The Wizard King (52 page)

When the service was finally done, solemn-faced Caithans trickled from the sanctuary while the royal family approached the bier for a more intimate farewell. When it was Athaya’s turn, she noticed that the others drew back as she stepped forward, perhaps sensing that she had private things to say to him that none could truly understand. Her Circle ring gleamed in the candlelight as Athaya laid her hands upon the jeweled cloth draped over her brother’s casket.

“I wish we’d had more time,” she said simply. She had never expected to weep at Durek’s passing, but raised a square of white linen to her eyes to blot away the tears, mourning not only his loss but the loss of what might have grown between them. “Strange as it might have sounded once, I think we could have been friends.”

Then Athaya broke away from the others and headed for the south ambulatory. “I’ll be back shortly. There’s something I need to do before we go.” Jaren moved to join her, but she gently waved him back.

Alone, she followed the narrow passage behind the high altar, walking past statues of saints and tombs of long-dead kings until she came to an isolated chapel in the easternmost corner of the cathedral. It was the first time she had ever been to Kelwyn’s tomb; she hoped she would be welcome there.

A gleaming bronze plaque was newly set into the flagstones just outside the threshold. On it was only one word: Graylen. Nicolas had seen to that, bless him—a permanent reminder of the captain’s loyal service to his lord. Smiling wistfully, Athaya kissed her fingers and then knelt down and brushed them across the cool square of bronze; though Tyler’s body did not rest there, its spirit surely did. Ever Kelwyn’s guardian, even now.

Slowly, Athaya entered the chapel and approached the marble tomb. She leaned against the polished brass railing surrounding it, quietly studying her father’s face. It was a good likeness, she thought, gazing upon the broad shoulders and stern jaw etched forever in the gray-veined stone. His arms were crossed over his chest, the left hand bearing a sword and the right left empty, slightly raised and cupped as if ready to accept some proffered gift. Sunlight streamed through an arched stained glass window to her right, spotting the floor in red and gold and green like a field of wildflowers in summer. Somehow, Athaya felt unduly somber in her mourning gown of black silk.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come before,” she said, curling up on the floor at his feet like a child eager to hear a tale be told. “But I probably would have been arrested if I’d tried.”

Tendrils of incense drifted into the chapel from the sanctuary, accompanied by the gentle strains of organ music. “It’s over now. You already know that, I think, but I wanted to come and tell you myself.” And then, as if he were in the flesh beside her, she told him the tale of the Sage and her Challenge, of the secret power hidden within Faltil’s crown, and of her brother’s final act of heroism.

“You’d have been so proud of him, Father. He did what he had to do to keep Caithe safe, even if it meant making peace with me. He learned that sense of duty from you. After all, you assumed magic powers in an effort to understand the Lorngeld, even if it meant risking your soul.”

Athaya paused as if expecting an answer, and then smiled at her childish fancy. “Nicolas tells me there’s to be a formal alliance with Reyka,” she went on, “just as you always wanted. Felgin is acting as ambassador for his father, so it shouldn’t be long before Reyka and Caithe are friendly neighbors again. In fact, I’d not be surprised if the alliance isn’t sealed by a marriage—though not precisely the one you intended,” she added, briefly telling him of Felgin and Cecile’s friendship. “I hope it’s not awful of me to be telling you that at Durek’s funeral, but it’s comforting to think that something good might come out of this one day.”

Athaya tapped her chin, pondering other developments that might be of interest to him. “Jaren is to have a council post, so perhaps that distinguished assembly will actually get something done for a change. And Mosel Gessinger has agreed to serve as Lord Marshall of Sare—I think the island will be very quiet for a while, and quiet is just what he wants in his last years. He and Tullis should get on well… they both have gentle souls.

“And don’t worry about Nicolas,” she added, as if he had moved to voice a concern. “The thought might have scared me to death a few years ago, but I think he’ll make a fine regent. Oh, he jokes a lot, but he’s bared his teeth to the world when he’s had to. All of your children have a stubborn streak, I’m afraid,” she observed wanly. “And being close friends with the overlord of the Circle doesn’t hurt his cause. Now that the study of magic is legal again, the Circle’s influence will start to be felt here before long, and neither the council or the Curia want seven powerful wizards angry at them. And I’m to be one of them, did I tell you? It will keep me busy, when I’m not keeping Nicolas out of trouble and setting up magic schools. Mason’s already drawing up plans to turn our little sheepfold into a Wizard’s College just like the one in Reyka.”

After a moment’s silence, Athaya got to her feet and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirts. The time for trivial chatter had past; the others were waiting and it was time to get to the real purpose of her visit. She drew closer to the tomb, stepping gingerly as if somehow afraid of waking him.

“I wish we could have liked each other better,” she said, grasping the brass railings around the tomb. “I know I wasn’t exactly what you wanted… but I never could have been. No one could have taken Chandice’s place in your heart I simply wasn’t born to be like her, delicate and tranquil and fully content to care for a husband and children. I was too restless for that… too unsettled. In truth, I was more like you,” she observed, a slight waver creeping into her voice, “though neither of us saw it then. I just needed a focus—a direction like you had in wanting to end the civil wars and make Caithe whole again. My magic gave me that direction; now I have wizard’s work to do. Neither of us were perfect,” she finished, gazing upon her father’s cool and sculpted likeness. “It’s sad that we didn’t accept that when we had the chance.”

Then her wistful gaze turned to something more beseeching, and Athaya’s grip tightened on the rail. “You must know I never meant to hurt you. That day has haunted my dreams ever since. My mind knows it was an accident, but my heart can’t always accept that. At least that kind of tragedy won’t ever need to happen again; no one has to hide their magic from the world anymore. They can seek a teacher and learn their craft, and not let their
mekahn
make them a danger to anyone. And that’s partly because of you. I only did what I thought you would have done—or we could have done together, given time. I just hope,” she whispered, “that wherever you are… that you are pleased.”

The organ music had stopped; now the silence in the chapel was complete. “I should go soon. Jaren and the others will be waiting. Oh, but shall I tell you a secret first? I haven’t even told Jaren yet; I want to be certain, but…” She set one hand atop her belly. “I think that come the spring you’re going to have another grandchild.” She smiled at the tomb, returning the imagined beam of pleasure in Kelwyn’s marble eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if the child will have the power… but it won’t really matter. Now the child can grow up to be anything it’s born to be.”

She heard the squeak of a boot behind her as Jaren reluctantly stepped inside. “Athaya?” He didn’t approach her, loath to violate the sacred space around father and daughter. “The coach is waiting.”

Athaya nodded over her shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”

When he was gone, she looked one last time upon her father’s likeness. “I have to go now. But I’ll come back again soon—I promise. I just…” She swallowed hard; even alone, the words were difficult to say. “I just hope everything is all right between us now.”

She was answered by utter stillness, broken only by the sound of her own breathing and the susurration of silk skirts as she turned to go. She chided herself with a smile;
Come now, Athaya, did you really think he would answer you?

She paused at the threshold, her eyes smiling once more upon the bronze plaque on the floor. But then the plaque began to gleam with orange light, as if it reflected a nearby torch. Curious, she turned… and there, poised above Kelwyn’s cupped right hand, was the faint glow of a witchlight, dim as a lantern spied across a misty lake. It was a hazy blur of distant color; a beacon through a veil of fog that cast a radiant sheen of life upon her father’s marble face.

Athaya’s heart began to hammer in her chest until a far more rational explanation came to her. “Jaren?” she called out, thinking to catch him at this kindly bit of magic. But a quick inspection of the corridor proved it empty; Jaren was no longer there. She and Kelwyn were quite alone.

By the time she turned back to the tomb, the errant glow was gone, faded back whence it had come. Had it been there at all, she wondered with a frown, or was it only a reflection from the window, a random glint of the sun that tricked her eyes into believing she had obtained the answer she sought?

But from the well of her soul, she already knew. Athaya departed the chapel in newborn serenity, secure in the knowledge that she was absolved at last.

Julie lives in southeastern Michigan with her artist husband, Rob, and their highly evolved cat, Darwin. She is an avid sports fan (Go Tigers! Go Blue!) and also enjoys camping, cooking, crosswords, and squandering time on Facebook.

CAITHAN CRUSADE

Call of Madness

Mission to Magic

Sage of Sare

The Wizard King

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