by CS Sealey
With more determination than before, Angora pressed on toward the castle. As she went, she paid less attention to the buildings on either side of her and more to the one that lay ahead. Soon, with a feeling of great relief, she found herself standing in the courtyard before the castle gates. She was home.
“I wish to be admitted,” she told the soldiers on guard. “Would you inform His Royal Majesty King Samian that he has an important visitor?”
The guards looked her up and down. “Audience hours are over for today,” one guard said stiffly. “Come back tomorrow.”
Angora sighed. In her enthusiasm to reach her husband, she had not considered the possibility of being stopped. None had seen her face, so she could not claim to be the queen the city thought was dead.
“Then advise Lord General Varren an informant from Te’Roek has arrived with information he desires,” Angora said a little irritably.
The guards looked at her tiresomely.
“Look, I need to speak with the king and I know the general will want to hear the information. I realize I was not expected, but events have taken an unexpected turn and I cannot waste any more time. I know I do not look appropriately dressed to set foot inside the castle, but when you travel in a hurry, you do not have time to put on your best dress! So would you fetch Lord General Varren, please?” Angora met their gazes with a look of stubborn determination and did not look away until one of the guards sighed and turned to his comrade.
“I’ll inform him then, shall I?”
“If he doesn’t wish to see her, ask him what to do with her,” the second guard said. “I don’t want you running messages back and forth.”
The guard watched Angora distrustfully as his partner tapped on the gates and was admitted after a moment’s conversation with the warden on the other side.
“Bring her through with you,” the warden said. “I will escort her to the general. You should remain at your post.”
“Go on,” the guard said, gesturing. “In you go.”
The warden lead her across the castle forecourt, glancing back at her every few steps as though he did not feel comfortable turning his back on her. At the castle doors, the warden knocked three times, then waited.
“Your news had better be good,” he muttered. “Varren’s already in a terrible mood. Had some bad news this morning. If you can cure him of his temper, I might forgive you the hassle.”
“I will do my best,” Angora replied stiffly.
The great castle doors swung open and the two of them moved into the entrance hall beyond.
“Wait there,” the warden said, then strode down the corridor, leaving Angora under the careful watch of another pair of guards.
She did not know how long she waited but, when she heard footsteps approaching, she did what she could to make herself look more presentable.
“I bloody well hope you’re right,” Varren was saying to the warden when they appeared. “If I’ve been called away from my work for some good for nothing – ”
“Good evening, my lord,” Angora called and bowed slightly.
The sorcerer stopped mid-stride on the stairs. The two of them stared at each other in silence for a long while, oblivious to the curious looks about them. In the end, it was Varren who found his voice first.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Surprised to see me?”
“Obviously.”
There was another long and awkward silence. Varren considered her critically and his eyebrows twitched a little as he contemplated the herbalist’s tunic and boots she was wearing.
“I never thought the Ronnesians would be so stubborn. I really did think they would go if I threatened to attack them myself.”
“I see,” Varren said shortly.
“Were there any casualties?” she asked.
“None, thankfully, now that you have returned.”
“Oh, that is a relief.”
“However, the king is deeply grieved.”
“Then I should go to him.”
“Yes,” Varren said, nodding slightly. He looked her up and down once more. “You look terrible.”
“How would you look if you had been dead for almost three weeks?”
“You have a point.” Varren’s lips slid into a thin smile and he ushered her toward the stairs. “Go. He hasn’t left his rooms since the day of the wedding.”
Angora nodded and climbed the stairs to the grand second floor corridor. It was lined with pictures and ornaments but she did not pay them any attention, not even the picture of Samian himself. She turned off the corridor at the main staircase and gathered up the front of her tunic. In her haste, she tripped at the top of the stairs, disturbing a maid coming down the stairs from the floor above. Angora picked herself up and hurried to the end door beside the high, arched window.
She paused to catch her breath before putting her hand on the doorknob. With heart beating wildly in her chest, she turned the handle, finding it unlocked. She spied the king sitting in his favorite chair before the empty fireplace, clothed all in black, his eyes shut and his head drooping. She closed the door gently behind her and crossed the living room, her footsteps silent on the crimson rug. The room was terribly depressing to behold. There were no flowers in the vases and many items of furniture were covered in black sheets, as though the room itself was in mourning. Black cloths covered the tables, black curtains now framed the windows, and even the more cheerful of the paintings had been removed from the walls.
She bent down in front of him and looked up into his sleeping face. Even though the shadows in the room were deep, his candles having burnt low, she could see the lines of the tears that had dried on his cheeks. Seeing the traces of his sorrow, she felt her own tears forming. But she was moments away from being resurrected, from making his tears turn from those of pain to joy. She moved behind his chair. Standing on her toes, she gently placed her hands over Samian’s eyes.
He twitched awake from his light sleep and instinctively raised his hands to push her away, groaning. When Angora withdrew them, she twisted her left hand around so her wedding ring glimmered before his eyes. There was a moment’s silence as he looked at it. Slowly, he raised his hand and looked from his own ring back to hers. There was another pause.
She could hear him breathing, slowly at first but then quicker. With a gasp, he flung himself out of his chair and turned to look at her with his eyes wide and sparkling with fresh tears.
“Am I dreaming?” he sobbed, opening his arms. “Angora! My dear wife! I don’t know how this has happened but – Oh, I don’t care!”
He crushed her body against his chest and covered her face and neck with feverish kisses. For a long while, he sobbed and held her close, content only to hold her in his arms. Eventually, he drew away slightly to look at her with glistening green eyes, still full of amazement and disbelief. A moment later, he was hurrying about the room, pulling the black drapes off the furniture and talking excitedly.
“The flags can fly high once more!” he cried. “Let the city know their queen lives! Their queen lives! There will be celebrations in every house and tavern. The bells will be rung from here to Silvernesse – no, further! My wife is alive. She is alive!”
He ran over to the nearest windows, hurled the black curtains aside and flung the panes wide open. He leaned far out over the windowsill and shouted as loud as he could.
“Delseroy, your queen lives! She lives!”
*
Angora woke the next morning to see Samian sitting beside her on the bed in his most regal clothes, gazing out the open window. She smiled up at him when he turned to her and took her hand.
“Good morning, my king.”
“Good morning, my queen.”
“I am surprised you are awake,” she murmured. “You did not have much sleep last night.”
“Neither did you.” He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “I’m still coming to terms with you being here at all. I still feel as though I’m dreaming.”
Angora sat up and drew him in to receive her kiss.
“Ow!” Samian laughed a moment later, holding up a hand to his mouth. “Did you just bite me?”
“You are not dreaming,” Angora said, grinning.
“I always thought you were a little barbarian!” He grasped the sides of her face and kissed her heavily on the mouth. “Ah, but there is no time!” he cried a moment later, drawing back. “We must have you dressed in clothes befitting your position today. The people wish to see you.”
“And so they shall,” Angora said. “They have waited long enough.”
Later, when Angora had eaten, been dressed and had her hair styled by her lady-in-waiting, Lillian, she stood alone for a few minutes in the bedroom. She spent a considerable period of time studying the dress. Her ordeal with the river had caused her to lose some weight, so the garments that had been made for her now hung more loosely than they should have done. This purple and white dress was fitted at her chest and flowed freely from the waist. It had a wide neckline with a trimming and hem of white fur. She had seen Queen Sorcha wear something similar once or twice on special occasions and it slowly dawned on Angora that she was now also a queen. She walked out into the sitting room of the royal suite and spied Samian by the door. She approached him a little cautiously, feeling the weight of the dress’s train dragging on the floor behind her.
“My lord husband,” she said and sank to the floor in a deep curtsey.
“My lady.” He offered her his hand and she took it, rising. Lillian opened the door for the king and queen as they moved out into the long corridor and followed them at a respectable distance.
“I imagined this moment when I was on Teronia,” Samian said as they descended the stairs at leisure. “I used to lie awake in the caves and imagine you wearing that very dress and that very smile.”
Angora’s smile widened and she rested her head on his arm.
“Only yesterday, I was a shadow of a man, now I feel more alive than ever before. I hope you will always be here to lift me whenever I fall.”
“My love, I will stop you from ever losing your feet.”
He chuckled. “You do realize that war is inevitable, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I will have to attack the Ronnesians.”
“I understand that war is about to ravage these lands and peace will never prevail until one empire falls,” she said sadly. “I want you to understand that I will not be a sword, but a shield. However, should the Ronnesians make another attempt to abduct me, I will not hesitate to protect my freedom.”
Samian smiled. “The words I wanted to hear.”
“You feared I would argue with you?”
“Worse,” he admitted. “I feared you would fight me to give up the war.”
“I despise conflict, but the Ayons and Ronnesians have tried peace time and time again. You must protect your people and living with the constant threat of war is hardly better than war itself, I understand that now.”
“You mean our people.”
“Yes, our people.”
The king smiled, then they continued on their way. They entered another grand corridor, the walls of which were lined with two long tapestries that told the history of Samian’s predecessors. Angora wondered whether Samian himself was already on it somewhere.
This passage ended in a pair of large double doors. Two guards stood there, ready to open the doors for their king and queen. Beyond was a large curved balcony that overlooked the castle forecourt. Angora heard the crowd well before she saw the extent of it. As they stepped out onto the large balcony, a great cheer arose, the loudest noise Angora had heard in her life. She looked down and saw that the whole castle forecourt, the walls around the grounds, and the upper city courtyard were teeming with people, looking up, pointing, cheering and clapping.
“People of Delseroy,” Samian shouted, stepping up to the balustrades, raising his arms high for silence.
“Allow me, sir,” Varren said, appearing from one side.
The sorcerer pointed his arm skyward and gave a sharp snap with his fingertips. Angora watched as a spark ignited in his palm and a great light spread out above the crowd. Instantly, the cheering died down.
“Begin, Your Majesty,” Varren said, stepping back from the balustrades, “I have amplified your voice. The people will hear you now.”
The king slapped his general’s back heartily and moved forward. “People of Delseroy,” he began again, his voice now carrying unnaturally far across the city. “I give you your queen!”
He reached for Angora’s hand and drew her level with him, grinning proudly. The crowd erupted into an even greater cheer and Angora quivered. So many people, so many who loved her. She grew pale. Samian touched her shoulder reassuringly. She lifted her hand and waved.
“Your queen is back from the dead,” he continued. “The Spirits have spared her from the Halls of the Passed and have delivered her back to us all!”
The crowd cheered once more.
Samian told the story of how Angora had been attacked at their wedding, how she had fought for her freedom and been blasted into the ravine. He told of their struggle to find her and how she had managed to defy death and return to them on her own. He mentioned magic, flaunting the fact that Angora was a magician, and the people roared in triumph.
Magic was no evil here, Angora realized, it was truly a gift, as the Spirits had wished it to be. She looked at the upturned faces. They were listening to their king and they cheered when he spoke but, at that moment, they only had eyes for her – Queen Angora.
Soon, she would have little time to dwell upon her old life, Te’Roek or Teronia. Queens in the Ayon Empire were not trophies or ornaments to decorate a king’s bedchamber, they were true partners, managing half of the royal duties. She would have to learn the Ayon customs and ways of governing. She would have to memorize their maps and history and identify each of their states and peoples. She would meet with lords and ladies of court, perhaps also ambassadors from across the empire, and banish her fear of attention. She would choose her other ladies-in-waiting and perform royal outings to emphasize her involvement in politics and the interests of the common people.
Samian would be beside her. No, she would be beside him. She would support him, be a pillar of strength in his long reign. She would become the queen the people wanted and her husband needed. She would be a good wife and a loyal lover and friend. She would give the king sons and daughters who loved and respected him. And, one day, she might wake up and simply not remember that she had once been anything else.
CHAPTER 41
Night descended upon Te’Roek, bringing yet another day of sorrow to a bitter close. Tiderius sat on the edge of the courtyard pool, watching as the storm thickened over his head and trying to ease his mind. The weather had been like this for a few days now and had only lowered his spirits further. He still had the dreams – he still relived Angora’s last moments over and over. It had been two months, too long now to hope that she had somehow survived and was making her way back to them. It was like a curse – to continue to think of her, to hope that she would somehow return. No, it was a curse to finally realize that he, like Rasmus, had come to love her. He had loved her for months, perhaps years, without knowing it. Now it was too late.
It seemed an eternity since Aiyla had informed an astonished Queen Sorcha that Angora was preparing to marry the king of the Ayons. When he had heard the words, Tiderius had felt a surge of fury. But he had not realized it was jealousy until he had seen Angora kiss her husband, binding them together forever. He had never experienced true affection for a woman before; it felt terrible. But what did it matter now? He could not be jealous of the king of the Ayons for being a widower. However, Tiderius still felt that it should have been him in the king’s place, him kissing Angora, him slipping the ring onto her finger and promising that he would love her to the end of his days. He did not know how long he sat there in the courtyard but, when Aiyla disturbe
d his solace sometime later, the storm had passed without any rain and the stars were twinkling above them.
“I have had a disturbing dream,” Aiyla said quietly, sitting beside him on the stone wall.
“As have I,” Tiderius murmured, not looking at her.
“It was about Angora,” the seer continued, as though not hearing him. “Every night since that dreadful day, I’ve asked the Spirits to show me how she died, but they sent no response until tonight.”
Tiderius turned to her, his brow furrowed. “What are you saying, Aiyla?”
“The Spirits send visions to a seer in response to a question, but they can only send an answer if the question is right,” she explained. “You said you saw Angora die, but that is impossible, unless the spell itself killed her. I dreamed that she fell from the cliff and into the ravine, but before she hit the water, a summoning caught her!”
“Aiyla, I also dreamed that Angora was alive, that does not make it so. Perhaps your question was fueled by your own personal wish to see something that did not happen,” Tiderius said solemnly. “Accept it. She’s gone.”
“No, listen to me. Why would the Spirits send me a vision after all this time unless I had asked a different question? And I did! I asked them to show me what happened at the wedding, not how she died! The question was different! What is important, Tiderius, is that I saw the event as it transpired. I heard her shouting at you and I saw her turn against you. I saw Emil’s spell tearing the earth apart and I saw her fall, but I did not see her die. I am telling you, there is a chance, and I’m going to tell the others.”
Tiderius regarded her for a moment before sighing and rising. “Emil should still be awake. Come on.”
They crossed the courtyard together in silence, ascended the staircase two floors and then walked the length of the open corridor to the shaman’s quarters. Though there was no thin line of candlelight beneath the door, Emil answered Tiderius’s knock with a book in his hand, a finger marking his place.