Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

The ritual was repeated and Tyrien took his place beside Lynx.

“Welcome, my friends,” Tamír said to the new squires. “I know you will serve Skala well and be worthy of the title of Royal Companion. These are uncertain times now, and you’ll all have a chance to prove yourselves in battle soon. Fight bravely, and I’ll put in your braids myself.”

As she finished, her gaze came to rest on Ki. At his own insistence, he was still only a squire in name, but she was determined to change that. He was more to her than that, and everyone knew it.

They don’t know all of it, though , she thought, remembering her confusion when they’d woken up together that morning. I don’t even understand it completely myself .

“Majesty?” Imonus approached, holding something covered in a cloth. “I have something for you.”

He swept the cloth aside to reveal a fine helm. The steel headpiece, cheek guards, and mail neck curtain were chased with gold, and a simple golden crown encircled the brow.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“From the wagons bearing the contents of the royal catacombs, my lady. I do not know which queen it belonged to, but I suspect none of them would begrudge a kinswoman wearing it to battle. The enemy should know that they face a true queen.”

Tamír turned it over in her hands, admiring the fine metalwork. The image of Illior’s dragon stood rampant in gold on the cheek pieces. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Imonus bowed. “It will do until the true crown graces your brow.”

Baldus was fairly bouncing with excitement when she and Ki reached her room. “Highness, look, look what’s arrived and just in time for the battle!”

“She’s Majesty now,” Ki informed him as Tamír strode over to the bed with a happy gasp.

The seamstresses of Illardi’s house had been busy. A new silk tabard was worked beautifully with her arms, and a new banner was spread out across the bed beside it.

Tamír sent Baldus out, wanting a last moment alone with Ki.

His blood was up and his eyes were shining in a way she hadn’t seen in weeks. “You’re looking forward to this.”

“So are you.”

She grinned. “It should be a nice change from complaining millers.”

“It’s going to be a tough fight if the wizards counted right.”

“But we’re better rested and can meet them in place.”

“Old Raven would be proud of you. You were good at your history and warfare lessons.” He paused and eyed her closely. “You’ve got something on your mind besides the battle.”

Tamír hesitated, wondering how to broach the issue of Ki’s promotion to him. “It came to me during the investitures. I’ve no business treating you like a squire. You’re as dear to me as—” She paused, and felt herself blushing. “As Caliel is to Korin,” she finished quickly. “It’s not right, after all we’ve been through together.”

Ki’s brown eyes narrowed. “No.”

“You’d still be—”

“No, Tamír!” He folded his arms, mouth set in a stubborn line. “We’ve both had enough changes to last us a while. This isn’t the time for you to break in some green squire.”

“You’re as bad as Tharin.”

“He stayed your father’s man, didn’t he? There’s no shame in it.”

“Of course not, but you deserve more respect. So does he.”

“I’m at your side, Tamír. If people don’t respect that, then to hell with them. I’ve never cared what anyone thinks and you know it.”

That was a lie, of course. Taunts of “grass knight” and “horse thief’s brat” had cut him to the quick, even if he’d been too proud to say so.

Can a queen take her squire for a consort? Blushing again at the unbidden thought, she turned and pretended to admire the new tabard. She’d let Ki have his way for now, but sooner or later she’d see him raised to his proper place. And anyone who wanted to remember him as a grass knight then could go to Bilairy.

Iya and several other wizards had kept on with their watching and sent word that the Plenimarans meant to make landfall exactly where Tamír had foreseen.

The sun was at its zenith and the house was sweltering as Ki helped her on with her padded tunic and Aurënfaie chain mail. Sweating in his own armor, he tugged her burnished cuirass snugly into place, making sure there was the least gap possible on either side. The elegant goldwork on the breastplate caught the light. This armor, like the helm, had been made for a woman warrior and accented the slight curve of her bosom with glinting steel and tracery. She felt rather self-conscious about that. Still, she couldn’t resist stealing a sidelong look in the mirror.

Ki laughed as he dropped the silk tabard over her head. “Pretty taken with yourself, ain’t you?”

Tamír scowled at her reflection. “Do I look like a queen?”

Ki clapped the new helm on her head. “You do now, except for the Sword.”

“I still have a good one.” She drew her blade and held it up. It had been her father’s.

Ki clasped her shoulder. “He’d be proud of you, and so would your mother, too, I bet, if she could see you now.”

Tamír wished she could believe that. “Let’s go,” she said. “I want to be well placed when our guests show up.”

The Companions and standard-bearers stood ready in the courtyard. Arkoniel, Saruel, and Kiriar were with them. The wizards wore no armor but were dressed for swift riding. The Khatme still wore her long dark gown, but sat astride with her skirts pulled back over tall riding boots.

“How is Iya?” she asked Arkoniel.

“Exhausted.”

“You’ve been using magic, too. Aren’t you tired?”

Arkoniel smiled. “I’ve been at different tasks, and they were not as taxing. I’m ready for battle. We all are.”

“My Orëska wing,” she said, smiling. “May Sakor join with Illior for your work today.”

Lynx was holding her mount. She missed her old horse, Gosi, who’d been missing since Ero fell, but the little palfrey wouldn’t have been suited for this sort of work. She rode a tall black Aurënfaie stallion named Midnight now, from her Atyion herds. He was trained for battle: swift, responsive, with no hint of skittishness. She’d seen to it that Ki had a horse of equal mettle, a fine bay named Swift.

She made a last offering at the shrine of the Four and was glad to see the smoke from Sakor’s brazier float straight up, an auspicious sign before battle. She also stopped at the stele and burned incense and owl feathers there. The smoke caressed her again, but the Lightbearer had no more visions for her.

She rode out the gate to take her place at the head of the mounted column, and a huge cheer went up from the riders and the other warriors who stood watching. The banners of her lords fluttered above the ranks in a stiff sea breeze, bright against the morning sky.

“Ta- mír ! Ta -mír ! Ta -mír !” The chant sent a chill up her spine.

She rose in the saddle and saluted them. The cheering swelled as she kicked her mount into a gallop and rode for the head of the column.

A calm certainty settled over her, as it always did at such moments. This is what I was born for .

They reached the cove just before nightfall and Tamír sent out scouts to look for advance forces. On the horizon, she could just make out a few dark shapes.

Arkoniel verified them as enemy ships. “They must mean to come ashore after dark, just as you foresaw.”

“Yes.” The three-quarter moon was rising behind the ships. It had been much higher in the vision. “I want the riders held back a quarter mile. The archers will lie low along the head of the beach here. Do you know yet if they have wizards with them?”