The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (30 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: PRICES

The Royal Wedding occurred without a hitch and, despite all the wrangling beforehand, there was no indication to the guests that any aspect had been contended. The ceremony was held in the main throne room with every inch of space occupied. No special accommodations were made for class: nobles sat alongside peasants, a situation that pleased few of Vantok’s landed citizens. Alicia watched from a seat next to her father in a bench several pews from the front. Sorial wasn’t in attendance. He was in a cellar directly below the throne room, using his powers to “feel” for danger by sensing vibrations through the earth and rock beneath the palace.

The visitors from Obis behaved themselves, sitting quietly to one side and treating the occasion as if it was the most solemn event imaginable. Alicia wondered if it was like that for all Northern weddings. Their attitude seemed more appropriate for a funeral. Perhaps Sorial’s demonstration the night before had scrambled the plans of King Rangarak. Surely he wouldn’t try a coup knowing that Azarak was backed by a wizard? Two, actually, but her status remained a strategic secret.

The queen was, of course, radiant in a gown that made Alicia’s simple wedding dress appear appropriate for a village virgin at her first dance. Myselene was attended by a timid girl Alicia had never before seen - most likely the maid from Obis who had traveled to Vantok to resume service for her mistress. Azarak was dressed in the robes of state to emphasize that Myselene was joining herself to the city and its ruler. His second was his chancellor, Toranim. Azarak had eschewed a political opportunity by not offering the honored position to a noble. Some part of Alicia admitted a sliver of envy that she hadn’t been accorded an opportunity for such a lavish ceremony. She understood the reasons for it, and they were all sound, but she couldn’t help but mourn the loss of another girlhood fantasy. Still, in Sorial, she had gotten a prince. Sort of.

Neither Ariel nor The Lord of Fire did anything to interrupt the nuptials. The potential of something happening kept Alicia on guard; she had to be in a state of constant readiness in case Sorial needed her. The tension meant that not only was she distracted throughout the wedding but she was glad when it was over. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and caused her dress to stick to her body, and it wasn’t all from the unseasonable warmth in the poorly ventilated throne room. Drained and needing time alone, she left the palace immediately after the couple exited from public view, although Sorial remained behind to continue his watch.

Alicia awoke when he came home much later in the day. She was sprawled on their bed and struggled with a moment’s disorientation. The windows revealed that it was night but she was still dressed in the outfit she had worn to the wedding. The last thing she remembered was lying down for a moment to rest. Apparently, it had been a long moment.

Sorial moved around the bedroom quietly, or at least as quietly as he was capable, trying not to disturb her.  He lit only one lantern so the light was dim and the shadows long.

“What time is it?” Alicia murmured sleepily, stretching like a cat with her arms extended above her head.

“Just past midnight. Myselene and Azarak have gone to their wedding bed to make the next king of Vantok, although popular scuttlebutt argues it’s already happened. He advised me to get home to you so we could work on making little wizards.”

That jolted Alicia awake as surely as a bucket of cold water to the face would have done. Telling him was something she couldn’t put off any longer. She really should have addressed this with Sorial before now, but she had procrastinated. Foolish. There was no chance it was going to go away.

“Sorial, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. He wasn’t looking at her, meaning he hadn’t caught the note of earnestness in her voice. And he had missed that she called him “Sorial” instead of “stableboy,” another sure sign of her seriousness.

“Back in Ibitsal, you told me the price you paid to be released from the portal. I never told you mine and you didn’t ask.”

That got his attention. He stopped removing his clothing and turned to face her, his features hidden in shadow. “I didn’t want to push you. I know how personal it is. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

Was the time right? No. It never would be. But it was necessary that he know. In a way, it was his price as well.

She took a deep breath. “I surrendered the ability to have children. It seemed such a little thing at the time, but now...”

She slid across the bed to be closer to him, and what she saw in his face gave her cause for relief. There was no accusation, no shock of betrayal. There was no anger or sense of having been duped, no pain of loss. His features were placid. This revelation wasn’t a blow to Sorial; it might even have been expected.

“I’m glad that’s all you had to give up. It ain’t easy living with no smell or taste. If I was to tell the truth, I worried about the possibility of you getting with child with things so unsettled. I’d hate to think of a son or daughter growing up an orphan. If we survive this war, maybe I’ll be disappointed in the future, but raising an army of little wizards was never a goal.”

“I wanted children,” confessed Alicia. “Until the portal, I dreamed of having them with you. But, if you ever decide you want them, you’ll have to find someone else to carry them. Maybe… I could even help you with that. Find a nice girl and lend you out to her enough times for her to get pregnant.” Such a simple solution in many ways. It was often done when a noblewoman couldn’t have children and the line needed to continue. But she knew it would hurt.

Sorial shook his head. “You could argue it might be best for everyone if our bloodlines, manipulated by Ferguson, ended with us. Any children would have become pawns in the next generation’s political games.”

“I guess I just had an idyllic vision of four or five of us together as a family.” It was a pleasant fantasy, but she had always known it was divorced from reality. Wizards weren’t just “normal” people with special powers. They were fundamentally different and the belief that they could live uncomplicated lives was as realistic as believing a king could marry for love.

“The road ahead’s hard for us, Alicia. If we had children, it would be harder still. Your infertility might be a blessing. It means we can fuck as often as we want without fear of your getting with child and we’ll never be placed in a position where we have to choose between the safety and security of a son or daughter and our responsibilities to this city.”

His words were harsh and they stung, but she knew he was right. And recognizing the truth of what he said was perhaps the most painful revelation of all. She would never have children and it was better that way. Better for the children who would never be born, better for her, better for Sorial, and better for everyone else.

So why was the disappointment so acute?

* * *

“You realize that’s not the best way to go about creating a royal heir?” noted Azarak, leaning back to catch his breath.

With a devilish twinkle in her eyes and her hair in disarray, the queen lifted her face from between the king’s legs and replied, “Wasteful, I suppose. But I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Are you surprised how... smoothly... things went today?” It had been an almost perfect wedding. Thinking back on his first nuptials, which had been less of a logistical nightmare, this one had passed with fewer niggling issues. The biggest problem had happened when fat Baron Folster fell and broke his leg climbing the steps to the throne room’s outside entrance. Their fear, that there might be some sort of magical attack, had been unfounded. Whether Sorial’s presence and vigilance were in part responsible, they would never know.

“Honestly, yes,” admitted Myselene, crawling up to lie next to him face-to-face. “I got it into my head to expect balls of fire and tornadoes. So much normalcy was almost disappointing.”

“Don’t get used to it. Once the tournament is over, we’re going to have to get serious about the business of war. The first step will be integrating our new 500 soldiers into the army as a whole. I’ll have to replace Overcommander Vikon, who’s been making disloyal statements. If I was sure of the fidelity of the men sent by your father, I might appoint one of them. And we’ll need to step up scouting parties to the south. Now that we know the location of the enemy’s army, we’ll have to keep a close watch on him.”

“Gorton can help.”

“I know. As soon as he’s given his oath, he’ll go straight into a briefing with Toranim. I’m well aware of our new vice chancellor’s credentials. As for the men from Obis... will their loyalty to you be strong enough to break their ties to your father?”

“Initially, no. Gorton’s an exception in this as in most other things. Once his loyalty’s given, you can rely on it. The rest of them, even after swearing fidelity to Vantok, will still see themselves as my father’s subjects. Only time will remedy that. And if we can find them wives here, that will speed things along. They have to see
this
as their home, not a barracks half the world away.”

“Arranged marriages?”

Myselene shrugged. “They work. Look at us. Marriages founded on something as impermanent as love are overrated.”

“Many of the soldiers would have to make what they might view as ‘disadvantageous’ unions - the only ones willing to enter into such arrangements would be peasant girls.”

“The Crown can support the marriages with a handsome grant. Two gold apiece, for example. With that kind of dowry, even the most class-conscious soldier would agree to marry a disreputable slattern.”

“You’ll bankrupt the treasury.”

“With Sorial’s contributions, you have a limitless treasury. He can find gold faster than you can spend it. According to Alicia, he could be the richest man alive if it mattered to him.”

“Whatever happens, we need to put distance between the 500 and their 1700 brothers, and that means encouraging your father to depart as soon as possible.”

“Once he wins the tournament, he’ll take a day or two to boast about it then go. He doesn’t like the weather here; he’s anxious to get back home or at least outside the heat bubble around the city.”

“I’ll ask Sorial to refrain from bringing back the cooler weather until after your father’s gone.”

“What about Alicia’s status?” asked Myselene.

“What about it?”

“I understand the reasons for keeping the truth about her secret, but she isn’t getting her fair due as long as she isn’t publicly recognized as more than ‘The Wizard’s Bride’.”

“Has she complained about it? I know you’ve been spending time with her.”

“No. It’s unfair, though. She’s as much a wizard as Sorial yet he gets all the accolades as The Lord of Earth and she has to play the dutiful wife.”

“If an arrow hadn’t punched through his chest, we wouldn’t know about her, either,” said Azarak.

“I knew the moment I saw her. Or at least I suspected. It was evident from her body language and the gaps in their story. But that doesn’t matter. We know the truth but the people don’t.”

“Which is the point. That ‘truth,’ as you put it, is a weapon and it can only be used once. We have to pick the time when it will provide the best strategic advantage. After that, she can collect all the adulation that’s her due.”

* * *

King Rangarak requested a private audience with Azarak before the commencement of round one of the Great Tournament. It was an event the Iron King was widely expected to win. No one else from the Obis contingent had entered, including Rangarak’s son, who might have been the only potential contender to offer him a serious challenge. The other combatants were soldiers of Vantok and, as good as some were, none had the experience, appearance, or reputation of Rangarak. The odds were so skewed in his favor that many of Vantok’s gambling establishments had refused bets for first place of the contest. The hotly debated question was who would face (and lose to) Rangarak in the final round.

Theoretically, the tournament was in honor of the marriage of Azarak and Myselene. The bride so disliked combat that she refused to attend. Azarak, on the other hand, had no choice unless he wanted to give offense so, although he was less than enthused about a sporting event in which the result was predetermined, he agreed to preside over the tournament.

Azarak deemed it unlikely however, that the Iron King wanted to speak to him about the coming gladiatorial bout. There was something ominous about the way the request had been phrased: “His Majesty, the Iron King Rangarak requests a brief audience with His Majesty of Vantok, Azarak, to discuss details pertaining to the marriage agreement.” That sort of ambiguous communiqué rarely boded well.

The meeting took place in the private sanctum. Azarak, dressed in the robes of state he would shortly wear in public, was joined by Toranim. Rangarak, in full, polished armor, was accompanied by his son, Grushik, who was clothed in black with his father’s crest emblazoned in silver on his breast. They were two beasts of men: huge specimens of humanity made almost invulnerable by the donning of armor and the bearing of arms. It was possible that, due to his age, Grushik might be a more formidable opponent than Rangarak. The son’s decision not to enter the tournament was a mark of respect for his father rather than a tacit admission that he would lose. For Grushik, a victory over the Iron King could be more damaging than a loss.