Oria's Gambit

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “I don’t know how to swim.” She sounded bemused.

  The ribbons took a lot longer to weave in than to undo. “You don’t?”

  “I’ve never seen enough water in one place to be able to swim in it. The baths are as deep as it gets around here.”

  “What about the bay?”

  She shook her head minutely, so as not to disturb his work. “Outside the city walls, remember?”

  “So what’s up with that aspect—what does it do to you to go outside them?”

  “You saw.” She made a disgusted sound. “I don’t know how it works, but somehow the city walls shield the priestesses. They allow us to focus on the sgath beneath Bára, to absorb what’s described as a concentrated, clean magic, rather than the chaotic variety in the outer world. Outside, we kind of overload.”

  “Just as you do with skin-to-skin contact with someone who’s not shielded with hwil.”

  “You do pay attention.”

  “And here you say I don’t listen. So I’m also thinking this is why the priestesses were on the walls for the battle—because they can’t go past them.”

  “That and the source of magic is below Bára and we can’t go far from it.”

  “You said sgath comes from Sgatha.”

  “It does, but via her communion with the earth. Bára sits on a special place—as do our sister cities—where the sgath filters through the rocks and soil, becoming harmonized in a way, so that we can take it in without damage. We have to learn to do that judiciously, so we don’t overload.”

  “Thus your high lonely tower.”

  “Thus my high, peaceful, and quiet tower, yes.”

  He let that go. “But you can’t use this chaotic magic in the greater world that you mentioned?” Two ribbons down, one more to go. The intricate task helped him order his thoughts and questions.

  “I think it’s like trying to light a candle with a lightning bolt. But nobody tries, that I know of, because we can’t leave the sgath provided by our cities.”

  “What happens if you do?”

  “What happens to a plant without water?”

  A too apt analogy, sitting in her dying garden. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the impact of her trying to go to Dru. Ah well, that road lay over the next rise.

  “So, Yar might guess and would surely use this knowledge to undermine your bid for the throne, but he’s not here. Do you think he told anyone?”

  “I don’t think so—it would be to his advantage to keep the knowledge to himself. Also, I can’t see the temple not acting on it if he told anyone there, and I’m clearly not dead. But I do think that’s part of his hurry to find a bride. With an ideal partner, he’d have more than enough power to handle me. Failing that, he might try to expose me if I’m not crowned before he returns.”

  “Why not expose you after that point—get the temple to execute you and take the crown once you’re gone?”

  “The queen—or king—trumps the temple. They would not be able to act against me.”

  “All the more reason to succeed this afternoon then. There. All tightly masked again.”

  “Thank you.” She adjusted to face him, but didn’t move as far away as she might have once. “I know the mask repels you, so I appreciate your helping me with it.”

  Slowly, so she’d have time to stop him, he raised his hand and ran a fingertip along the cheekbone of the metallic face, just as he’d longed to do with her. “There’s one advantage. At least I can touch this.”

  “You’re obsessed with touching me,” she said, but without her usual exasperation.

  The metal was strangely cool, not as hot from the sun as he might have imagined. “I’m a man of the physical. Maybe I need to feel things to believe in them.”

  “Maybe I’m not real.” A bit of whimsy from her, but also hints of darker pain beneath.

  “Sometimes I wonder.” Sometimes all of it seemed like a dream, that he might be still standing on that wall, blood dripping from his hands, while he glimpsed her, a vision from fantasy, candlelit in a window. He tapped the mask. “But this feels like it.”

  “And it allows me to fake hwil,” she replied, all seriousness. “That’s what you need to know if you’re going to help me. If I lose that façade in the council session—and it’s entirely possible because I’m already bursting with sgath and I can’t vent to grien—then I’ll lose all chance at being queen.”

  “So, you’d faint again?”

  “Possibly. Or worse.”

  She meant exposing herself as a wielder of grien. “Maybe we should wait. Let you rest another day or two.”

  She wrung her hands together. “We can’t afford the time. Yar could return at any moment.”

  “I don’t like risking your health.”

  “That’s not important.”

  “It is to me. It should be to you.”

  She waved that off, though Chuffta rustled his wings in a way that made him think the Familiar agreed. “I’ve survived similar crises so far. But I mean that the real worst case scenario is that I could accidentally use grien like I did with Yar,” she said, confirming his speculation.

  “Then you’d be forced to lay about with that battle axe of yours and that can’t end well.”

  He smiled grimly for her little joke, but didn’t let it distract him. “Then why not get rid of some on purpose now, before we go? Vent it like you say. Bleed off the energy.”

  She stood, scrubbing her hands together. “Because I’m afraid of hitting myself in the noggin with my own sword,” she admitted ruefully. “Women aren’t taught to control grien, only sgath. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve only ever used it impulsively, out of emotion, not hwil.”

  “You used it on me.” The realization dawned on him. “You nearly made me come right there and then when you used it on my cock.”

  “Lonen!”

  “Hey sorceress—you’re the one who did it. I’m just talking about it.”

  “Is there nothing you won’t give voice to?”

  He pretended to think about it, then grinned at her. “No.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t have done that.” She gestured wildly, crimson rippling in the breeze of her pacing. “It was irresponsible and impulsive and wrong. That’s why it’s really bad that I don’t have real hwil. I could have hurt you.”

  “Felt amazing, in truth. Feel free to yank that particular chain any time you get the urge.”

  She stomped her foot, a gesture he was beginning to love. “This is a serious conversation.”

  “I’m always serious.”

  She paused her pacing, mask swinging to him in a posture of utter astonishment. “Liar,” she said softly, exactly as he’d said it before.

  He held up his palms in surrender, laughing. “Guilty.”

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?”

  “It feels good to laugh. A kind of tension release, don’t you think?” She didn’t answer, simply tapped her foot, so he forged on. “In all seriousness, you have too much sgath and that pushes you to overload. Chuffta helps manage that, doesn’t he?”

  She considered him. “He does, yes—kind of like a buffer, but it only goes so far. Transforming the sgath to grien and releasing it, that feels best.”

  “So manly things would work to release it, huh? A good physical workout always helps me.”

  “I noticed,” she replied in a dry tone.

  “Did you—were you watching me earlier?” The thought pleased him immeasurably.

  “I could hardly help it,” she sniffed, but she resumed pacing.

  “Did you like what you saw?”

  “I saw you naked before,” she pointed out. “In the baths.”

  “Doesn’t answer the question.”

  “This is a pointless direction. It won’t help me figure out a way to vent.”

  “I don’t know.” He stretched out his arms on the seat back. “A good orgasm always works for me that way. Very relaxing.”

  She actually cl
apped her hands over her ears. “I’m not hearing this.”

  “Yes, well—it’s not a good solution anyway, since you won’t pleasure yourself and I haven’t completely determined how to give you a climax without touching you. I have ideas, but there’s not enough time to implement them.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—were you talking? I couldn’t hear you.”

  She was wound up all right. Judging by the angle of the sun, they needed to begin the long descent from her tower soon, too. He mulled the problem.

  How would he help the young warrior of his analogy?

  Oria simmered molten as glass in a forge, running through with hot colors. At least Lonen wasn’t deliberately provoking her any longer—not energetically anyway—which she had to admit was an excellent reason to have let him in on some of her weaknesses. She still felt unsettlingly exposed to have the Destrye know so much about her, but that vow he’d made her…

  It had the force of magic, something she couldn’t make sense of.

  Especially with so much else on her mind.

  “I have an idea.” Lonen stood and came towards her, looking far too potent via sgath. In many ways, it was easier to look on him with her physical eyes. She perceived less of the coiling energies around him that so distracted her. She held up hands to fend him off and he darkened with displeasure. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything to you. I’ll save that for tonight,” he added, sensual energy snaking towards in that way that went right through her every time.

  “There might be the coronation ceremony tonight,” she reminded him, pointedly stepping back. “In fact, we’d better be hoping there is.”

  His naughty good humor faded. “What does that entail?”

  “I don’t know—I’ve never seen one.”

  “Will it be like the wedding ceremony, impacting you as badly?”

  “Or worse. I really don’t know, but we should be prepared for that eventuality.”

  He crackled with lashing impatience. “How can you not know these things?”

  “The temple isn’t exactly forthcoming with its secrets. And that’s part of the test—if you know what’s coming, a person can prepare for it.”

  “Seems being better prepared would ensure fewer failures.”

  She held up her palms, acknowledging the point. “Arguably, if we fail the temple’s tests, then we can’t be trusted with the power of the temple’s secrets. If I can’t survive the coronation ceremony, then I don’t deserve to be queen.”

  He gazed at her a long moment. “And you call us a brutal people.”

  “There’s all kinds of brutality in the world,” she informed him softly.

  “True.” He shook it off, surveying her with the intent perspective of a warrior. Funny how he shifted so clearly to her sgath vision, from lover to king to fighter. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s get at it this way. You had three brothers, all grien users. I know you spent a lot of time in your tower, but I also know what sisters are like. Surely you hung around them some, listening to them talk. Boys like to screw around with what they can do—did you ever watch them play fireballs versus earthquakes or anything like that?”

  She nearly laughed at his phrasing, but…

  “Yes!” A kaleidoscope of memories crashed through her. So many times that Ben, Nat, and Yar had argued over meals, boasting of their new tricks and challenging each other. She’d hated those conversations because of how left out she’d felt. Particularly after Ben, who’d been the last of her brothers to take the mask and thus her partner in being the slow student, had joined their ranks. But she’d also listened with the sick envy of someone who believed she’d never be as good as they were.

  And Nat, back when she was younger, he’d entertained her by juggling fireballs. He’d spent weeks working up the trick—which meant a fair number of fireballs had gone astray. Then there was the time Yar widened a chasm to trip up Ben and nearly got them both killed. Father had been furious.

  “Yes, they played games all right, but…” She hissed a little between her teeth, thinking about it. “I’m afraid I’ll break something.”

  “That’s the female in you talking.”

  “What?” Infuriated, she clenched her fists, wanting nothing more than to smash one into his easy, taunting mien.

  “I’ll let you in on a male secret, Oria. Boys, particularly younger ones who’ve just figured out that they have strength they didn’t have before, don’t think about what they might break. They just mess around and forget about consequences. This is not always a good thing,” he added, “which is why they need to be kept occupied and on a short leash by people who are aware of the consequences, but in this case I think the stakes are high enough that you should forget about breaking something.”

  “Young male derkesthai are the same. When they first come into their flames, no nest is safe.”

  She shook her head at Chuffta and relayed the words to Lonen.

  He tossed a little salute to her Familiar. The interactive energy between them had changed, overlapping in interesting ways. Ones that she’d have to study later, at her leisure. Should that day ever come.

  “Okay then,” Lonen said. “So just let it go. Swing that sword and stop fretting.”

  “I’m not fretting.”

  “If you were a guy, I’d call you chicken. But I don’t want to hurt your tender female feelings.”

  “Don’t you taunt me, Destrye.”

  He pursed his lips and blew her a little kiss, a potent spark with it. “Chicken,” he called.

  It would serve him right if she let loose on him, but she still had little idea what affinity her grien would take, other than a kind of green fire, sometimes knocking things over, or stirring up dust devils. Still—female fretting or not—it seemed unwise to simply unleash all that sgath she’d built up into just any random manifestation of grien magic.

  It would really help if she knew more about grien.

  But there was something—a passing remark from one of her teachers who’d sought to reassure her about taking so long to master hwil and find her sgath. The priestess had said grien magic was easier to learn because it burgeoned in young men as part of their youthful vitality, pushing up like the sap in the trees in springtime. They had to practice restraint, focus, and release, while women’s magic worked in the reverse. Instead of exploding outward, sgath drew in and received.

  She had no time just then to learn restraint, focus, and release—but she knew something about trees and the sap rising in them. Looking around at her dying garden, it seemed she could hardly do more damage to it than withholding water had done.

  “Okay, gentlemen, both of you get behind me. This could get messy.”

  Lonen didn’t argue for once, moving quickly behind her with an aura of excited anticipation. Chuffta took wing, landing on the stone balustrade.

  “Want me to be on you, instead?”

  “No. I don’t want to risk catching you in the backlash.”

  “This is fun.”

  “It’s not fun, it’s necessary.”

  “It can be both.”

  “This is going to be great,” Lonen said.

  Men.

  “You know you love us.”

  Chuffta’s smug reply tugged her in a funny way, but she screened that out, concentrating on her task. Using what little hwil that came to her easily, letting go of worry about her inadequate control—fretting, indeed!—she focused her mind on the trees in her garden, their crisping leaves and bare branches, the wilted blossoms and the husks of others littering the stones around them. It hurt her heart to see them die.

  So she released sap. Sending it to them in a rush of sorrowful love for all the shade they’d given her, the flowers that scented her nights and the fruits that graced her mornings. The grien left her in powerful gush, a blessed release from pressure, one that ached with pleasurable pain, much like voiding a much-too-full bladder.

  Naked branches tossed in a wind he couldn’t feel, brown leaves and dried petals spi
raling in tornadic frenzy, skittering up into the brilliant blue sky. A groaning, creaking sound muttered over the terrace. With a series of sharp booms, the stone planters burst, one after another, exploding rock shrapnel everywhere.

  Behind her, Lonen laughed like a crazy man, exultant and wild, his excited energy shoring her up, like the sun at her back, Chuffta’s steady presence in her mind a cool white counterpoint. Roots burst out of the planters, twining, lashing for purchase. The trunks thickened, writhing as they did, then shooting up, branches proliferating and leaves bursting into green vivid life. Blossoms followed, an induced spring racing faster than Grienon through the sky, followed by full summer, fruits burgeoning, weighing the branches even as they continued to thicken.

  At this rate, they’d collapse. Or tear down her tower and them with it.

  “It’s too much!” she shrieked, suddenly panicked, which only made a shower of vines burst into radiant blossom.

  “Then pull it back in. You know how.” Chuffta’s calm and rational mind-voice steadied her.

  At the same time, something pinged against her mask. Lonen, tapping her metal cheek. “Enough, Oria,” he said with implacable firmness. “Knock it back.” His presence stabilized her, too, with his granite bedrock beneath the sunshine of his vivid personality.

  Like releasing a handful of petals to the wind, she let go, the sgath and grien that had somehow combined into one power condensing, drawing back, and settling like a gentle rain.

  Lonen kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the mask, just over her mouth, his aura bright with emotions, both extravagant and affectionate.

  “You’re a hell of a woman, Oria. And you’re going to be a sorceress beyond imagining. Now let’s go make you queen.”

  ~ 13 ~

  It wasn’t how she’d expected to face the council, to demand to be ratified as Queen of Bára with a Destrye warrior at her side and her hands tingling from unleashing grien magic that still rattled the leaves of her garden.

  Of course, she wasn’t at all sure what she had envisioned, except that her mother was supposed to have handled this, as it was her plan and she was the former queen. She was supposed to have mastered the skill of envisioning a result so that it would manifest as she chose. Oria hadn’t indulged herself with many expectations, as they’d inevitably led to disappointment. Time enough to learn all of that, she’d thought, if she ever mastered hwil. She’d never imagined things would happen so fast, one upon the next.