and Korin are shadowed names in the lineage, a cautionary tale. Even you, Tamír—Tamír the Great, they call you now—you are only a half-told tale. Just as well. Brother and Tobin are the twin darknesses at the heart of the pearl; it’s only the luster that matters.

An infant’s brief cry still haunts my dreams, but the last echoes will die with me. What Tamír built lives on, and carries her love and the love of those who stood by her into the future.

Some of you observant readers, having just turned the last page, may well be asking yourselves, “But what about that wretched bowl Iya made such a fuss over? What was that all about?”

Arkoniel couldn’t have told you that, because he never knew. Instead he kept it safe, as he’d been charged, and let the knowledge of it fade away with the years. He was a Guardian, after all, but not the last. What the bowl really is and what became of it is someone else’s tale to tell, long after the time of this trilogy.

You will find those answers in two of my other books, Luck in the Shadows and Stalking Darkness . I hope you enjoy the quest!