“Sire, she has. There’s nothing anyone can do. Let the women have her. Next time you see her, she will be beautiful once more, and you can say your final farewell.”
Reik wiped the tears from his eyes. “What am I to do without her?”
“You have a daughter to care for. Do you not want to see her?”
“The daughter that was to be my son? The daughter that killed my consort? Why would I want to see her? What will I do with a daughter? I don’t know how to raise a daughter. Take her away.”
“She’s your daughter. No less your kin than a son would be. You will grow to love her.”
“How can I love one who took away the other half of my heart?” Reik cried.
“You can. You’re not the only one who has lost their consort in the birth of a daughter. Most get through it and come to treasure the child. Please take a look at her. She looks like her mother. You will love her, I know this.”
“How can I?” Reik frowned at Odray. The sincerity in her eyes was evident. She truly believed he could come to love this child. “Where is she?”
“Right here.” Odray turned to the dresser that stood across from the bed. Upon it sat a woven basket with a blanket covering it. She lifted the blanket and reached inside.
“Here she is. She’s been here the whole time. Doesn’t she look like her mother? She has the same eyes.” Odray handed the child to him, the blanket wrapped tightly around her.
The child was tiny. Reik barely felt the weight of her in his arms. How fragile.
For just a moment, her eyes opened, and he was taken aback. They were green, just like his consort’s. How many summers had he spent gazing into those eyes?
The babe closed her eyes. Her face became still. No longer did he see the sparkling eyes of his consort. Now he saw the slack face of her death.
He handed the child back to the midwife. “Take her away. I don’t want to look at her.”
She gasped. “You wish to give her away?”
“No. Not give her away. Find someone suitable to raise her.” He jabbed a finger at the woman. “You, perhaps. You seem to have the touch. You raise her. I’ll see that you want for nothing. Find a wet nurse for now, but you raise her. I can’t bear to look at her.”
Odray said, “Sire, you will come to love her. Of this I am certain.”
Reik glanced at the child. Those eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at them.
“Take her away,” was all he could manage to choke out before the tears began again.
3
Three days had passed since the baroness died and Baron Reik had avoided the midwife, avoided his one manservant, avoided anything that reminded him of his normal life. The women had come and taken his consort away and erased every trace of her from their bedchamber save his memories. Whenever he glanced at the bed, he saw his consort lying there. Her hair fanned out around her as she rested, heavy with child. His child, the murderer who had taken his beloved away from him.
He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the pain.
“Sire?” The voice of the baron’s trusted advisor, Honzard, was shaky.
“Please, leave me alone.”
“It’s time for the pyre.”
“You’re not going to burn my beloved.” The thought of flames licking at the hair that once framed her face filled Reik with dread. His guts twisted until he nearly lost the fight with his own body and expelled the meager morning meal he had allowed himself.
“Sire. The smell of death must not be permitted to mar her memory.”
“Cover it up! You’re not burning her. Not today, not ever. You’re not taking the last memory of her away from me. I won’t have it.”
“Sire.” The old man approached with a familiarity that would have earned him a reproach on any other day. He knelt down beside the baron, a feat that none would have thought possible for one of his advanced age.
“I know how hard this has been for you,” Honzard said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She is gone. Her flesh is subject to the same decay as all flesh. You must treat her remains with respect. Please. I beg of you. Do not let corruption take away the beauty that remains. Fix it in place with the cleansing fire. It will show the people your love for her.”
“I can’t bear to give her up.”
Honzard stood and stretched out his hand. “Come. Make your final words to her and release her. The people expect to pay their respects. I’ve known you since you were a lad. I know you can do this.”
Baron Reik let Honzard guide him down the hallways to the chamber where they had prepared the body of his consort. She had been washed and anointed with oil, wrapped in white linen covering all save her face. She bore a slight smile that the baron knew well. It was the one she employed when she was jesting with him or had just delivered a clever idea and was satisfied with herself. How was he to continue without her?
“Who will guide my thoughts out of their darkest demesne now that you are gone?” Reik asked. “Who will remind me when I forget that my people should be my first responsibility? Who will calm me when the rage takes me?”
That face, the one that could still his anger with just that smile, remained impassive, unmoving, unfeeling. She was gone. Never again would her words calm him. Never again would her words soothe him. Never again would her hand touch his at the moment when he needed it the most.
“Sire?”
Reik had forgotten that Honzard stood beside him until the man spoke.
“She’s really gone, isn’t she?” He hoped for some other answer than the truth.
“Yes, sire.”
“She’s not coming back, is she?”
“No, sire.”
Reik leaned in to kiss his beloved. As he drew near, the odor that had been masked by the flowers and oils that anointed the linen tugged at his senses. Corruption was setting in. In the next days or so, his beloved would lose her beauty, fester, and bloat like a cow left in the field to rot. No. They were right. Better to seal her beauty in with the flames than let it be consumed by corruption.
“Prepare the pyre. Sunset. Let this be over.”
“Sire. The people will share your grief. They loved her as much as you did.”
“I still love her. I always will,” the baron said.
“Of course, sire. But in time, the hurt will diminish. Trust me in this. I’m old. I too have had to watch the pyre take the love of my life. The pain will eventually fade until only the happy memories remain.”
Before the baron could respond, a cry erupted from the hallway.
“What’s that?” Reik demanded.
“You daughter, sire,” Honzard said. “She has been brought to bid a farewell to her mother.”
“She’s just an infant. Why bring her here?”
“It’s customary. When a woman gives her life to a child, that child is the last to gaze upon her face. It’s thought to help facilitate the transfer of the spirit of the mother to the nether world. And if some tales be true, it also allows part of the mother’s soul to take residence in the child and guide her through life.”
“Take her away. She doesn’t deserve this. She is a murderer. She took my beloved away.”
“Sire. She is no murderer. She did nothing.”
“She killed her own mother.”
“Sire. You know this is not true. Unfortunately, sometimes this happens. Childbearing carries risks. It always has. The child is innocent. Do not let your sorrow over the loss of your consort destroy the bond a father should have with his daughter.”
Reik recalled the slack face of his love and the mother’s eyes had been passed down to the child. He wished it had been otherwise. He might have come to love his daughter if she didn’t bring back such horrible memories. Still. Could he deny her the custom of being the last to gaze upon the face of her mother, even if she had contributed to that death? He bit his tongue. Now was not the time. Let the woman have this.
“Bring her.” The baron turned his face away from the white-shrouded body bef
ore him.
Honzard nodded to Odray, who carried the child close.
She stepped into the chamber and held the babe over her mother’s corpse. “May the spirit of the one who gave your life guide and protect you always.”
Odray reached for the white linen cloth folded beside the body. She brushed it against the child’s face. Gently she laid the cloth to rest over the mother’s face.
Odray turned to Reik and held out the babe. “Do you wish to hold her?”
Reik gazed at the child. When last he saw her, she was covered in blood and puffy from birth. She had looked nothing like her mother then, save for her eyes. But now, cleaned and recovered from the trauma of birth, the resemblance was striking. When she gazed at him, the same eyes that used to comfort him were there, save they were filled with nothing of the sharp wit he had come to know. The shape of her face, her cheeks, her chin. Even the shape of her eyebrows was hauntingly familiar.
He glanced over at the body, but the clean white linen prevented him from seeing his beloved. Once again, the child had taken her away from him, first by her death, and now by custom. How could such a tiny babe bring such evil into the world by her mere presence?
He glanced over at the child. The eyes of his love gazed back at him. No, not the eyes of his love. The eyes of a liar, a pretender, a killer.
“No. I don’t wish to hold her,” Reik said. Without his consort or his promised son, who would rule the dukedom after him? The last thing he wanted was his land falling into the hands of that upstart who called himself king. He’d rather burn everything down than let that pretender have it.
The square was packed with nobility and commoners alike. The nobility stood inside a barricaded area that allowed them enough space to gather without pressing close to one another. Reik knew that they barely tolerated one another, their petty squabbles constant. They were always vying for power. He shuddered. He would have to deal with them without the guidance that moderated his true desire, which was to strip the lot of them of their fortunes and turn them out as peasants. Let that be a lesson to them on how good they all had it.
The peasants were crowded into the square, pressing together like kine in a thunderstorm. They huddled together, forming a semi-circle around the pyre that had been re-built as he had instructed. Little did those onlookers know that the person responsible, truly responsible for this spectacle, was about to become a part of it himself.
Deep within the pile of wood and debris, the wizard, the one who had failed the baron, lay tied and gagged. The baron had been most specific in his orders and taken mild pleasure in conceiving of a fitting punishment. The wizard was bound tightly so he could not struggle against the inevitable. His mouth was gagged to mask any sounds he might utter before the crackling of the flames drowned them out. He had been placed inside a box, which in turn was carefully placed at the heart of the pyre. The pyre had been made bigger to hide his presence, but that only added to the fittingness of the punishment. The flames would slowly work their way inward from the perimeter. The wizard would have plenty of time to come to grips with his fate before he met it.
The baron nodded.
A man in black robes was separate from the crowd, his torch sputtering in the gentle breeze.
He dipped the torch, touching the pyre with the flame.
Slowly, the pyre caught, gentle flames licking the evening air where the torch had touched them.
The man circled the pyre, dipping the torch again and again, the orange flames spreading from each point of ignition to cover the entire perimeter of the pyre before spreading slowly inward.
The nobles drew back from the heat as the flames grew.
The peasants held their ground. They had nowhere to retreat to.
As the flames roared, the baron thought for a moment he could hear the tortured screams of the wizard buried deep within the pyre, or was it only his imagination? How long would the man last? Did he have some magic that would protect him, even though he was bound and gagged? Was there such a spell that might allow him to survive? He’d never thought of that. What if the wizard tricked him? What if he had used his magic to save himself?
Just the thought of the wizard escaping to continue to work his harm was enough to set the baron’s thoughts winging their way to the darkest parts of his imagination. This would not do. There could be no magic. No wizards. Not in his demesne.
The baron stepped toward the pyre, heedless of the flames.
“This, my beloved, was taken from me by magic. I have thought long and hard, and have come to realize that magic has no place in our lives. From this day forth, anyone caught performing magic will suffer this as their fate.” He gestured to the pyre raging behind him.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd.
The baron turned to see the sparks of the pyre form themselves into the shape of a dragon. The ethereal beast hovered above the flames for a moment, its huge wings shedding sparks that caught in the clothes and hair of the gathered masses.
It turned to face the baron, its gaping maw large enough to swallow a man whole.
Its mouth moved as if forming words, but there was no sound, then without warning, the spark-filled dragon flapped its mighty wings and rose into the night sky.
The baron watched as it faded into the darkness, shaking his head.
Just what had he unleashed?
4
Uskin came awake to a sharp pain in her chest. She was covered in sweat and cold as ice. “Dragons,” she cried. The Wizards’ Keep was always cold, no matter the season, but she was sweating as if she’d been running for her life.
“Dragons?” Alwroth mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“They’re in danger.” Uskin got up from the bed and pulled on her robe; the warmth of it chased away some of the cold, but not enough.
She raised her hands and blew on her open palms. A golden glow appeared, tenuous at first, but building in intensity until it lit the room, chasing the night away. The flame swirled into a tight spiral rising up from her palms, taking on a vague shape that sharpened into the form of a dragon. Its wings were made of fire and its horns of golden light.
It solidified and became clear, snorting fire.
Uskin peered closely at the vision. The dragon was curled around something ... No, not something, someone. A girl. A young girl. Five summers in age. She was pudgy, with long curly hair and a pleasant smile.
The dragon gazed at the girl soundly sleeping safely within its massive coil of muscle. It gently sniffed the child, inhaled deeply, and let out a stream of fire that washed over her.
The little girl snoozed on, paying it no notice. Her skin took on a bright hue under the ministration of the dragon’s fire, shifting from red, to orange, to gold, and finally, yellow.
It was as dazzling as the noonday sun.
The dragon’s fire ceased, but the girl continued to shine brightly.
She woke and peered up at Uskin with a sad smile.
Such a sad smile. Uskin’s heart melted. She knew she would never have a daughter of her own, yet somehow, when she looked at the child, she felt protective, as if the child were the daughter she could never have.
“What is it, little one?” Uskin asked the vision.
The little girl remained silent, but slowly, a new form emerged beside her, growing taller, taking on the shape of a man. They belonged together somehow. It was right.
The man gazed up at Uskin. “We couldn’t save them,” he said. “Not even one.”
“Save who?” Uskin asked, but the vision didn’t answer. Instead, it turned to a swirl of golden sparks and faded away. Uskin stared on, transfixed. What did the vision mean? The dragons had gone away long ago. They were off in their own realm, safe from the interference of mankind.
5
In the summers since her birth, Rotiaqua had grown into a determined and independent young woman. Raised in exile by the woman who attended her birth, Rotiaqua had been afforded the best tutors, the most attentive ser
vants, the most dutiful personal guards. She had everything a royal daughter could want, save the love of her father. On occasion, her distant father made the journey to his country estate. More often than not, it was to put her on display for some noble he was courting in the hopes of creating an alliance by merging the two families together. Young as she was, she knew one day he would succeed and she would be shipped off to some castle somewhere to become a symbol of her father. She hated it. Still, she secretly hoped that on one of his visits, they would somehow make a connection and he would accept her.
When she received word of his imminent arrival, she feared the worst. Her freedom might well be in jeopardy. There were so many things she wished to do that would be denied to her once her adult life began.
She perched on a chair as Odray brushed her long hair. She wore it long because her mother had always worn hers short, or so she had been told. She hoped that by so doing, her father would see less of the woman he had lost in her and maybe, just maybe, he would come to see her as she was, and not as a mere reflection of this long-lost love.
“Are you excited about the morrow?” Odray asked.
“You mean the end of my freedom?”
“It’s not the end. It’s rare that the baron makes a visit. You should be excited to see your father?”
“You think it gives me pleasure to spend more time with the man who refused to acknowledge my existence for most of my life? It’s all rather burdensome being trotted out like a prize hog for whatever dignitary happens by.”
“You say that now. But I see how your father looks at you. He’s softening. He sees in you the qualities he most admired in your mother. There is hope in that.”
Rotiaqua snorted. “Hope. Hope that I may one day be wed to some baronial heir to unite the kingdom, you mean. There is little chance that I will actually rule, designated heir or not. The only reason he acknowledged me was to form an alliance with another baron. I have no illusions about that.”
The Sorceress: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 3) Page 2