by Deborah Hale
“May I ask what those might be?” Idrygon’s fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet until Rath feared it would snap.
“Can you not guess?” A dry half smile arched one corner of the old lady’s tiny mouth. “A proper royal wedding for our king and queen, of course, and a grand coronation.”
“Agreed!” cried Idrygon without bothering to consult Rath or Maura. “Now, a toast to our newfound monarchs. May their reign be long and victorious!”
As the company drank to them, Rath tried to look properly pleased and dignified. He liked the idea of having his union with Maura blessed, but he wasn’t so sure about a proper royal wedding. The thought of a grand coronation made him itch all over.
A few days later Maura’s palms grew suddenly clammy and her belly churned as the island of Galene filled more and more of the horizon, beckoning her to glimpse a missing part of her life.
She turned to Captain Gull. “How much longer until we get there? It was kind of you to bring me.”
“Not long now.” Gull stroked his cat’s head. “And no thanks needed. This beats being moored off Margyle and told to sit tight, though not told what’s going on. I don’t suppose you could let me know what is going on—just between us?”
“I wish I could.” Maura gave a rueful shake of her head. “But Lord Idrygon said I mustn’t and…”
“And,” Gull finished her thought, “Lord Idrygon is not a man you want to get on the wrong side of. Ah well, I reckon I can content myself with being left in the dark a while longer. Just answer me this, if you can—the Council aren’t going to hold it against me for luring the Ore Fleet into their waters, are they?”
“Of course not!” Maura wondered why a man who seemed to fear nothing else cared what the Council decided or what Idrygon decreed. “Rath explained to them about the storm and how you only brought us here because of a summons from them. They still aren’t happy about it, mind you. Delyon told me having so many ships sunk there will make that part of the warding waters useless for a long time, and if the Han ever find out…”
Was that another factor in deciding the Council to support an invasion? she wondered. Even Trochard and his supporters? With the security of the warding waters breached, they could no longer afford to tolerate a menacing Hanish presence so nearby.
“I see where that could be trouble sure enough.” Gull made a face that soon twisted into a grin. “It was a fine sight, though, all those big ore-tubs being tossed about like the leaf-boats I used to sail in puddles when I was a lad.”
“At least until the Phantom started getting tossed along with them!” Maura shuddered, remembering. It had only been a fortnight ago, yet it felt much longer.
She had quickly grown accustomed to island life. To eating hot meals at a proper table instead of snatching a quick bite from a pack. Sleeping in Rath’s arms on a real bed rather than taking turns keeping watch through the night. Clean clothes. Water to bathe. And the most precious luxury of all—freedom from lurking fear.
If only this were the end of their journey instead of a pleasant way station on a long, twisting, uphill road.
A short while later, the Phantom made harbor at a small port. Gull offered to accompany Maura in search of her relatives, but she declined with thanks. She wasn’t quite sure what her mother’s kin might make of the flamboyant smuggler. She wished Rath had been able to come with her, but he was busy with Idrygon, studying old maps and discussing strategy for the coming invasion.
A few children gathered near the wharf to see what manner of visitor the ship had brought. They reminded Maura of the boys and girls back in Windleford. But these carefree younglings never had to worry about picking up a pain spike or running into a Hanish hound that had slipped its chain.
“Good day, mistress,” said the oldest boy, nudged forward by his friends. “Are you looking for someone? We can show you the way.”
“Why, thank you, young sir,” said Maura. “I have come looking for the Woodbury family.”
The children laughed until the boy shushed them. “Any special one, mistress? There’s Woodburys aplenty on Galene.” He motioned forward a small girl, her ruddy hair plaited in four long braids that looked to be the fashion here. “Jophie is a Woodbury. Quilla’s ma was born a Woodbury and so was Gath’s. Both my granddames were.”
“Really?” Maura looked around at them, a smile stretching her lips wide, while a tear tingled in the corner of her eye. This was the first time she had met anyone with her kin-name. “No wonder you are all so handsome, then! My mother was Dareth Woodbury and I was told she came from Galene. Perhaps if you could take me to one of the elders of the family who might remember her.”
The boy thought for a moment. “My house is near and my granddames are smart as anything. They tell me lots of stories about the old days. I reckon they’d know about your mother if anybody would.”
“Very well, then.” Maura took two small girls by the hand. “Lead me to them, if you would be so kind.”
The children conducted Maura down a narrow path that wound through the village to a house that looked like Idrygon’s, only less grand. Thick vines climbed over the stippled white walls, and a fragrance of wholesome sweetness from the tiny blue vine flowers perfumed the air.
“Granna Lib! Granna Jule!” The boy’s voice rang through the center courtyard of the house. “Visitor to see you!”
“Visitor?” A tall, slender woman strode into the courtyard carrying a basket of flax tow in one hand and a distaff spindle in the other. “Who would be visiting at this hour?”
Another woman, grayer and a bit more stooped, followed the first. “What did the boy say, Lib?”
The woman with the spinning gear turned and shouted, “Visitor, Jule!”
“Oh. Who’d be calling at this hour?”
The two women peered at Maura.
She bowed. “Your pardon if I have called at a bad time. I have come from Margyle in hope of finding some of my kin. My name is Maura and my mother was Dareth Woodbury.”
Lib’s basket dropped to the tile floor of the courtyard with a soft thud, followed by the clatter of the falling spindle. She seemed not to notice as she stared at Maura. Her hand trembled as she raised it to her lips.
“What did the lass say?” demanded Jule.
“The girl claims—” Lib’s voice cracked with emotion “—she’s Dareth’s daughter.”
“Dareth?” Jule picked up the fallen spindle and basket. “Oh, that can’t be. There must be some mistake.”
“Look at her, though. The very image.”
Jule stepped closer, her head cocked like a bird’s, staring. “So she is. But how can it be?”
Lib recovered her shattered composure. “Well, don’t stand there like a stranger, my dear.” She took Maura’s arm. “Come in! I am your mother’s aunt and Jule here is a cousin of ours.”
“Run off and play,” she called to the children. “All but you, Bran.” She beckoned her grandson. “You were a good smart lad to bring the lady here. Now I want you to go around and fetch Auntie Zelle and Uncle Mayer…” She rattled off a list of names so long it made Maura’s head spin.
“Are those all my kin?” she asked when the boy had run off on his errand. After years of having no one but Langbard, and him no blood relation, the thought of such a large family overwhelmed her…but in the most pleasant way.
“Oh my, no, dear.” Lib chuckled. “That’s not half of them! Only the ones nearest related that live handiest.”
“Dareth’s child?” Jule shook her head as Lib drew Maura toward some chairs clustered in a shaded corner of the courtyard. “Whoever would have thought it? What became of poor Dareth? The last we heard, she and Vaylen had been captured by the Han. Then never a word until now.”
Maura took a seat between her kinswomen and told them everything she knew of her mother, which was pitifully little. She concluded with a question that left her breathless and a little dizzy. “Who was this Vaylen you spoke of? And how did my mother come to be on the mai
nland for the Han to capture?”
The two women looked at each other, as if silently arguing who should be the one to break the news.
Finally Lib spoke. “Vaylen was the son of the last Margrave of Tarsh. He led a rebellion against the Han. Oh, it must be all of twenty years ago. For a time Tarsh was free.”
Tarsh, free? That came as surprising news to Maura.
“My brother, Brandel—” Lib’s voice caught for a moment “—your grandfather, was fierce in his support of Vaylen. He said if Tarsh could hold on to the freedom it had won, then Norest might rise up next, then Southmark or the Hitherland. He was forever urging the Council to send more aid to Tarsh, but many of the sages felt it would put the Islands in danger if the Han found out we were abetting the rebels.”
No wonder Idrygon had spoken well of her grandfather, Maura thought. Brandel Woodbury sounded like a man very much after his heart. But where did her mother fit into all this?
Lib wasted no time coming to that. “After a great deal of secret communication with Tarsh, Brandel agreed to send one of his daughters to marry Vaylen. He thought if there was a Vestan-born descendant of Abrielle on the throne of Tarsh, the Council might find a little more courage and generosity in its dealings with the rebels.”
“So this Vaylen was my father? And you say both he and my mother were captured by the Han?”
The two old woman gave weary nods, as though this grief were a weight they had carried on their hearts for many years.
“Libeth should have been the one to go.” Maura’s great-aunt sighed. “But she was a delicate creature, so Dareth offered to take her place. She had met Vaylen years before, when he’d come to the Islands as a guest of her father, and she thought well of him.”
“I warned Brandel,” Jule grumbled. “Told him he had no business sending his daughter off to marry a man she hardly knew. And into such danger.”
“Hmmph!” Lib clearly did not hold with criticism of her brother. “What a waste you weren’t apprenticed to the Oracle of Margyle! You know very well Dareth had her heart set on going.”
“She’d have done anything to please her father,” Jule muttered, just loud enough for Maura to hear.
For the first time Maura sensed a true connection with the mother she had never known. She’d felt the same way about Langbard. In fact, all that had kept her moving forward during those first difficult days of her quest had been the determination not to let him down.
“None of the Council knew,” Lib continued, “but the ship that carried Dareth to Tarsh was loaded with weapons and supplies to aid the rebels…”
Her voice trailed off and her eyes took on a distant look, as if she were watching that ship from long ago sail away.
After a few moments, Maura’s curiosity got the better of her. “Then what happened?”
“Oh!” Lib roused with a start from her pensive daze. “By and by the ship came back. So we knew Dareth had reached the mainland safely. After that we heard no more for the longest while. Then word came that Tarsh had been overrun by the Han. The Margrave had been killed and the Han had captured Vaylen and Dareth.”
Even in the shade, the courtyard was warm. Yet a chill rippled through Maura.
“Brandel wouldn’t believe they were dead.” Jule shook her head. “He used to get provoked when anybody spoke of them as if they were. And whenever a ship sailed into the harbor, he’d be the first one down to the wharf in case Dareth might be aboard.”
“The old fool.” Lib wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I wish he’d lived to see Dareth’s daughter set foot on Galene.”
Maura wished so, too. There were many questions she would have liked to ask him.
A muted clamor of voices and footsteps approached.
Lib heaved a sigh and rose from her chair. “That’ll be some of the rest of the family come to see you for themselves, my dear. I hope you don’t mind my sending for them?”
Maura shook her head. “I have waited such a long time to meet all of you.”
More and more Woodbury relatives poured into the little house, until the courtyard could scarcely hold them. Maura’s head began to spin from all the names and faces and convoluted connections.
“…this is Wildon Broadroot. His mother was a first cousin of your grandmother’s. And here’s Cousin Kedrith. She’s one of the Westbay branch of the family…”
Yet in each eager, smiling face, Maura caught a glimpse of something strangely familiar. A bit of her mother, or of herself, perhaps. As the hours passed, she listened to endless introductions, received bashful bows and vigorous embraces, heard stories of Dareth Woodbury’s younger years that brought her mother alive to her for the first time.
She remembered the night she and Rath had stopped in the foothills of the mountains and soaked their aching flesh in a warm spring pool. This gathering of her family was like a warm spring for her spirit—reviving and renewing her in places she had never realized were empty or weary.
Yet part of her remained detached from it all, mulling over the brave, tragic account of her parents. No wonder her mother had died of a broken heart that even Langbard could not heal, even with all his skill and devotion. And what had become of her father? Had he been tortured to death by the Echtroi? Or sent to the mines where his spirit had perished before his body?
Though part of Maura wished she could stay on peaceful Galene forever, basking in the quiet joy of kinship, another part itched to get back to the mainland. Liberating Umbria had become something more than her destiny. It was now a hallowed duty she owed her parents—to finish the task they had begun. A task that had cost them everything.
9
“W hen you found your family, you didn’t do it by half measures, did you, aira?” Rath wrapped his arms around Maura from behind, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “If we must have a big, fancy wedding and crowning ceremony, I reckon this is a good place for it.”
They stood in the large courtyard of the house that had belonged to Maura’s grandfather. The house in which her mother had been born. A festive celebration swirled around them as twilight dappled the vast western horizon. Merry music from string and wind instruments floated on the evening air along with the mouthwatering fragrances of fresh bread, roasted meat and fruit stewed in honey.
Maura’s past two weeks on the island of Galene had been like a dream come true—going wherever she liked, whenever she wished without the smallest fear. A perfect blend of safety and freedom. She’d been rapturously welcomed by her kin, a precious boon indeed after growing up with no family and few friends. Only one thing had been missing to complete her happiness.
Then Rath had arrived from Margyle aboard the Phantom, along with the Oracle and the whole Council of Sages to take part in their wedding and crowning ceremonies.
Now Idrygon stood in one corner of the courtyard involved in a grave discussion with some of Maura’s uncles and cousins. Madame Verise danced by in the arms of Captain Gull, looking as if she was enjoying herself immensely. Beyond the courtyard, the Oracle of Margyle was playing a hiding game with young Bran and some other Galeni children. Delyon perched on the edge of the fountain, poring over an old scroll from Brandel Woodbury’s private library. Gull’s hillcat sat on Delyon’s lap, content to suffer the occasional absentminded scratch behind the ears.
Maura’s happiness should have been complete. But the brooding distraction she had sensed in Rath before she’d left Margyle had not lifted, hard as he tried to hide it. Maura wished he would confide in her whatever was troubling him. Was she a fool if she could not figure it out for herself? Or did she guess the truth but not want to face it?
“Shall we steal away for a walk on the beach?” She reached down to twine her fingers through one of the hands Rath had clasped around her waist “We’ve hardly had a moment alone since you got here, and the shore is so beautiful.”
For an instant, Rath seemed not to hear her. Then her words must have sunk in, for he squeezed her hand and he spoke with f
orced brightness. “That sounds like a fine idea. Let’s go.”
It took them a little while to wend their way through the crowd. Some of Maura’s cousins who had not met Rath stopped them for introductions. They waved to the children who were running to hide from their new playmate.
“You had better find good cover,” Rath teased, “if you hope to stay hidden from an oracle who can see the future.”
“Why did you have to remind them she’s the Oracle?” Maura chided him. “She is still only a child, after all—one who doesn’t often get to enjoy games with others her age.”
“You’re right.” Rath scowled and kicked the turf as they walked. “It just doesn’t seem right—a child that age with a head full of memories she can’t understand and a gift of foresight she can’t make sense of.”
“People might say the same of you and me. A king who has never commanded an army. A queen who has never set foot in a palace. We cannot help those limitations and we’re trying our best in spite of them.”
“So we are,” muttered Rath as they picked their way down a steep slope to the shore. “I only hope our best will be good enough.”
“It has been so far.” Maura told him what she and the young Oracle had concluded, about how the Giver might work all the better through flawed instruments like them.
Rath mulled over her words as they pried off their shoes. “It would be comforting to believe that.”
“Can you not believe it?” Maura tugged him toward the edge of the shore, where fine, wet sand welcomed their feet with its cool caress and white-foamed waves rolled in one upon the other in a ceaseless, soothing rhythm. “Here, of all places?”
Rath stared into the distant, broad horizon blushed with twilight into the vivid hues of the island flowers. Even its serenity and splendor could not ease the subtle tightness around his eyes.
“My mother stood here once,” said Maura, “and looked out at a sunset like this one. It is the most vivid memory Langbard passed to me from her. When I first saw this place with my own eyes, it took my breath away. Not just because of its beauty, but because of the closeness I felt to her.”