Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

The fire had gone out and the tiny cell was cold as a tomb. Wythnir was still asleep, curled up tightly under the blankets. Arkoniel placed a few logs on the hearth and cast a spell. He seldom wasted magic on anything as mundane as a morning fire, but he was too dispirited to make the effort with flint and tinder. The logs caught and a bright blaze flared up.

“Master?” Wythnir sat up, looking worried. “Did the queen really send Iya away?”

Arkoniel sat on the edge of the bed and handed him a bit of his breakfast. “Yes, but it’s all right.”

“Why did she do that?”

“I’ll tell you another time. Eat. We’re leaving soon.”

Wythnir nibbled dutifully at the cheese.

Arkoniel was still wearing Iya’s cloak. Her scent clung to the wool. That, and the worn old bag lying next to his bed, were all he had left of a lifetime together, it seemed.

Iya had been right, of course. Under normal circumstances he would have left her at the end of his training and gone his own way; but events had kept them together and, somehow, he’d always imagined that they would remain so, especially once they began gathering other wizards to them.

A small hand closed over his. “I’m sorry you’re so sad, Master.”

Arkoniel gathered him close and rested his face against the boy’s hair. “Thank you. I’ll miss her.”

He couldn’t find much of an appetite. As he threw his uneaten bread into the fire, Tamír slipped in without knocking.

“Good morning.” He attempted a smile, but it did not come easily, not with his heart still aching at her treatment of Iya. “Wythnir, the queen and I must speak alone. Go finish your breakfast in the big room.” The boy slid out of bed at once, still in his long shirt. Arkoniel wrapped him in Iya’s cloak and let him go.

Tamír closed the door after him and leaned against it, arms folded tight across the front of her tunic. “I’ve sent Una and some riders to muster the southern holdings. I’m readying for war as soon as we reach Atyion.”

“That’s good.”

She just stood there a moment, then sighed. “I’m not sorry, you know, about Iya. Brother wanted me to kill her. Sending her away—it was the best I could do.”

“I know. She understood.”

“But I guess—well, I’m glad you’re still here, even if we can’t be friends any longer.”

Some part of him wanted to reassure her, but the words would not come. “Is that why you’re here?”

“No. She said I had to keep you because of the vision you had here. I’d like to hear more about that.”

“Ah. It was Iya who was given the vision of the white palace. But she saw me there. I was a very old man, with a young apprentice by my side. The great house was filled with wizards and wizard-born children, all gathered there to learn and share their power in safety, for the good of the land.”

“Your Third Orëska.”

“Yes.”

“Where is it to be? In Atyion?”

“No. Iya said she saw a new, beautiful city on a high cliff overlooking the sea, above a deep harbor.”

She looked up at that. “Then you think this city doesn’t exist yet?”

“No. As I said, I was a very old man in her vision.”

She looked disappointed.

“What is it, Tamír?”

She rubbed absently at the small scar on her chin. “I keep dreaming of being on cliffs, looking down on a deep harbor. It’s somewhere on the western shore, but there’s no city. I’ve seen it so often I feel like I’ve been there, but I don’t know what it means. Sometimes there’s a man in the distance, waving to me. I’ve never been able to make out who it is, but now I think maybe it’s you. Ki’s in the dream, too. I—” She broke off and looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you think Iya and I saw the same place?”

“Perhaps. Did you ask the Oracle about it?”

“I tried to, but got only the answer I told you of already. It wasn’t much help, was it?”

“Perhaps more than you think. Iya had no idea what her vision meant at the time. Only now does it begin to make any sense. But it’s encouraging if you and she saw the same place. I suspect it is.”

“Do you hate me, for sending her away?”

“Of course not. I’ll miss her, but I understand. Do you hate me?”

She laughed sadly. “No. I’m not even sure I hate her. It’s Lhel who actually killed Brother, but I can’t hate her at all! She was so good to me and helped me when I was all alone.”

“She cares a great deal for you.”

“I wonder when I’ll see her again? Maybe we should go to the keep on the way home and look for her. Do you think she’s still there?”

“I looked for her when I went to fetch your doll that night, but I couldn’t find her. You know how she is.”

“So, what was your vision, when you came here before?”

“I saw myself, holding a young, dark-haired child in my arms. Now I know that it was you.”

He could see how her lips trembled as she whispered, “That’s all?”

“Sometimes the Lightbearer can be very straightforward, Tamír.” She looked so lost and young that he held out his hand. She hesitated, frowning, then came and sat stiffly beside him on the edge of the bed.

“I still feel like an imposter in this body, even after all these months.”

“It hasn’t been all that long, compared to your life before. And you’ve had so much to worry about, too. I’m sorry it’s had to be this way.”

She stared into the fire, blinking hard to keep from crying. At last she whispered, “I can’t believe my father just stood by. How could he do that to his own child?”

“He didn’t know the full extent of the plan until that night. If it’s any comfort to you, he was devastated. I don’t think he ever recovered. Illior knows, he had his punishment, watching what it did to your mother and you.”

“You and Iya knew him well?”

“We had that honor. He was a great man, a kind man, and a warrior beyond compare. You’re very much like him. You have all his boldness, and his great heart. I already see his wisdom in you, young as you are. But you have all your mother’s best qualities, too, as she was before you were born.” He touched the ring that bore her parents’ paired likenesses. “I’m glad you found this. You possess all that was best in both of them and the Lightbearer did not choose you by chance. You are Illior’s chosen one. Don’t ever forget that, no matter what else happens. You will be the finest queen Skala has known since Ghërilain.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said sadly, and took her leave.

Arkoniel sat for a while, staring into the fire. Relieved as he was at the accord that had survived between them, his heart still ached, both at the loss of Iya and at seeing how strong and fragile Tamír still was. A heavy burden lay on those narrow shoulders. He resolved to do a better job of helping her to bear it.

With that in mind, Arkoniel slipped out and made his way back to the Oracle’s chamber. For the first time in his life, he went there alone, with his own questions firmly in mind.

The masked priests let him down and he found himself engulfed in the familiar darkness. He felt no fear this time, only resolve.

When his feet found the ground again he started off at once toward the soft glow nearby.

The woman sitting on the Oracle’s stool might have been the same girl he’d spoken to. It was difficult to say, and no one but the high priest of Afra knew how the Oracles were chosen or how many there were at a given time. It wasn’t always a girl or woman. He knew wizards who’d spoken with young men here. The only common factor seemed to be a touch of insanity or simpleminded-ness.

She shook back her tangled hair and gazed at him as he took his place on the stool facing her. Her eyes were already bright with the god’s power, and her voice, when she spoke, held that strange timbre that was more than human.