The Royal Wizard Page 9

Saeran stared into the bowl of water, willing images of his father to appear. He’d been sitting there since dusk trying to practice his scrying to look in on the old man. His entire body felt cramped, his legs completely numb. Still, after all this time, there was nothing in the bowl but water. He was beginning to think Nia did something to make him see things when she taught him to scry. It was the only lesson she had to repeat almost daily, and he still couldn’t do it on his own.

  The one time he’d managed to catch a vision, he could hardly believe his eyes. He’d have thought it a fluke, an illusion, were it not for Nia’s tears. She broke his heart that night. And he hadn’t seen a vision since. Instead he did this. Sat at the water bowl for hours on end, wondering if Nia was already asleep. If she was waking up from nightmares alone in that cursed tomb of a study.

  Frustrated and sore, his head pounding without mercy, Saeran shoved the bowl aside. He pushed to his feet, nearly falling back down when his knees gave out. It took long moments for feeling to return to his lower extremities, and then it felt like he was standing on needles. Saeran hobbled with as much dignity as a king could muster to the bed and sat on the edge, sighing.

  Tomorrow was another day. More royal decrees and more disputes to settle. He’d have to get the new council together and present it to Nia. Again. She’d turned half of his chosen candidates away and restored three of the old members, including Allon, whom Saeran could hardly stand on a good day.

  Nia had her reasons. Something about respecting tradition and wisdom guiding youth. He didn’t care about why she did it. What he cared about was that the ones he’d most wanted were where he wanted them. Saeran grinned. No one but Nia had met the new council members yet. He couldn’t wait to present them. One by one, he would buck every antiquated tradition his father had upheld out of laziness. When Manfred returned, Wilderheim would be a much different place.

  It was too quiet. Today he’d had Nia open a window to Manfred so they could talk. He hadn’t realized how long they were at it until the window began to close in on itself as Nia’s strength flagged. She’d been forced to beg off from their daily lessons. It was the thing he looked forward to the most each day and he missed it. He missed Nia.

  She’d taught him so much already. If he had to, Saeran could cloak himself from the sight of others. He could create an illusion of himself for a short time; he could even speak and have the air carry his words to a single person alone in a crowded chamber. He understood all things now, and they spoke to him often, telling him so much more about his own kingdom than he could ever hear from his sentries and advisors. Yet no one knew of this, save Nia.

  When they were alone, Saeran was no longer a king. He was simply Saeran, a man and nothing more. But when he sat his throne, Nia proved invaluable to him. She saw things he would have missed, gave him sound advice when he needed it, and her presence alone calmed him. If he let himself, Saeran could love the wizard with her sad eyes and quick wit. But that would only bring pain to them both. Saeran had sealed his fate six years ago, and there was no going back. He’d done what he had to for the good of two kingdoms, and he prayed the gods showed him mercy enough that he never had to regret that choice.

  Saeran stretched out on the bed. Nothing stirred this late at night. The windows were open, but the air outside was still, with nary a breeze to whisper in his ear. The fire in the hearth was dying down, taking its song with it. Saeran was completely alone, cocooned in silence.

  It bothered him. He closed his eyes and thought of what he wanted most in that moment. “Nia,” he said out loud as she’d taught him.

  All at once, there was a gust of wind and she was there.

  Saeran jerked upright on the bed. She was naked. Her hair pinned up, her hand holding a washcloth to her shoulder. Her back was to him, and for an instant Saeran wondered if he’d fallen asleep. He had dreamed of her so often he couldn’t be sure.

  But then her hand stilled and her head lifted to look around. She gasped, then growled furiously, and the sheets were pulled out from beneath him. They draped around her to conceal the expanse of exquisite skin, and Saeran nearly snatched them back again.

  When she was sufficiently covered, Nia turned to spear him with an icy glare. “When I told you you could summon me at will, I did not mean for you to do it on a whim!”

  “Forgive me, I did not realize…” He couldn’t stop staring. Nia was before the hearth and the dying light was still strong enough to shine through the sheets, outlining her form as a shadow.

  “Close your eyes,” she commanded and his eyelids obeyed. But Saeran could still see her in his mind, so close he could reach out and touch her. Gods, but he wanted to!

  There was rustling, and when he could open his eyes again, she was clad in her robes; her feet bare, her face blushing. “Here,” she said, tossing the sheets at him. They hit him in the face and he grinned as he pushed them away.

  “Ah, Nia,” he cajoled, standing off the bed. “Don’t be cross with me. I had no way of knowing you would be bathing when I called you.” He reached out to pull the pins out of her hair, letting it cascade down her back and over her shoulders. “And it is your fault for not expecting this could happen when you taught me how to will you into my presence.”

  Her glare didn’t lessen, but her lips were turning pale and she shivered.

  “The floor is cold,” he said. Reaching around her shoulders and beneath her knees, Saeran picked her up against his chest. “You will catch a chill.”

  The flames in the hearth blazed higher as her temper rose, but Nia was too tired to do anything other than ask, “What are you doing?”

  Saeran sat her on his bed as if it was perfectly acceptable for her to be there, nearly naked in the king’s bedchamber. “Seeing to it you don’t die of cold and leave me without counsel,” he answered, covering her bare feet with a thick blanket. “And making up for summoning you away from your bath.”

  “Why did you summon me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She shouldn’t have. Almost halfway closed, her eyelids became even heavier. Her head was already swimming. She couldn’t keep this up much longer. The spell she’d done for Saeran and Manfred hadn’t been difficult in its making, but in its perpetuation. There was no flare of magic and then a moment to restore herself. To keep such a window open, Nia had to channel her magic into it in an even, continuous stream. It had wearied her more than she realized. She’d been moments from bedding down when Saeran summoned her.

  “I couldn’t sleep and I hoped you would keep me company for a while.”

  “It has been a long day, Saeran, I will not be much of a conversationalist.” Beltaine was almost upon them, and there were preparations that needed to be done. Nia had to rise before dawn tomorrow to oversee the villagers’ efforts, and to perform some of her own spells and ritual. For many, Beltaine night would be one of celebration, and they would care for little more than that. But for those many to enjoy it, a few had to work very hard in the days prior.

  Saeran caressed her cheek. “You are tired.”

  “Yes. Send me back.” She shouldn’t be here. But her mind wasn’t focused enough for her to transport herself back to her own bed. If she tried magic, she might end up in a wall. And walking barefoot through the castle at night left her exposed not only to attack but also gossip.

  Saeran cupped her face and kissed her eyes closed. “Don’t worry, Nia. There is no need for you to stand the king’s guard tonight. I will keep you safe.”

  Nia felt the world shift as he pushed down on her shoulders to make her lie back. Her eyes refused to open; she was half asleep already. “Send me back, Saeran,” she asked him, consciousness fading. “You know how.”

  “No,” he whispered in answer, and then there was darkness.

  PART TWO

  SEVERANCE

  CHAPTER 11

  The breeze woke her, sighing her name. Niaaa.

  She opened her eyes and sat up with a start. It was day, by the brightness of the sun she ju
dged it to be nearing noon. She’d slept half the day away in the king’s bed, and there was a tiny creature with a limp hat and a beaked nose almost as big as his head perched on the pillow next to her, watching her with curious brown eyes. Mortified, Nia fought the coverings to get out from beneath them. By the time she looked back, the gnome was gone.

  Gods, what had possessed Saeran? Anyone could have come in here while she slept, and she didn’t want to think about how the people would have mocked her for it.

  Nia, I need you, the breeze said in Saeran’s voice. Of course, Saeran didn’t dare summon her as he had last night, he wouldn’t want her to appear in the great hall half clad and sleeping.

  With a thought Nia transported herself to her study. The candles had burned down with no one to tend them and it was pitch black. Summoning light, she stripped her robe and dressed in her usual clothes. There was no time to do more than splash cold water on her face and drag a comb through her hair. Mornings were when Saeran held court and heard petitions, and it was part of Nia’s duty to oversee the proceedings should she be needed. She was late!

  When the walls called her name, echoing each other, Nia moaned her frustration, took up her staff and disappeared, reappearing outside the great hall.

  She opened the door with a wave of her hand and hastened toward Saeran. There was a crowd gathered, and several men knelt before the dais, facing the king. They were knights by the look of them, but Nia didn’t recognize their crests. They must have come from far outside of Wilderheim, and by the tense set of their shoulders she could tell they’ve been waiting for quite a while.

  Nia sent Saeran a meek look of apology. It wasn’t like her to neglect her duties, as he well knew. He shouldn’t have let her sleep so long. But when his mouth twitched in answer, she realized he’d done it on purpose. Nia scowled. She’d get him for that later.

  “The royal wizard and advisor,” Saeran announced, his voice carrying to the farthest corner of the great hall.

  Nobles bowed and nodded their greetings. Nia kept her gaze on the wall in front of her, debating whether it would be more effective to summon an army of fire ants into Saeran’s boots or pour sticky honey in his hair. Neither was good enough. This offense was too great to be tolerated. She’d toss him into the stream and make everything he ate taste like old fish. Yes, that ought to do it.

  One of the men kneeling before the king glanced up as her robes brushed his shoulder in passing, and once he looked, his gaze snared. Nia could feel the weight of it on her before she turned to face them. He was first in his company to dare raise his head. He was not the last.

  Nia spared him a glance but didn’t return his open regard. Her magic reached across the great hall to take measure of the crowd.

  She sensed curiosity about the knights among the gathering, one the king didn’t seem to share. Saeran’s agitation chafed against her mind like bristling fur. “These men are travelers from Synealee by the Sea,” he said for Nia’s benefit.

  Nia glanced at him, surprised at his harsh tone. She’d never heard him speak that way, not even in the face of insult. Saeran didn’t anger easily, but it was clear something had upset him.

  “They ask for shelter and our assistance in their quest.”

  Nia addressed the knights. “I have seen Synealee. You have come quite a distance from the land of eternal summer. What is it you seek this far north?”

  The one in the middle looked askance at the king. “Your Majesty,” he said uncertainly, “surely this is a matter to be discussed among men.”

  “Sir Frederick duChamp,” the king said by way of introduction, turning his head toward Nia without looking away from the knights. “He speaks for this lot.”

  Nia nodded to the knight. He was the elder of this company, a man whose pride kept his shoulders back despite his gray hair and weathered face. The simple clasp securing his cape was a circle wreath with a hand brandishing a sword in its center. They all wore a similar symbol, but his was the only one etched in gold.

  “The wizard is my right hand,” Saeran told the knight, daring him to argue. “You will show her the same deference you show me.”

  “Answer to a woman, by the grace of god inferior in every way?” Sir Frederick said, his face turning red.

  “Tread carefully, knight,” Saeran said. It was the only warning he would give.

  Rather than leash his tongue, the knight stood. “Boys, we have come to the wrong place! The king’s woman rules this land; we should have gone to her instead!” As the onlookers hummed in displeasure, Sir Frederick turned on Nia. “And where would we have found her, I wonder? In the king’s bed, perhaps?”

  Saeran rose from his throne, and all those with sense backed away from the dais and the man who had just incurred his wrath.

  Nia stood her ground and held the knight’s gaze without saying a word.

  “Do you please him well, wizard?”

  Rather than roar his fury, Saeran quietly dared, “One more word.”

  Sir Frederick sneered. “Harm a hair on my head and you will have the armies of Synealee descending on you to avenge me.”

  It was the worst thing he could have said. The guards filed in, arms raised, but they looked to Nia and Saeran for orders. Both shook their heads to keep them back.

  All of the knights were on their feet now, trying to reason with their companion. He would hear none of it. Shrugging off their hands, ignoring their warnings, he toed the very edge of the first step. “We came to you out of courtesy, not need,” Frederick declared. “This insult will not be borne, my boy. I will not yield to a boy’s fancy, nor woman’s whim!”

  Saeran drew his dagger, but Nia stayed his hand. She brushed past him, her robes pushing him back. The gathering retreated more with every step she took, all but the foolish knight who thought himself above a king. Nia descended three steps and looked Sir Frederick in the eye to see his soul.

  She wasn’t gentle, and she didn’t hold back. Arrowing through the haze of red temper, she found his pride and fear. Deeper still, she followed a path of determination to the heart of him, where all that he was and would ever be resided. There she found his quest, a dream of touching godhood in its purest form.

  His obsession with a lone god’s son, neither human nor divine, but both at once made no sense to Nia. This man worshipped what she could only call a wizard, yet he scoffed in the face of another. He sought a holy object with the power to grant eternal life. Nia had never heard of such a thing. To find it would mean great honor to him and all his descendants, a blessing he hoped to prove he deserved. Only one whose soul was worthy, blessed by his god, would be allowed to touch it, and he desperately wanted to be such a man. To fail in this meant an eternity of fiery torment at the hands of demons, but to have come this far gave him hope and made him believe he was their better.

  Baffled, Nia left where Frederick was headed and sought where he’d come from. The knights didn’t move while she searched him; she didn’t allow them such freedom. They stood frozen, watching, waiting for her judgment while Frederick shivered before her, wide eyed, terrified of being found out.

  “He lies,” Nia declared. “A reckless old fool. They have no supplies left and the journey has drained them. This one is an outcast from his own lands. The others hold allegiance to no one. They seek a treasure far to the north where even our own people rarely venture. Their legends led them here, and they require a guide to go the rest of the way.”

  Nia released him and raised her head high as everyone present sighed in unison. Saeran issued the signal to bring the guards closer, but it was her honor the knight had impugned and she would be the one to pass judgment over him for his insolence.

  Free of her spell, Sir Frederick clutched his chest as his aging heart shuddered and slowed. As with the poisoned wolf, Nia felt the knight’s pain as if it was her own. She schooled herself not to show it.

  “Foolish old man,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “Your god has no power to protect you here. This is
Woden’s realm, and his children do not take kindly to such insult.”

  Sir Frederick dropped to one knee, sputtering, dying. Nia descended two more steps and held her hand out over his form huddling at her feet. Closing her eyes, she droned a hum and then gave it words: a healing spell which drew on the earth’s nurturing magic to mend the flesh of man. It wasn’t a forceful order, but rather a prayer, a petition. The earth, as all living things, could choose whether to obey. The knight stilled, breathed in deep, then straightened and stood, his eyes wide. He had finally run out of words.

  “I saved your life this day,” she told him. “Think twice before you slander me again.” Turning away from him, she returned to her place at the king’s side. “They are no threat to us, my liege. The treasure, if there is one, has value for them alone. The sooner we help them find it, the sooner they’ll leave.”

  “What of him?” Saeran asked, indicating Frederick with a nod.

  The knight still staring at her traced a cross over his chest and knelt, bowing his head. “Bless my soul,” he said reverently. “Forgive me for not recognizing the great Lady of the Lake. My life is yours if you ask it.”

  Nia and Saeran looked at each other, equally confused.

  “Lady of the Lake,” the rest of them echoed, kneeling along with him, and once again those present hummed with gossip.

  Saeran despised gossip, yet he always seemed to find himself in the midst of it, its subject or its audience. By tomorrow, some great fable about Nia would be making its way across Frastmir and this time he would have no explanation for what she’d wrought. Who were these knights, casting judgment one moment and then prostrating themselves the next? What utter drivel would the nobles invent about what they’d seen?

  Saeran didn’t like this sudden shift, didn’t trust it in the least. He found himself wary of them. They were fervent in their beliefs, fanatic in their quest for what they themselves had admitted might not even be there. Such steadfast faith could be a powerful thing.