The Royal Wizard

by Alianne Donnelly

  The candles sang their sorrowful melodies.

  The walls mourned the dying king.

  The wolf’s pelt pulled tighter around her, as if in encouragement.

  Steeling herself against the stab of pain she knew was to come she turned her eyes on Saeran and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him. His hair was soaked with sweat, his eyes swollen and red, closed and still. He looked frozen, his skin pale and his lips blue. His beard had been shaven, revealing a gaunt face once so handsome. Blanket upon blanket covered him from the neck down, but she knew what they hid; a skeleton covered with skin.

  “Saeran,” Nia whispered, unable to believe this was the man she loved. She laid a shaking hand on his brow and gasped at how cold he was.

  The noble king breathed in a true breath, his brows twitching as if he sensed her presence. Even his heart answered the touch, beating a little stronger.

  Nia bit back her tears, struggling to her feet so she could examine him. She drew all but one blanket down to his waist, feeding magic to the hearth fire when he started shivering. Then she laid a hand on his chest and closed her eyes, Seeing with her essence into his.

  Breath left her when she found the source of his illness. He was ensorcelled! There was a ball of sinister darkness, like a coiled spider’s web glowing in his core, sending out tendrils that stretched into his entire body. It was in his heart and his mind, racking his body with pain and his thoughts with terror. He was too weak already to fight it much longer.

  Nia drew back and opened her eyes. The spell was a powerful one, borne of several essences entwined together. How could that be? Who could wish such a thing on the king? And how could Nia have missed it?

  It was too strong now, too deeply embedded in Saeran for her to draw it out. She would kill him in the process.

  You know what to do, the dragon repeated, his voice revealing an uneasiness that frightened her.

  The pendant won’t be enough to banish this, she replied.

  But it will allow me entrance.

  Nia sniffled and squared her shoulders, pulling the pendant from her pocket.

  You do not hesitate? Even knowing what you will need to do, what it will do to you?

  She lifted Saeran’s head so she could put the chain around him. I will keep him with me. Do what you must. When the chain was in place, she removed the blankets, leaving him in nothing but his night shirt and the pendant. He hissed when she opened his shirt and placed the pendant in the center of his chest over the infection, his icy skin turning red around it as if burned.

  Are you ready?

  Nia took a deep breath, laying one hand over Saeran’s brow, the other over the pendant. She closed her eyes and drew on all the magic she possessed, the dragon’s power, and the light of her very soul. She held nothing back, pouring it all into Saeran to entwine her essence with his as tightly as she could, surrounding him. The cold, dark taint inside him made her shiver but instead of pulling back, Nia held on tighter, determined not to let him slip away. She nodded when she was done, knowing the dragon would see.

  My blood will protect you, but not completely.

  Do it now.

  Very well, the dragon said after a small pause. Do not let go.

  She felt the first wave of heat like a tendril of smoke winding around her and Saeran. It was no stronger than the heat of a hearth fire, but already Saeran bucked and she winced. The smoke twined around them until it created a cocoon from which the infection couldn’t escape. Nia’s hands shook, but she planted her feet and refused to move.

  In the next instant, fire blasted the cocoon, blue and hotter than anything even Nia could conjure. It came rushing in through the smoke and became trapped inside it, just as Nia and Saeran were. Both screamed, and Saeran arched on the bed, every muscle in his body tight. His soul bucked, tried to escape her hold, but she wouldn’t let it. He screamed and raged against her hold, begged and pleaded to be released from the scorching flames. Nia hardened her heart against his cries and held on.

  And all the while the infection squealed like a living thing, burning like embers in a dying flame. The tendrils pulled slowly back into the mass, giving it strength, and the fire intensified, determined to scorch every last bit of it.

  Nia felt her flesh burning, giving way, but she would never show a sign of this torment on the outside, just like Saeran. Already his body was filling out, reclaiming the strength the infection had leached from him. In a pained spasm, his hand shot to cover hers on his chest. She thought he might try to pull it away, but his fingers curled around hers, his magic mixing with hers, and he held on to her, gaining more strength and courage as the infection grew weaker and smaller.

  The fire swirled around them, inside them in a vortex of blinding heat that drowned out their cries with its roar. The infection sparked and lashed out, trying to find another place to hide, to seed and grow anew. There was nowhere to hide.

  Do not fight it, the dragon told her. Give yourself up to the fire or it will burn you alive.

  Nia opened her watering eyes to squint through the flames at Saeran. His eyes were like mirrors, reflecting the blue fire, and for a moment she recognized in them that which had always been part of him—dragonblood. She managed a small nod and saw him grit his teeth. He squeezed her hand, then closed his eyes and did as the dragon had told them. Nia followed suit. She let the fire in, let it do with her as it pleased. The white hot pain cut off her cry, burned her tears away before they could fall. It embedded itself in her core, the place where the dragon’s blood had merged with her life’s essence.

  But instead of searing her, it fed her strength. The burn turned to warmth, the transition so sharp that it weakened her and her knees almost buckled beneath her. She’d felt this before with the dragon’s blood, knew what she had to do, but Saeran hesitated, refusing to accept it completely. It trapped the flame in his body, but outside of his soul, and it could do nothing but burn him. It was killing him as surely as the infection, and Saeran was frozen in uncertainty.

  Let it in! she wanted to tell him, but couldn’t make herself heard. Saeran was beyond hearing anything. He clutched her hand, fighting the terrible draw pulling him away from her, but it wasn’t enough. He was slipping.

  Nia cried out. She climbed onto the bed to kneel next to Saeran. Please. Please do not fight me. Then she leaned over him and pressed her lips to his, forcing the fire that had become part of her into him through a kiss. The door it opened was small, but it was enough. She felt Saeran gasp against her lips as the flame bonded with him completely. As if awakened from deep slumber, his own fire flared and joined the dragon’s, and together they burned brighter, hotter, searing the infection until nothing remained but ash, and then not even that.

  The dragon pulled back as soon as it was safe to do so, leaving Nia and Saeran shaken and cold without the fire’s heat, but safe. Nia sat on her heels to keep from falling on top of Saeran. Head swimming, eye lids heavy, she was moments away from passing out.

  Faint voices intruded, guards and healers entering the chamber. Though her eyes were open, she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. There were only colors and lights dancing before her, making her dizzy and tired.

  Something brushed her cheek.

  Someone said her name.

  Strong arms closed around her and then everything went black.

  Nia collapsed against Saeran and for a moment the shock of waking up to see her there turned into blind panic that the fever had passed from him to her. But he felt her breath puff against his skin, heard her heart beat.

  Saeran clutched Nia to him, his heart thudding in his chest as it hadn’t done in weeks. His limbs were weak, his body still stinging with the memory of fire, but there were no scars on his skin. He felt stronger than he ever had in his life, and knew it had little to do with the fire the dragon had lent him. How Nia had managed to find a dragon, let alone persuade him to help Saeran, he would never know and, at the moment, didn’t care. She was back in his arm
s, and this time he wasn’t letting her go.

  His hands were clumsy, but he managed to pull on the ties of her cloak and take it off her shoulders. The wolf skin left her with a caress as if it still lived, and it stayed on the bed when the cloak slid to the floor.

  “Your Majesty,” one of the healers said, breathless, as if he couldn’t believe his king’s rapid recovery.

  “Leave,” Saeran said, surprised at the strength of his own voice.

  “But your Majesty—”

  “Now.”

  They left. The door closed again, shutting out the murmurs and grumbles and outlandish rumors being born while the chamber filled with the soft music of candle flames and whispered secrets, a lullaby to ease her slumber.

  Saeran smiled down at her sleeping in his arms. He arranged the pillows behind him so he could sit against them, then settled back with his beloved wizard in his lap and laid his cheek against the top of her head. In the morning, he would ask her what happened, where she’d gone, and how she’d gotten back. He would ask about the dragon and her quest, and the chain he now wore about his neck.

  But for the moment, he was more than happy to simply be. Saeran closed his eyes and, with the dragon’s fire still burning inside him, warding away the chill of death, allowed healing sleep to claim him as well.

  In his dreams, he soared high above mountains and streams, playing among the sun-warmed clouds. And wherever he flew, though he couldn’t see her, he felt Nia at his side.

  CHAPTER 27

  Mari walked out into the courtyard, wandering toward the kitchens. She had no appetite, but for the child’s sake she would eat as the wizard had told her.

  The sounds coming from the king’s chamber were horrible. It was as if a great thunderstorm had become trapped there. Things were crashing, guards, priests, and healers shouting and running to lend assistance. They didn’t yet know their efforts were of less use now than they had been before the wizard returned.

  Now that she has, Mari knew precisely why the king adored her so. The wizard was a beauty beyond beauty, and her eyes were ancient with knowledge so profound that mere humans could never grasp it. Mari was a creature of the desert, of hot sands and burning sun. The wizard had been created from air and water, at once mysterious and familiar. Where Mari was a shadow, a ghost, the wizard shone like a star, guiding and brilliant.

  How could the queen ever compete with such a creature? She, who had not even been born here, when the wizard seemed part of the land itself. And she was as much part of the king.

  The queen steeled herself not to sigh. The king would recover, that much she now believed. And when he did, he’d have the wizard at his side without cease to ensure he would not fall ill again. And Mari would fade into the background, into their shadow, as had always been her fate. It was useless to fight it. She’d been reared to defer to others, why should she have come to believe that would ever change?

  She paused beneath the stone archway, in shadows cast by her castle home. Mari didn’t envy the wizard her magics. Aegiros had its own magic men and women, and she had seen them struggle for years on end to learn how to channel the will of the gods. They could do much harm before they learned. Many did not survive at all; the terrible power turned on them with such force no one could stop it.

  Mari had no magic of her own, but she could sometimes feel it in others. The wizard Nia was far more powerful than any other she had ever met. Yes, the wizard would heal Saeran, of that she had no doubt. But even now, through the din and noise inside his chamber far above, Mari could hear their pained screams, and she shuddered to think about what was happening in there. The wizard was welcome to her gifts.

  Someone fell through an open doorway across the courtyard. Mari started and, remembering she had not veiled herself, shifted deeper into the darkness. But she kept watch in case she was needed. The man on the ground curled in on himself, groaning, then shot straight and arched as if he was a puppet being moved by some greater force. He cried out in pain, echoing the screams within the castle.

  Mari was about to go to his aid, but then his fingers curled to claw at the hard packed earth as he thrashed. His body smoked, though Mari could see no flames. The sight frightened her; she recognized the workings of evil spells even from this distance and hid behind the corner. The wail he let out terrified her. It shifted like some demon from the depths of hell, as if several voices cried out from a single being.

  And then his appearance began to change, flickering between short-haired youth and a shriveled, gray-haired mass. He was ancient one moment, a woman the next, then a man, his body contorting in ways that made him writhe in agony.

  He clawed at his chest and then tore away a chain with a heavy pendant, flinging it aside. But it would not leave him. It slid back toward him until it was in his hand once more, glittering in the night like a black star.

  Mari whispered a soft prayer of protection. Whatever the wizard was doing, it was affecting this creature, and there could only be one reason for that.

  She ran into the kitchens and closed the door before the man-demon could rise and sight her. Her heart raced and her belly ached with fear. A brave woman would have stayed to discover who had poisoned her king. A strong woman would have confronted him, regardless of the danger to herself. Mari was neither.

  Another of those sharp, burning pains stabbed through her, and she collapsed into a chair, fighting the darkness threatening to overwhelm her. Something was wrong with her. The pain in her womb was a bad portent and fear for her unborn child made her shiver.

  When the wizard finished with the king, she would ask her aid. Surely, if Nia helped the king, she would help Mari as well. All she wanted was for the child to be safe.

  But there was to be no speaking to the royal wizard.

  When Mari felt strong enough to stand once more, her gown came away from the chair soaked. The last thing she saw before she fainted was the pool of blood where she had sat a moment ago.

  * * *

  Ali al-Hassan, third son of the third son of Melorn the True, loyal warrior of shansher Dhakir the Conqueror, and faithful servant and protector of shensari Mari of the North could not sleep. He had stood his watch from sunup until sunset, guarding his shensari and her husband as was his duty. Now it was his time to rest, yet he could not.

  The shensari was troubled. She would not rest or eat while her husband lay dying, and it was beginning to take a toll on her. It was no good for her to do this, especially now that she was with child. For her sake Ali wished the king’s torment would end, one way or another. No warrior wanted to die in such a way. There was no honor or glory in withering away from disease. A man should die by blade or arrow. In battle, protecting his family, serving his shansher.

  If the shensari would allow, Ali would end the king’s life the honorable way. But she loved him and would not hear of it. And so she tended him day and night and prayed for his recovery, while the rest of them guarded day and night and prayed for her well being.

  A great noise erupted in the castle. Ali drew his sword but saw no enemy to slay. The noises were like a terrible demon dervish raging inside the castle, striking fear into his soul. He retreated, though he kept a watchful eye for the shensari. When he saw her strolling in the courtyard, he was relieved.

  Sheathing his sword, he turned the other way toward the stables. No matter that these people were so strange, they bred magnificent horses and cared for them quite well. Their stables were clean and well tended, their horses never wanted for food, and no rider was allowed to mount one without proper gear.

  Ali liked horses. They always soothed his troubled mind.

  Tonight, even the animals were disturbed by the noise. A small mare snorted in her stall, stomping her hooves and shaking her head. The male next to her kicked back at the wall, his eyes wide with fear. A new mother nosed her little one who cowered against her side, hiding his head beneath her neck. Ali shuddered and stroked a beautiful steed’s neck, pretending he did not hear.<
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  But then someone screamed outside, and that he could not ignore. Drawing his sword once more, he ran toward it and burst through the kitchen door to see the shensari falling to the ground. “Mari!”

  Ali caught her, saw all the blood, and his bones turned cold. He shook her, called her name, but she would not wake. “Help,” he called. “Help! Someone!”

  No one answered. Ali scooped her body into his arms, terrified at how small and light she was. He carried her outside to where they all slept, bellowing for his comrades. “Hamdan! Bakri! Najjar! Shensari bahran sephri!”

  They came running, as they’d been trained. Hamdan took one look at the shensari and swore a vile oath. “Fetch the midwife,” he ordered Najjar. “Bakri, help me.”

  They cleared one of the beds and laid their mistress upon it. Hamdan lit candles for light and Bakri gathered linens and rags. None of them would dare touch her skin; to see her face bare was bad enough. But Ali was most worried about how pale she was, how bloodless her lips. She had been cold in his arms before and now she would not stir at all.

  When Najjar returned with the midwife and Mari’s hand maiden, the men left the room and let them tend her.

  “Who did this?” Hamdan demanded.

  “I saw no one,” Ali answered, though he wasn’t certain himself. His main concern had been the shensari. He had not searched for whoever might have harmed her.

  “Could it be the babe?” Bakri said. “My sister lost a child once. I was the one who found her. It was much the same as the shensari, but Sibaal was awake, and she was in great pain.”

  They stood in silence awhile. Ali did not know what to say. If it was as Bakri said, then the shensari was blessed to have fainted rather than endure such pain. But that she would not wake worried him.

  The midwife, Wurud, came out then. Her gaze was downcast and she would not look at any of them.

  “What is it, woman? Speak!”