Even now, though he showed humility to Nia by kneeling, Frederick still raised his head to gaze upon her with unnerving reverence, and Saeran knew without question Nia would rather be anywhere in that moment than standing there before him.
He looks at you as if he sees a goddess given form, Saeran thought, willing the words to her. He didn’t expect her to hear him, but she answered all the same.
More fool he. A goddess would pluck his eyes out for daring to meet her gaze.
Her disgruntled voice in his mind soothed Saeran.
But then he noticed the knight at the far right of the company who, much like Frederick, didn’t have the sense to drop his gaze. This one was different. There was something very familiar in his eyes. Saeran had worn that selfsame look many a time when Nia either didn’t notice or chose not to see. Saeran’s fingers curled tighter around the dagger he hadn’t yet sheathed.
Nia stepped closer but said nothing. Saeran held their lives in his hand. Knowing she would stand by him no matter the judgment made it harder to choose but easier to carry the burden of choice. Saeran leaned to the side a little to brush shoulders with her. She reciprocated, elbowing his dagger arm. Scowling, he sheathed the blade and resumed his seat.
“Beltaine comes in two days’ time,” he said. “There will be no talk of quests until it passes. For now I will choose to overlook the affront you’ve caused. Have a care, I will not tolerate another.”
“We understand,” one of them said. “Our thanks, your Majesty.”
Saeran waved the guards to lead them out and clear the great hall. The court session was over. “I do not trust those men,” he told Nia when they were all gone. “Keep away from them.”
“As you command, your Majesty,” she replied.
He looked up at her where she stood. “I mean it, Nia.”
“Why do they bother you so?”
Saeran thought of the way the younger knight gazed at Nia and dread settled in his bones. He couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, someway, these knights would rob him of something precious. The maddening sense of portent hovered just out of reach, as visions always did each time he sought them.
“You are the one with magic Sight. What does it tell you?”
Nia tilted her head and looked off into the distance, no doubt seeing many things Saeran would never glimpse. “It tells me we are nearing a fork in the path.”
Saeran reached for her hand and squeezed it tight. Whichever path the gods chose for him, he would walk it with Nia by his side. Or not at all.
CHAPTER 12
Sir Frederick was pacing. He’d smoothed his shaggy hair six times since he’d come out to the courtyard, and it still wasn’t tidy enough to him. If he didn’t stop, he would smooth what little hair he had left right off his head. Arnaud shifted in his seat, made nervous by his fussing. Frederick must have seen dozens of pagan ceremonies in his life, he ought to be used to the sights.
Ah, but this one would be attended by the Lady of the Lake, and that was no ordinary thing.
The night the royal wizard had healed him, Frederick had told them all what he had seen. He described the lady Nia without the human mask he said she wore. He said he’d seen her shining from within, draped in a glittering pearlescent gown. He’d seen her beneath the surface of a deep lake, with fish and water nymphs paying her homage. But as she was in King Saeran’s court, Frederick said she’d also been out of place in the lake. Honored and revered, yet somehow greater than the nymphs around her. One of them, but separate. Her eyes, he’d said, had been like that of a doe, not a fish. A creature of land as much as water, and both at the same time.
Did she have the sword of kings, they all asked. Frederick hadn’t seen one in his vision. Did she say anything of the cup, they asked next. Hanging his head, he again answered no.
What was Arnaud to make of that? If it was a vision from God, it was one that seemed to serve no purpose. If it was the workings of evil, why would it have healed Frederick when it could have so easily killed him instead? The wizard didn’t lack for acolytes, and there was no service a wandering group of knights could render to one like her, so what reason could she have for deceiving them with a false vision?
Arnaud’s faith in God was unshakable. He’d seen the face of his Savior and would do whatever He commanded to see it again when his life in this world came to an end. His faith in Frederick’s vision was far less. They’d all been exhausted by their journey here, pride alone keeping them on their feet before the pagan king and his wizard. What Frederick had seen could have been nothing but a dream. Arnaud would not be swayed to believe otherwise unless he saw evidence of it for himself.
Tapping his foot, he chose to leave his companions to stroll about, lest he begin to pace as well. He’d heard talk in the village about this so-called festival. Despite the mystery surrounding the ritual itself, it seemed to him the rest of this day’s importance lay in the fervid coupling these people seemed to look forward to with more than a little impatience.
When he’d come out to check on his mount this morning, he’d found a young maid already being chased by the hostler in the stables. Arnaud had made a hasty retreat into his sanctuary for prayer. God give me strength to remain true.
He was tempted, increasingly so as the sun dipped lower and torches were lit, casting shadows all around. Wickedness lurked in those shadows, wearing the face of innocence. Temptation dressed in revealing gowns, smiling with open invitation. So many beautiful wenches brushed past him with ill concealed intent that he was hard pressed not to avail himself of one of them. Yet each time he came close to succumbing to such sweet temptation, he closed his eyes and saw the golden one. The lady who’d swept into the great hall on a summer breeze and faced them with sunshine in her hair and lightning in her gaze. Sir Frederick’s Lady of the Lake.
Arnaud had never seen her equal. In beauty, poise and bearing, she surpassed any queen he’d ever glimpsed, and he was ashamed to admit, if only to himself, that he was smitten. His weakness in the face of a pagan sorceress reminded him of his pitiful humanity. No matter how he strived to be pure of thought, devoted to his God and his quest alone, lady Nia had become a constant spectre in his mind, beguiling him, tempting him. He ought to hate her for it, yet everywhere he went, people loved her and sang praise enough to make a martyr blush. She was a healer among them, in every possible way. She mended bodies and minds, reconciled friendships, birthed children and cared for the old. She was their priestess and midwife, advisor and confidant.
Whether she was the Lady of the Lake the legends spoke of was irrelevant. Here, in this enchanted land, the wizard was a legend in her own right. And she was the true ruler of these people, Arnaud knew, for the king was no more immune to her beauty than the rest of them. She would guide his hand with a single word or gesture.
A child pushed through the crowd and barreled into him in his haste, dropping a handful of polished stones. “No!” he cried, diving for them, heedless of the feet so close to stomping him to death. The boy’s dark eyes were wide and brimming with tears, and his wee hands shook as he gathered the stones.
Arnaud knelt to aid him. “There now,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “What’s this? Tears on such a happy day?”
The child looked up at him, wiping a ragged sleeve under his nose. He did his best not to cry. “They’re a gift to the gods,” he said, “and I almost lost ‘em.” His chin wobbled, but he squared his bony shoulders and pushed to his feet. “They’re for lady Nia,” he finished grandly, opening his hand to show Arnaud his collection.
“They are lovely,” he said, “Perhaps too lovely for the wizard. You should save these for your mother.”
The boy shook his head. “Every ‘un gives something to the gods. But me Ma says the gods are far and hard of hearin’ a wee one as me. ‘Tis why the wizard is here. She’s their ears and voice. She hears our prayers and tells ‘em to the gods an’ they listen. She sings to ‘em, ye see.” He glanced down at the precious pile of p
ebbles. “She’ll pray for me Da to return. An’ he’ll listen an’ come back to us, I know it.”
Arnaud looked after the boy as he hurried away once more. “The poor child,” an old woman said, following his gaze. She was dressed in gray, save for the red and yellow ribbons in her white hair. “His father died last winter. Attacked by a poisoned bear. That was before the wizard rid the woods of the poison. And before the king rid the kingdom of them what put it there.” She shook her head sadly. “The boy’s right to pray to the wizard. But even she can’t bring back his Da.”
Arnaud pushed to his feet and bid the woman farewell. If the lady Nia was worthy of such honor and praise, then perhaps she was worthy of such offerings. He would find her a bloom, the most beautiful one around. And only Arnaud would know it was meant for her alone.
* * *
Tonight the Veil would thin. What was unseen could easily become visible if one was willing to look hard enough. It was Nia’s duty to keep the dark spirits away until the light of dawn. She would be the voice of Wilderheim as well as the gods and Others.
She had been dreading this night for a long time, since the moment the Others had appeared for her presentation at King Manfred’s court. Everyone would expect her to know what to do, but how could she? Nico hadn’t taught her what he himself had never known. The Others had never appeared to him. They seemed to be around Nia constantly. Even when she couldn’t see them she felt their presence. They’ve been roaming the castle since dawn, more of them now as night approached.
Nia retreated to her study, hoping the wards would keep them away. They didn’t. The great dire wolves she’d seen at her presentation paced the underground chamber as she bathed, making her extremely nervous. They tilted their heads at the walls, growled at the books and scrolls, but it was when they approached the wolf skin Saeran had given her that Nia wished she could disappear.
In her panic, she felt magic gather and pool in her chest, a precursor to her disappearing and reappearing somewhere else, but no matter how frightened she became when those feral glowing eyes turned on her, she stayed put as if her magic had suddenly become inert, a dead weight on her heart.
One of the pair, the larger, darker male shifted so close his nose touched hers. Nia closed her eyes. “I tried,” she said.
You failed, his voice growled inside her head.
“I know.”
And now you keep his pelt as a trophy.
Nia shrank from his terrible anger. “No, as a reminder. So I never forget that death is inevitable, but mercy is a gift.”
He snarled and suddenly her bath was gone and she stood naked before him. With the female stalking behind her and the male baring his massive fangs before her, Nia had no way of retreat, but she didn’t want one.
“You led him to me, didn’t you?”
The dire wolf’s hackles rose, making him even bigger.
“Why didn’t you heal him yourself? He was one of yours. He must have called out to you, in agony, dying. Why didn’t you help him?”
He snapped his jaws a hair’s breadth from her face, his breath burning her. You dare question me!
“Yes!” she snapped. “You led one of your children on a useless chase after a human who could never hope to do what you could have so easily, had you wanted to. You let him suffer, and for what? To test me?”
His hackles smoothed down and he tilted his head at Nia to an almost impossible angle. The female woofed behind her and the two met eyes. They circled her until their positions were reversed and now the female stood before Nia, lowering to meet her gaze. Her eyes were wild, but also kind. Her gaze hypnotized Nia, made her feel tired. Her legs weakened and she lowered to her knees. We are Other, the female said, and her voice echoed with the sound of countless pups calling to her with infinite affection. We can walk among humans, but we are not them.
Before Nia’s eyes, the dire wolf shifted, her great body dissolving like a vision into that of a tall, slender human woman. Her long hair was gray, her eyes golden like the moon she revered, and though she looked human enough, Nia sensed the shape for what it was, a beautiful mask for the wolf beneath her skin. Who are you, child? she asked, revealing teeth too sharp to be human.
The male dire wolf came around to his mate, and she stroked his fur with a graceful hand. He nuzzled into her touch, sitting by her side so close she became half engulfed in his fur. Nia was envious of the love they obviously shared for each other, something she could never have.
“I am the royal wizard,” she answered. “My duty is to stand as Wilderheim does, between humans and the gods, and the Others. I walk the path of inbetween, and I know I walk it alone.”
The wolf’s smile was menacing, her words rough. You know nothing. Learn.
Nia frowned. “Learn what?”
The male dire wolf huffed and nudged her shoulder hard enough to knock her off balance. Learn, he ordered, and then both of them were gone. In their absence, the wolf pelt seemed to watch her from its place on her bed.
Shaken, Nia rose to her feet and donned her robes against the chamber’s chill. It was almost time for her to make an appearance outside.
CHAPTER 13
Torches were lit all at once when the sun kissed the western tree line, flooding the courtyard with blazing light. It was magic as much as fire; hundreds of hearts beating together in the same wish for children and a healthy harvest later in the year. Saeran could almost see their prayers shimmering interspersed with torchlight, floating among the sparks thrown by bonfires. It was a beautiful sight to behold.
Every house was decorated with vibrant flags and ribbons to celebrate the beginning of summer, every man woman and child dressed in their finest. The music was loud, the laughter even louder, but through it all the breeze teased him with secrets of things unseen. The Others were walking among them tonight. Saeran strained to catch a glimpse of even one, but he saw nothing.
He weaved amidst the crowds, searching for anything that was out of place. The courtyard was a melee of dancers and revelers, the great hall open to everyone on this holy night, for all were equal before the gods. Instead of formal feasts, everyone would go to the altar on the hill where offerings to the gods would be made.
Nia would lead the procession. She would weave spells around her to make sparkling lights follow in her wake and her white robes would glitter in the dying light with a magic of their own. There would be flowers in her hair and a golden mask covering her eyes and nose. She would be the embodiment of the goddess Frigga.
They come, they gather, the breeze whispered. They come to see…
“What?” Saeran asked.
See, the breeze repeated, swirling around him once and then streaming toward the castle. See…
Saeran walked in the direction of the wind. He focused his intention as Nia had taught him, willed it into a vision to See the Others among his people. It took him long moments to realize he was following a leyline, and when he saw what it was leading him to, the young king almost dropped to his knees.
In an instant, all became quiet and the crowds parted to create a passage. They bowed deeply as Nia passed, paying homage to her and the goddess of fertility she embodied. Saeran forgot to breathe. She glided along the uneven ground on bare feet, her step silent but for the tinkling of tiny bells that none could see. It was an illusion, the king told himself, but couldn’t be certain.
See…
He saw.
He kept his features calm, falling in step behind her; the first in the procession. It was his right as king. The breeze wafted over him, bringing with it the scent of her. She was summer. She was sunshine and flowers, rainstorms and life.
As they passed the outer gate, a cheer went up and the music and revelry resumed, following in their wake. Nia never faltered. She led the way to the hill, oblivious to everything else. When she reached the altar, she turned to face the crowds and raised her arms above her head, speaking to the heavens and the setting sun. She called for blessings upon the land and
all who lived on it, asking for a bountiful harvest and happiness for couples young and old.
When she finished speaking, she rounded the altar and passed her hands over it. Then the villagers came forward, placing their small offerings onto the slab of stone. They brought wreaths of wild flowers, pieces of fruit, if they had any, or puppets made of hay, ribbons and cloth. They brought what they could spare to please the gods, laying it before Nia and speaking soft prayers as if she truly was the goddess who looked after them.
Nia accepted the gifts formally, thanking each person and blessing them as they passed. The offerings would be left on the altar for the gods to do with as they pleased. No one was allowed to take from them, lest they incur their wrath.
The foreigners came forward at the end, each taking part in the ceremony as they would. Sir Frederick gave a silken handkerchief, saying a prayer of thanks to both the gods and Nia herself. He bowed deeply to her as he stepped away and Nia nodded to him in acknowledgement. The rest of the knights followed suit, one bringing a piece of bread, another a carved wooden horse, the third a piece of chain mail, and the last a single red bloom. She nodded in thanks and blessed all of them as well.
Finally it was the king’s turn and, for him, Nia rounded the altar once more to face him without barrier. The king had no tribute to give. It was tradition for him to show respect to the gods by proving his humility.
Saeran stepped forward, grateful the ritual required no words. His mouth was too dry for him to speak. The fires sang out with the wind, even the sky added its voice to the chorus. He bowed his head before Nia and knelt. The crowd echoed with a prayer for the king, that he might find a wife soon and sire offspring, and their voices made the earth shudder beneath him.
Nia touched a hand to his chin, urging him to look up. When he did, she leaned down and kissed him, as was custom. Saeran balled his hands into fits, fighting the urge to pull her to him and kiss her the way he wanted to. He was drunk with the scent of her, the feel of her lips so chaste against his.
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