Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

His heart was beating so hard now it hurt. He turned away, close to panic. Mixed into the confusion was a slight but unmistakable stir of arousal, something he’d never experienced around her before. Not like this.

“Tamír?” he whispered, not even sure what he wanted to say.

His only answer was the gentle sound of her sleeping breath.

Oh hell! he berated himself silently, staring up into the darkness. What am I going to do?

Tamír didn’t have any more dreams that night, and woke early the next morning, aware even before she opened her eyes that Ki had stayed with her all night. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder and she’d shifted in her sleep, letting go of his hand to wrap an arm around his waist. He was still asleep, lying on top of the covers with his head at an awkward angle against the bolsters and one hand clasping her by the elbow.

For one sleepy moment it was like any other morning when they were younger. Then she came fully awake with a start, wondering if it was better to lie still and not wake him or try to get her arm free before he realized what she’d done. Frozen with indecision, she lay there, studying the planes of his sleeping face. His long hair spread across the pillow, strands of it brushing her cheek and hand. His dark lashes looked like fine brushstrokes on parchment against his tanned skin, and a scattering of fine stubble on his chin caught the morning light. His slightly parted lips looked very soft.

So close , she thought, just like that dream she’d had so often, when they almost kissed on the cliffs above that harbor. What would it feel like? It was so tempting, just to lean a little closer and find out.

Before she could find the courage, however, his eyes fluttered open and she flinched back. His hand tightened instinctively on her arm, pinning her where she lay, a breath away. So close.

Ki’s eyes widened, then he let go and hastily slid out from under her arm, only to fall off the edge of the bed with a comical thud.

Just like my dreams , she thought, caught between laughter and hurt at his hasty withdrawal.

“Uh, good morning,” he stammered, reddening as she peered down at him.

“You—you didn’t look very comfortable—” she began, then stopped, face aflame as she saw how his nightshirt had ridden up to his waist. His exposed cock was half-erect.

She looked away quickly, tempted to burrow back under the covers until she could make sense of her unruly emotions. It doesn’t mean anything. That used to happen to me all the time before—

Ki hastily pulled down the shirt and gave her a lopsided grin. “No, I was fine. And you slept! No more nightmares?”

“No, no dreams.”

“Well— Good.” He still looked embarrassed, even with the grin. It made her feel even worse.

“I’m sorry. I should have sent you back to your own bed.”

“I didn’t mind,” he insisted. “I just— Are you hungry?”

No, I want to kiss you , she thought, annoyed.

It was a relief when he dressed and went off in search of breakfast. She hurried into her clothing, choosing a gown at random from the wardrobe and pulling it hastily over her shift. By the time he came back, she had her feelings under control again, or so she told herself.

They ate their bread and cheese and ale, and then went out together to the canopied temple in the courtyard. Little cloth banners showing Illior’s Eye and the crescent moon fluttered from the ropes and poles, some of them hardly more than rags.

One of the Afran priests sat on a low stool under the awning, anonymous in his voluminous red robe and silver mask. Tamír knew it was Imonus by his long grey hair.

The golden stele caught the morning light like a mirror. There were the prints of many fingers on the smooth surface. People touched it for luck, in prayer, in wonder. Tamír pressed her palm to it, imagining her ancestors doing the same. Perhaps it was some trick of the light, but just for an instant she thought she saw the reflection of another woman, standing just behind her. The face was indistinct, but Tamír could make out a crown and sword.

“Good morning, grandmother,” she whispered, wondering which spirit it was this time.

“Only a queen may see a queen there,” Imonus said. “It is good that you greet her with such respect. But I think you are no stranger to spirits.”

Tamír lowered her hand. “I thought maybe it was just a shadow.”

“You know better than that.” The man sounded rather amused.

It was unsettling, talking to that expressionless mask. “Can’t you take that off? There’s no one else around.”

“Not while I serve, Highness. Not even for you.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted a moment under that impassive gaze, then held up the owl feathers she’d brought. “I’ve come to make an offering and to ask a question. I don’t know the proper prayers yet, though.”

“Place your offering and ask your question. Illior will hear you.”

As Tamír bent to cast the feathers on the brazier, something flew over her shoulder and fell into it, scattering a few coals and sending up a little flurry of sparks. A gnarled little root lay shriveling in the flames. It began to smoke, then caught fire, smelling of earth and resin.

So you are here , she thought.

Brother had left such offerings at the small shrine back at the keep: roots, acorns, dead leaves, dead moles. She looked around but saw no sign of him except for the root.

“Shadows and spirits cling around you,” Imonus said softly.

A chill ran up Tamír’s spine in spite of the warm sun on the back of her neck. “Do you see my brother?”

Imonus nodded. “He has caused you great pain, and you him. He haunts you still.”

“Yes,” Tamír whispered. She gave Ki a nervous half smile and went down on one knee before the priest, so she could speak softly. “That’s why I came today. He wants something of me, but he speaks in riddles and he lies. Is there some spell you could use?”

“Do you know what it is that he desires?”

“Yes, but not how to give it to him. You serve the Oracle. Can you help me learn more?”

“I am only the servant, as you say. It is time you followed your ancestors, Tamír Ariani Agnalain, and visit Afra for yourself. The Oracle sees farther than any priest.”

“That’s days away. I have so much to do here, and I have to get my people to Atyion.”

“You must go, daughter of Ariani. Every queen has made a pilgrimage there to honor the Lightbearer’s gift and seek guidance for her reign.”

Tamír tried vainly to stifle her impatience. “Then you can’t help me?”

“I did not say that, Highness, only that I could not answer your question. There is another offering you can make. Throw a coin in the basket and I will show you.”

Tamír fished a sester from her purse and tossed it in the basket with the other money offerings. Imonus leaned down and took a small cloth packet from a covered pot by his feet. “Kneel before the brazier. Place another feather on the coals with this and bathe your face in the smoke.”

Tamír cast her offerings on the coals. The feather caught fire at once and shriveled to cinders. The incense packet burned more slowly, and released a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. Instead of rising straight up in good omen, however, it rolled off the coals in writhing tendrils like questing fingers.

“What does that mean?” Tamír asked in alarm as they coiled around her.

“It is the Lightbearer’s breath, this smoke. Breathe it in, Highness, and you may find your answer.”

With some trepidation, Tamír fanned the smoke up into her face and inhaled deeply. It was sweet and strong, but not unpleasant, though it made her a little dizzy.