by Deborah Hale
“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 mainland 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 how 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 women 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 that 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, and 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, with all his skill and devotion. And what had become of her father? Had he been tortured to death by the Xenoth? 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 Embria 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.
Chapter Nineteen
“WHEN 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 lef
t 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 forced 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 them “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.”
“Do you find it so hard to believe?” 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.”
They ambled along the beach, the cool surf breaking over their feet, and the tangy ocean breeze whispering through their hair. Overhead, seafowl wheeled and glided, their haunting cries echoing through the gathering dusk. Her hand holding tight to his, Maura told Rath as much of her mother’s story as she had learned from her kinfolk.
“Your mother was a brave lass,” said Rath when she had finished. “Like her daughter. Your father sounds a noble fellow, too. It is a shame you never knew them, and that they gave their lives for nothing.”
“But don’t you see?” Maura turned toward him. “It wasn’t for nothing. If my mother had never gone to Tarsh and begotten me, then somehow escaped from the Han and found her way to Windleford, all those prophesies of the Destined Queen would never have come true. The ones about my being descended from Abrielle and raised by Langbard. If we succeed in liberating Embria, my parents will not have died in vain.”
Her words did not dispel the cloud that hung over Rath.
“What is troubling you, aira?” She reached up to brush the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “And do not insult my wit by pretending nothing is.”
“Taken lessons from your little friend, the Oracle, have you?” Though his voice sounded gruff, Rath leaned into her caress, nuzzling her hand with his cheek, which was shaved closer than she had ever felt it before. It seemed almost to belong to another man.
“You are not so hard to read,” she teased him. “Like one of Delyon’s ancient scrolls. You are more like a tavern sign, with the words writ large and plain, and a picture carved above them for good measure. Out with it, now. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think.”
“All right, then.” He inhaled a deep breath of the briny ocean air. “There is something I must know from you, and it must be the truth, mind.”
“Rath Talward!” She jerked her hand back as if he had stung it. “Do you think I would lie to you?”
“To spare my feelings? Aye, you would. Or if you felt you had other good reason. Remember how you strung me along on our journey to Prum, with tales of an old aunt and an arranged match you had to make?”
“That was different!” Maura protested. “I hardly knew you back then. And it would have been dangerous to go about telling everyone I met that I was the Destined Queen. Now that we are to wed, you will have the truth from me, I promise.”
A chill wave of worry broke over her, quenching her flash of anger. What question could he mean to ask that he feared she might not answer truthfully?
“We are soon to be wed,” Rath repeated. “And I need to know, are you wedding me because I am your heart’s choice? Or is it like your mother, who went to her marriage for the sake of duty and destiny? You promised me the truth, remember.”
Relief swamped Maura with such force she might have crumpled onto the sand if Rath had not caught her by the arms.
Instead, she collapsed against him, giving his broad chest a token swat. “You fretted yourself and me over that? Of course you are the choice of my heart! It almost tore me in two when I thought the Waiting King would come between us.”
“But you chose him before you knew we were one and the same. I remember our journey to the Secret Glade and how you were prepared to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of your people. I cannot accept such a sacrifice from you, aira.”
Maura raised her face to meet the challenge of his gaze. “We made that decision together, remember? I cannot swear how I might have chosen if you had set yourself to change my mind.”
“Truly?”
Did he want to doubt her? Or was it just that doubt and distrust were still stronger in him than belief and hope.
“How can I convince you? Being your destined partner is the one part of my fate I can embrace with a joyful heart and no reservations. Have you forgotten our joining of spirits when you thought I was dead and performed the passing ritual? When you saw yourself through my eyes and tasted the flavor of my love for you?”
“Perhaps I had forgotten, a little.” He canted his head and leaned toward her. “Looking back now, it all seems like a dream—too good to be true.”
“Perhaps this will remind you.” Maura slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, pulling him toward her.
Her lips met his, parting in welcome. He kissed her with all the hoarded yearning of their journey, when it had seemed impossible that they would ever be together like this.
Even as she responded to his anxious ardor Maura could not help wondering if there was something more troubling him. Something he could not bring himself to share with her. Perhaps something he had not fully acknowledged to himself.
She pulled back from him just far enough to murmur, “What about you?”
“Me?” He lifted her off her feet and spun around until she squealed with laughter. “Can you suppose for a moment that I am not eager to wed you?”
“Not that,” she said when he had finally set her back on her feet. “I practically dragged you out of Everwood. But I do not want you to accept the crown and all that goes with it only for my sake.”
“Not such a bad reason, is it?”
Perhaps he had made himself dizzy spinning around. Now he clung to her for support, as she knew he would in the years to come. He was a strong, forceful man, but there were other kinds of st
rength and Maura sensed there might be times ahead when he would need to call upon hers.
“Not a bad reason, just not good enough. I want you to do this because it is the right thing to do. And because it is your destiny.”
“Do not fret yourself.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her brow, like a benediction. “I wasn’t thinking right that morn in Everwood. The whole notion of being the Waiting King had thrown me off balance like that spinning did just now. And I had a good many wrong ideas I’ve since learned the truth of.”
Maura listened for a false or forced note in his voice, but heard none.
Rath took her face in his hands and gazed deep into her eyes by the dying light of day. “Now that I have seen what life is like here on the Islands—what it could be like on the mainland—I cannot rest until I have done everything in my power to make it so.”
“Spoken like a true king,” Maura whispered.
“I still doubt we can oust the Han from Embria all by ourselves. Though, who knows... if the Giver wills it? But we will not be alone. Idrygon has been preparing for this day for years. Waiting and hoping that I would come to lead the force he has assembled.”
His words stirred and reassured Maura. “You’re convinced we can prevail now, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Rath looked so regal in his confidence she wished she had the crown in her hands to nestle on his windblown hair.
Then the banished shadow returned to darken his gaze. He gathered Maura close again, as if she were a frightened child in need of his comfort. Or perhaps the other way around.
“I am convinced we can prevail,” he repeated in a harsh whisper. “But at what cost?”
At what cost? Those words haunted Rath’s dreams on the night before his wedding and crowning ceremonies.
What Maura had told him about her parents did nothing to ease his dread. Quite the opposite. He might have reconciled himself to a heroic death like the kind her father had suffered. But to endure the loss of his beloved, as her mother had—the thought of it sapped his courage.