Oria's Gambit (23 page)

Unfair to them both, but Arill bestowed Her
blessings according to wisdom known only to Her.

“Steady, Destrye,” Oria murmured, her usual
epithet sounding more like an endearment. Was she even aware of the
shift? For a moment she leaned into his hand resting lightly on the
cloak covering her. A gesture as potent as the most intimate
caress.

Yar caught sight of them, hitched, then
strode forward at an increased pace, his priestess fiancée losing
some of her grace as she hustled not to be dragged along by the
impetuous boy. “Oria,” he called. “What is the meaning of this? Why
is this bar—”

“Prince Yar,” she cut him off, “allow me to
present my husband, King Lonen of the Destrye.”

All fell silent. Captain Ercole hastened up.
“Forgive me, Queen Oria, I would have sent word, but you were in
the temple.”

“No apologies needed, Captain, I—”

“
Queen?
” Yar’s voice rose perilously,
the priestess still on his arm flinching away ever so slightly. She
wore her very blond hair in two big plaits that wrapped up to form
a sort of crown. “You cannot be queen—I am King of Bára now!”

“I married in Bára’s temple first,” she
replied implacably. “I greet you, my future sister.”

“Greetings, future sister, Queen Oria” the
priestess inclined her head. “Thank you for—”

“Don’t call her that,” Yar strangled over the
words. Lonen imagined the prince’s face going red and purple with
impotent rage. “It can’t be a temple-blessed marriage. Not married
to that barbarian, mind-dead Destrye.”

“Yar!” Oria’s tone was cutting. “You are
being unforgivably rude to your brother, His Highness King
Lonen.”

“No insult taken,” Lonen replied, giving them
all the lazy smile—and attendant image—of the forest cat cleaning
its claws. “I am at peace with being both mind-dead and Destrye,
though it seems others than myself demonstrate barbaric behavior.
Greetings, future sister. Are you gifted with a name?”

“I am Gallia of Lousá. Greetings Your
Highness.”

“My marriage trumps yours,” Yar spoke over
his bride-to-be with newfound confidence, earning a twitch of
annoyance from Gallia. “Especially as you clearly have not yet been
crowned. Sloppy of you, dear sister. Otherwise you might have won
the race. I admit you’ve surprised me with this … unorthodox
move. But you’ve sacrificed your lifelong happiness along with any
chance your progeny may have had to hold Bára for nothing. You
married in the temple first, but High Priestess Febe will join us
in a temple-blessed marriage for our ideal match.”

“High Priestess Febe is dead, Prince Yar.”
Priest Vico stepped up with smooth manners, bowing as he delivered
the news.

Yar paused, reassessing. “How is this
possible?”

“The Trom killed her,” Oria supplied, lying
with admirable ease. “She summoned them and they killed her.” She
rubbed Chuffta between the eyes, appearing to be completely
relaxed. Faking her
hwil
most likely. Then she lifted her
mask to face Yar’s. “At least we now know who the Summoner was,
which means we shall not be disturbed by them again. I might rest
easy, yielding the throne to you—perhaps even retiring with my
husband to Dru—knowing that the Trom will never be called on, for
any reason.”

She layered meaning into her words,
delivering both a promise and a subtle warning. No one there need
know of Yar’s culpability, if he agreed to suspend his attacks on
the Destrye. Though Gallia remained still and apparently serene,
Lonen thought she paid very close attention to the exchange. Yar
covered his fiancée’s hand with his, stroking her skin, clearly
taunting Oria with the gesture.

“I don’t need Febe. I have another priestess
and her magic will be mine,” he said with soft menace. “I shall
call on whatever power I wish. For the good of Bára. Your loyalties
are questionable, my sadly delicate sister. Perhaps your recent…
difficulties have made you mentally unstable. There’s precedent for
that in the females of our family, as all have witnessed.”

The folcwita from the council session who’d
been the keeper of the law books cleared his throat. He spoke sofly
to Priest Vico, who nodded with interest. “It seems,” the priest
said in a voice that carried through the hall, “that there is
provision for equally qualified married couples to demonstrate
their compatibility and abilities to the temple leadership, who
then judge who will be crowned.”

“Nonsense,” Yar snarled, hand tightening on
Gallia in a way that made Lonen twitch to stop him. “We will be
king and queen. You’ll marry us immediately.”

“I will marry you now, yes, but tomorrow both
couples will present themselves for my judgement. As is my sacred
responsibility as High Priest of the temple of Bára.”

“I’ll replace you,” Yar said.

“Only the king or queen can do that,” Priest
Vico replied implacably, “and neither you nor Princess Oria can
claim that rank as yet.”

“That solution is satisfactory to me,” Oria
inserted, sounding unconcerned, but the way she leaned into his
supporting hand made her think she wearied. “King Lonen and I will
meet you tomorrow. Congratulations on your wedding, to you both. I
regret that we cannot attend the post-celebration.”

“Prince Yar,” Gallia spoke up. “As you know,
the journey between cities strained me considerably. I’d prefer
to—”

“What?” Yar cut her off. “You’d prefer to let
my sister be crowned and leave you without the throne you left
Lousá for? Your family and temple would be greatly displeased,
especially to lose the many bride gifts I offered.”

She inclined her head graciously. On Oria’s
arm, Chuffta ruffled his wings, the tip of his tail twitching where
it dangled off her wrist, the only indication of her disquiet.

“Don’t worry, my sweet.” Yar gathered himself
and stroked Gallia’s hand, with a glee that was nevertheless
avaricious. “It will require very little to demonstrate the
superiority of our marriage. Look at them—she cannot even bear his
touch skin-to-skin, much less give him any magic. We can win the
throne, be crowned, and return to our wedding bed. I have heirs to
beget.”

“Of course,” Gallia murmured.

“To the temple then,” Priest Vico said,
leading the way.

Oria wouldn’t want to show weakness, so Lonen
offered his sleeved arm to lean upon, glad that she took advantage
of the support as he escorted her away from the less-than-joyful
couple. Once her guard locked the doors to her tower behind them,
she sagged and Chuffta took wing. Without asking, Lonen swept her
up in his arms, and she sighed with relief, letting him carry her
without protest.

S
he liked being in Lonen’s
arms, all safe and comfortable—which were not things she’d expected
to ever feel with him. He ascended the stairs with tireless
stamina, seeming as if he could carry her forever. Maybe he
could.

“I never thought I’d feel sorry for an
ideally matched couple,” she finally said, after he’d climbed for
some time. Without either her sgath or her physical sight, she
couldn’t be sure how far they’d come, but it felt like nearly
halfway.

“I figured you for asleep.”

“No—just thinking. All my life I wanted that,
what Gallia has. It’s what every girl dreams of. The perfect
husband and an ideal marriage. All a lie.”

“What Gallia has is a vicious idiot for a
husband. I don’t suppose you could have stopped it.”

“Yar is young…” And she was running out of
excuses for him. “But no. She would not have thanked me for
intervening. Yar is correct that her family and temple would
ostracize her for refusing an ideal match, especially one that will
make her Queen of Bára. At least it seems as if she’ll make a good
queen, from the little I saw of her.”

“You’re so certain we’ll lose tomorrow?”

“Of course we’ll lose.” He’d surprised her.
Even in his eternal optimism, he had to recognize that they
couldn’t possibly triumph in a contest of that sort.

“Priest Vico favors you. If he can, he’ll
call it for you.”

“
If
being the operative word. We’ll
likely have to demonstrate physical contact, as Yar and Gallia did
so blatantly.”

“Is that not usual?”

“Bárans are formal about physical contact in
public, for obvious reasons. Yar’s display wasn’t quite obscene,
but it was rude. Especially with a priestess new to our people. He
did not accord her the respect he should have.”

He made a mental note of that, to show Oria
respect according to her customs, which were far more formal than
those of the Destrye. “What else will the testing involve?”

“Almost certainly performing feats of magic.
Meaning you would have to use grien, drawing on my sgath. Two
impossible obstacles, right there—and don’t take that as a
challenge,” she added emphatically, immediately regretting using
that word at all.

“Too late.” Lonen sounded far too cheerful.
“You’ve set the stakes for me, my sorceress fair.”

She groaned. “Lonen, we can’t win this. We’ll
have to find another way to help the Destrye.”

“Keep talking—every disclaimer makes me want
to triumph that much more.”

“Put me down. I can walk.”

“Not so tired now?”

“I’m feeling more energized.” Indeed, Lonen’s
bracing proximity refilled her empty spaces with surprising
rapidity, her sgath vision returning with, if not its usual
clarity, a very decent level considering she’d been cleaned out not
long before.

“Excellent news,” he said, not putting her
down. “But save your strength. I have plans for it.”

Her face went hot. “You can’t be thinking
that—”

To his credit, he waited for her to finish
the sentence until it became clear she wouldn’t. “Exactly.”

“Lonen.”

“Oria,” he echoed in the same tone of
exasperation.

She wouldn’t reward his mischievous behavior
by laughing.

“Look,” he said. “Part of the deal tomorrow
is demonstrating our compatibility and the solidity of our
marriage, yes? How can we do that if
you
don’t believe I can
be a real husband to you?”

“I think I have very good reasons for my
doubts,” she said quietly, not wanting to dampen his spirits, but
whatever he had in mind, he would come away disappointed.

“That’s why I need to convince you.” He
pressed a kiss to her mask, as he had before, but pausing in his
climb to let it linger. “Say you’ll give me the chance to try.”

“Will you encase me in metal then?” She meant
to sound scathing, but it came out breathless. This close to him,
the ardent energy of his desire flowed through her in inescapable
waves.

“Something like that. Will you trust me?”

“I don’t know.”

He stopped entirely. “Yes or no. And before
you answer, let me remind you of how much you’ve trusted me
already. This is a small thing compared to your life.”

“It doesn’t feel like a small thing.” Her
heart thudded in dread. Or anticipation? So difficult to know.

“Are you afraid?”

“I’m not an idiot. Of course I’m afraid of
that pain.”

“Am I hurting you now?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I’m going to interrupt that ‘but.’ It will
be pleasure only, Oria.” He swarmed with earnest hope and desire,
steely determination beneath. “Pleasure that Arill bestows upon us,
so that people who love can share themselves intimately. Let me
have that with you.”

She couldn’t resist him, and she suspected he
knew it. “Fine.” She blew out the capitulation on a long breath,
and he resumed climbing with an increased, even jaunty stride. No
telling what she’d just agreed to.

“I don’t suppose Chuffta hunts at night?” he
asked.

“
I will give you privacy,”
her
Familiar immediately chimed in.
“I will not be listening, so
call loudly should you need me.”

She felt unexpectedly bereft. Chuffta hadn’t
been away from her thoughts since she was a child.

“
I’m still only a loud thought away. And
you’re a woman grown. You deserve a little private joy.”

“
Thank you. I love you.”

“
And I love you.”
He withdrew from
her, with one last affectionate and wordless thought.

“He’s giving us privacy,” she told Lonen.

“Good man. I wondered if your connection to
him is part of why you never experimented with pleasuring
yourself.”

She had to keep from squirming, knowing he’d
feel it. “I really don’t want to discuss that.”

“Oria, sweetheart—you just gave me permission
to do a lot more than talk about sex with you. And we have a bit of
a climb still. Help me understand you. Having sex with me will be a
lot more intimate than talking about it.”

She was afraid of that, which meant she might
as well start conditioning herself to this exposure. Not unlike
learning to be around people in the first place. “I’m sure that’s
part of it, but I also never really felt the urge.”

“Never? Not even a little?” He sounded
entirely dubious.

“No.” Except those books. They’d made her
feel this way, too, which was entirely wrong.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Lonen
murmured.

“Are you certain you can’t read my thoughts?”
She could understand why it discomfited him that she could read
his.

“Not exactly, but your body reveals a great
deal—especially when I’m holding you like this.”

“I really could walk.”

“Not happening. I’m enjoying myself too much.
What were you thinking?”

“Oh, it’s wrong and awful and embarrassing. I
can’t say.”

He was quiet a moment. “Does it have to do
with how much it aroused you to talk about surrendering to me?”

If she hadn’t been wearing her mask, she
would have clapped her hands over her face. “Lonen…”

“You might as well tell me,” he said, with
those teasing sparks, but also with soothing images of cuddling her
and keeping her safe. “You know I won’t stop asking questions until
I wear you down.”