The Waiting King (2018 reissue)

by Deborah Hale

  Rath wondered if the evening meal was always such a formal occasion in Idrygon’s household, or whether it was in honor of visiting royalty—uncrowned though they might be. “Well?” Maura prompted him. “Did she make you walk up that hill maze to teach you about destiny? Did she promise to tell the Council of Sages you are the latest Waiting King?”

  When he did not answer right away, her gaze became more searching. “Did the Oracle look into your future?”

  Oh, she had looked, all right. And what she’d seen had shaken Rath to the core. He tried to convince himself that, though she might hold the memories of countless generations, the present oracle was still only a child. One whose training had been cut short, at that. Perhaps she had taken the wrong meaning from whatever she’d glimpsed in his future.

  For all his doubts and denials, he could not escape a chilling fear that the child knew what the coming years held for him. He wished she had kept that troublesome knowledge to herself, though, for he feared it could mean only one thing—that he would lose Maura.

  Could the Giver be so cruel, to rob him of the happiness he’d so lately found? Rath tried to believe otherwise, but his faith was still new and untested. He had far more experience with the impersonal cruelty of whatever forces shaped the lives of folk like him.

  Maura’s voice broke in upon his brooding, like a ray of sunlight penetrating some dark dungeon cell. “She did foretell your future, didn’t she? Come, what did she predict? Something dire, I suspect, by that grim look on your face.”

  “I do not look grim!” he snapped, then repented his quick temper. “All right, perhaps I do. But it is not on account of that young seer.”

  Not for all the world would he burden Maura with the foreboding that weighed upon him. He could worry enough for both of them. “It’s all the talk of an invasion and this business of playing off one council faction against another. Here I reckoned the Vestan Islands would be so peaceful, with folks all getting along and having not a care in the world!”

  “I cannot say I like that much, myself.” Maura laid down the ivory comb with which she had battled her unruly hair into temporary submission. “But is it so hard to understand? Trochard and his followers just want to look after their own interests... like a certain outlaw I once knew.”

  Rath grumbled something about how he’d been forthright in his selfishness, at least. Then he craned his neck. “Can you help me fasten this miserable collar button without throttling me? Thank the Giver that Idrygon plans to have his soldiers kitted out in gear that will let them move... and breathe.”

  “Whose soldiers?” Maura asked with a teasing lilt in her voice as she fastened the troublesome button. “You will be leading them—will that not make them your soldiers?”

  Rath shook his head and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Idrygon has been planning all this for a great while. Gathering supplies, amassing weapons, training men. This army will be his to command, which is just the way I would have it. What do I know about leading any force bigger than the band of outlaws you first saw me with in Betchwood? Look what happened to them, poor devils.”

  “That was not your fault!” Maura reminded him.

  Rath tried to pretend he believed her.

  She quickly changed the subject. “I thought it strange at first that Idrygon should care so much what happens on the mainland.”

  So had Rath. He did not reckon Idrygon had planned and schemed so long to liberate the mainland out of the goodness of his heart. After watching their host the past few days, he’d concluded that the man was a born commander, a role with limited scope on these islands. Much as they delighted Rath and Maura with their beauty, peace and plenty, to a man of Idrygon’s forceful personality, they must seem like a luxurious prison.

  “You said at first.” Rath wetted a comb and tried to tidy his hair. “What changed your mind?”

  “Something Delyon told me.” Maura dipped her fingers into a tiny crock of delicate pottery and drew out a drop or two of scented oil to anoint her neck and wrists. “He said their parents put him and his brother on the last Embrian ship to escape the mainland. The boys were raised here by their grandparents, who were both members of the council. Only many years later did they find out their parents had been killed by the Han.”

  Rath winced at Maura’s account, though he’d heard plenty worse stories of things that had happened to Embrian children after the Hanish conquest. He’d lived worse, himself, come to that. Though Idrygon and Delyon had been orphaned, at least they’d gotten beyond the reach of the Han and into the care of folks with the means to look after them properly.

  Would he have switched places with them, though, if he could have changed the past? He’d suffered his share of guilt after Ganny died. How much worse might it have gnawed at him if he’d ended up somewhere safe and prosperous? Might it have driven him to do whatever it took to oust the Han from Embria?

  “I’ll admit,” he said, “I was wrong in thinking the island folk came to no harm on account of the Han. I reckon it’s harder sometimes to know somebody else is being ill-used and not being able to aid them than it is to take the lumps yourself.”

  “You’re a wise man, Rath Talward.” Maura took his arm. “Now we had better get to dinner before Idrygon sends a search party after us. Delyon told me important guests will be dining with us tonight.”

  “Delyon tells you all sorts of interesting things, doesn’t he?”

  Maura seemed not to hear anything beneath Rath’s bantering tone. “I have to get my news from someone and Idrygon’s wife always looks so busy I’m afraid to stop her long enough to ask.”

  She lowered her voice as they stepped out in the wide, elegant gallery that ran between two sets of bedchambers. Rath could see people gathered talking in the courtyard. He recognized several council members.

  As they walked toward the company, Maura leaned closer to him and whispered, “There is one drawback to relying on Delyon for information.”

  He cast her a sidelong smile, struck afresh by her delicate beauty. “And what might that be?”

  Maura’s lips twitched. “He doesn’t seem to know what is going on half the time, himself.”

  A hoot of laughter stuck in Rath’s throat when he saw the formidable Madame Verise bowing to them. Did that bode well?

  Apparently so, for Idrygon appeared beside the old lady, looking more cheerful than Rath had ever seen him. He held a goblet in each hand, which he offered to Rath and Maura. “We have cause to celebrate, Highnesses! Madame Verise informs me that the Oracle has declared you are indeed the Waiting King and Destined Queen of Embria!”

  So this dinner was a celebration. Rath glanced around at the other guests. Unless he was hopelessly confused, they belonged to the group Idrygon hoped would support them against those who opposed going to war. If Idrygon’s painstaking preparations were not to be in vain and if Rath was to get the help he needed to fulfil his destiny, these folks would need to be convinced that he was the king they had been waiting for.

  The weight of responsibility pressed down on Rath’s shoulders, like the heavy pack he’d carried into the Waste.

  “The Giver does work in strange ways.” Madame Verise looked him up and down, shaking her head. “To think, King Elzaban’s spirit in the body of an outlaw.”

  Again the high, stiff collar of his Vestan tunic tightened around Rath’s throat. He struggled to frame a reply that would not curdle on his tongue.

  Then Maura spoke in a tone of quiet dignity befitting a queen. “Considering the present law of that land, Madame, do you not think better of His Highness for having been outside it than in?”

  Rath bit back a grin, remembering how he’d flung those words at her soon after they’d met. That she had recalled them after all this time and summoned them up at a crucial moment to come to his defense sent a fresh surge of love for her flowing through his heart.

  “Now, Highness...” Idrygon’s dark eyes flashed. Clearly he did not want anything to threaten
this vital alliance.

  “No, Lord Idrygon.” Madame Verise made a dismissive gesture with her delicate, withered hand. “Her Highness is right. Outlaws, smugglers and that ilk are the only ones who have kept a spirit of resistance alive in our poor captive land. Perhaps it is fitting that the spirit of King Elzaban should return to us in such a one.”

  She bowed to Rath with an air of sincere deference. “I beseech your pardon if I gave offense with my thoughtless remark, my lord. I fear we on the Islands have grown self-righteous in our good fortune. We forget how hard it may be to serve the Giver in harsher circumstances.”

  “I cannot claim I have always served—”

  Before Rath could finish, Idrygon shot him a warning look and interrupted. “I am certain His Highness understands, Madame. Now, I see our meal is ready. Shall we be seated?”

  He steered Rath toward the head of the long table, while his wife drew Maura to her place of honor at the other end. On their way, he muttered, “Take care what you say to Verise. Without her support, we are lost. Let me do the talking. I have learned how to handle her.”

  Rath nodded. He had never felt so out of place in his life—like a bird thrust underwater and expected to swim, or a fish tossed into the sky, to fly or perish trying. He wished they’d let Maura sit near him. He felt a little more confident with her by his side, knowing she had seen him at his worst, yet still recognized a spark of nobility within him.

  A feast was served, fit for a king. But the king barely managed to eat a bite for fear he would commit some glaring lapse in table manners. He tried to follow what Madame Verise and Idrygon were talking about but they might have been speaking that ancient language from Delyon’s scrolls for all he understood.

  Finally he gave up and stared down the table to where Maura sat laughing and talking with the person seated to her right... Delyon. So the fellow could make conversation when he didn’t have his gaze fixed on some ancient scroll. Now he had his gaze fixed on Maura instead, which made Rath’s pulse pound in his ears.

  It was pounding so loud he did not notice Madame Verise rise from her seat until Idrygon gave his foot a nudge under the table.

  The Councilwoman looked up and down the table, her gaze settling at last on their host. “I believe I speak for all your guests this evening, Lord Idrygon, when I say how overjoyed we are to welcome the king and queen for whom we have waited so long. I promise you our full support in the council for a campaign to liberate the mainland.”

  Idrygon rose and picked up his wine goblet. But before he could propose a toast to their alliance, Madame Verise continued, “We have only two conditions to make.”

  “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 give me a hint what is going on—just between us?”

  “I wish I could tell you everything I know.” 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 awhile longer. Just answer me this, if you can—the council isn’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 on a real bed rather than taking turns with Rath 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 younglings back in Windleford. But these carefree boys and girls 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 you could direct 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. Likely 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 lane 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.”