Oria's Gambit (9 page)

“It’s not really that—”

“‘The sacrifice is too great’—her exact
words.”

“Stop interrupting me!” She nearly stamped
her foot with the frustration at both the Destrye and Chuffta
snickering in her head.

“Then stop saying things that don’t matter,”
he fired back, shocking her. “This is an important
conversation.”

“That we’re having in a servant’s corridor,”
she pointed out.

He chuckled at that, that welcome sunny humor
of his dispersing some of her emotional gloom. “When we celebrate
our two decades’ anniversary, we can recapitulate this day and meet
each other entirely in baths and hallways.”

“We did talk on my rooftop terrace earlier,
as well, when I proposed marriage.” Which seemed like days ago, not
hours.

“Good point. I’m adding rooftop terraces to
the list, though if we’re in Dru we might have to substitute a
treehouse.”

“A house in a tree?” Something that had never
occurred to her, partly because she’d never seen a tree big enough
to hold an entire house. But the image in his head showed a forest
of enormous trees, the leaves so dense they blocked the sun, and a
structure of wood in the crux of a network of branches. The image
changed so it seemed she stood inside it, looking out, the forest
floor as far below as the streets of Bára from her terrace. It
struck her that he’d changed the ‘view’ deliberately, to show her
another angle.

“Are you doing that on purpose?”

“What—picturing things for you to see in my
mind? Yeah. I figure if you’re going to read my thoughts anyway, I
might as well take advantage of it. It could be a handy secret
weapon for us.”

A laugh escaped her, lessening the tightness
of grief and despair. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Good.” He grinned, but under it a surge of
possessive lust intensified the simple approval. “As I’m the only
husband you’ll ever have, mind-dead and unable to give life to your
magic as I might be, I’ll have to make it up in other ways.”

“I’m really sorry she said those things.”

“Another apology, and for something you can’t
control. I don’t mind, Oria.” He pushed off the wall and it seemed
he might reach for her, but he stopped himself. “I’d much rather
know the unvarnished truth of how it will be between us. No secrets
to fester. If you’re making a grave sacrifice by marrying me—one I
approve of as it will save both our peoples—then I want to know
exactly what you’re giving up, so I can do what I can to compensate
for it. I’d like to think I can offer you some happiness, if not
exactly what you were expecting.”

“Oh.” The corridor was too hot. That was why
she felt a little faint.

“Your mother is wrong.” Lonen sounded gravely
determined, that warrior’s resolve enfolding her, an image in his
mind of him taking her in a gentle embrace that very nearly felt
real. “I will treasure you, Oria, and I’ll do my best to know you,
but you have to let me in.”

“I don’t need that. That’s not why we’re
doing this.”

“I need it.” His emotions, complex and
shifting with layers, intensified.

“But why?”

He shrugged, impatient with the question, but
continued to refine the image of holding her in his mind. “Maybe
I’ve had plenty of misery, too much blood and loss and death. We
might be marrying for political reasons, but that doesn’t mean we
can’t bring something bright to each other’s lives. That we can’t
take care of each other.” The sense of his arms around her made it
almost believable.

“How are you doing that?”

“If you sense how I feel, what’s in my head,
then I can give you this much. If I can’t hold you and comfort you,
then there’s this, yes?”

“
The Destrye is wiser than he seems at
first.”

Oria didn’t know what to do with Chuffta’s
seemingly sudden and enthusiastic approval of Lonen, so she ignored
him.

“I know it hurt you to see your mother that
way,” Lonen continued in a gentle tone. “It would be painful for
anyone. My father, King Archimago, when my brother Nolan fell into
a crevasse on the battlefield… in some ways he never recovered from
that.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Stop,” he replied, but with a kind of
tenderness. “As you said in there, we’ve all done things. I’ve done
things I’ll carry the stain of to my grave. But what I’m trying to
tell you is that if your mother is in this state because her ideal
mate died, then perhaps it will be a strength for you, that you
won’t be exposed to that danger with me.”

She lifted her head in surprise, amazed at
the way his masculine vitality had filled the narrow space,
embracing her, weaving in with her sgath. “I’d never thought of it
that way.”

“See?” He was all smug male then. “You can
learn things from me, too.”

She huffed at him, not even caring that it
made him grin. “I’m not convinced of that, Destrye.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be convinced for both
of us.” He lifted a hand, moving close enough to trace the fall of
one of her braids, though he kept a whisper distance from it. His
granite-colored eyes seemed silver bright viewed with her sgath,
like the white-hot heart of a glass forge. “Maybe I should be sorry
that I won’t be the husband you deserve, but I’m not. I’d hate to
see you like that, with your fire dimmed and your sharp mind
dulled.”

“She used to be so much more.”

“I saw glimpses of it. She must have been a
formidable woman and queen. I regret I didn’t meet her before.”

“We all carry regrets,” Oria echoed his
earlier words. “And I, for one, am tired of wallowing in them.
You’re right—you and I are about moving forward. No more apologies,
yes?”

“Works for me.”

The moment felt oddly intimate. So much so
that she moved away, putting safer distance between them. “I
suppose that moving forward means going to the temple and
convincing High Priestess Febe to marry us.”

“Time for the strategy that Bára and
everything in it, including you, belongs to me?” Lonen’s energy
took on a feral, sharp edge—one that strangely put her in mind of
the iron axe he carried on his back.

“As a gambit only,” she told him, bringing
her own mettle to it. “Don’t go getting the wrong idea about
me.”

He only nodded and gestured for her to lead
the way. “This time, you’ll leave the talking to me.”

O
ria remained subdued, but
seemed less crushed than when they’d left her mother’s chambers.
Lonen congratulated himself for both distracting her from her
troubles and also making inroads on earning her trust. Her secrets
would not become like the fanged and clawed Báran golems, tearing
at their entrails until they resented each other rather than
rightfully hating the pain instead. As he had with the golems, he’d
hunt those secrets down, one by one, and destroy them. His iron axe
cut through the magical creatures; he could cleave her magical
secrets into dust as well.

Once he’d ferreted them out. Including the
one her mother had alluded to:
And if you break?
Something
about Oria’s plan worried him—and had upset her mother, too. He’d
thought no price would be too high to pay to save the Destrye, but…
No. What was he thinking? His first loyalty belonged to his people.
No matter his other interests in Oria, his softer regard toward
her—all of that fell into the same set of considerations as his own
happiness. They’d both do whatever it took for the greater
good.

But he
would
find out what she faced,
and what the stakes would be.

He listened as Oria explained in hushed tones
how the temple hierarchy worked and the path they’d take to where
the High Priestess would receive them. As soon as they emerged from
the servants’ corridor, word of his presence in Bára would fly
ahead of them, faster than jewelbirds.

“What are jewelbirds?”

He got the impression she rolled her eyes at
him, considering the question irrelevant. “I’ll show you one, in my
garden. They’re small, fast and beautiful—they come to the
flowers.”

The flowers that died inch by inch without
water under the scorching sun. Another thing Oria loved that would
be lost to her. Nothing compared to what the Destrye had lost, but
it bothered him still.

They arrived at a small waiting chamber and
she sent a guard to bring her a substantial escort. There would be
no surprising the High Priestess, she’d explained, so they might as
well take the public halls. At that point, the more people who knew
what was going on, the better. She seemed to believe the people
would support her. From what he’d seen when she’d offered the
city’s surrender, he agreed.

Though privately he thought they’d love her
better without the mask and crimson robes of the very temple they
all so clearly feared.

“And your role in this battle?” he asked.
“Will you be the frightened virgin terrorized into marrying her
conqueror?”

She actually laughed, a lighthearted musical
sound, however brief. “While I’m largely regarded as fragile, none
of the priestesses would believe I could be terrorized, even by a
man as intimidating as you. I shall play the nobly resigned
daughter of the house of Tavlor and Rhianna. With luck, Febe will
be so pleased to see me brought low and consigned to a mind-dead
marriage, she’ll agree to your demands for that reason alone.”

“You find me intimidating?” The concept both
startled him and made him absurdly proud. And here he’d thought
Oria the one with all the power in her slim, magical hands.

“I can’t believe that’s what you focused on
from everything I said.”

He went to an unglassed window that
overlooked one of the yawning chasms that cracked through Bára,
making her towers seem that much taller by comparison. It probably
didn’t speak well of him that it salved his pride to know she found
him intimidating, especially as it wouldn’t necessarily contribute
to happy relations between them. “What about me intimidates
you?”

“You’re big.” She said it with a shrug in her
voice. “And you carry a great big battle-axe that could chop me
into little wriggly bits.”

Wriggly bits.
The more he came to know
her, the more he glimpsed what might be a playful, even whimsical
personality. And perhaps much of her bravery came from a rash
disregard for her own wellbeing. Which brought him right back to
whatever foolhardy plan she entertained.

“What did your mother mean about you
‘breaking’ if you try to summon the Trom? What magic is involved
there?” He watched her carefully, so he caught how she stiffened
defensively, lacing her fingers together as if that might hide from
him what she planned.

“That’s nothing I can explain to you.”
Destrye.
She didn’t say it aloud, but the haughty tone
conveyed the slamming of temple doors against the outsider.

“Can’t or won’t?” he growled back. If she put
him in mind of a housecat, all fluff and hiss, then he’d meet her
posture for posture.

She inclined her head regally. “They are
functionally the same. And regardless, this place is not private
enough to discuss the situation, even if I could. It’s best for you
not to mention the Trom or my magic at all. I can hardly trust you
with my secrets if you insist on discussing them indiscreetly.
Don’t worry about the magical aspects of this plan, King Lonen,
I’ll see to my end of the bargain.”

He set his teeth against his irritation. “At
what cost to you?”

“What’s it to you?” she fired back. “Enough
with this protective and solicitous charade you’ve adopted. Expiate
your guilt some other way. Yes, you killed our priestesses and no,
you didn’t want to. But you can’t bring them back by saving me any
more than you can resurrect that poor doe whose throat you cut
because your arrow missed her heart.”

The sally struck his own heart, thudding into
the old wound with painful accuracy. “I shouldn’t be surprised you
saw that in my head, but it’s harsh and cold of you to use that
against me. If my size and axe intimidate you, then just imagine
what it’s like for me to have you prowling about in my secret soul,
unearthing pains no one would know about otherwise.”

She lifted a hand to Chuffta, stroking him
for her own comfort, he surmised, a tremor in the gesture. “I know
you told me not to apologize anymore, but I’m offering one anyway.
My abilities are … new to me and somewhat ungovernable. I’ve
also spent little time around people and you—well, I don’t mean to
see these things. But you’re right that it was wrong to try to hurt
you with that information.”

“Is that what you were doing?” He studied
her, the tense lines of her shoulders making the silk robe look as
if it hung on hooks, not soft flesh. “I think that whatever you’re
planning is dangerous, and you don’t like anyone pointing that out
to you.”

Chuffta fixed him with a gimlet green stare
and Lonen could swear the Familiar practically nodded at him.

For her part, Oria had curled her fingers
into tiny fists. “My goal is to help
your
people. That’s why
you came to me and that’s the reason we’re doing all of this. You
have your part; I have mine. Don’t you dare question how I intend
to go about it.”

“You mean, how you go about expiating your
own guilt?” His taunt, throwing her words back at her, hit home he
was sure, but she barely showed it.

“Don’t pretend to know me, Destrye,” she said
softly, with surprising menace. Her magic curled around him, a
palpable thing. The sensation might once have revolted him, but it
had become part of being in Oria’s presence, along with her scent
and beguiling figure. Perversely, he even liked that she threatened
him. She had that much correct—no one would believe her as the
terrified virgin.

But he did come to know her. In time, he
would know her even more. Once he’d bound her to him in marriage,
she’d have no escape. Threaten as she might, she would never
actually harm him, no more than he’d take his axe to her. He
snorted out a laugh, making her turn from her restless pacing.