“Ash—could I have a moment of your time?” I nodded to Ami, who raised her brows at me. The other four had already left, discussing something about the journey to Annfwn. “With Your Highness’s permission, naturally.”
“Dafne,” she chided. “You know full well I can’t make this obstinate ox of a man do anything one way or another.” She gave him a saucy wink. “But don’t stay away too long or I might be asleep.”
A slight smile twisted the scar that bisected Ash’s lip. “Knowing how long it takes you to brush your hair the requisite number of strokes, I’m sure I have plenty of time.”
“Cheeky.” She stood on tiptoes to give him a lingering kiss, one that made his eyes burn as he gazed in her direction long after her trim form disappeared out the door.
With an apparent effort of will, he dragged his attention back to me, smile going rueful that he’d forgotten I waited. “Apologies, librarian. One day perhaps she won’t sear my thoughts into little pieces with one kiss.”
“I hope that day never comes,” I said, in all sincerity. “What you two have is precious—and enviable.”
“I suppose that’s true. Certainly not something I ever imagined I could have.” He looked thoughtful, then shook it off. “How may I be of service to you, librarian?”
I hesitated. Ash wasn’t as obviously a warrior to avoid tangling with, like Rayfe or Harlan—and I put little store by his criminal conviction, as I knew having Tala blood would have been enough to put him in prison—but he had his own edge of danger. That of a very private man, the lone predator who avoided confrontation but decisively ended any he was forced into.
“I don’t wish to trespass on private matters, which is why I wanted to pose my questions to you alone. However, I fear that even asking may be... inappropriate.”
His corrugated face tended to be forbidding and now it settled into stark lines. “Ask. If I don’t wish to answer, I won’t.”
Afraid I’d already offended him, I took a deep breath. I had a job to do. “All right then. Were you ever truly one of the White Monks and, if so, can you tell me how to contact them?”
I’d surprised him, the bright green of his eyes flashing briefly before he turned his face away to look out the window. When he’d first come to Windroven in the company of High Priest Kir, Ash had worn the robes of one of the near mythical White Monks. The few whispers and tales of them indicated they were almost cultlike in their dedication to the worship of Glorianna—and totally separate from the official Church. What I’d been able to uncover about them indicated that the monks spent the first three years of service under a strict vow of silence. The name of the order reflected the stillness and purity they believed silencing the voice and mind brought, the color of their robes deriving from that concept, rather than the reverse. Many of the White Monks apparently never spoke again.
Obviously, Ash did. But then, he’d also used the position to gain admittance to Ami’s entourage, in the hopes she’d take him into Annfwn with her. I’d never known how much of his role had been subterfuge and Ami had never said. It was between them and I wouldn’t have asked, without the current need.
“Why do you wonder?” He finally asked, raspy voice fogged with some dark emotion.
“I’m sorry. I truly did not mean to distress you.”
He met my eyes again, rueful humor in them. “Am I distressed? No. Simply...perhaps swamped with old memories. This is not something I discuss easily or often.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Never mind. I’ll find another way to contact them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He shook off whatever had enshrouded him. “You’re thinking for the coronation.”
“Yes.”
“Why the White Monks?”
“I’m not certain it’s the correct choice—that’s part of why I’m asking you. From what I understand, the order is very old, predating most of the worship we associate with Glorianna today. I can’t think of any other part of the Church that will not bear something of Uorsin’s taint. While I was in Annfwn I found an old tale about Talifa, the first Queen of the Tala, from whom the Tala draw their name, according to the legend. And who founded a scholarly society to study Moranu’s sister, Glorianna.”
He stared at me, arrested. “I didn’t know that story had made it out of the order.”
“Then you were one of them.”
“I was.” His eyes darkened in reflection. “They took me in, hid me. Taught me. Three years of silence meant I never had to speak of where—or who—I’d been. That kind of quiet... well, it allowed me to leave behind the beast prison had made me into. They allowed me to be as much of a man as I’ll ever be.”
“A far better man than most.”
He laughed his soundless rasp. “Better than I once was, which is a beginning. I think you are wise in this. The order is... much closer to the old magic of the numinous than I’ve seen in any other part of Glorianna’s Church. I will write a letter of introduction to my old mentor and give you the direction. The rest will be up to you, to do the convincing.”
A difficult task, to be sure.
After I left Ash, I found Andi lingering over wine with Ursula, while a minstrel played. In the flickering shadows of the firelight, they more resembled each other than not. Especially in the curve of the smiles they welcomed me with. Both of them relaxed and sleepy now. Ursula, however, read in one glance that I arrived with a purpose.
“Dare I hope you want something from my sister and not me?” She asked, sounding convinced otherwise.
“Actually yes, Your Highness. I’m hoping for a moment of Queen Andromeda’s time.”
Ursula uncoiled to her feet with smooth alacrity. “She’s back to using titles, which means I’m seizing this reprieve.”
“Now who’s the coward?” Andi scowled at her.
“The better part of valor,” Ursula cheerfully agreed. “I’ll see you off in the morning. Have my chair, librarian.”
I took it, because it was the only seat close enough to keep my conversation with Andi private, though the symbolism made me uneasy. I might be moving in rarified circles, consorting with queens and kings, but it would be a fatal error to imagine myself equal to any of them, or able to take their places in any way.
Andi regarded me warily, which helped ease my apprehension, that a sorceress as powerful as she would treat me as a threat. Humorous, indeed.
“My first request is a simple one,” I said, taking the easy path. “Remember the Tala man, the shaman who married you and Rayfe in Moranu’s name?”
“It’s a moment that sticks in my memory, yes,” she replied drily.
“Could he or his... group be contacted to perform Moranu’s third of the coronation?”
Andi looked interested. “And thereby demonstrate Tala support for the new High Queen, with Moranu’s blessing? Clever of you, librarian. Draft your missive, send your messenger to me in Annfwn, and I’ll make the contact.”
“Thank you.”
The silence stretched out. She’d learned a great deal as Queen of the Tala. Once she would have prodded me. Now she simply waited, her stormy eyes shadowed, making me speak first.
“What did you see about Dasnaria?” I asked it baldly, though in a quiet tone that wouldn’t carry over the music. Andi began to shake her head and I gave her my sternest look. “Don’t tell me it was nothing of import. You said we need to put things in order, so I’m doing that. Before what happens?”
Her eyes glinted with an edge of silver. “Why would I tell you and not my elder sister, who is, by the way, far more intimidating, so don’t try that with me.”
“Because Her Highness and I are not the same person. She has enough to think about without planning future battles she can’t yet act on, particularly one as fraught as something tied up with Harlan. It’s my job to anticipate the trials to come and do what I can to prepare so that when the time comes, she has what she needs to act. What did you see?”
She huffed out a sigh, reached for a clean goblet and poured for us both. “It’s not that simple. It’s not like reading a book, with the history nicely linear and laid out in detail.”
“What is it like?” I hadn’t meant to ask, but curiosity overtook me.
“It’s... more like dream images. Do you ever get recurring dreams—yes? It’s like those, the way the details might change but the core images remain the same. And I’m awake.” She grimaced.
“These ‘core’ images—they’re the events most likely to occur.”
“Usually. Though key elements can change. For example, I saw the moment Ursula killed Hugh, for months before it happened. Everything the same each time—the snow, the crimson blood staining the white—but until that exact second, it was always Rayfe who died, not Hugh.”
Shadows haunted her face, much as I imagined the guilt did.
“You didn’t plan it. You couldn’t have. It happened so fast—you couldn’t have consciously chosen for Ami’s husband to die instead of yours.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no?” She tapped a finger on her goblet. “I made sure Rayfe didn’t die, which means I altered the course of events because of what I’d seen. Another good man died as a direct result, no matter whose fault.” Her stormy gaze met mine. “I’m very careful with what I do about what I see.”
“This is your gift—your mother’s gift. It’s yours to use as she used it.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “I am not Salena. I can’t follow the complex interweaving of possible events the way she must have. I seem to see days, maybe months. At most a year. She looked decades into the future, possibly farther.”
“She trained in it all her life. You’ve barely come into your own. Every time I see you, I can feel the magic is stronger.”
“You think so?” She eyed me, a hint showing of the skittish girl she’d been, slipping through the halls, keeping to herself. “You once compared that feeling to an insect crawling on you.”
“A beautiful and exotic one,” I corrected her, with amused chagrin at my audacity in having told her that, in my struggle to give her the best analogy. “Salena was the same way. Tell me this: is a month enough time to be ready?”
She looked through me, at something only she could see, then nodded judiciously. “It should be. Events are already in motion. Have been since Uorsin fell and the barrier moved. It’s all tied together. But the core image always includes Ursula wearing a crown. If that changes, I’ll send a message.”
I ground my teeth against the frustration. “Can you tell me anything more about this image? I already know it has to do with what Harlan said, about Dasnaria not concerning herself with us. I won’t speak of it—just so I can know and do the research.”
Andi considered me, then leaned close, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. “Secrecy then. Salena trusted you, so will I. There are four men, exotically armored. Tall, broad, and fair-haired. Ursula crowned, on her throne.”
I caught my breath and she nodded.
“I don’t know them, but they are Dasnarians, not Vervaldr. In the great hall at Ordnung.”
* * *
They left in the morning, going in opposite directions with their vastly different entourages.
Andi refused to say more than she had and no one could move her once she dug in her heels. Something all three sisters shared and I’d long since learned not to fight their stubbornness head on. At least I knew to pursue my studies of Dasnaria, in what little spare time fell to me.
I had a month to make sure Ursula had secured the throne before this challenge arrived.
After that, we might be looking to her to save us from it.