The Oracle’s Queen. Lynn Flewelling
to rape her.
To his credit, Korin had been kind. “I’ve never forced a woman in my life,” he told her. He was handsome under all that grime, she couldn’t help noting, and so very earnest. “You are of royal blood, a kinswoman. I have no wish to dishonor you.”
“Then what do you want?” she asked faintly, pulling the coverlet up to her chin over her shift.
He’d looked a bit confused at that. Perhaps he thought Niryn’s cold introduction was explanation enough. “My father, the king, is dead. I am king now.” He took her hand in his dirty one and tried to smile, but it was a sickly attempt. His gaze kept straying to the livid mark that ran like spilled wine from her mouth to her shoulder. “I need a consort. You will bear the heirs of Skala.”
Nalia had laughed in his face. All she could think to say was, “And Niryn has no objection?” Some part of her poor, addled mind could not yet grasp that her lover, her protector, had betrayed her.
Korin had frowned at that. “Lord Niryn was guided by prophecy to protect and hide you so that you could fulfill this destiny.”
But he was my lover! He’s had me to his bed countless times! She tried to throw the words in his face, thinking it the only way to save herself from such disgrace. But nothing came out, not so much as a whisper. An icy numbness took her lips, then spread down her throat, on down to engulf her heart and belly, and pooled at last between her legs, where it changed to a brief, hot tingle, like a lover’s parting kiss. She gasped and blushed, but the silence held. Some magic had been laid on her. But how? And by whom?
Mistaking her intent, Korin raised her hand to his lips. His silky black moustache tickled against her skin so differently than Niryn’s coppery beard. “We will be properly married, lady. I’ll come to you with a priest tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nalia said. Her voice was hers again, though faint. “So soon?”
“These are uncertain times. Later, when things are more settled, perhaps we can have a proper wedding feast. For now, it only matters that our child be legitimate.”
Our child. So she was to be nothing but a royal broodmare. For the first time in her young life, Nalia felt the beginnings of true anger.
Your friend Niryn has been in my bed more times than I can count! How she longed to shout it, but again the icy coldness stopped her lips and her breath with it. She pressed a hand to her useless mouth as tears of frustration and fear rolled down her cheeks.
Korin noticed her distress and to his credit, she saw genuine concern in those dark eyes. “Please don’t cry, lady. I know this is all very sudden.” Then he spoiled it again, when he stood to go and added, “It’s not my choice, either. But we must think of Skala.”
Alone again, she’d pulled the covers over her head and sobbed. She had no family, no protectors, no friend to turn to.
She wept long into the night, and fell asleep on the sodden pillow. When she woke at dawn, she found she was still alone and had no tears left.
She went to the east window, watching the sky brighten over the Inner Sea. Men with red hawks on their breasts patrolled the walls below, while the true birds rode the morning breeze in freedom beyond.
I’ve never been free, she realized. It had all been an illusion and she’d been such a contented fool. The anger she’d felt last night returned, stronger now. If she had no one to look to for help, then she must look after herself. She was not a child, after all. And she was done being a fool.
Vena and Alin hadn’t been allowed to come back yet, so she dressed herself and went to the writing desk. If she could not speak the truth to the prince, then she would write him a letter.
But whoever had bespelled her had been very clever. Her hand froze above the page and the ink in the quill went dry at each attempt. With a frightened cry, Nalia threw the pen down and backed away from the table. Niryn had entertained her with tales of great magic ever since she was a child, but she’d never witnessed anything more powerful than a festival conjurer’s tricks. This felt more like a curse. She tried to speak the words again, alone here in the stillness of her room. King Korin, I am not a virgin. But the words would not come. She thought again of that strange sensation that had overtaken her the first time she’d tried to confess the truth to him, the way it had coursed down through her body.
“Oh Dalna!” she whispered, sinking to her knees. With trembling fingers, she reached beneath her shift, then let out a frightened sob. “Maker’s Mercy!”
She was cursed indeed, and a virgin again. That had been the first time she’d thought of the balcony, and the long drop below.
Her nurse and page never returned. Instead, wrinkled old Tomara was sent up to serve her and keep her company.
“Where are my own servants?” Nalia demanded angrily.
“I don’t know anything about any other servants, Highness,” the old woman replied. “I was fetched up from the village and told I was to wait on a great lady. I haven’t done since my mistress passed some years ago, but I can still mend and braid. Come now, let me brush out your pretty hair for you, won’t you?”
Tomara was gentle and neat-handed, and there was nothing in her manner to dislike, but Nalia missed her own servants. She suffered through her toilet, then took her place by the window, trying to see what was going on below. She could see riders milling about and hear them on the road beyond the walls.
“Do you know what’s happened?” she asked at last, with no one else to talk to.
“Ero’s fallen, and a traitor is trying to claim the throne, Highness,” Tomara told her, looking up from a piece of embroidery. It appeared to be a bridal veil.
“Do you know who Lord Niryn is?”
“Why, he’s the king’s wizard, lady!”
“Wizard?” For a moment Nalia thought her heart had stopped beating. A wizard. And one powerful enough to serve a king.
“Oh, yes! He saved King Korin’s life at Ero and got him away before the Plenimarans could capture him.”
Nalia considered this, putting it together with the disheveled man who’d come to her last night. He ran away, this new king of mine. He lost the city and ran away. And I’m the best he can do for a wife!
The bitter thought was balm on her wounded heart. It gave her the strength not to scream and throw herself at Niryn when he came to her later that morning, to escort her to the priest.
She had no proper wedding dress. She’d put on the best gown she owned, and the hastily stitched veil Tomara had made for her. She didn’t even have a proper wreath. Tomara brought her a simple circlet of braided wheat.
There were no gaily attired attendants or musicians, either. Men with swords escorted her to the great hall. The midday light streaming in through the few narrow windows only made the shadows deeper. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw that the wedding guests were all soldiers and servants. The priest of Dalna stood by the hearth, and with him were a handful of young nobles, the Companions.
With no father to speak for her, Nalia was given over by Niryn, and had no choice but to obey. When the blessings had been said and Korin took a jeweled ring from his own finger and slid it loosely on her own, she found she was a wife, and Princess Consort of Skala.
Afterward, as they sat over a meager feast, she was introduced to the Companions. Lord Caliel was tall and fair, with a kind, rather sad face. Lord Lutha was hardly more than a boy, gangly and a bit on the homely side, but with such a ready smile that she found herself smiling back and taking his hand. His squire, a brown-eyed boy named Barieus, had the same kind look about him. The two others, Lord Alben and Lord Urmanis, were more what she’d expected; proud and handsome, and doing little to disguise their disdain for her plain looks. Even their squires were rude.
Finally, Korin presented his swordmaster, a grizzled old warrior named Porion.