by H. R. Rekow
Olivia glanced away and cleared her throat. “My uncle had a Seer, yet he was old. He had no strength for children, for such was my age when he was alive. He passed to The Land of Eternal Day before I had grown in curiosity.”
“I see. And do you know why Seers are denied shoes?” he asked. He wiggled his bare toes as he asked this; they rested on a piece of gray rabbit fur and were covered with callouses and dirt stains.
“Yes,” Olivia said in a flat voice. “To remind Seers, by the wet, cold, and muddy ground, that a Seer is still mortal. It is to get rid of any pride. Pain does that.” Olivia fought against a hard tone, but failed. “Was there anyone?”
“Anyone what, my lady?”
“Anyone in the room with you. When you got your Crimson Rings.”
The Seer grinned and nodded his head. “That there was. The Wizard stood over me.”
Olivia gasped and her mouth dropped open. “Then . . . then how is it you’re alive? Who sees The Wizard and lives!”
“Some. Some do, my lady. But, yes, others have met doom after looking into his eyes of fiery silver. And then there are those who are filled with his Red. They, and myself, are who truly see him.”
Olivia’s brows knotted curiously as she leaned in to listen. The Seer smiled and continued, “If someone is willing to become a slave to The Wizard, and give him complete authority, Seer or not, they are given the responsibility of his Red. It fills them, guides them, and speaks to them.”
Olivia stared in startled astonishment. “But, isn’t the Red his source of magic?”
The Seer nodded. “Thus, whoever is filled with his Red are filled with his magic. They carry The Wizard’s authority and supremacy, becoming more powerful than Wraiths even. It is a high and dangerous walk indeed, for with authority comes responsibility, and with powerful strength comes battles to wield it.”
Olivia sat in thoughtful silence, her brows firmly knotted as she tried to imagine a life filled with the Red Magic. “What was it like, honored Seer?” Olivia moved closer still, her voice low and eyes wide. “What’s he like?”
The Seer looked away and blinked several times. “It was . . .” He shook his head thoughtfully. “I have never been more terrified in all my days.” Olivia’s brow furrowed. “It was as though I was a baby bird and he . . . he is a lion. One of power, and claws, and fangs. The king of the beasts! For a beast he is. And yet . . .” A grin broke through his distant gaze. “Yet, I was filled to the fullest measure. Filled as I have never been before.”
“Is that when you were filled with the Red?”
He nodded slowly. “I think so.”
Olivia swallowed hard and glanced away. She blinked thoughtfully and shook her head. The Seer’s head tilted to one side as he watched her. “What is this, my lady? I see your heart is troubled.”
Olivia peered at the elderly man and looked to the ground. “I—I longed to see him, but his magic is too great for me. . . . How foolish I can be sometimes.”
“Nay, dear lady.” Olivia glanced at the Seer as he shook his head. “One should hunger for The Wizard, as a man hungers for honor. Shan’t be difficult to find him; he is everywhere. In the forests, winds, animals, earth, in the very air we breathe, my lady. Yes . . .” The Seer smiled. “Would be foolish to try to hide from him. Good thing we are on his side, yes?”
“Agreed.” However, Olivia’s hands were clenched in her lap. She looked around at the walls, the ceiling, and the dogs which sat by Duke Aldret with wagging tails. Was he there, at that moment? She shook her head and smoothed her hair. She sighed and took another bite of bread. Her eyes closed, as though to force her fears of The Wizard and Prince Theron from her mind. She was not successful.
✽✽✽
A figure stood in a vacant room and its eyes darted to and fro, first to the locked door, then to the opened window. A white feather lay on the ground. Icy eyes watched from a shadowed corner, and blue feet dug into a chair’s back. The wood paled with frost.
The figure turned to the door to leave. “Wait,” the snowy owl whispered. The figure froze, but did not turn to face the bird. “The Master says: Lady Olivia will be dealt with. In Wraith’s Hollow. Wraith’s Hollow . . .”
The figure’s shoulders relaxed with a sigh.
The snowy owl’s head cocked at an angle and eyed the back of her covert companion’s head.
“Very good,” the figure said with a nod. “I shall obey.” The snowy owl said not a word. The figure faced her and the owl lifted her head. “How did the master seem? Angry? Afraid? Excited?” The bird said nothing. She watched her comrade grumble and turn away. “Wish you could say more than what we give you to say. Stupid bird . . .”
The snowy owl’s eyes narrowed. She leapt forward, spread her wings, and shot toward the figure. Without a sound, she extended her frost-enlaced talons. The figure ducked with a gasp as she passed. The owl flew through the window and was gone, a chill following behind her.
Chapter 5
The Prince
A great weight pressed upon Olivia’s chest so that it was difficult to breathe. Her stomach threatened to turn on itself, and her heart pounded against her body’s core. She was dressed in a furred, large-sleeved red kirtle. Her hair was braided and looped around her head, and silver threads were woven throughout. Silver chains hung from her neck, and a perfume from Suvaria’s King’s Bay laced her ivory skin.
Olivia stood in Crown Haven’s courtyard atop the stairs which led into the castle. It was the following evening and the courtyard was filled with a sea of faces. The buzz of excitement and conversation made Olivia’s head spin as she watched the stewards race to and fro, making sure everything was ready. Duke Aldret stood beside her, dressed in his best finery and a blue cape.
Earl Quinn and Countess Primis were on her other side; Quinn’s long-toed shoes slapped against the stone stairway as he impatiently waited. Countess Primis kept looking Olivia up and down, and glancing away with a grimace. The courtyard had been decorated in royal banners and flags, the red fabrics bright against the dull stone walls and people. The mud which had coated the ground for the past few days had been shoveled and removed as best the servants could. However, the dark brown muck was still able to latch onto people’s clothes and leave tracks behind them. Everyone stood close together as the sun set, and a cold took hold of them. But none were as cold as Olivia.
The moment she dreaded had come.
The prince’s royal caravan had entered Crown Haven moments before, accompanied by trumpets and drums. A red-and-gold-trimmed carriage came to a halt before the gathering, and its horses’ ears cocked to and fro as their bodies gleamed with sweat. A caravan of knights swarmed around the carriage, each brawny and firm, their armor dented by past wars. They looked down at all from their horses, and none met their piercing gaze.
Olivia closed her eyes and tried to breathe. She heard the carriage door open and the crowd fly into cheers, shouts, and greetings. Olivia swallowed hard. He had arrived! The prince! The man she did not know! She could not do this! Could not! She wondered if her cousin in the Hilled Country would accept her if she fled. Olivia instantly banished the thought, and gritted her teeth. She could hear someone ascend the steps toward her. Slow steps, slow and strong.
With a sniff, Olivia straightened her back and lifted her chin. She opened her eyes and looked at the stranger whom she was to marry. She blinked and her eyes narrowed. The knight she had spoken with the evening before walked toward her, though his knightly attire had been removed. It was replaced by furs from Flavency, blue silken clothes from Han Ci, and a golden circlet resting on his head.
His sheathed sword swayed with each step up the stairs as a boyish grin played in his brown eyes. Olivia’s mouth dropped open as realization lit her eyes. The man stopped before her and his grin broadened. The assembly bowed low, but Olivia could not move, for disbelief held her in place. Cedany poked her arm and Olivia jerked down to a knee with the rest. The stranger stifled a laugh.
�
�Welcome, Prince Theron.” Duke Aldret straightened his back and turned to Olivia. “May I present to you Lady Olivia, your bride.” Olivia looked up at the man, the knight she had spoken with, the prince she was to marry. Her mouth hung open and her eyes shamelessly gawked in astonishment.
Prince Theron stooped and helped her rise. He held onto her hand and kissed it as he had the night before. “I know,” he whispered with a widening smile.
✽✽✽
Theron’s heart beat against his chest as he watched Lady Olivia, the pair standing on Crown Haven's steps. His hands were clammy; he hoped she did not notice. The excited crowd’s roar dimmed as he gazed down at her, his eyes bright and alive. Color nervously brightened her cheeks as her emerald eyes darted to and fro. His smile wavered, remembering her conversational cadence the day before. She faced him again, though her shoulders were tense and her rosy lips pressed together.
Oh, she was beautiful.
“It is such a pleasure, seeing you again, my lady,” he whispered. Duke Aldret stiffened suspiciously. “And my words the other day were as true as ever.”
Lady Olivia smiled, her eyes still flickering with uneasiness as she fidgeted with the hem of her robe, nodding. “It is an honor to be your betrothed, my prince.”
Theron let go of her hand and stepped closer, but stopped when she stiffened. “The honor is all mine.” He held out his arm and Olivia stared at it for a heartbeat, her arms rigid at her sides. With reddening cheeks, she accepted his escort, took hold of his arm, and the pair walked into the castle. A fresh breeze gathered up Olivia’s golden hair and Theron’s cloak, as everyone bowed until their shadows had passed. They walked through Crown Haven’s doorway, and the guards on either side stiffened in salute.
Theron took a deep breath of the castle he had known since he was a child. The musty smell of time mixed with distant fire smoke flooded his mind with memories. He, much younger, racing through the halls, wooden sword in hand, grinning with glee, as his nurse trailed behind.
He had learned to ride a horse in that very courtyard. His tutor, Duke Aldret, had led him out of the gate’s protection—against the queen’s wishes, of course. They had ridden along Wraith’s Hollow, and the half-dead trees, sick with secrets and soaked with too much blood, had watched them. With wide eyes, he had peered between the trees in search of Wilders. His timid curiosity of the barbaric tribesmen had shifted to keen interest. Those were good times, good and distant. Now he was a man. Now he was to be king, and a husband.
As they entered the Great Hall, Sobriina came into view, and Theron broke free from his thoughts. “A warm greeting to you, my respected confidant,” Sobriina said as she bowed low with a beaming smile. “It is a rich morning now that the king-to-be has at last graced these halls.” Theron nodded and Sobriina laid a hand on his shoulder as he paused. “We shall share our days’ excitements in due time, my lord.”
“Indeed we will, Mistress Sobriina. I trust you have made my lady comfortable here?”
Olivia blinked and glanced at him. “Yes, my lord.”
“Good,” Theron said.
The she-elf’s grin widened before she walked on.
Theron led Olivia on, and could smell the cooks’ work drift through the halls and fill the room. Though the food had yet to be laid on the table, the tempting smells caused all to rush for their seats. He turned to Olivia and said, “I’m pleased she has been so helpful to you—Mistress Sobriina, that is.” He felt her body tense against him as she walked on without a word. He frowned and cleared his throat.
“She’s very pleasant, my lord,” she whispered.
A corner of Theron’s mouth twitched, recalling how unmasked she had spoken when they first met. He stared straight ahead, and wished he could draw the real Olivia out of the frightened shell she kept herself in. He could find a way, he knew. If he could subdue Wilders’ tribes and beat them back into their own territories, he could conquer a woman's heart. Couldn’t he?
But she could reject me. He could be marred, deeper than from any Wilder weapon.
Theron shook doubt from his mind and looked forward, finding the Great Hall decorated like never before. Flowers bundled together and dangled from lit torches, banners’ red fabrics billowed whenever someone brushed past, and waxy, pale candles flickered down the center of the long table. The wall-length fireplace roared, but the moist air still sent an underlying chill through the castle. Everyone was wrapped in thick robes or blankets and huddled close to one another and the fire.
The floors had been scrubbed the best they could be, but as everyone filled the room, mud, hay, and remnants of the day’s work trailed in. A host of servants already stood along the walls, alert and waiting. In the kitchen, the cooks stirred their soups for the last time and rechecked the meats’ tenderness.
Duke Aldret’s chair of honor was replaced by two chairs, one for Theron and the other for Olivia. Fresh hides of wolf skin draped over each to fight against the nippy air, and give a soft padding. Theron walked to his seat, and helped Olivia into her chair.
“Many thanks, my lord.” She gave him a sideways glance, but nothing more.
“Of course.” Theron cleared his throat and sat. He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, and eyed a dog as it scampered past.
Those gathered sat in order of rank. Duke Aldret’s officers and chamberlain sat with Theron’s own commanders and men-at-arms toward the head of the table. Earl Quinn and Countess Primis sat across from Aldret, their gaze continually flickering between the table and their niece. Farther down, and away from the fireplace, sat the squires, their masters right beside them. Next were the stewards of Crown Haven. The castle’s women and the few children present were seated last of all; the children nudged and giggled among themselves as the women gossiped and pointed between Theron and Olivia. Dogs slunk along the walls and eyed the table, for they knew it would be filled shortly.
The Seer, who sat on Theron’s right, stood, and the clamor of the assembly hushed as each looked to the ceiling with hands outstretched. The Seer took in a breath and lifted his eyes upward. “May the Wizard grace these halls, just as Tulaun’s future king has graced Crown Haven.”
Theron glanced over at Olivia and found she was watching him. She flinched and looked up; he tried to stifle his chuckle.
“And may The Wizard’s cloak of crimson shelter the royal union over us.” The Seer smiled. “As a mother hen shelters her chicks with her wings.”
“Let it be so!” The gathering’s words echoed through the stone room, and conversations began again.
Theron sat back in his chair as a squire poured wine into his horned cup. He glanced at his wife-to-be and stroked his chin, sensing the tension in her shoulders and tightly held hands in her lap. Her eyes were downcast, and refused to look his way. Theron cleared his throat again and shifted his weight to one side. He knew this was the same woman he spoke with the other night. The same one! Why couldn’t he speak with her the same way again? He took in a breath and opened his mouth.
A cheer interrupted him as the head cook and his servants entered the Great Hall. Theron grinned as the smells of foreign seasonings filled the room, spices from Nauvoo Isle and herbs from Han Ci. Wooden platters of pork, pigeon, and venison were brought in, breads were lifted on servants’ shoulders, pairs of servants carried soup cauldrons between them, and baskets of fruit were carried by children. A roasted boar and two peacocks on silver plates were set on the table before the royal couple. Pastries and larks-tongue pie were set down beside salads of mint and leeks.
Theron reached for a basket of bread and held it out to Olivia. She looked away and took a small loaf with a nod. “Many thanks, my lord.”
Theron sat back and ripped off a piece for himself. “Was your travel here well?”
“No more than one should expect, my lord. The roads were decent and the petty thieves kept a somewhat healthy distance.”
Theron nodded and set some bread into a bowl. He motioned for the soup, and a servant l
adled the meal over the bread. “I am pleased to hear that.” Theron noticed she had not touched her bread; he frowned. “I was very grateful The Wizard allowed our meeting the other night.” Olivia looked at him, and glanced away. “You play the fiddle well.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Theron dabbed at his soup-soaked bread with a knife and listened as his men playfully fought over a drumstick. Olivia’s eyes darted to the prince and she took in a sharp breath. “So, are you truly a knight, then?” she asked, her voice small.
“Indeed.” Theron nodded. “I am the keeper of the Western Border.” Olivia’s eyes widened. “The Wilder tribes don’t have a chance as long as my men and I stand guard.”
“Yes, I had forgotten. I heard that was your duty. . .” A frail grin lifted Olivia’s rosy lips. “You battled against them, then?”
Theron nodded somberly. “I have.” He turned away, the grip on his knife tightened. “Several times. Storm Kin, some of Cedar Folk. Mostly Wolf Folk. The Head Fang, Bronn the DogStare . . . he is very—” The prince sighed. “He enjoys killing.”
Olivia’s smile gave way to a wide-eyed stare. She had upset him, something she never intended. Unsure of what to do, she sat back and turned to those around her for help. She looked to Nan, but found her busy with a pigeon’s wing.
“No matter, though,” Theron said with a shrug and a glance at her. He eyed her rigid shoulders and wide eyes. Stones on bones! He cursed. “Truly. No matter at all. I did not mean to upset you.”
Olivia looked his way and nodded graciously, the grip of her hands loosened. Theron turned back to his food and heard her breathe out a deep sigh.
“I am honored to be marrying a warrior, my lord,” she whispered.
Theron grinned. “And I, a woman of such beauty.”
Color seeped into Olivia’s cheeks as a grin played in her eyes, yet she did not smile. “You flatter me, my lord.”
“I speak the truth.”