Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

Our child . So she was to be nothing but a royal broodmare. For the first time in her young life, Nalia felt the beginnings of true anger.

Your friend Niryn has been in my bed more times than I can count! How she longed to shout it, but again the icy coldness stopped her lips and her breath with it. She pressed a hand to her useless mouth as tears of frustration and fear rolled down her cheeks.

Korin noticed her distress and to his credit, she saw genuine concern in those dark eyes. “Please don’t cry, lady. I know this is all very sudden.” Then he spoiled it again, when he stood to go and added, “It’s not my choice, either. But we must think of Skala.”

Alone again, she’d pulled the covers over her head and sobbed. She had no family, no protectors, no friend to turn to.

She wept long into the night, and fell asleep on the sodden pillow. When she woke at dawn, she found she was still alone and had no tears left.

She went to the east window, watching the sky brighten over the Inner Sea. Men with red hawks on their breasts patrolled the walls below, while the true birds rode the morning breeze in freedom beyond.

I’ve never been free , she realized. It had all been an illusion and she’d been such a contented fool. The anger she’d felt last night returned, stronger now. If she had no one to look to for help, then she must look after herself. She was not a child, after all. And she was done being a fool.

Vena and Alin hadn’t been allowed to come back yet, so she dressed herself and went to the writing desk. If she could not speak the truth to the prince, then she would write him a letter.

But whoever had bespelled her had been very clever. Her hand froze above the page and the ink in the quill went dry at each attempt. With a frightened cry, Nalia threw the pen down and backed away from the table. Niryn had entertained her with tales of great magic ever since she was a child, but she’d never witnessed anything more powerful than a festival conjurer’s tricks. This felt more like a curse. She tried to speak the words again, alone here in the stillness of her room. King Korin, I am not a virgin . But the words would not come. She thought again of that strange sensation that had overtaken her the first time she’d tried to confess the truth to him, the way it had coursed down through her body.

“Oh Dalna!” she whispered, sinking to her knees. With trembling fingers, she reached beneath her shift, then let out a frightened sob. “Maker’s Mercy!”

She was cursed indeed, and a virgin again. That had been the first time she’d thought of the balcony, and the long drop below.

Her nurse and page never returned. Instead, wrinkled old Tomara was sent up to serve her and keep her company.

“Where are my own servants?” Nalia demanded angrily.

“I don’t know anything about any other servants, Highness,” the old woman replied. “I was fetched up from the village and told I was to wait on a great lady. I haven’t done since my mistress passed some years ago, but I can still mend and braid. Come now, let me brush out your pretty hair for you, won’t you?”

Tomara was gentle and neat-handed, and there was nothing in her manner to dislike, but Nalia missed her own servants. She suffered through her toilet, then took her place by the window, trying to see what was going on below. She could see riders milling about and hear them on the road beyond the walls.

“Do you know what’s happened?” she asked at last, with no one else to talk to.

“Ero’s fallen, and a traitor is trying to claim the throne, Highness,” Tomara told her, looking up from a piece of embroidery. It appeared to be a bridal veil.

“Do you know who Lord Niryn is?”

“Why, he’s the king’s wizard, lady!”

“Wizard?” For a moment Nalia thought her heart had stopped beating. A wizard. And one powerful enough to serve a king.

“Oh, yes! He saved King Korin’s life at Ero and got him away before the Plenimarans could capture him.”

Nalia considered this, putting it together with the disheveled man who’d come to her last night. He ran away, this new king of mine. He lost the city and ran away. And I’m the best he can do for a wife!

The bitter thought was balm on her wounded heart. It gave her the strength not to scream and throw herself at Niryn when he came to her later that morning, to escort her to the priest.

She had no proper wedding dress. She’d put on the best gown she owned, and the hastily stitched veil Tomara had made for her. She didn’t even have a proper wreath. Tomara brought her a simple circlet of braided wheat.

There were no gaily attired attendants or musicians, either. Men with swords escorted her to the great hall. The midday light streaming in through the few narrow windows only made the shadows deeper. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw that the wedding guests were all soldiers and servants. The priest of Dalna stood by the hearth, and with him were a handful of young nobles, the Companions.

With no father to speak for her, Nalia was given over by Niryn, and had no choice but to obey. When the blessings had been said and Korin took a jeweled ring from his own finger and slid it loosely on her own, she found she was a wife, and Princess Consort of Skala.

Afterward, as they sat over a meager feast, she was introduced to the Companions. Lord Caliel was tall and fair, with a kind, rather sad face. Lord Lutha was hardly more than a boy, gangly and a bit on the homely side, but with such a ready smile that she found herself smiling back and taking his hand. His squire, a brown-eyed boy named Barieus, had the same kind look about him. The two others, Lord Alben and Lord Urmanis, were more what she’d expected; proud and handsome, and doing little to disguise their disdain for her plain looks. Even their squires were rude.

Finally, Korin presented his swordmaster, a grizzled old warrior named Porion. The man was pleasant and respectful, but hardly more than a common soldier, yet Korin treated him with the utmost respect. Taken all together, with Niryn’s wizards, too, it was an odd assembly that surrounded her young husband. Nalia pondered this as she picked listlessly at her roast lamb.

When the meal was over she was left to herself in the tower again, until nightfall. Tomara had found oils and perfume somewhere in this awful place. She prepared Nalia for her marriage bed, then slipped away.

Nalia lay rigid as a corpse. She had no illusions and knew her duty. When the door opened at last, however, it was not Korin but Niryn who entered and came to stand over her bed.

“You!” she hissed, shrinking back against the bolsters. “You viper! You betrayer!”

Niryn smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Now, now. Is that any way to speak to your benefactor, my dear?”

“Benefactor? How can you say that? If I had a dagger I would plunge it into your heart, so that you might feel a fraction of the pain you’ve caused me!”

His red beard caught the candle’s glow as he shook his head. There was a time when she’d found that color beautiful. “I saved your life, Nalia, when you would have died in the king’s purges. Your mother and all her kin were killed, but I protected and nurtured you, and now I’ve seen you made Consort. Your children will rule Skala. How is that a betrayal?”

“I loved you! I trusted you! How could you let me think you were my lover when you never meant to keep me?” She was crying, and hated herself for her weakness.

Niryn reached out and caught one of her tears with a fingertip. He held it up to the candlelight, admiring it like a rare jewel. “I must confess a bit of weakness on my part. You were such a dear, affectionate little thing. If Korin had found himself a suitable bride, who knows? I might even have kept you for myself.”