Queen of Wands (The Tree of Ages Series Book 4)

by Sara C. Roethle

  She sighed. Perhaps if she explained her stance more clearly, he’d understand. “You told me once that you knew about my child,” her voice quavered, “and what happened to her.”

  He turned to her, an uncharacteristic amount of surprise showing in his wide eyes and slack jaw, now covered in stubble from their days of travel.

  She took a deep breath, fighting the pain that welled up inside her. You can talk about this, she thought to herself. You need to talk about this. “Do you know anything about her father?”

  He slowly blinked at her, then shook his head. “He was never mentioned in the histories.”

  She sighed. He wasn’t really worth mentioning. It was one of the many memories she wished had stayed away. “I knew from a very young age that I was born to be the next queen,” she explained. “I was raised with that intent in mind, though my status was not flaunted. The Dair are secretive, and the Cavari most reticent among them.”

  “You do not have to tell me this,” he muttered. “You owe me nothing.”

  She sucked her teeth, resisting the sudden urge to hit him for being such a stubborn mule. “In our society,” she continued, “though queens are chosen at birth, it is tradition for them to acquire a consort. Those born under a certain alignment of the stars, like me, are gifted with greater magic than our kin, so it is frowned upon if we do not have children, as they will often be gifted with a magic near as great. The child is all that matters, so the consort is chosen through power, not love.”

  He watched her, taking in her words, but saying nothing.

  “Niamh,” she began, then stopped. She had not meant to say her daughter’s name. She blinked away tears, then startled as Iseult’s hand alighted warmly upon her shoulder. She glanced at him, then continued, taking comfort in the modest display of affection.

  “Niamh,” she began anew, “was a result of the ritual to name a consort. Her father was the most powerful among our tribe, though he was nearly as young as I. The consort is named once the future queen is with child. It only took a single try.”

  She looked down at her lap, fighting her embarrassment. She had no reason to be embarrassed. It did not matter that she had never truly loved a man. After Niamh had been born, she hadn’t cared to. Sugn had been her consort in name only after that.

  Iseult’s fingers gently squeezed her shoulder, bringing her back to the present.

  She glanced at him, then down at her lap again. “I just wanted you to know, that though you may not feel you have much to offer, I am the same. I know nothing of love, and have never known much affection. When Niamh was killed, I closed myself off entirely, to the point where I grew still and became a tree. Eventually my memories left me, and life was better that way. It was better not remembering what a foolish, sad creature I am.”

  His fingers squeezed again, then he moved his arm around her, pulling her against his side. “You are the most loving creature I have ever known,” he muttered. “You may feel you have nothing to offer, but you love everyone as fiercely as most only love a single person. If anything, you have too much to offer.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye. “You always surprise me when you speak more than five words at once.”

  “And you surprise me every single day that you do not hate me,” he replied.

  She turned her gaze up to him, enjoying his warmth as much as his closeness confused her. “You are not your ancestors. You have done no wrong.”

  He sighed. “Be that as it may, you are your ancestors. You lived in that time of war. A time when my people were killed one by one. Yet, you are not filled with hatred or wrath. I do not understand how you came from the tribe of the Cavari, yet somehow managed to become the person you are.”

  She frowned. Truly, he thought too highly of her. “Iseult, I stole your people’s souls, and before that, I was loyal to my tribe. I’ve known more hatred and wrath than most, but those things ultimately leave you hollow. They left me hollow. Yet, when I was a tree, I was able to relearn how beautiful things could be. I was able to watch the birds singing just for the sake of singing. I was able to watch young couples having picnics together, and hunters laboring to feed their families.”

  “Most people do not notice those things,” he sighed.

  She smirked. “Well, I was a tree, not a person.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps I should become a tree. I might learn a thing or two.”

  “I will teach you my secrets,” she replied, snuggling more firmly into the crook of his arm. “If you will teach me yours.”

  “Most I would be afraid to tell you,” he muttered distantly.

  She sighed. If he would not tell her, she would simply have to figure them out herself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maarav stood by Ealasaid’s side while she received reports from her scouts: increasing Faie sightings in the countryside, humans disappearing in the middle of the night, never to be seen again, and a massive troop of men in dark brown uniforms crested with a red wolf across their chests, heading south down the Sand Road.

  It was the latter that had Maarav worried. He knew it was a possibility that An Fiach would catch wind of what Ealasaid was trying to accomplish, but he’d hoped it would take a little longer. Not much had been heard of the notorious An Fiach since the battle up North, save the contingent that had been tracking Finn. There was no mistaking things now though. The order was still together, and had recruited more soldiers by the sound of it.

  Ealasaid nodded calmly as each of her scouts reported their news, then were excused from the lavish chamber so generously lent to them by Lady Sìoda. The Lady, he knew, had her own scouts, but if she was not going to share information with Ealasaid, nor would she with her.

  Ouve shifted at Ealasaid’s other side, raking fingers through his sandy hair. He’d stood silently by like a good little second in command. Although Maarav had done the same . . . he didn’t consider himself a second in command. He wasn’t quite sure what he was. An advisor? Or merely an ally.

  Once the final scout departed, Ealasaid slumped down into a nearby chair with a sigh. “I wonder who will attack us first,” she muttered, “the Faie or An Fiach.”

  “The Faie have no reason to attack us, do they?” Ouve questioned. “Plus, they seem disorganized, like animals. Just stealing people and livestock on the outskirts.”

  Maarav scoffed. “Tell that to those who used to live in Migris. The Faie were organized enough to leave not a single person alive.”

  Ouve turned wide eyes to him. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” Ealasaid sighed. “The Faie themselves may be disorganized, but all it takes is a leader strong enough to set them on a particular course.”

  Maarav nodded. “I’m glad you’ve considered that option.”

  Ealasaid furrowed her brow as she looked up at him. “Is there anything else you’d been secretly hoping I would consider?” she asked caustically.

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What had her angry with him now? “Only that An Fiach will be more prepared than they were in the North. Word has likely spread of what magic users can do when they band together. They will come with a plan, and will not be so easily defeated.”

  A flurry of knocks sounded at the door, and all three turned toward the sound.

  “Come in!” Ealasaid called out.

  Maarav shook his head and placed his hand upon his sword. Fool girl was far too trusting.

  The door swung inward to reveal a mage, the one Maarav had noticed Ealasaid watching with interest, hunched and panting.

  Ealasaid stood abruptly, facing the mage, clearly alarmed. “What is it, Sage?”

  Sage panted a few more times, then lifted his head. “A contingent of uniformed men were spotted to the north, and strange warriors to the east. They look almost human, but their skin is white as milk, and they wear armor that seems to be poured of freshly molten metal, too beautifully curved to be made by hammer.”

  “The Aos Sí,” Maarav muttered. “Iseult spoke of the
m.”

  Ealasaid glanced at him, then turned her gaze back to Sage. “What else?”

  “They are both heading this way,” he explained. “They will each close in within a day . . . likely at the same time.”

  Maarav had the sudden urge to pick Ealasaid up, run her outside, and throw her on a horse. What was he thinking making her the head of an army? He had hoped to be thoroughly fortified by the time an attack came. At this rate, they would be slaughtered.

  “Are we sure they both intend to attack?” she asked, her trembling hands belying her calm voice.

  “I do not know,” Sage breathed.

  Maarav cleared his throat. “An Fiach has no other reason to march toward a burgh filled with magic users, but the Aos Sí are questionable. As far as we know, their queen is dead. Anyone could be leading them now.”

  “Well,” Ealasaid began thoughtfully. “Perhaps this timing is fortuitous. If they approach at the same time, they might battle each other, leaving only the victor to attack us, if attack is even the Aos Sí’s intent.”

  Maarav noted Sage and Ouve both looking at her like she’d grown a second head, then smiled. “I like it. Though An Fiach hunts down magic users, their primary enemy is the Faie. An army of Aos Sí will at the very least prove distracting. Judging by Iseult’s description of the Aos Sí, I can guess who will come out on top in that battle.”

  Now Ouve and Sage were looking at him like he’d sprouted a second head. Farm boys, he internally scoffed.

  “Good,” Ealasaid replied after a moment. “I will feel no pity if every man in An Fiach falls to an Aos Sí sword, even if we have to deal with the Faie warriors afterward.”

  Maarav searched her face for evidence of soft-heartedness behind her words, but all he could find was a cold smile. He could not blame her for wanting revenge, but it was surprising. Perhaps someday she’d become as cold and heartless as his assassin brethren.

  Ouve looked back and forth between the two of them. “But what if they both attack us first, and each other later? They might decide that another force, even one belonging to the enemy, could prove a worthwhile distraction. We’d never be able to stand against both armies at once.”

  “Have some faith,” Maarav replied. “The Aos Sí may be frightening, but they do not possess the magnitude of magic that any of you do, and An Fiach has no magic at all. We must simply be smart and organized.”

  Ealasaid nodded. “Ouve, find Slàine and inform her of the incoming forces. Sage, do the same for the mages. Send scouts to move the townspeople inward toward the estate, and ask Slàine to send a few of her people to keep an eye on the Aos Sí and An Fiach. Whatever happens, we will be ready.”

  Ouve and Sage both seemed like they were about to piss themselves, but still they nodded and hurried to obey. Soon enough, Maarav and Ealasaid were alone.

  She turned worried eyes to him. “I hope you were not lying about our magic being greater than that of the Aos Sí.”

  He nodded. “According to my brother, they are fierce warriors, but lacking in actual magic beyond a few minor tricks.”

  She let out a long breath, then took a step toward him. “And my orders? What else should I have added?”

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. “We have a day to figure out the rest.”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast.

  “And you know,” he added, “as the leader of An Solas, your role is here within the estate. You will not be part of the battle unless the grounds are breached.”

  Her eyes jerked up to his. “I will not send anyone to fight in my place, nor will I hide from An Fiach. I ran once. I will not run again.”

  He sighed. He’d have to think of a better excuse to keep her out of the fight. Her magic was powerful, but she was not experienced in battle. She’d run around like a rabid wolverine in the battle up North, flinging lightning without considering she was drawing the eye of archers right to her.

  “Will you fight with me?” she asked suddenly. “I—” she hesitated, “I do not like the idea of you running off into battle where I cannot see you.”

  He smirked. At the very least he could use her reasoning to keep them both near the estate, ready to take down any attackers who made it through the first lines of defense.

  “There is no one else I’d rather fight beside,” he assured, and found, despite wanting to keep her out of battle altogether, it was the truth.

  Many tense hours passed. Ealasaid brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. She’d managed to pull most of it into a braid, but it was so curly that a few stray strands were inevitable, especially when faced with the harsh, chill wind up in the guard tower. She wore a winter tunic over breeches, along with a heavy cloak, but still felt the cold.

  Maarav stood by her side atop the guard tower, as promised. They’d spent the day running around making preparations in hopes that they’d get some rest during the night, but luck was not on their side. Slàine’s scouts revealed that neither army stopped to make camp when darkness fell. They would both reach them that night.

  “They must be aware of each other by now,” Maarav muttered. “Armies that large do not pass by each other unnoticed.”

  She chewed her lip. If that was the case, and they weren’t already fighting, they might both agree to first attack the burgh before each other. Or, perhaps one would wait to see what the other would do. She half wished they’d tried to communicate with the Aos Sí to learn their intent. With Finn no longer in the burgh, and Oighear dead, she had no idea what they might want with Garenoch.

  “Torches,” Maarav muttered, pointing north. “Let us hope your mages know how to follow orders.”

  She placed an hand over her abdomen, sick with nerves. Was this truly happening? Would An Solas meet an untimely end? Would she? She’d done her best to release her fear of dying when she first left her village, and even thought she had succeeded, but it all came crashing back now.

  She turned wide eyes to Maarav.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Having second thoughts on entering the fray?”

  Yes, she thought, but shook her head.

  He sidled up to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “It is best not to think about death. Instead think of your family and the vengeance you seek, and take heart in the mages that have come to fight for you.”

  She nodded several times too quickly, making herself dizzy. What if Maarav died? Who would guide her then? Would she be left at the mercy of Slàine?

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. The torches were nearing the edge of the burgh, though she could not see who wielded them. She leaned against Maarav for a moment, then pulled away. She pictured her mother’s face, and those of her sisters. She thought of her peaceful village going up in flames, of those she loved being tortured, then killed.

  Hot rage welled up inside of her. She knew she might die that night, but not before she avenged every single person she’d lost.

  Maarav sighed as Ealasaid pulled away. He’d done all he could for her, now he could only hope that the gods weren’t cruel enough to kill a girl so young.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up the interior of the tower seconds before Tavish emerged. “It’s An Fiach. The Aos Sí are still in the forest to the east. They have halted their approach for now.”

  Maarav nodded. Hopefully it meant the Aos Sí did not intend to attack. Otherwise, they were simply waiting for An Fiach to weaken Garenoch’s defenses before swooping in to finish them off.

  Shouting could be heard in the distance, along with a few screams. Maarav narrowed his gaze as the first wave of magic hit An Fiach. What would have been a spectacular sight during the day was made even more so in the dark of night. Washes of flame arced outward, illuminating equally powerful bursts of ice. Yet, the torches advanced, and more people screamed. Something was wrong.

  He turned to Tavish. “Find out what they’re doing to guard themselves against the magic.”

  Tavish nodded before Maarav could give further instruction,
then turned and hurried back down the stairs.

  “We should go with him,” Ealasaid breathed. “If they’ve found a way to protect themselves against our magic, we need to devise a new plan.”

  He grabbed her arm before she could spin away. “Wait for Tavish’s return. You need to be here to relay whatever the new plan might be. All will suffer if you become lost in the chaos.”

  She blinked up at him, then slowly nodded. She seemed to calm herself, though he could feel electricity in the air around her, making his arm hairs stand on end beneath his shirt.

  Painful minutes passed. Ealasaid remained silent while Maarav struggled to see what was happening. The bursts of magic were now more erratic as An Fiach pushed forward, intermingling with An Solas.

  Finally, just when he was sure Ealasaid would flee the tower at any moment, Tavish returned.

  He hunched over with his hands on his knees, attempting to regain his breath. “Cannot see what it is,” he rasped. “Some sort of . . . barrier protects them. The magic just seems to bounce off.”

  Maarav turned to Ealasaid to see what she thought, but she’d stepped forward to the parapet.

  He approached her side, leaving Tavish to recover.

  Her pale gray eyes peered outward, though they didn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular. “I sense . . . something,” she muttered. “Someone . . . protecting them.” She looked to Maarav. “I can feel someone shielding them, but that someone is outside the burgh. I must locate them if we hope to prevail.”

  He let out a slow breath. “Focus, Eala. Can you tell who it is?”

  She shook her head. “The protector is powerful, more powerful than any of our mages. That’s all I can tell.”

  “Faie?” he questioned.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied, glancing out to the battle.

  The torches were growing closer. Their people were dying.