by CS Sealey
As she approached the royal suite, she was surprised to hear raised voices.
“But this is madness!” Varren cried. “You are disgracing your father’s memory!”
“If they raise no sword, they should not be the victims of any Ayon offensive, Archis! The Spirits did not give their gifts to mortals so they could watch as we massacre the weak!”
“Then what of your wedding preparations? Minimal guards?”
Angora cautiously pushed open the door and saw Varren pacing agitatedly. Samian himself was seated in an armchair beside the empty fireplace, watching as his adviser angrily flung his arms in the air.
“What if there are assassins?”
“Then, of course, I would expect you to deal with them, Archis. Ah, my dear!” The king rose from his chair, stepped past Varren and embraced Angora tightly. Angora glanced at the sorcerer over Samian’s shoulder and noticed the slight flicker of white fire in his eyes.
“My lord – ” Varren began when Samian drew away from her.
“No, Archis,” the king said, cutting him off. “We have spoken long enough on the matter tonight. Please, if you have nothing more to add, leave us.”
“As it happens,” Varren said, “there is something…”
“Make it brief.”
“I am not yet convinced that your future queen is trustworthy.”
Angora fixed him with a stern gaze. For weeks, his true feelings about her had been leaking out of his false bows and smiles, his forced conversations with her. At last, he was speaking his mind in her presence.
“Gods, Archis, what will satisfy you? Do you want her to return to Te’Roek and kill her former mistress?”
“What assurances would you wish from me?” Angora asked before Varren had the opportunity to reply. The sorcerer seemed taken aback by her interruption, as was Samian. “How must I prove my indifference to the Ronnesians? Do you want information on their military numbers?”
“Honesty will suffice,” Varren said. “Answer me this: Why did you really return to Te’Roek when Vrór attacked? Were you drawn by the cries of innocent civilians or Ronnesian friends? I can sense lies, so answer truthfully.”
“Archis…” Samian warned, his eyes narrowed.
“My lord, it’s a simple question,” Varren said calmly.
“No question from you is simple. Angora, you don’t have to – ”
“I have told you before,” Angora said stiffly. “Aiyla is my friend, beyond the boundaries of politics or anything else. I will not deny that. She sent me a vision. I saw Te’Roek burning, destroyed, with Vrór’s creatures circling in the sky. Despite what I think of my former companions, I have a duty to protect innocent people from my double. That is why I returned, to stop Vrór.”
“But the other members of the Circle could have dealt with him, surely,” Varren said. “You seemed so eager to leave Te’Roek, yet something as small as a vision – one which never came to fruition, might I add – drew you back. Are you sure you simply didn’t return because your allegiances remain with Queen Sorcha?”
“I am no Ronnesian!” Angora cried, her fists clenched.
“And, yet, you have willingly struck down Ayons in the heat of battle,” Varren replied, his tone still calm but his eyes fiercely fixed upon her face. “What is it now? Eight more Ayons to kill before you have your revenge? Or will you be satisfied if you kill just one more, the king perhaps?”
Angora gasped. A memory flashed before her eyes of fifteen etches on the windowsill in the tavern in Metaille. She had heard fifteen reports of the Ayons attacking Teronia and had promised to kill fifteen in revenge. It was true she had killed seven soldiers early on in her service to the queen, but had since given up on her endeavor. She had come to understand her position in the world – she was a shield, not a sword. Though she possessed a power that could kill hundreds, her heart could not.
“I cannot deny that the promise of killing Ayon soldiers encouraged me to learn more about my gift,” Angora said, lowering her eyes. “My island had been burned to the ground during an Ayon invasion. I was angry and scared!”
“Ah, but you see,” Varren continued, a thin smile forming on his lips, “you are now a member of the Ayon court. What an opportunity! You could dispatch several of the castle’s inhabitants without too much trouble. The king is particularly vulnerable, especially to you.”
“Archis, I don’t like what you’re implying,” Samian said.
“My lord, do not forget how General Carter met his death.”
“How dare you! You liken me to a whore? You believe your master is in danger from his future wife? He should be more afraid of you!” Angora cried, taking a step toward Varren with her hand raised to hit him.
Varren swiftly caught her wrist and fixed his still flaming eyes on her own. She struggled but he held her firm.
“You must have a heart of stone if you believe I would ever wish Samian harm, let alone harm him myself, lord general.”
The king came between them, pulling Angora gently away. “That is enough, Archis. You have all you need. Leave us.”
“Yes, my lord.” Varren’s eyes lingered on Samian’s for a moment before he moved swiftly over to the door. Samian’s gaze followed him and only returned to Angora once the door was firmly shut.
“I apologize for his behavior,” he muttered. “He’s over-protective.”
“Yes,” Angora said stiffly, “and rude and blind.”
“Come here,” Samian said and drew her in close.
Angora relaxed slightly and rested her head against his chest. A moment later, she heard him chuckle softly and raised her eyes curiously.
“I’m starting to like your fiery moments. Not many could stand up to Varren as you have just done! It may well have been enough to convince him.”
CHAPTER 36
A crumbling ruin stood perched on the edge of a jagged cliff above one of the many tributaries of the Great River Divide. Once adorned with great towers and arches, the ancient structure was a reminder of an earlier civilization almost forgotten. Angora – white dress and veil billowing in the wind, eyes sparkling – looked to the southern horizon, then to the high peaks to the north, and the Great Northern Forest to the west and south. Below her, the bend of the river cut through the earth on its southward journey to join the Divide. The place was wild and untamed. With the exception of the ruin, there was no sign of any human settlement, not even a narrow path or a solitary farmhouse. She smiled. After four long years of waiting, the day had finally come.
Once the ceremony was over, Samian had told her, they would ride back to Delseroy and meet the citizens as king and queen. There would be a great parade and celebrations in honor of their marriage would continue for the next three days.
Had Samian let his advisers have their way, their union would have taken place in one of the many great halls of Delseroy castle. Instead, knowing that all Teronian marriages were held atop Alenta Mora, he had insisted on a venue similarly secluded and sacred. According to Lhunannon, the ruin had been a monastery during the First Era, when the old religion had dominated the land now known as Leith. Every year, pilgrims from across the Ayon Empire spent days in vigil on the plain by the ravine, seeking signs from the Spirits and praying for miracles. Angora thought the place highly appropriate for their wedding.
There were close to fifty guests present, lords and ladies of court and city officials. Some of Samian’s castle guard were there, standing in two straight columns, creating an aisle, looking identical in their crimson and dark blue uniforms. The women of court who had helped organize the wedding were standing in a tight group, evidently far from impressed with the ceremony’s location, but not voicing their distaste.
Angora noticed Varren clustered in quiet conversation with Samian’s other advisers, no doubt discussing the chances of something going awry. Varren was never unprepared. Even as he spoke to his companions, he kept a long, pale hand on the hilt of his sword and occasionally glanced about, searching fo
r any sign of trouble. Varren’s dispassionate gaze fell on her for a moment before shifting away. The group did not seem as confronting as usual, though, as they were all dressed smartly, even Vrór.
A majestic horn sounded, and Angora moved back from the cliff to the aisle of guards. Though they had been standing to attention a moment earlier, the stature they quickly adopted now made their previous attempt look relaxed: they raised their right arms and saluted with fists clenched at the chests before drawing their long ceremonial swords. They raised their weapons, creating an avenue of steel, and bellowed a short military call, then angled their blades so the points were embedded in the lush grass. With hands placed firmly on the pommels, they stood motionless once more.
A dark figure appeared beside Angora. Behind her veil, she closed her eyes momentarily and willed herself not to reveal her discomfort. When she opened her eyes, it seemed Varren was trying his hardest to do the same.
“In the absence of your father, I have the honor,” Varren said, offering his arm to her. “I hope you do not consider that an insult.”
“You can be the judge of that,” she replied. “My father beat me because I was born a girl. I hated him.”
She gazed up the aisle, noticing that the king had taken his place, then slid her arm through Varren’s without another word. They started their walk down the aisle. The fact that Varren, of all Samian’s advisers, was the one leading her forward seemed slightly ironic. The man who had most audibly opposed their marriage was now giving her away to her future husband. She had to admit, however, that his attitude toward her had softened since their confrontation, though she could not understand why.
When they were almost at the end of the aisle, Angora gazed up at the king, dressed smartly in full regal raiment, his face cleanly shaven and his hair trimmed short. Varren stopped, slipped Angora’s arm out from his own and moved away. She caught a glimpse of his face and, to her surprise, noticed he was smiling. She had seen him smile in many other ways, all unpleasant, but at that moment, he appeared to be genuinely pleased. His face looked handsome and she believed each and every claim Samian had made that Varren was noble, trustworthy and, above all else, fiercely loyal to the Mensor royal family.
The king took his place beside Angora and a priest in a dark blue and white robe glided across the grass to stand before them. His beard and hair were long and white but his eyes sparkled with youth as he produced a piece of parchment from his sleeve and began to recite.
“We have assembled here today under the open sky,” the priest began, his voice low and calm, “before the eyes of the Spirits…”
Samian looked sideways at her. Angora glanced at him but was quickly forced to look away, her cheeks burning red; the intensity of his gaze left her feeling weak in the knees. She found she was not listening to the priest but thinking only of the man standing beside her. They were not touching but if she lifted her hand merely an inch, she could have felt his fingers. A lump rose in her throat. She had been unhappy for so many years, wandering in the dark after her mother’s death, and now there was a light in the blackness. It was strong, bright and comforting. It was Samian, the king of the Ayons.
“…be joined here for eternity,” the priest finished, replacing the scroll in his sleeve. “Speak now your vows.”
Angora felt Samian’s hand reaching down for hers and she turned to face him. Through her veil, she could see the happiness dancing in his bright green eyes and could not stop herself from smiling.
“I, King Samian Mensor the first, sovereign of the Ayon Empire, do solemnly swear that I will love and protect you until death parts us. I will give you shelter and care for you to the best of my abilities. May my words always comfort and guide you, and may the Spirits bless you.”
“And I, Angora,” she began instantly, “pledge that I will be by your side, to love and protect you until the end of my days. I promise to be loyal and fulfil my duties as your wife and queen with all my heart. May the Spirits bless you.”
Samian nervously drew back her veil. She looked up with tears stinging her eyes as he gently brushed her hair from her face. Then his nervousness fell away and, with one hand, he tilted up her chin to kiss her.
There was a shout and, startled, they turned. Angora looked across the grassy plateau and saw a figure running toward them. But before she could clearly see his face, his uniform told her exactly who it was. Her heart sank and her fists clenched in anger.
“Gods, no…What is he doing here?”
“Stop!” Tiderius yelled, hastening up the hill, Emil and Kayte close behind him. “No! Angora, don’t do it!”
Varren and his companions instantly prepared spells, members of the king’s guard ushered the lords and ladies behind them and formed a fearsome line of strength. There were murmurs of confusion and, somewhere within the crowd, a lady began to cry out in panic, “By the Spirits, are we to be murdered so far from civilization?”
“You don’t have to do this, Angora!” Tiderius cried, approaching the group. “There’s another way to protect the islands!”
“Men, prepare your weapons,” Samian said to his guards. “These intruders know the punishment for setting foot in this country.”
“Please, Sam,” Angora said, clutching the king’s sleeve. “Please, not here. Let me speak with them.”
“You don’t belong with these people!” Tiderius shouted.
Angora looked reassuringly at her husband, then turned to face her former companions. “You…” She glared at Tiderius. “I cannot believe it! You, Emil, Kayte…Why can none of you leave me alone?”
“Angora, this isn’t right!”
“Really?” she said, pushing through the line of guards. “You did nothing to help my island when it was attacked, then you forbade me to help your own people when the invasion was imminent. The Spirits made me a leika and I will do my duty, but not for you! Not now. You only have yourselves to blame!”
“They were the ones who attacked your island!” Kayte exclaimed. “How can you stand beside them now?”
“I will not blame Samian for the sins of his father. He has given me his word he will protect Teronia and all the other islands, and I believe him!”
“But you can’t trust someone like him!” Tiderius said incredulously.
“While I can trust all of you?” Angora asked, laughing slightly. “No. I am never coming back. The balance is broken. From this day forward, I am an Ayon!”
“No! You can’t mean that!”
Ignoring Tiderius, she turned on her heel and returned to the king. The guards parted to let her through before closing the gap protectively.
“Are you not going to kiss your wife?” she asked.
Sighing with relief, Samian leaned in and kissed her passionately. Standing on her toes, Angora wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, returning the kiss. When it ended, she moved back and saw Tiderius, red-faced with anger and frustration, struggling against Emil, who was holding him back.
Samian produced a plain silver band from his pocket and slowly slid it onto Angora’s finger. “With this ring,” he murmured, “I wed you, my love, and long may our days be blessed.”
Tiderius lunged forward again. There was a fury in his eyes that Angora had never seen before. She saw him draw his sword and charge, the blade bursting into flames. The guards moved as one, forming a barrier two men deep in front of the king and his new queen, swords raised. Kayte shouted to Tiderius to stop and threw out her arm, releasing a brilliant coil of white light from her palm. Tiderius was struck in the arm and instantly caught by the spell. The coil tightened around his wrist and slowly pulled him back to the sorceress. He struggled and cried out, but to no avail. Kayte did not let him go.
“He’ll betray you, Angora!” Tiderius shouted. “Don’t do this!”
Angora placed a reassuring hand on Samian’s shoulder. “Give them one more chance to leave, my love. Today is not a day for violence, but happiness and new beginnings.”
Sam
ian nodded but was visibly uncomfortable.
“Do not worry, they will not risk harming me. They believe they can still persuade me to return with them.” She approached the guards once more. “Protect the guests and the king. I will be fine.”
The guards hesitantly drew apart to let her through but did not sheath their swords. As Angora neared the members of the Circle, Kayte released Tiderius, who staggered, rubbing his wrist. As the three of them approached her, Angora raised her hands.
“I will speak only with him,” she said, gesturing to Tiderius. “You two will come no further. If either of you attempt to lay hands upon me, you will be attacked.”
Emil and Kayte glanced at one another but Tiderius needed no further encouragement. He hurried to her and grasped her shoulders. “Angora, are you insane?”
“No, I am not. Are you?” she asked angrily, shaking herself free of him.
“We had to come! Aiyla saw Vrór capture you and take you to Delseroy!”
“I clearly do not need rescuing, Tiderius.”
Emil glared at her. “Angora, you are not helping the struggle. Joining with the enemy is not – ”
“I will not speak with you,” Angora said angrily, fixing the shaman with a gaze as fierce as his own. “One more step, Emil, and I will attack you myself.”
Emil started to open his mouth but fell back reluctantly, arms folded.
“You can’t possibly believe this king, you hardly know him!” Tiderius exclaimed. “The queen will forgive you if you return with us. There will be no punishment for what you’ve done.”
“I do not care for her forgiveness, nor do I wish to return with you.” She raised her hand and displayed the ring. “I have a new home now.”
“But you hate the Ayons!”
“I did, yes, because I believed what you all told me, that they were monsters and greedy for land and dominance over others. But they are not. The king will protect the islands, which is more than you Ronnesians ever did.”