Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

Duke Illardi had proven his worth at Ero, and she appointed him her Lord Chancellor. Tharin was pressed into accepting the title of duke at last, and made Lord Protector of Atyion, charged with the defense of the castle and the queen’s person. Ki stubbornly refused any change in his status and told her so in no uncertain terms when they were alone.

Nikides also remained a Companion for now, but accepted an appointment as Royal Secretary, overseeing her correspondence and petitions. He, in turn, would organize the many scribes required.

At Tamír’s suggestion, one of his first choices was young Bisir, whom she’d known in Lord Orun’s household. She had not forgotten his kindness, or his company the winter he’d gotten snowed in with them at the keep.

“You do me too great an honor, Majesty!” he exclaimed when he presented himself at court at her summons. He was still pretty and soft-spoken, but the kindness he’d known from her, and from the woman who’d taken on his training here in Atyion had driven the haunted look from him at last.

“Those were dark days for both of us,” she reminded him. “You were one of the few who showed me any kindness. But you also saw many of the most scheming lords among his friends. I’ll rely on that knowledge. You are to alert me to anyone you recognize and tell me all you can of their dealings with my guardian and my uncle.”

Bisir nodded gravely. “I never thought I would be grateful for my service there, Majesty. I am honored to be of use to you.”

There were also the wizards to consider. Many of her nobles, who hadn’t been with her at Ero, still had a strong distrust of wizards.

“It’s important that we be seen as your allies, just the same as your generals,” Iya advised. “Niryn left a bad taste in people’s mouths. The Third Orëska must be seen to be loyal and above reproach.”

“I will rely on you to make certain they are,” Tamír replied.

Lytia had found comfortable rooms for them in the west tower, overlooking one of the private garden courts.

Tamír made a point of visiting the hall where the wizards practiced and found a warm welcome there, especially among the children. They delighted in showing off newly learned skills, and happily spun acorns and spoons in the air for her, and showed her how they could make fire without flint or wood.

Messengers arrived almost daily with word from towns along the coast and the western hills. The harvests were good, and no plague had come, even during the dog days of summer. There were still too many empty villages, and too many orphans and widows on the roads, but a new sense of hope flowed out from Atyion.

Tamír shared in that hope for the land, but for herself there was less joy.

Her friendship with Ki was no secret to anyone. He was at her side constantly and had the room next to hers. The other Companions were housed along the same corridor, but none of them excited the sort of gossip that he did. Jealous courtiers whispered “grass knight” and “queen’s favorite” thinking she would not hear of it. But she did, and so did Ki. He bore it stoically, but wouldn’t talk about it, not even to her. Instead, he became more careful and spent less time alone with her in her room, finding excuses to include Lynx and the others, and leaving her when they did. They rode and sparred and practiced their archery together, as they always had, but the tenuous thread of attraction she’d thought she’d felt that last night together seemed to have broken. Alone in the huge bed with only Baldus and the cat for company, Tamír bore the nightmares and visitations from Brother in silence, torn between hurt and concern for her friend’s honor and too proud to ask anyone else for help. She thought nothing of it; since childhood, she’d suffered such burdens alone.

Even so, the pain did not go away. Sometimes, unable to sleep, she shyly explored her body with her hands beneath the covers, testing its curves and folds with trembling fingertips. Her breasts were a bit rounder, but still small. Her hipbones and ribs were as sharp beneath her skin as they had ever been, though, and women’s girdles had been taken in to keep them from slipping off her narrow hips. Tobin’s hips, she thought darkly. Hardest of all to touch was the hidden cleft between her legs. Even after all these months, she felt the lack of what had been there before, still missed the comforting weight of cock and balls against her thigh. Behind the downy triangle of soft hair that remained, there was only a mysterious cleft she could hardly bear to touch. She made herself do it now, though, and gasped at the textures and sensations there. It was warm, and moist, not at all like it had been before, and left the smell of the ocean on her fingers. She turned on her stomach and buried her burning face in the coolness of her pillow, unable to bear the powerful mix of wonder and revulsion she felt.

What am I, really?

And close on the heels of that, What does he really see when he looks at me? Is that why he stays away?

Never had she missed Lhel more. Who else would understand? Lying in the dark, fighting back tears, she vowed to go back to the keep as soon as she could. It was almost a relief when Brother came whispering that night.

“What do you see when you look at me?” she demanded softly.

What I always see, Sister , he replied. I see the one who has my life. When will you let me rest?

“I want you to be free,” she told him. “I want us both to be free. Can’t you tell me anything more?”

But as always, he was no help at all.

By day she had no choice but to put such thoughts out of her mind, but there were daylight worries to take their place. As the weeks passed, she searched the audience chamber for her herald, but there was no sign of him.

Arkoniel noticed her distraction and drew her aside into the gallery one day after the morning’s audience. Ki followed, as usual. In daylight he was her faithful shadow.

“You haven’t been reading my thoughts have you?” she demanded suspiciously.

“Of course not. I merely took note of your obvious disappointment each time a herald arrives.”

“Oh. Well, you might as well know, I wrote Korin a letter.”

“Ah, I see. You still think Korin can be reasoned with?”

“Maybe, if I could get him away from Niryn.”

“What do you think, Ki?” asked Arkoniel.

“Tamír knows what I think,” Ki said, frowning. “I pegged him as a weak reed from the first.”

“A weak reed?”

“It’s what my old dad used to say of a man who was too easily swayed. Korin may not be a bad sort at heart, but he’s got no grit when it matters. We saw it in that first fight we had, against those bandits, and again at Ero. And he always let Alben and the others lead him into mischief, too. Now it’s Niryn.”

“Hmm. Well, you also can’t discount the fact that Korin really does believe he’s the rightful king.”

“What else can I do?” Tamír asked, frustrated.

“Eyoli has volunteered to go north for you. I believe he can get inside the court and be your eyes and ears there. His magic is not strong enough to attract the notice of the Harriers but does allow him to move about freely.”

“Risking his life for me again?” Tamír noted. “I think he may be the bravest of all your wizards.”

“He is devoted to you and all you stand for. Shall I tell him to go?”

“Yes. If nothing else, perhaps he can tell us if Lutha and Barieus are still alive.”

When Arkoniel was gone, Ki sighed and shook his head. “If they are still with him, then it’s by choice.”

He left the rest unsaid, but she knew what he was thinking. If their friends had made that choice, then there were two more people they both dreaded having to face in battle.