by Deborah Hale
He rolled over in the narrow bed he’d been provided by one of Maura’s relatives, cursing the custom that they must sleep apart during the days leading up to their wedding. He had not minded it so much while she’d been off to Galene visiting her kin. Now that they were on the same island again, he could scarcely bear to be parted from her.
If she’d been sharing his bed now, he could have held her close, soothed by the warmth of her body, the whisper of her breathing and the murmur of her heartbeat. He could have convinced himself to savor whatever time they had and trust to the Giver’s providence that it would not be cut short.
No matter what the young Oracle prophesied.
Thinking back over his talk with Maura on the beach, he burned with shame for questioning her honesty when he had been hiding something from her. But he could not blight her happiness by telling her the truth. From now on, he must keep his worries better hidden from her—not writ large with pictures like a tavern sign!
“Highness!” Someone shook Rath’s shoulder.
He came awake with a violent start, to find his hand around Delyon’s neck.
“Your pardon!” He let go at once. “Don’t ever wake me sudden like that.”
“No harm done.” Delyon’s voice sounded hoarse as he rubbed his throat. “My brother sent me to fetch you. It will soon be dawn—time for the ceremony.”
As Delyon set down the candle he was carrying on a small table beside the bed, Rath thanked the Giver that the young scholar hadn’t dropped it on the bedclothes during their brief struggle.
“Your robes are all laid out over there.” Delyon pointed to a low chest in the far corner. “You’d better hurry.”
Rath scrambled out of bed. “I’ll be right along.”
As he headed for the door, Delyon paused and turned. “Highness?”
“Yes?” After two weeks in Idrygon’s household, Rath was slowly getting used to answering to that title.
“I wish you every joy in your union, sire.” Delyon bowed. “It will be an honor to witness the joining and crowning of the Waiting King and the Destined Queen.”
“Um... thank you.” Rath knew he sounded gruff and awkward, but he couldn’t help himself.
The young scholar was a decent enough fellow, but the two of them were as unalike as men could be. And given a choice between them, Rath had no illusions about who was the better man.
After Delyon left, Rath quickly slipped into his wedding robes, relieved to find they were a good deal looser than the tunics he worn on Margyle. Delyon had told him their brown color symbolized the fertile earth. When he emerged from his chamber into the courtyard, it was packed with men, talking quietly by candlelight.
Idrygon stepped forward with a woven circlet of leaves and placed it on Rath’s head. “We had better get going to reach the wedding grove by dawn. I hope you slept well, Highness. This is going to be a grand day.”
Rath nodded, stifling a yawn. This would be a grand day and he must do nothing to spoil it for Maura or these good folks. He tried to approach it as he might a coming battle—concentrating on the tasks at hand, while firmly locking away any distracting worries.
With his usual efficiency, Idrygon mustered all the men into a procession that headed off toward the wedding grove. As they walked, they sang a ritual chant in twaran, of which Rath could make out a few words. It did not matter, though, for he’d been told the bridegroom took no part in the singing. He brought up the rear of the procession, following the bobbing lights of many candles, through the predawn darkness.
Soon they reached the wedding grove, a cultivated ring of trees, shrubbery and flowers with four openings—one each for north, south, east and west. The bridegroom’s procession entered through the eastern one into a large grassy circle that sloped to a low mound at the center. The men walked around the rim of the circle, moving westward, while Idrygon led Rath to the middle of the grass, where they waited.
The moment he stopped, Rath could hear a high, clear chorus of women’s voices coming from the west. Soon the first women began to file into the grove through the western entrance, their chant weaving a haunting harmony with the men’s voices. They walked around the circle in the opposite direction the men had, while Madame Verise and one of Maura’s aunts led her toward Rath.
Maura wore a gown the color of spring leaves. Her ruddy curls hung loose over her shoulders and down her back, crowned with a wreath of flowers. By the flickering light of a hundred candles, and the first rays of dawn, she was a vision of near-unbearable beauty.
Suddenly the chanting stopped, and all the candles were blown out.
“Let us meditate with one pure will,” said Madame Verise in a quiet but resonant voice. “And ask that the gracious spirit of the Giver may hover over this holy place and bless the union of this man and woman.”
In the expectant silence that followed, Rath heard the distant pounding of the surf, the whisper of the breeze through the leaves and the first clear, sweet notes of birdsong to herald the rising sun. As he had on the swift, treacherous ride down that river from the mines, Rath felt a presence enfolding and uplifting him.
When at last Madame Verise began to pronounce the ritual of union, he was able to meet Maura’s gaze with a warm, untroubled smile.
“Elzaban and Maura. As you embark upon a lifetime voyage across the uncharted ocean of the future, we gather today to witness your compact of union and to invoke the Giver’s blessing upon you.”
She nodded to Rath, who held his right hand out to Maura, palm up, and spoke the words he had worked hard to memorize. “Maura, I offer myself to you—all that I have and all that I am. I promise to protect you, defend you, support and cherish you as long as I live.”
“Elzaban...” Maura stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar name and her voice sounded thick with unshed tears. “I accept you as my lifemate, with a joyous and thankful heart.”
Her right hand was cold as she laid it palm down upon his.
Madame Verise led the guests in a chant, asking the Giver to bless Rath with the strength, wisdom, tenderness and patience to fulfil his vows.
Then Maura extended her left hand to Rath. “Elzaban, I offer myself to you—all that I have and all that I am. I promise to sustain you, heal you, support and cherish you as long as I live.”
She had scarcely finished speaking when Rath laid his left hand upon hers. “Maura, I accept you as my lifemate, with a joyous and thankful heart.”
This time the company chanted a blessing upon Maura, while Rath stared deep into her eyes and silently begged the Giver to endow his bride with an extra measure of patience. She would need it.
When the chant ended, Madame Verise nodded to Rath and Maura, who raised both pairs of clasped hands toward the sky—a symbol of growth.
“All here witness,” proclaimed Madame Verise, “that Elzaban and Maura have freely pledged themselves to one another for life. May their union grow and flourish. And may it bear an abundance of sound, sweet fruit in the years to come.”
Rath flinched at the mention of the fruits of their union, but quickly shoved that renegade worry into a deep, dark corner of his mind. By the time he and Maura had lowered their clasped hands and she could see his face clearly, Rath flattered himself that she glimpsed nothing but what he wanted her to see—his joy, his pride and his love.
With hands still clasped between them, he leaned forward and sealed their vows with a kiss.
The rings of men and women ranged around the edge of the grove broke as the guests surged toward Rath and Maura to offer their blessings. Those already wed hung back to let the younger folk reach the center of the circle first.
Untangling their hands, Maura lifted the circlet of flowers from her hair while Rath removed the garland of leaves from his. Then they threw the wedding wreaths into the air, where they broke apart, showering down on the approaching guests.
Young men lunged after the falling leaves, while the maidens each tried to catch a flower that meant they would one da
y find true love.
Rath laughed with a full heart as he watched the merry scramble. Just then, he wished everyone in the kingdom could know the surpassing happiness he had found with his destined bride.
Maura had only ever witnessed one other wedding—her friend Sorsha’s. And it had been very different from this splendid ceremony. She and Langbard had gone with Sorsha and Newlyn to a tiny glade in Betchwood where the two had made their vows. All the while, they’d listened for any sound of a Hanish patrol or an outlaw band. Rather than tossing her bridal wreath in the air, Sorsha had carefully lifted it off her head and placed it on her friend’s, saying she hoped the Giver would bless Maura with a fine husband someday. At the time, Maura had judged the chances of that very slight.
Her eyes misted with tears.
“What is it, love?” Rath stopped laughing at the antics of the young folks scrambling for groom’s leaves and bridal blossoms. “Nothing wrong, is there?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been happier. I only wish Sorsha could have been here today.”
For all she was delighted to have been welcomed into the bosom of a large, loving family and to have her Woodbury kin witness her ritual of union, Sorsha was her oldest and dearest friend. A friend who was still in danger of having her family torn apart, if the Han should discover the secret of Newlyn’s past. A friend who had to observe the rituals of the Elderways in secret.
“Maybe it’s just as well she couldn’t be here.” Rath’s voice lilted with teasing humor. “I’m not sure Sorsha would have approved you wedding a dangerous character like me. She wasn’t too happy about you going off with me in the first place.”
His jest lifted Maura’s spirits as they received congratulations from all the company. “Sorsha would change her colors soon enough, I’m certain, once she got to know you. You and her Newlyn are a good deal alike.”
Hand in hand, they led a merry procession that wound in and out through all the entrances to the grove. Finally they departed through the northern one, to signify that their union would endure through adversity. Remembering the hardships it had already withstood to reach this moment, Maura felt confident she and Rath could weather whatever storms the future might bring.
From the wedding grove, they walked back to her grandfather’s villa. A bountiful feast awaited them there, with food spread on long tables from which everyone could help themselves. Before anyone else could eat, Maura and Rath peeled two hard-boiled eggs decorated with twaran letters and fed them to each other.
“Well, this is fitting!” Maura chuckled. “Do you remember the morning after we left Windleford, how you peeled those eggs Sorsha gave us?”
“I do.” Rath’s dark eyes twinkled with glee. “Though if I’d known then what it meant, I might have thought twice.”
Afterward, they helped each other to more of the food—strands of bread twisted into fanciful shapes, wedges of flavorful cheese and pieces of island fruit threaded on wooden skewers in colorful patterns. Sythwine and lipma cordial flowed freely along with other delicious drinks Maura had never tasted before.
After Rath and Maura had eaten their fill, Idrygon and Madame Verise summoned them away to change into their coronation robes for the ceremony that would take place at noon.
Madame Verise smiled through tears as she helped Maura into a gown the color of midsummer sunshine. “Bless the Giver that I should live to see the Destined Queen crowned. I only wish Nalene and Langbard could be here. They devoted their lives to making this happen. Though you are not their daughter by birth, your coronation still honors them and fulfills their hope.”
Maura clasped the old woman in a gentle embrace, and in their shared tears, the spirits of Langbard and his wife seemed very near, bestowing their special blessing upon her.
“Enough now.” Madame Verise at last thrust a handkerchief at Maura. “Dry your eyes, child. We cannot have the Destined Queen blubbering through her coronation.”
The crowning ceremony took place in the same hallowed glade as their ritual of union, which was fitting, Maura thought. In a way, she and Rath were being united with their people into one very large family. Rath looked so regal in robes that seemed to have been woven from threads of the deep blue Vestan sky. Maura even found herself thinking of him as Elzaban.
Delyon read from a scroll that prophesied the coming of the Waiting King. The uncanny parallels between what had been foretold so long ago and the adventures she and Rath had shared to reach this moment gave Maura chills of wonder.
There were several chants by the assembled witnesses, calling down the Giver’s blessing on the new king and queen. Rath spoke his vows, similar to the ones he had made Maura, to protect and defend his kingdom. Then it was her turn to promise she would sustain and nurture her people.
She and Rath knelt before the young Oracle of Margyle, who looked a little uncertain. Maura flashed the child a reassuring smile, to remind her that they were no better prepared for this than she. Yet the Giver was with them, and all would be well.
The child stood a little taller as she looked out at the assembled crowd. “I am perhaps the only one here with memories of other Embrian kings and queens crowned.” Her high young voice rang with the accumulated wisdom of all her predecessors. “But never has an oracle placed the crowns of our realm on the heads of two worthier sovereigns.”
She turned to Madame Verise and took from her a crown of ivory, carved to resemble the flower wreath Maura had worn in her hair that morning. Placing it on Maura’s head, she said, “Wear this crown, Destined Queen, in token of the Giver’s wisdom, courage and compassion. May your reign be long, peaceful and prosperous.”
Then she took a larger crown from Idrygon, also of ivory and carved as a ring of leaves. So skillful had been the artistry of the carver that Maura almost fancied it had been fashioned from real leaves, bleached to the color of fresh cream.
“Wear this crown, Elzaban, Waiting King, in token of the Giver’s wisdom, courage and compassion. May your reign be long, peaceful and prosperous.”
Signaling the newly crowned monarchs to rise, the Oracle turned to those gathered and cried, “Embria waits no more!”
End of Book Two
Excerpt from “The Destined Queen”
“WHAT SHALL WE do next, aira?” Rath leaned back in the gently swaying hammock suspended between two tall tree trunks, shaded by a high canopy of broad leaves. Maura nestled against him. “Go for another swim in the lagoon? Catch some fish? Or wander through the woods to see if we can spot any monkeys?”
Following their coronation, they had spent a blissful week on the tiny island paradise of Tolin, where Madame Verise told them Langbard and his wife had spent their nectarnights many years ago. They had been given the use of a cozy little villa, with a breathtaking view of the lagoon from its bedroom balcony. The pantry had been stocked with all the food they would need for their stay. As well, there was plenty of fresh fish for the catching and an amazing variety of ripe fruit just waiting to be plucked.
But the thing Rath liked best about the place was its seclusion. Ever since Gull and his crew had brought them from Galene, they had not seen or heard another living soul. Unless you counted the monkeys which they had not seen, either, though they’d heard haunting calls from the forest at night.
“Why must we go anywhere or do anything?” Maura ran her hand over his cheek in a tender caress. “For weeks and weeks, we’ve been on the move, always with something urgent to accomplish. I think we owe ourselves these nice lazy nectarnights.”
Rath chuckled. “I love it when you’re right, lady wife.”
He had a faint suspicion there was something they ought to be doing or planning to do, but he could not remember what. And he was not sure he wanted to remember.
Madame Verise had given him and Maura a potion to bring with them to the island. She’d told them it was her wedding gift and said they were to drink a special toast with it as soon as they arrived. He and Maura had dutifully followed her instr
uctions, though Rath hadn’t cared for the taste of it. The potion was supposed to do something but Rath could not recall what.
Never mind! He had the most wonderful woman in Embria in his arms and a private paradise in which to enjoy her company.
Maura looked up at the summer sky or such bits of it as they could see through the thick leaves overhead. The wind had blown a billow of clouds over the island. “Perhaps we ought to go inside. It looks like another downpour is coming.”
“So it does,” said Rath. But he made no move to rise from the hammock.
The island weather was strange with its brief but intense showers that left the ground steaming when the sun chased them away. Now that he’d gotten used to it, Rath preferred these warm downpours to the long days of gray drizzle that sometimes blanketed the Hitherland, or the parching heat of the Southmark steppes.
“You know,” he wound a strand of Maura’s hair around his finger, “the rain will be over so soon, it is hardly worth the bother of going in. And it isn’t cold.”
“But our clothes will get wet.”
Rath shrugged. “They dry out quick. And I’ll wager I can keep you so delightfully occupied, you won’t even notice the rain.”
“A wager, is it, outlaw?” Maura flashed him a mischievous grin. “What are the stakes, then?”
A distant roll of thunder echoed the rumble of Rath’s chuckle. “Loser must prepare breakfast for the winner, and serve it in bed.”
Maura laughed, her eyes shimmering like rain-drenched leaves after the sweet tempest of a storm. “I fed you in bed not long after we met. It is about time you returned the favor.”
“I had something more pleasant in mind than a bowl of barleymush while I lay bound by one of your spells,” Rath teased, forgetting how good that plain fare had tasted at the time.
Now, as the first drops of rain spattered down on them, he cradled Maura’s chin with his fingers and drew her lips toward his.
Their first kiss was light and playful, like the banter leading up to it. But like the storm that swept down on them, their exchange soon gathered intensity. Every memory from their journey together inspired a subtle change in his attentions—by turns enticing, yearning, relishing, cherishing. In spite of the thick awning of branches above them, warm summer rain soon teemed down over the newlyweds. Maura’s hair fell like a wet veil around Rath’s face as his lips pressed against hers. Each kiss set him pleasure-drunk with its piquant sweetness. He caressed her with restrained ardor, delighting in the assurance that they truly belonged to one another at last.