The Waiting King (2018 reissue)

  The Waiting King

  Deborah Hale

  THE WAITING KING

  Copyright © 2004 Deborah Hale. Originally published in an altered version by Harlequin Books S.A..

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Queen’s Quests Trilogy

  The Wizard’s Ward

  The Waiting King

  The Destined Queen

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Preview of “The Destined Queen”

  Acknowledgements

  I would never have been able to make the jump from historical romance to high fantasy writing without the invaluable assistance of my fantasy consultants: Ian and Patricia Galbraith, Robyn Hale, and Ivy and Mike Moore. Thanks for all your help, guys!

  Chapter One

  “I AM GOING with you,” said Rath, “and that is final, so do not waste your breath arguing.”

  He had been sitting there for what felt like hours, wrestling with his decision. By the time Maura gave the slightest hint of waking, he could not wait another moment to tell her. Once he had said it aloud, there could be no turning back.

  “Hmm?” A yawn stretched Maura’s pretty mouth wide. Then she rubbed her eyes with sooty fists, leaving dark shadows around them. “Go where? What are you talking about, Rath?”

  “Go here.” He held up one half of the ivory “egg.” He had been staring at the tiny map etched on it for so long his eyes felt as though they’d been burnt by pain spikes. “To Everwood. According to this, it is where you will find the Secret Glade. This half shows all of Embria. The other half is a map of the wood itself.”

  “Everwood?” Maura stretched her arms high, then peered toward the fine etching. “How can you tell?”

  “See that crescent in the middle?” Rath pointed. “Those have to be the mountains.”

  His fingertip was not much smaller than the map itself. It made him wonder what sort of deft fingers had wrought such delicate work. Or had the markings been put there by magic?

  “The mountains.” Maura yawned again. “I guessed that much.”

  “Those two spots above the upper tip of the crescent must be the North Lakes,” Rath continued. “So that mark just south of Great Forest Lake has to be Everwood. I grew up not far from there. It is wild country and few folk venture far into the forest. There’s a daft old tale that...”

  “That what?”

  A memory made the back of Rath’s neck prickle. “Nothing. Just a yarn the oldlings would tell to keep foolhardy lads from wandering into the forest and getting lost.”

  “What sort of yarn?” Maura pulled a slender jug from the nearest shelf and removed the stopper.

  “Foolishness,” Rath insisted. “I hardly recollect it.”

  “Try.” Maura took a long drink followed by a sigh of enjoyment. “After last night, I could use a laugh.”

  “Oh, very well. Ganny and some of the other old folk used to say there were parts of the wood where time stopped. They claimed there was once a lad from the village who strayed too far into the forest. Everyone gave him up for dead until he strolled back home twenty years later, not aged a day. He thought he’d only been gone an hour.”

  “Oh, my,” whispered Maura. She took another drink. “That would explain a great deal.”

  “If it was true.”

  She turned to stare at him. “After all that has happened, can you still doubt?”

  “I doubt everything.” Rath tossed one half of the egg-map up in the air, then caught it in his hand. “It is my nature.”

  “Then why do you insist on going with me?”

  He had asked himself that same question many times during the past several hours. And he had not been very satisfied with the possible answers.

  “Perhaps because I have a taste for adventure.” That was true enough. “Perhaps because anything that sets the Han in such a stew is worth doing.”

  Maura made her own guess. “Perhaps because you think I cannot manage without your help.”

  “No.” Rath dropped the two halves of the map onto the lap of her apron, then reached for her hand. “I may not be certain what my reasons are, but I know what they are not. Any woman who can do what you did to three Hanish soldiers and a death-mage does not need some ill-bred outlaw to take her where she wants to go.”

  With her free hand, Maura patted her sash. “The credit belongs here, not with me. Only the Giver knows what will become of me once I have emptied its pockets. I used up all my spider silk last night, but I do have a fresh supply of quickfoil and dreamweed from Exilda’s garden.”

  “Then you should make an effort to restock your supply whenever you get the chance.” Rath pointed toward the ceiling of the cold hatch. “There’s a nice bit of cobweb, for a start.”

  Maura picked up the map of Embria. “Is it a very long way to this Everwood place? What is the quickest route to get there?”

  “That depends,” said Rath. “If we were a pair of sunhawks, we could fly over the mountains, then head north. Have you a spell that can make us fly?”

  Maura chuckled at the notion.

  “A shame we had to come all this way to find the map,” said Rath. “If we had headed west from Windleford instead of south, we might already be there by now.”

  He pointed to Windleford, then traced their route to Prum.

  “And Everwood is way up there?” Maura asked, a plaintive note in her voice.

  Rath gave a rueful nod. “I am sorry to bear ill news.”

  “So we must go back the way we came, then travel that much farther again to the west?”

  She had said we, not I. That pleasant surprise distracted Rath from the rest of her words for a moment.

  Then they sank in. “We cannot go the way we came. It is too dangerous with the Han on alert in the Long Vale. And I would not fancy meeting up with Vang or any of his crowd.”

  Maura shuddered, “Neither would I. But what other choice do we have? Surely you cannot mean to...”

  “Go through Westborne?” Rath completed her question. “That is just what I mean. It is a straighter route and, say what you will about the Han, they keep up roads well.”

  “But there will be twice as many Han in Westborne as in the Long Vale... five times... perhaps ten!”

  “True, but they will not be expecting us to march right under their noses.”

  “With good reason—it is folly!”

  Part of him agreed with her. Long ago, Rath had sworn that he would never again set foot west of the Blood Moon Mountains. It was the quickest way to Everwood from Prum, but what did haste matter if he did not believe in Maura’s Waiting King?

  “I will not let any harm come to you,” he promised.

  A country-bred lass like her, with scant knowledge of Comtu
ng or Westborne ways, she would need to rely on him. Was that what compelled him to insist on travelling through the heart of Embria, where Hanish control was strongest?

  Or was it something else that made even less sense?

  “I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” said Maura, two days later, as she and Rath rode up into the foothills of the Blood Moon Mountains.

  “Into what?” Rath glanced back over his shoulder. “Taking this route to Everwood, or letting me come with you?”

  “Both.” She gave a chuckle to show she did not mean it... at least not entirely.

  True, she quailed at the thought of passing through Westborne. But it seemed there was no easy or safe way to get where she needed to go. At least this route offered them a little respite from danger while they travelled through the barren lands of the Waste.

  As for letting Rath come with her, she was grateful he had insisted. Too grateful, perhaps. She sensed his presence posed a different kind of danger to her quest. A potent danger to her heart.

  “Is it safe to stop yet?” she asked. “My backside is aching something fierce from this long ride.”

  They had stolen out of Exilda’s cold hatch just after sunset two days ago. Then they had sneaked back through town to the inn, where they retrieved their horse and a few supplies. Twice they’d had close brushes with Hanish patrols, but Rath had managed to avoid them both. Once out of town, they had gone as quickly as they dared in the darkness. At times, Rath had dismounted and led the horse with Maura on its back.

  When the sun had risen again, they’d hidden and slept until dusk, then struck off toward the high country. They had been riding ever since, with only brief pauses to snatch a little food and drink.

  “Just a bit farther.” Rath shifted in his saddle. Perhaps he had a sore backside, too. “I know a place where we should be safe to stop for the night. A great many plants grow around there. I thought you might want to replenish your stocks.”

  Maura nodded. The emptier the pockets of her sash grew, the more vulnerable she felt. “Would there be any water around this place, by chance? After grubbing through all that soot at Exilda’s cottage, I am so dirty I can scarcely stand myself.”

  “And I.” Rath gave a growl of wry laughter. “A few weeks ago, a little soot would not have bothered me. I am going soft, I tell you, and you are to blame for it.”

  “There is nothing soft about you, Rath Talward.” Maura batted at his hair, on the pretense of knocking some of the soot out of it.

  “There had better not be, if I am to get us through Westborne safely.” Rath ducked his head to dodge her touch. “And to answer your question, there is plenty of water where we are headed. A warm spring pool, as it happens.”

  “Warm spring? What is that?”

  “Just what it sounds—a spring of water that comes out of the ground warm. I do not know why, but there are several of them here in the foothills.”

  “Warm water?” Maura tried to imagine it. “Without hauling it from the well and heating it on the hob. I fear I shall never want to leave.”

  She feared it even more once she saw the place.

  Nestled in the hills, surrounded by great swaths of green fern and sheltering trees, it was a tiny paradise.

  “I cannot decide what to do first.” Inhaling a deep breath of the faintly pungent air that rose from the surface of the pool, Maura dipped her hand in to confirm that the water was warm. “Should I do some gathering, wash my clothes or bathe?”

  “I know what I want to do first.” Rath said as he heaved the saddle off the horse and tethered the beast to graze. “But perhaps we should look for plants while we still have light to find them.”

  “Duty before pleasure?” Maura directed a teasing grin his way. “That does not sound like the outlaw code.”

  “Necessity before pleasure,” Rath corrected her. “If my blades needed sharpening, I would do that before I sat to eat. Our lives might depend on these plants of yours. Besides, I would just as soon bathe after dark.”

  “Indeed? And why is that.” She had to admit, the notion of soaking in a warm pool under the stars appealed to her.

  “Because I think it unwise to tempt myself with more than a glimpse of what I cannot have.” As he spoke, desire shimmered in his eyes.

  How could he possibly find her the least bit appealing, all sooty and sweaty? It sent a delicious yet frightening tingle through Maura’s flesh. She tried to suppress it, and when that did not work, she tried to ignore it.

  That was no great success, either.

  “Your pardon, Rath. You know I cannot. And you know why.”

  “Aye to both.” He made a visible effort to subdue his desire. “Let us get to work, then. What should I look for?”

  “I can always use more queensbalm.” Maura forced her mind to their task. “I have plenty of dreamweed and quickfoil from Exilda’s garden. I could use more madfern, though.”

  She described what it looked like. “You will probably find it near the pool.”

  “Madfern?” Rath seemed to savor the word. “I know what it looks like. What does it do?”

  Maura had spotted a tiny patch of summerslip. She stooped to pick some of the pale blue flowerets. “Remember the day I turned you invisible in Betchwood?”

  “It is not one I am likely to forget.” Rath moved off to search around the pool. “Why?”

  “I used powdered madfern to confuse the Han. It made them think they saw you still running ahead of them after you had disappeared.”

  “Aha!” Rath held up a delicate frond. “It sounds like handy stuff.”

  Maura nodded her approval. “It is, though you have to be careful with it. You cannot always predict what way the confusion will work on a person’s mind.”

  They continued gathering in silence for a while, then Rath brought Maura several madfern fronds.

  “Does it ever feel strange to you, using magic?” He glanced from the lacy green fern to her face and back again. “I mean, my blade has a sharp edge. I swing it and what it hits, it cuts. The larger the blade, the harder the swing, the better the aim, the worse damage I inflict on my foe.”

  His description made Maura’s stomach clench. “What has that to do with vitcraft?”

  Rath shrugged, as if he found it difficult to put into words. “You sprinkle a little pinch of fern or feather or web and people disappear, or fall asleep against their will, or cannot move. Is it never hard for you to believe such small things could have so much power?”

  “Langbard taught me that everything has power, however small. It is all a matter of finding out what form that power takes and how best to release it.”

  Rath nodded, but his brow furrowed as though he still did not grasp her meaning.

  When the light had become too dim for Maura to tell candleflax from moonmallow, she and Rath agreed that they had earned a rest and a good long soak in the pool.

  Pulling off her stout boots and thick stockings, Maura eased her hot, itchy feet into the warm water with a sigh. “Oh, my! Every home in Embria should have its own warm spring.”

  Rath ungirded his blade belt and let it drop onto the grass with a muted clatter. Then he pulled off his padded leather vest. The light had grown too dim for Maura to see more than a vague shadow. But even that unsettled her. Rath had been right about the wisdom of waiting until dark to bathe.

  Over his shoulder he tossed a jaunty quip. “Is that a royal decree, Your Grace? A warm spring in every home? It would make you a most popular queen.”

  Maura shrugged out of her tunic. “You may not believe in what I am doing, but you need not make fun of me.”

  Beneath a layer of soot, her cheeks stung. It did sound ridiculous—her, a queen.

  She had only the faintest rustle of the grass to warn her of Rath’s approach. Suddenly he was there before her, on his knees reaching for her hand. “Your pardon, Maura. I mock many things, myself included. I swear, I never meant to mock you.”

  He had shed his shirt. The
stars twinkling in the clear, dark sky overhead cast enough light to show Maura that. The force of his masculinity seemed to give off an aura of its own—one that drew her with all the power of a spell. How easy it would be, and how pleasant, to surrender to the pull of her desire for this man.

  But how wrong, for both of them.

  “The Waiting King is real.” She wanted to speak the words in Old Embrian, as if they were a counterspell to protect her from the potent enchantment of Rath’s nearness and her own yearnings. “You will see.”

  “Perhaps.” Rath tilted his face to press his cheek against the back of her hand. “But tell me, if you were to discover he is not, and that you are free from this great destiny, would you...?”

  She waited for him to finish, torn already as to how she would answer.

  Did she dare confess how urgently she wanted to be in his arms? Learning the most powerful kind of life-magic that needed no ingredients but a man and a woman. No incantation but the endearments of lovers and the wordless enchantment of kiss and touch.

  He was a strong, masterful man. If he knew the true extent of her weakness for him, might he exploit that frailty, as he did in battle, to force her surrender?

  Yet, how could she deny the truest feelings of her heart?

  “Would I... what?” she asked at last, willing her voice not to quaver.

  She could feel the tightness in the muscles of his hand and face. And something more. A strange energy beyond her physical senses perceived his heart and will pulled taut as a rope in the hands of two intense conflicting forces.

  Then the cord snapped. Maura felt it so surely, she could almost hear the soundless rending.

  “Nothing.” That word crackled with the release of pent-up pressure as Rath let go of her hand. “Forget I ever started to ask such a daft question.”

  He leapt to his feet and disappeared into the shadows. A moment later Maura heard a splash from the pool as he plunged into the water. The breath she had been holding hissed out of her and her body felt limp and spent.

  The soft trickle of water into the pool could not begin to fill the awkward gulf of silence between them. Even the haunting call of a nightbird and the occasional sighing nicker from the horse did little to help.