Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

They reined in at the front gate just as it swung open. Nari and Cook stood there, staring up at her with their hands pressed to their mouths. Nari was the first to recover.

Throwing her arms wide, she burst into happy tears and cried, “Oh, pets, come down for a hug!”

Tamír and Ki swung down from the saddle and she gathered them both into her arms at once. Tamír was amazed at how tiny Nari seemed. She was a head taller than her nurse now.

Nari rose on her toes and kissed them both soundly. “How you’ve grown this past year, the pair of you. And Ki with a bit of beard. And you, child!” She released Ki into Cook’s waiting arms and took Tamír’s face between her hands, no doubt searching for the boy she’d known. Tamír saw nothing but love and amazement in the woman’s eyes. “Maker’s Mercy, look at you, my darling girl! Slim as a wand and the image of your dear mother. Just as I always imagined.”

“You recognize me?” Tamír blurted out, relieved. “I’m not so different?”

“Oh, pet!” She hugged Tamír again. “Boy or girl, you’re the child I nursed at my breast and held in my arms. How would I not know you?”

Cook hugged her next, then held her at arm’s length to look at her. “You’ve sprouted up like a weed, haven’t you?” She kneaded Tamír’s upper arm and shoulder. “Not an ounce of meat on either of you. Tharin, doesn’t that aunt of yours feed them anything? And poor Master Arkoniel! You look like a scarecrow again, after I got you all fed up proper before. Come in, all of you. We’ve kept the house ready and the larder’s full. None of you will go to bed hungry tonight, I promise you!”

Tamír strode up the worn stone stairs to the great hall. It was just as she remembered from her birthday visit, in good repair, but with a dusty, tarnished air about it. Even with the afternoon sun shining in through the open doors and windows, there were still shadows lurking in the corners and up in the carved rafters. There were good smells on the air, though: warm bread and apple pie and spices.

“You’ve been cooking. Did you know we were coming?”

“No, Majesty, though you might have sent someone ahead,” Cook chided. “No, I’ve been trading with the town and making a bit of profit for you. I’ve laid down some good wines and the buttery’s full. By the time your people are settled I’ll have a proper spread on for you. Miko, go and start the fire for me, there’s a good boy! Girls, you see to the linens.”

The servants they’d seen by the bridge emerged from the shadows by the door and hurried off on their assigned tasks.

As Tamír headed for the stairs she heard Tyrien whisper to Lynx, “The queen grew up here ?”

Smiling to herself, Tamír took the stairs two at a time, with Ki close behind. She wondered when she could steal away to find Lhel, or if the witch would even show herself. And if she did, then what would Tamír say to her now?

Their old room was neat and well aired as if they still lived there. There was the wardrobe Brother had tried to crush Iya with, and the carved clothes chest where Tamír had hidden the doll. She felt a familiar pang, looking at that wide bed with its faded hangings and thick coverlet. She caught a look of the same pain in Ki’s face as he stepped next door to the toy room.

“The extra bed’s still here,” he called. “The Companions and I can use this room.”

Tamír leaned in the doorway, looking at the toy city and the other bits and pieces of her childhood lying about. The only things missing were the old rag doll and Brother’s sullen presence. Before Ki came to live with her, the demon had been her only playmate. She hadn’t felt or seen Brother since Afra.

She went across the corridor and stood a moment in her father’s room, trying to imagine she could still sense his spirit or catch his scent. But it was just a room, long abandoned.

Arkoniel paused in the doorway, with his traveling bundle in his arms. “I’ll take my old room upstairs, if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course,” she replied absently, thinking of a different room. She would visit that one later, and alone.

She lingered a moment longer, and Tharin quietly stepped in to join her. He had his saddlebags over one shoulder and looked slightly baffled.

“The guard will take the barracks. I still have my old room there, but—Well, perhaps you’d rather I take one of the guest chambers upstairs?”

“I’d be honored if you’d sleep in Father’s room.” Before he could object, she added, “I’d feel better, knowing you’re so close by.”

“As you wish.” He set his bag down and looked around. “It’s good to be back. You should come more often, when things settle down. I miss the hunting here.”

She nodded, understanding all he couldn’t say. “Me, too.”

Cook was as good as her word; the supper was ample and well received. Everyone gathered around one long table and the squires helped the serving girls carry the dishes back and forth from the kitchen.

Nari sat on Tamír’s left and asked endless questions about her battles and Ero and all that was going on at Atyion in preparation to meet Korin, but not once did she ask about the change. She treated Tamír just as she had treated Tobin, not in the least troubled by the alteration. She didn’t even forget and call her Tobin. Not once.

They sat around the fire with their wine afterward and told more stories of the fighting they’d seen. Then Tharin and the women began reminiscing about Tamír and Ki when they were children here, much to the amusement of the other Companions. Arkoniel joined in, embellishing with apparent relish on what a poor student Ki had been. There was no mention of the death and tragedy these walls had witnessed, but Tamír caught the younger squires glancing around nervously as night closed in.

“I’ve heard this keep is haunted,” Lorin ventured at last. Nikides gave him a warning look and the boy shrank down on the bench, murmuring, “That’s only what I heard.”

With no proper entertainment, there was little to keep them up late. Tamír kissed Nari and Cook good night and sent her guardsmen off.

“It’s time we got some sleep, eh?” Nikides said, gathering the others.

They said good night outside their rooms, but Ki lingered at her door. “I’ll stay, if you want. No one here cares.”

The temptation to say yes was so strong it took her breath away, but she shook her head. “No, better not.”

“Good night, then.” He turned for the door, but not before she caught the hurt look in his eyes.

It’s for the best. This is my task. He can’t help and it would only endanger him needlessly. It’s for the best …

She kept telling herself that as she sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting for the others to settle next door.

Someone laughed. A low murmur of voices followed, and the sounds of a good-natured argument as the unlucky squires were relegated to the pallets on the floor. She heard the shuffle of feet, the creak of bed ropes, then a dwindling murmur.

Tamír waited a bit longer and wandered over to the window. The moon was bright over meadow and river. She rested her chin in her hands, thinking of all the times she’d played there with Ki, the snow soldiers they’d fought, the fishing and swimming, and just lying on their backs in the tall grass, finding shapes in the clouds.

Satisfied that all was quiet next door, she took her night lamp and stole from the room. There was no sound from Tharin’s room, either, and no light beneath his door.

Upstairs a single lamp burned in a niche near Arkoniel’s chamber. She tiptoed past, keeping her gaze fixed on the tower door. Only when her hand was on the tarnished latch did she recall it had been locked since her mother’s death, the key long since thrown away. Brother had opened the door for her last time.