The Destined Queen Page 14

  They ambled along the beach, the cool surf breaking over their feet, and the tangy ocean breeze whispering through their hair. Overhead, seafowl wheeled and glided, their haunting cries echoing through the gathering dusk. Her hand holding tight to his, Maura told Rath as much of her mother’s story as she had learned from her kinfolk.

  “Your mother was a brave lass,” said Rath when she had finished. “Like her daughter. Your father sounds a noble fellow, too. It is a shame you never knew them, and that they gave their lives for nothing.”

  “But don’t you see?” Maura turned toward him. “It wasn’t for nothing. If my mother had never gone to Tarsh and begotten me, then somehow escaped from the Han and found her way to Windleford, all those prophesies of the Destined Queen would never have come true. The ones about my being descended from Abrielle and raised by Langbard. If we succeed in liberating Umbria, my parents will not have died in vain.”

  Her words did not dispel the cloud that hung over Rath.

  “What is troubling you, aira?” She reached up to brush the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “And do not insult my wit by pretending nothing is.”

  “Taken lessons from your little friend, the Oracle, have you?” Though his voice sounded gruff, he leaned into her caress, nuzzling her hand with his cheek, which was shaved closer than she had ever felt it before. It seemed almost to belong to another man.

  “You are not so hard to read,” she teased him, “like one of Delyon’s ancient scrolls. You are more like a tavern sign, with the words writ large and plain, and a picture carved above them for good measure. Out with it, now. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think.”

  “All right, then.” He inhaled a deep breath of the briny ocean air. “There is something I must know from you, and it must be the truth, mind.”

  “Rath Talward!” She jerked her hand back as if he had stung it. “Do you think I would lie to you?”

  “To spare my feelings? Aye, you would. Or if you felt you had other good reason. Remember how you strung me along on our journey to Prum, with tales of an old aunt and an arranged match you had to make?”

  “That was different!” Maura protested. “I hardly knew you back then. And it would have been dangerous to go about telling everyone I met that I was the Destined Queen. Now that we are to wed, you will have the truth from me, I promise.”

  A chill wave of worry broke over her, quenching her flash of anger. What question could he mean to ask that he feared she might not answer truthfully?

  “We are soon to be wed,” Rath repeated. “And I need to know, are you wedding me because I am your heart’s choice? Or is it like your mother, who went to her marriage for the sake of duty and destiny? You promised me the truth, remember.”

  Relief swamped Maura with such force she might have crumpled onto the sand if Rath had not caught her by the arms.

  Instead, she collapsed against him, giving his broad chest a token swat. “You fretted yourself and me over that? Of course you are the choice of my heart! It almost tore me in two when I thought the Waiting King would come between us.”

  “But you chose him before you knew we were one and the same. I remember our journey to the Secret Glade and how you were prepared to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of your people. I cannot accept such a sacrifice from you, aira.”

  Maura raised her face to meet the challenge of his gaze. “We made that decision together, remember? I cannot swear how I might have chosen if you had set yourself to change my mind.”

  “Truly?”

  Did he want to doubt her? Or was it just that doubt and distrust were still stronger in him than belief and hope?

  “How can I convince you? Being your destined partner is the one part of my fate I can embrace with a joyful heart and no reservations. Have you forgotten our joining of spirits, when you saw yourself through my eyes and tasted the flavor of my love for you?”

  “Perhaps I had forgotten, a little.” He canted his head and leaned toward her. “Looking back now, it all seems like a dream—too good to be true.”

  “Perhaps this will remind you.” Maura slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, pulling him toward her.

  Her lips met his, parting in welcome. He kissed her with all the hoarded yearning of their journey, when it had seemed impossible that they would ever be together like this.

  Even as she responded to his anxious ardor, Maura could not help wondering if there was something more troubling him. Something he could not bring himself to share with her. Perhaps something he had not fully acknowledged to himself.

  She pulled back from him just far enough to murmur, “What about you?”

  “Me?” He lifted her off her feet and spun around until she squealed with laughter. “Can you suppose for a moment that I am not eager to wed you?”

  “Not that,” she said when he had finally set her back on her feet. “I practically dragged you out of Everwood. But I do not want you to accept the crown and all that goes with it only for my sake.”

  “Not such a bad reason, is it?”

  Perhaps he had made himself dizzy spinning around. Now he clung to her for support, as she sensed he would in the years to come. He was a strong, forceful man, but there were other kinds of strength and Maura knew there might be times ahead when he would need to call upon hers.

  “Not a bad reason, just not good enough. I want you to do this because it is the right thing to do. And because it is your destiny.”

  “Do not fret yourself.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her brow, like a benediction. “I wasn’t thinking right that morn in Everwood. The whole notion of being the Waiting King had thrown me off balance, like that spinning did just now. And I had a good many wrong ideas I’ve since learned the truth of.”

  Maura listened for a false or forced note in his voice, but heard none.

  Rath took her face in his hands and gazed deep into her eyes by the dying light of day. “Now that I have seen what life is like here on the Islands—what it could be like on the mainland—I cannot rest until I have done everything in my power to make it so.”

  “Spoken like a true king,” Maura whispered.

  “I still doubt we can oust the Han from Umbria all by ourselves. Though, who knows…if the Giver wills it? But we will not be alone. Idrygon has been preparing for this day for years. Waiting and hoping that I would come to lead the force he has assembled.”

  His words stirred and reassured Maura. “You’re convinced we can prevail now, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” Rath looked so regal in his confidence, she wished she had the crown in her hands to nestle on his windblown hair.

  Then the banished shadow returned to darken his gaze. He gathered Maura close again, as if she were a frightened child in need of his comfort. Or perhaps the other way around.

  “I am convinced we can prevail,” he repeated in a harsh whisper. “But at what cost?”

  At what cost? Those words haunted Rath’s dreams on the night before his wedding and crowning ceremonies.

  What Maura had told him about her parents did nothing to ease his dread. Quite the opposite. He might have reconciled himself to a heroic death like the kind her father had suffered. But to endure the loss of his beloved, as her mother had—the thought of it sapped his courage.

  He rolled over in the narrow bed he’d been provided by one of Maura’s relatives, cursing the custom that they must sleep apart during the days leading up to their wedding. He had not minded it so much while she’d been off to Galene visiting her kin. Now that they were on the same island again, he could scarcely bear to be parted from her.

  If she’d been sharing his bed now, he could have held her close, soothed by the warmth of her body, the whisper of her breathing and the murmur of her heartbeat. He could have convinced himself to savor whatever time they had and trust to the Giver’s providence that it would not be cut short.

  No matter what the young Oracle prophesied.

  Thinking back over his talk with
Maura on the beach, he burned with shame for questioning her honesty when he had been hiding something from her. But he could not blight her happiness by telling her the truth. From now on, he must keep his worries better hidden from her—not writ large with pictures like a tavern sign!

  “Highness!” Someone shook Rath’s shoulder.

  He came awake with a violent start, to find his hand around Delyon’s neck.

  “Your pardon!” He let go at once. “Don’t ever wake me sudden like that.”

  “No harm done.” Delyon’s voice sounded hoarse as he rubbed his throat. “My brother sent me to fetch you. It will soon be dawn—time for the ceremony.”

  As Delyon set down the candle he was carrying on a small table beside the bed, Rath thanked the Giver that the young scholar hadn’t dropped it on the bedclothes during their brief struggle.

  “Your robes are all laid out over there.” Delyon pointed to a low chest in the far corner. “You’d better hurry.”

  Rath scrambled out of bed. “I’ll be right along.”

  As he headed for the door, Delyon paused and turned. “Highness?”

  “Yes?” After two weeks in Idrygon’s household, Rath was slowly getting used to answering to that title.

  “I wish you every joy in your union, sire.” Delyon bowed. “It will be an honor to witness the joining and crowning of the Waiting King and the Destined Queen.”

  “Um…thank you.” Rath knew he sounded gruff and awkward, but he couldn’t help himself.

  The young scholar was a decent enough fellow, but the two of them were as unalike as men could be. And given a choice between them, Rath had no illusions about who was the better man.

  After Delyon left, Rath quickly slipped into his wedding robes, relieved to find they were a good deal looser than the tunics he worn on Margyle. Delyon had told him their brown color symbolized the fertile earth. When he emerged from his chamber into the courtyard, it was packed with men, talking quietly by candlelight.

  Idrygon stepped forward with a woven circlet of leaves and placed it on Rath’s head. “We had better get going to reach the wedding grove by dawn. I hope you slept well, Highness. This is going to be a grand day.”

  Rath nodded, stifling a yawn. This would be a grand day and he must do nothing to spoil it for Maura or these good folks. He tried to approach it as he might a coming battle—concentrating on the tasks at hand, while firmly locking away any distracting worries.

  With his usual efficiency, Idrygon mustered all the men into a procession that headed off toward the wedding grove. As they walked, they sang a ritual chant in twara, of which Rath could make out a few words. It did not matter, though, for he’d been told the bridegroom took no part in the singing. He brought up the rear of the procession, following the bobbing lights of many candles through the predawn darkness.

  Soon they reached the wedding grove, a cultivated ring of trees, shrubbery and flowers with four openings—one each for north, south, east and west. The bridegroom’s procession entered through the eastern one into a large grassy circle that sloped to a low mound at the center. The men walked around the rim of the circle, moving westward, while Idrygon led Rath to the middle of the grass, where they waited.

  The moment he stopped, Rath could hear a high, clear chorus of women’s voices coming from the west. Soon the first women began to file into the grove through the western entrance, their chant weaving a haunting harmony with the men’s voices. They walked around the circle in the opposite direction the men had, while Madame Verise and one of Maura’s aunts led her toward Rath.

  Maura wore a gown the color of spring leaves. Her ruddy curls hung loose over her shoulders and down her back, crowned with a wreath of flowers. By the flickering light of a hundred candles, and the first rays of dawn, she was a vision of near-unbearable beauty.

  Suddenly the chanting stopped, and all the candles were blown out.

  “Let us meditate with one pure will,” said Madame Verise in a quiet but resonant voice. “And ask that the gracious spirit of the Giver may hover over this holy place and bless the union of this man and woman.”

  In the expectant silence that followed, Rath heard the distant pounding of the surf, the whisper of the breeze through the leaves and the first clear, sweet notes of birdsong to herald the rising sun. As he had on the swift, treacherous ride down that river from the mines, Rath felt a presence enfolding and uplifting him.

  When at last Madame Verise began to pronounce the ritual of union, he was able to meet Maura’s gaze with a warm, untroubled smile.

  “Elzaban and Maura. As you embark upon a lifetime voyage across the uncharted ocean of the future, we gather today to witness your compact of union and to invoke the Giver’s blessing upon you.”

  She nodded to Rath, who held his right hand out to Maura, palm up, and spoke the words he had worked hard to memorize. “Maura, I offer myself to you—all that I have and all that I am. I promise to protect you, defend you, support and cherish you as long as I live.”

  “Elzaban…” Maura stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar name and her voice sounded thick with unshed tears. “I accept you as my lifemate, with a joyous and thankful heart.”

  Her right hand was cold as she laid it palm down upon his.

  Madame Verise led the guests in a chant, asking the Giver to bless Rath with the strength, wisdom, tenderness and patience to fulfill his vows.

  Then Maura extended her left hand to Rath. “Elzaban, I offer myself to you—all that I have and all that I am. I promise to sustain you, heal you, support and cherish you as long as I live.”

  She had scarcely finished speaking when Rath laid his left hand upon hers. “Maura, I accept you as my lifemate, with a joyous and thankful heart.”

  This time the company chanted a blessing upon Maura, while Rath stared deep into her eyes and silently begged the Giver to endow his bride with an extra measure of patience. She would need it.

  When the chant ended, Madame Verise nodded to Rath and Maura, who raised both pairs of clasped hands toward the sky—a symbol of growth.

  “All here witness,” proclaimed Madame Verise, “that Elzaban and Maura have freely pledged themselves to one another for life. May their union grow and flourish. And may it bear an abundance of sound, sweet fruit in the years to come.”

  Rath flinched at the mention of the fruits of their union, but quickly shoved that renegade worry into a deep, dark corner of his mind. By the time he and Maura had lowered their clasped hands and she could see his face clearly, Rath flattered himself that she glimpsed nothing but what he wanted her to see—his joy, his pride and his love.

  With hands still clasped between them, he leaned forward and sealed their vows with a kiss.

  The rings of men and women ranged around the edge of the grove broke as the guests surged toward Rath and Maura to offer their blessings. Those already wed hung back to let the younger folk reach the center of the circle first.

  Untangling their hands, Maura lifted the circlet of flowers from her hair while Rath removed the garland of leaves from his. Then they threw the wedding wreaths into the air, where they broke apart, showering down on the approaching guests. Young men lunged after the falling leaves, while the maidens each tried to catch a flower that meant they would one day find true love.

  Rath laughed with a full heart as he watched the merry scramble. Just then, he wished everyone in the kingdom could know the surpassing happiness he had found with his destined bride.

  Maura had only ever witnessed one other wedding—her friend Sorsha’s. And it had been very different from this splendid ceremony. She and Langbard had gone with Sorsha and Newlyn to a tiny glade in Betchwood where the two had made their vows. All the while, they’d listened for any sound of a Hanish patrol or an outlaw band. Rather than tossing her bridal wreath in the air, Sorsha had carefully lifted it off her head and placed it on her friend’s, saying she hoped the Giver would bless Maura with a fine husband someday. At the time, Maura had judged the chances of tha
t very slight.

  Her eyes misted with tears.

  “What is it, love?” Rath stopped laughing at the antics of the young folks scrambling for groom’s leaves and bridal blossoms. “Nothing wrong, is there?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never been happier. I only wish Sorsha could have been here today.”

  For all she was delighted to have been welcomed into the bosom of a large, loving family and to have her Woodbury kin witness her ritual of union, Sorsha was her oldest and dearest friend. A friend who was still in danger of having her family torn apart, if the Han should discover the secret of Newlyn’s past. A friend who had to observe the rituals of the Elderways in secret.

  “Maybe it’s just as well she couldn’t be here.” Rath’s voice lilted with teasing humor. “I’m not sure Sorsha would have approved you wedding a dangerous character like me. She wasn’t too happy about you going off with me in the first place.”

  His jest lifted Maura’s spirits as they received congratulations from all the company. “Sorsha would change her colors soon enough, I reckon, once she got to know you. You and her Newlyn are a good deal alike.”

  Hand in hand, they led a merry procession that wound in and out through all the entrances to the grove. Finally they departed through the northern one, to signify that their union would endure through adversity. Remembering the hardships it had already withstood to reach this moment, Maura felt confident she and Rath could weather whatever storms the future might bring.

  From the wedding grove, they walked back to her grandfather’s villa. A bountiful feast awaited them there, with food spread on long tables from which everyone could help themselves. Before anyone else could eat, Maura and Rath peeled two hard-boiled eggs decorated with twaran letters and fed them to each other.

  “Well, this is fitting!” Maura chuckled. “Do you remember the morning after we left Windleford, how you peeled those eggs Sorsha gave us?”

  “I do.” Rath’s dark eyes twinkled with glee. “Though if I’d known then what it meant, I might have thought twice.”