The Royal Wizard

by Alianne Donnelly

  “It is not good.”

  “What do we do?”

  Wurud looked at Ali, met his gaze, and he could see tears in her eyes. “Pray,” she said.

  Ali met eyes with Hamdan and saw the same helpless anger in him as well. There had to be a villain to slay for this. Ali intended to find him.

  With a curt nod, he stalked back to the kitchen where he’d left his sword. The sight of his shensari’s blood on the floor made him sick to his soul, but he steeled himself. He was a warrior. He would do what he did best. Kill the enemy.

  He was headed for the opposite door when it opened and a man stumbled in. He looked as if he’d gone through a great battle, barely keeping his feet under him. Gasping for breath, he reached for a chair but seeing the blood on it thought better of sitting. “Is the bitch dead?” he rasped, his voice almost unrecognizable.

  But Ali knew this man. Or thought he did. “You? You did this?”

  The man harrumphed and groaned. “Then she lives. Pity.”

  Incensed, Ali roared his rage at him, brandishing his sword.

  The man only laughed.

  Ali charged him, ready to take his head but with a wave of his hand, the man sent him flying back. And still he laughed.

  Ali got back to his feet, his sword arm shaking. What witchery was this? He came forward a second time, intent on the demon despite his fear. For his shensari, he would do this. He would kill the demon and avenge her.

  Laughing harder, the man pointed a finger and Ali’s sword clattered to the ground. Baffled, Ali looked down at the weapon and then at the hand which used to hold it. It was gone, his wrist turned to ash. And the ash was spreading up his arm.

  Gods help me, he prayed, watching his other arm disintegrate. There was no pain, only fear, and the feeling of his self falling apart, body and soul. When he fell to the ground, desperate prayers slipped past his lips, useless whispers no one would ever hear. No one would ever know who he was or how he’d died.

  His last prayer was for his shensari, that she wake and heal, and live a happy…

  CHAPTER 28

  Nia woke to Saeran’s call. She opened her eyes, though they wanted to stay closed, and rose to her elbows. She was in Nico’s study. How she got there, she didn’t know, nor how much time had passed since she’d collapsed. Her head pounded and every bone in her body ached. Her legs would not support her and without her staff, she had to brace herself against the walls and table to stay on her feet.

  Someone had dressed her in a night gown. She didn’t care. With a swirl of her hand she hoped to conjure clothes, but nothing happened and the action only made her sway more. She leaned precariously to the side and took the blanket that had covered her, draping it over her shoulders for warmth. There was no time to waste. Saeran’s call came again, stronger than the first one, which had somehow managed to wake her from a wizard’s sleep.

  It gave her strength enough to make her way to the staircase, but she was forced to crawl up to the courtyard. She was winded and shivering by the time she made it there. What is happening? she thought to the dragon, but was too weak to reach him. There was no answer.

  “Micah,” she called softly, willing her voice to carry to the stables. That much, it seemed, she could manage. The boy came out frowning, looking around for the person who had disturbed him from his duties. When he spotted Nia, sitting against the wall, his eyes widened and he came running.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, helping her up and then holding her up when she couldn’t stand on her own.

  “Don’t know,” she said. “Need to get to the king.”

  “Aye, then, at once,” Micah said with a nod and turned toward the royal chambers. “Would you have me carry you?” he asked when her dragging feet snared on a stair.

  Nia shook her head. “Dignity, my friend,” she told him, attempting a smile. “I would like to keep what little I have left.” Her words were slurring. She didn’t have the strength to speak with her usual authority.

  “You turned the castle upside down night before last. Brought a dying king back to roarin’ life. There’s much dignity to be flaunted.”

  The assurance made her feel little better. A full day and night she’d been unconscious, and should have stayed that way longer to heal completely. Her chest still ached from the dragon’s fire, and the memory of it made her skin sting and burn. It was too much too soon. Whatever Saeran wanted of her, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to grant. Not in this state. And knowing he wouldn’t have summoned her for any trifling matter, she dreaded what awaited her.

  There was a crowd gathered before the queen’s bedchamber. Nia planted her feet, stopping Micah’s progress. Every healer she knew was standing before her, chanting and praying, looking at her with both hope and defeat. She smelled incense burning inside, heard the walls whispering, but couldn’t make sense of any of it.

  She didn’t need them to know what the matter was.

  Two armed Aegiran warriors guarded the door and between them, a woman draped in all white, a veil hiding her entire face.

  Nia squeezed her eyes shut as sorrow overwhelmed her.

  “You are weak still,” the healer Padraig said as he approached. “We can aid you in this.”

  She shook her head weakly. “It will not help.”

  The man’s eyes flickered to the queen’s chamber door and then back to her and he paled. Bowing his head, he returned to the others and told them something that made everyone quiet. They turned to Nia, expecting something she could not give them. Miracles, perhaps, or an explanation. But they could plainly see she was at death’s door herself. What the dragon had wrought to heal Saeran would have destroyed her had his blood not been in her veins. As it was, it had nearly done her in, and she had a long ways to go to recover her strength and magic.

  The queen would not last long enough for that.

  “Nia.”

  She looked up at Saeran. The king stood in the doorway of his wife’s chambers, looking pale and tired, but otherwise hale. His hands were clenched at his sides and his eyes, more than anything, revealed his soul’s struggle. He didn’t want to ask this of her, but he had no other choice.

  He didn’t yet know.

  The Aegirans made way for Saeran as he came to Nia and took over for Micah, helping her the rest of the way into the queen’s bedchamber. “She’s fallen ill. I think…I think it was because of me.”

  Nia took in the queen’s still form, lying in the middle of a bed that dwarfed her already small frame. She looked so young and serene, so close to slipping away. “Your illness did not cause this,” she said with difficulty. Her eyes stung, though she could not shed a tear.

  “Then, you can help her?” She could tell Saeran struggled to keep his voice even. He might not love his queen, but he cared for her very much. She was under his protection and had ruled in his absence. The affection he held for her was obvious.

  Though it broke her heart, she shook her head, no. She could not voice the word.

  “Are you too weak? The healers can aid you. They can lend you their strength. If you can heal her, then you must!”

  “Saeran, I cannot,” she whispered, unable to look at him. “Nothing I could do would save her.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “The healers said she is…bleeding. What is wrong with her?”

  Nia’s shivers became too much and she fell against him, unable to support herself any longer. Saeran helped her to a chair and then knelt before her, catching her hands in his. “You can help her, I know you can,” he said, and every word he spoke was a dagger in her soul. “You are the greatest wizard I have ever heard of. What could be wrong with her that you cannot heal?”

  Nia looked at the bed once more. I am sorry, she whispered to the queen, hoping the girl would hear her, though she was too far gone already. The girl was too young. Her body too weak to care for the essence of a dragon, no matter how far removed. The child demanded too much that the queen could not provide. It was draining her.


  “She is dying.”

  The words, spoken on a whisper, shuddered through the chambers, silencing the walls.

  A log split in the hearth, startling them both, but neither said a word.

  The Aegiran guards stepped into the chamber with the woman, Mari’s midwife, chanting a quiet dirge for her mistress. They couldn’t have heard Nia’s quiet admission, but only a fool would need to hear the words to see the truth of them.

  Saeran was such a fool. Against everything telling him otherwise, he’d hoped Nia could work just one more miracle. He could see in her eyes now how wrong he had been, and his face grew cold, all the blood drained out of it. He let go of her hands and forced himself to his feet; locked his knees when he would have fallen to them again. Back to Mari’s bedside he went, where he’d sat for an entire day, watching her breathe. Strange, he could feel vibrant life inside her, even as he was watching her die. “She did this for me,” he said. “I do not remember much, but I remember she was with me.”

  “I should have been here,” Nia said.

  “Hamdan told me one of their own is missing. A man named Ali. He disappeared the night she fell ill.” The night Nia had returned to save his life.

  “Are you blaming him?” she asked them, but the Aegirans didn’t know her and would not answer.

  Saeran shook his head, surprised that his voice was so steady; that he could speak at all. “They think someone or something hurt Mari, and that Ali died trying to protect her. But no one knows anything for certain. There were no witnesses.”

  “Your Majesty,” Padraig said, braving his way between the warriors into the chamber. “What will you ask of us?”

  Saeran didn’t know what to say.

  “Help me up,” Nia said. With Padraig’s help she came to Saeran and held out her hand. “I don’t know what this might do, if anything. But I am willing to try if you are.”

  The midwife fell silent and rushed forward. “What will you do?” she demanded, the first sentence Saeran had heard her speak.

  “Whatever I can,” Nia replied, but her eyes were on Saeran. Because she was too weak to do anything, but Saeran wasn’t.

  He took her hand without hesitation.

  The midwife hurried around the bed to the other side and took Mari’s hand in hers as the warriors came closer. “I will feel what you do,” she warned. “If harm comes to my shensari, there will be retribution.”

  Nia nodded her understanding and then looked to Saeran. “Do not let go,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Saeran felt a tug on his heart, Nia drawing strength out of him, through herself, and into Mari. Her hand was over Mari’s belly and her unborn child, and for a moment he could almost feel it. That tiny spark of life was so bright it stunned him. So strong, eager for all that life had to offer. As Saeran’s strength poured into it, it grew brighter, stronger, and he heard a cry worthy of a warrior in his mind.

  But even as he did, Saeran felt himself grow weaker. He swayed on his feet, almost let go of Nia’s hand, but she held him fast, drew a little more on his strength.

  With a gasp, Mari opened her eyes.

  The warriors cried out, rushing forward to witness the miracle for themselves.

  “Gods all bless,” Padraig whispered, reaching for the queen, but without his support, Nia’s legs gave out and her hand slipped from Mari.

  Saeran felt the connection break, watched his wife and queen blink twice at the ceiling and then release the breath she’d taken and close her eyes. He felt her soul fade away, and the child’s followed. He knew when the midwife wailed her grief, falling to her knees by Mari’s side that his queen was gone.

  Saeran collapsed on the floor next to Nia.

  “It would have taken…that,” she said, struggling to form the words and he knew they were all listening, all but the poor, heartbroken midwife lost in her grief. “Constantly, all the days until the child’s birth…just to keep her heart beating. I am sorry, Saeran. I’m so sorry. I could not have saved her.”

  Saeran pushed to his shaky legs. “Padraig,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Assist the wizard to her chambers. And have…have the priests take care of the queen.”

  “No,” one of the warriors growled. “We will tend to the shensari. She is one of ours. We will look after her.”

  Padraig looked to Saeran, and he nodded his ascent.

  He didn’t know how he managed to walk to his chambers; wasn’t aware of anything going on around him. People spoke, but he heard no words, only the buzz of their voices. They touched him, but he could not feel their hands. The door slammed shut, closing him away from everything out there, and then his world plunged into total silence and he was alone.

  Completely and utterly alone.

  CHAPTER 29

  The funeral pyre burned higher than the tallest trees, but the smoke curling up toward the sky was white. Pure, as the queen had been. Her personal guard, three strong men who had not uttered a word since she died now roared their grief as they beat their chests. They had seen the queen born, had stood guard over her from that moment until she’d breathed her last. She’d been more than a queen to them. The three guards mourned Mari as if she’d been family. No longer did they refer to her by the formal title of shensari. If they spoke of her at all, she was always idrah Mari. Dear one, beloved.

  One after the other, each unsheathed his sharp, curved blade and pulled it across his cheek, drawing blood. It was a sign of great devotion and grief. They stood so close to the flames their skin was beginning to turn hot, yet they would not move until the last embers were cold. This was their final duty to their queen. They would take her ashes back to their homeland and scatter them across the vast desert planes so she might always feel the sun on her face and the hot sand beneath her feet.

  There was to be no feast this day. Though it was custom here to celebrate when a person returned to their ancestors, the Aegirans practiced the opposite and would be offended if they saw the kingdom rejoice at the queen’s death.

  Nia watched everything from where she would not be in the way. In Nico’s study, she felt safe from reproach, but not guilt. Whenever her window spell showed her Saeran, standing still and silent at the edge of the gathering, she could think of nothing but the look on his face when she’d told him the queen would die.

  He had not argued, cajoled, or threatened. He’d simply looked into Nia’s eyes and read the truth of her words there. Then he’d turned away from her and gone to the queen’s bedside to sit with her and hold her hand so she might pass peacefully. He’d not said a word to her when the queen died. He’d not even looked at her again.

  And so Nia had returned here and mourned the queen by herself, in too much pain to sleep again.

  She had not slept the wizard’s sleep yet, though it weighed on her every waking moment. She was still weak, only capable of working the most basic of spells. Nia would not risk Saeran’s safety now. When she was in the wizard’s sleep, she couldn’t perceive the world, nor react to it, more vulnerable than anyone else. And now that she knew someone wished Saeran harm, she couldn’t take the chance they would strike again while she was helpless to stop them. It would mean a much longer recovery, but what choice did Nia have?

  The gathering was breaking up. The villagers descended from the hill, slowly returning to their homes, the healers and priests following after one last prayer. The knights, now returned from their quest, came after them, once again asking about the wizard. They wished to thank her, but Nia was in no shape to see them. They would leave on the morrow and, having found what they’d sought, never again cast their gazes north.

  Saeran was the last to turn away. His face showed no emotion, but his step was heavy as he followed the path toward the castle, leaving the Aegirans behind.

  Nia watched his progress until he reached the castle’s gate. When she was sure he was safe within, she turned away from the window and let it dissolve into firefly sparks to scatter into every corner of the chamber. Nico’s magic still l
ingered here, and Nia now thought he’d left it to make sure she was never weakened completely.

  She had yet to draw on any of it. Its presence was a comfort she didn’t want to relinquish, and as soon as she absorbed one pocket, she knew it would be gone forever. Nia might never call on that power now. She needed the reminder of her mentor, however faint. I am tired, Nico, she thought, wishing he could hear her.

  The door groaned open, admitting the king. He paused just inside, hesitating. Then he closed the door behind him and joined her at the table. Though they sat opposite each other, neither of them moved or looked up, and the silence stretched on while they seemed suspended in time. There was some comfort in that. They could still be in the same room this way without feeling the need to escape. She’d feared otherwise.

  “Did you know?” Saeran finally asked, his voice soft and unsteady. “When you sensed her caravan approaching, did you know then?”

  “I knew there was a chance…” Words failed her. Would he even believe her? Suddenly the whole idea of looking into the future disgusted her. “Chances, probabilities, that is all the future is. There are always risks. But they change with every blink. A thing so small as pausing to greet a friend could change the rest of a man’s life.” Nia splayed her hands on the surface of the table, tracing a groove. “There was a chance she would meet with disaster. There was also a chance that the rest of us would. I didn’t…I didn’t know it was a certainty until it was too late.”

  He gave a slight nod, but made no other move, still staring at the floor. “Why did the dragon help me?”

  “You are his grandson,” she told him without skirting it. “Dragonblood is in your veins. That is why you can master spells more easily than others. Magic is part of you.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. “Then why did he not help Mari?”

  Nia drew a bracing breath. This was what she’d been dreading. “Mari would have died in childbirth, had she survived this. You would have had an heir, but lost your queen.”