The Royal Wizard

by Alianne Donnelly

  A child. She was draped in colorful silks, the bottom of her face covered with a transparent veil. Her eyes were beautiful. Dark and exotic, both innocent and sensual. She was a beauty, to be sure. And Saeran had noticed it as well. When he turned to gaze at her, his eyes became dream hazed and a small smile pulled on his mouth.

  Nia turned away with a whimper. She let the spell dissolve and sank to a fallen tree trunk, burying her face in her hands. She couldn’t breathe; didn’t trust herself to release the air in her lungs, lest it take her voice with it. If she cried now, she would never stop.

  It was done. Saeran was married. He had his queen just as Nia had wished for him the night of his coronation. She would sit by his side, guide his hand, and ease the burden of ruling a kingdom. She would be his friend and hold him when he needed to be held, kiss him when he came to her each night. She would give him heirs unlike any Wilderheim has ever seen.

  It’s as it should be, she told herself. My place was always in the shadow. Hugging the wolf skin closer around her she lifted her gaze to the stars. Not for the first time she wondered what Nico would have wanted her to do. But then her thoughts turned dark, wondering why the old wizard had even brought her to the castle, made her face things she’d never wanted to see, and then abandoned her when she needed him most. He must have foreseen this as a possibility.

  In the shadows, a dark form stirred. It was Lucca. This morning when she’d greeted each of the knights he’d coldly informed her that he was not truly a knight and that he did not wish to be addressed by the title. She’d heard him cry out in his sleep the night before and knew he suffered his own nightmares which made him surly in the mornings. But whatever he dreamed, he never told her and she never asked.

  Now, a fair way from the camp fire and the rest of their company, he kept his distance, hiding in shadows rather than stepping into the light of the moon. He addressed her from that darkness as if its embrace was the only reason he could speak the words at all. “I know your pain,” he said, his voice so hollow it called to her, and she reached out unbidden to his mind. “It is the pain of loss, same as mine.”

  His memories rose like mist in her mind, pulling her into his past without being invited. She saw a child suffering with fever, his worried mother sitting by his bedside while Lucca hunted like a madman for a healer, a priest, a witch, anyone who could help his dying son. She saw a kindly old priest enter the house in his absence to console the mother and light a candle by the child’s bedside, saying a prayer for his recovery. Then the priest left. Exhausted, the praying mother fell asleep on her knees. The candle tumbled, sparked a flame in the thresh and within moments the entire house was ablaze.

  “They tell you it will pass,” Lucca said, banishing her back into herself. “They tell you to give yourself to god and let him take the pain away. It is all a lie, wizard. Pain like that never goes away. And it only becomes worse with time.”

  “Among my people we believe our loved ones await us beyond death,” she said.

  “Your gods are not mine. The one I worshiped took my wife and children from me because I loved them more than him.” His harsh tone made her flinch. “You cannot imagine the hatred I hold for him, and for that he will keep me from them forever.”

  Nia’s heart broke for him. This was the torment he lived with day and night, mourning his family, cursing his god. Lucca had lost everything, and in his despair the pain had become all he had. It was overwhelming, the kind of grief that scarred the soul. It went beyond her ability to heal and she wasn’t fool enough to try. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  Heavy rustling footsteps put an end to their conversation. Lucca retreated deeper into the night and then disappeared all together.

  “Lady Nia.”

  Nia did not face Arnaud. “I told you not to call me a lady. I am not noble.”

  “You are something,” he said coming closer. Lowering himself next to her, he plucked a sleeping flower to toy with. “May I ask you a question?”

  “You may not.”

  “Why have you decided to join us? It is because of the king, is it not?” He pulled on the flower, forcing it open and tearing off its petals. Nia’s hand twitched every time she heard the delicate rip. Still raw from Lucca’s memories, it aggravated her much more than it would have under normal circumstances. Where she felt an odd kinship with Lucca, Arnaud’s presence was forceful, bothersome. She wanted him gone. “Matters of the heart are—”

  “None of your affair,” she snapped. “My reasons for coming with you are my own and you have no need to guess at them. Rest assured, I will get you to your treasure, and I will lead you back again. But my obligation to you goes no further than…” She never finished the sentence. Her skin prickled and the wolf pelt’s hackles rose as if he was still alive and scented danger.

  Power was in the air; not her own. It controlled the wind and made it spy. She stretched her senses to find the source but it was beyond her boundaries. Its magic tasted different than her own or anything Other she had thus far encountered. It made her shudder, for she knew that this grand display was only a hint of its true potential.

  “What is it?” Arnaud rose to his feet, hand on his sword, looking for an enemy to slay.

  “Hush for a moment,” Nia told him and knelt on the ground to bury her hands in the earth. It was a stronger medium than the air, and through it she would be able to reach farther. Closing her eyes, she concentrated, using the power’s scent to track it as a predator. She separated herself from her body and streaked across the forest floor with incredible speed. She felt nothing in this state, not grief or pain, not love, anger or regret. Only the freedom of flight. Nothing restrained her now, and if she wanted to she could disperse to eternity and never return. It was a temptation Nia forced herself to resist. She had her target and she was getting closer.

  The earth was cold, covered with ice and it sped her progress. She was vaguely aware of what was around her. A field of snow and ice, a sparse forest and in its depths a cave. This was where the spy dwelled, hidden away from the world where no one would think to look for him. She slowed as she neared the cave, her limits stretched as far as they could go. If she went too far she wouldn’t be able to return to herself.

  Nia pushed a little more. It hurt to move, but she put it from her mind and approached the cave. There was light. A fire burned in the back, but the light of magic was much brighter. So bright it blinded her, though she had no eyes. She reached for it and just managed to brush the core.

  Pain exploded in her physical body, merciless talons ripping into her mind so deep she screamed. Her essence pulled back with such a rush that it knocked her back against a tree. And still she screamed, trapped in the clutches of a being she couldn’t identify. It probed her, searched her mind and soul with cold efficiency, leaving no secret undiscovered. Nia burned. Her blood was on fire, scorching her from the inside, yet her skin was freezing from the Other’s touch.

  At last, it touched upon something that made it still. For a moment, lucidity returned to her. Instead of the forest, she was suddenly in her study beneath Castle Frastmir. Everything was tossed around as if a great wind had swept through the chamber, and then her gaze fell upon Saeran. Nia squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to allow the creature tearing through her to see with her eyes. It was useless; it was in her memories, not her body, and it saw everything as clearly as she remembered it.

  For a terrible moment, all she could do was breathe and hear it breathe with her, inside her.

  Then, all at once her torturer released her from its clutches and disappeared. Nia fell to the forest floor as many footsteps rushed toward her. She heard the knights, their voices so far away she couldn’t make out their words. They touched her, but she felt nothing.

  And then everything went dark.

  She awoke by the camp fire, her entire body aching as if she’d been stomped to dust by Stardust’s hooves. Arnaud and the others stood over her, all of them wearing identical expressions of fea
r and concern.

  One of them, she wasn’t sure which, helped her sit up. The simple motion brought her so much agony she almost cast up the meager contents of her stomach. The remnants of that strange power still lingered inside her. She felt seared with it, branded. Her hands were stiff and she couldn’t hold the cup Arnaud handed her. She saw their mouths move, knew they were talking to her, but couldn’t make any sense of their words past the ringing in her ears.

  It didn’t matter. Such immense power had a source. It was a territorial being, dangerously intelligent and cunning. It relished its seclusion and did not tolerate any trespasses on its land.

  It knew who they were and where they had come from.

  They were heading right for it and the creature knew.

  It was waiting for them.

  CHAPTER 18

  Wilderheim would never suspect the sacrifice Saeran had made for the safety of his people. Manfred had known the day his son shook hands with the Aegiran delegate that one day he would have to stand by and watch the boy’s heart break. It was a thousand times worse than he’d ever imagined now that Saeran sat next to his young queen, and Manfred would give anything to spare him this; to give Saeran what he’d had with his mother.

  Manfred had come riding in with two hundred of Halden’s finest soldiers to tell Saeran he had only to say a word and he would have two armies at his back to defend Wilderheim and its king. But his son would hear none of it. With Manfred at his side, he’d wed the southern girl at once and fulfilled the foolish bargain he never should have struck. Now he sat his throne with her at his side, watching over the feast but Manfred knew he wasn’t seeing any of it.

  “A fine pair they make,” one of the border lords begrudged. There were many who shared his disgruntlement that the king had chosen a foreigner over one of their daughters.

  Manfred motioned to one of the servers. “Where is the wizard?”

  “She’s gone, my lord,” the serving girl said, blushing. “She rode out days ago with a company of knights.”

  “For what purpose?” What could be more important than this? And how dare she abandon Saeran when he needs her the most? If anyone could have put a stop to it, the wizard Nia could have done it.

  “No one knows, my lord. All’s I know is that the night before she left the castle shook as if the very earth was set to swallow it whole! And she looked none too pleased to be leavin’, her and his Majesty.”

  Manfred closed his eyes and sighed, dismissing the girl with a wave. He should have known. Reaching for his chalice, he drank deeply of the honey mead, but it did nothing to sweeten the bitter taste in his mouth.

  “Hail King Saeran and Queen Mari!” someone shouted and dozens of voices echoed the toast.

  “Hail the king and queen! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”

  Saeran met eyes with him and Manfred fisted his hands against the urge to give an ill advised order. Instead he rose from his seat and climbed the stairs to the dais and his son. “You spoke to her before she left,” he said for Saeran’s ear alone.

  The boy nodded.

  “Did she tell you anything of use?” He knew the way of wizards all too well. Nico had spoken in riddles so often Manfred still gritted his teeth to remember it. He could only imagine his apprentice was likewise disinclined to reveal what she thought his son was not prepared to know.

  “She said this must be so.”

  “And you believe her?”

  Saeran looked away, his jaw set. “She is the stronger one,” he said after a while. “Regardless of the king’s happiness, Wilderheim must hold. One of us had to put the kingdom first, and three days ago it would not have been me. Yes, Father, I believe my wizard spoke the truth, though I wish to the gods it was not so. With all my heart I believe it.”

  Then there was little hope for either of them.

  Manfred sighed and bid his son good night, feeling every one of his many years in his bones as he descended the stairs and retreated to his chambers to rest. Of all the many wishes he’d held for Saeran in his heart since the day of his birth, none were greater than that he grow up hale and strong and find someone to make him as happy as Rhys had made him. Now he wondered whether he’d called down some sort of curse upon him instead.

  Better that Saeran never know that kind of happiness existed than live the rest of his days with it just beyond his reach. Better that he never know love than ever pine after one that could never be matched.

  For if ever a woman lived to make his son lose his heart and soul in love, the wizard Nia was she.

  * * *

  The music was overwhelming. Three different groups of musicians played three different songs, several of them plucking tunes Saeran had never heard before. The entire kingdom was rejoicing, celebrating his marriage to the Southern princess. Saeran sat his throne as tense as a statue, feeling the same way he had the first time he’d seen the Aegirans on the other side of the battlefield. Cornered.

  He wanted to howl his anguish, willing to make an utter fool of himself because maybe, just maybe the sound of his heart breaking would carry far enough for Nia to hear, loud enough to call her back to him. But what could he do once she was here?

  The princess, his queen now, had barely moved since she’d sat next to him. She was a beauty to be sure. At ten and five she was a vision in silks, no matter that he couldn’t see more than her eyes. Dark skinned, with raven hair that reached almost to her knees, Queen Mari watched the feast through wide, exotic eyes. Those eyes held magic as hot as the desert sun.

  If only it scorched Saeran as it seemed to burn all his nobles. Old lechers, the lot of them.

  He tapped his foot to a particular rhythm, straining his ears for the breeze. It was difficult enough to concentrate with music blaring and everyone shouting congratulations his way, but everything seemed more difficult without Nia close by. She must have witched him somehow, made him see and hear things that were never there when she was absent.

  There lay true magic. Not in the eyes of Mari, but in the presence of Nia. She wore power like a lady wore a cloak, yet she rarely called on it. Magic came to her, eager to do her bidding, eager to be touched by her and to touch her in return.

  Eager for her as Saeran was desperate.

  A breeze tickled his neck and he sat up straighter. What news? he asked it, hoping to catch word of his wizard and her companions.

  The breeze wavered with silent laughter and tickled him once more. I bring news from the south, it said, and your wizard treads not here.

  Frustrated, he sat back once more. He needed to walk out into the night and question the trees, the earth. Anything at all. There’d been no word of her since she rode into the woods. No one had seen her or the knights pass through a single village. No one could tell him where she was, whether she was safe. Saeran didn’t trust a single one of those knights; he never should have sent Nia out with them.

  He needed his wizard back.

  In her absence, Saeran had nowhere to turn but to Mari. “Does this please you?” he asked, striving for at least the appearance of civility.

  She blinked her dark eyes at him as she slowly deciphered his words. Someone had taught her his language, but she still had much to learn. At last she nodded.

  Saeran returned the gesture and turned his attention back to the revelry. She’d not said a word to him yet. It annoyed him, her silence, more than the musicians, and more than the nobles. He missed Nia’s prickly tongue. Never had that woman lacked for something to say, whether to anger him, amuse him, or teach him. She’d have risked her neck to speak out of turn rather than hold her silence when the stakes were high.

  The timid creature next to him now was her exact opposite. If she had strength in her, any spirit at all, Saeran couldn’t see it.

  With Nia, he’d felt it. From miles away he’d felt it.

  Now all he felt was a void where she’d once stood, keeping watch over him and his reign. His trusted advisor and beloved friend. Friend, for he could never now call her b
y a name more dear.

  Clenching his hands into fists on his knees, Saeran forced his thoughts away from the wizard. He had a wife now. A queen. He should be among his nobles, dancing and rejoicing with them. But though his feet ached to move, it wasn’t to dance. Though his gaze was watchful, it wasn’t to take in the spectacles. And though his ears were sharp, he didn’t care for the bard’s ballad. Despite his best intentions, Saeran couldn’t help but search for what he knew he would not find.

  His nose tickled and for a moment he thought he smelled summer blooms. Nia. He had but to think her name and all of a sudden the music of a thousand hearts beating at once made his own beat faster. Colors seemed brighter somehow, everything more beautiful, and he felt as if she was there, causing this change in him. His frown gave way at the fanciful thought, imagining things he knew could never be.

  In his mind, he was well and truly wed—to the woman who’d taught him to hear the wind sing through trees. And when he glanced to the honored seat to his left, it was a golden haired nymph he saw sitting there, proud and regal, draped in robes instead of silks, with a wolf skin hugging her shoulders. She wore no gold, or adornments, but for that. He saw her red lips curve into a smile and his own curved in answer.

  And then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling was gone, as was his wizard. In her rightful place now sat a southern girl of ten and five, no doubt petrified at being wed to a northern king.

  Saeran pushed to his feet to leave, not realizing his mistake until the music stopped. There was only one thing he could say, the thing they all expected to hear. “It is time for us to retire.” He choked on the words. As tradition dictated, he bowed to his young queen and offered his hand. He told himself he didn’t see her glance uncertainly at the guards who had accompanied her here. He told himself he didn’t feel her hand flinch when his fingers closed around hers.

  And later, when he left her chambers, he told himself he didn’t hear her weeping softly in her bed.