Angora did not realize she was conscious until she felt a warm breeze on her face. What she had thought to be the darkness of the Hill – the shadowed land of the lingering – was instead a hard bed, a flat pillow beneath her head and a light cover across her body. She felt a sharp pain in her back when she attempted to shift her weight. She did not have the strength to move.
Then she registered voices. There were two or three men speaking quietly to one side of her bed. Though they were speaking softly, one of them seemed agitated and was having trouble keeping his voice low.
“Why were you there? Speak the truth,” he said.
“I must fight my enemies,” the second replied.
“I ordered you not to set a foot outside the empire!”
“I didn’t sss walk there, my lord.”
“You insolent creature, I should have you flayed!”
“If I might intervene here, sir,” a calmer third voice said, “though he may have gone against your wishes, he has returned with quite a prize.”
“And it is mine!” the second added angrily.
“Regardless of your victory, Vrór,” the first said, “you disobeyed both my orders and that of the king! We have been through this a dozen times! If you must have your flesh, take some whore, they will not be missed!”
“My lord,” the third said, “we should inform the king of our guest’s arrival.”
“I know that, Lhunannon.”
Angora felt a rush of fear. She now realized where she was and who the people must be. Vrór, her double, must have brought her back to Delseroy, though how he had managed to catch her from such a height she could not begin to imagine. The fact that she was still alive puzzled her, for she had never thought Vrór capable of mercy and the alternative was too frightening to even dwell upon. She knew the name Lhunannon and identified him as Emil’s double, an enchanter of progressing years who was not to be underestimated. The older a mage was, the more knowledge, power and wisdom they accrued. But who the other man might be, she could only guess. If it was Archis Varren, she was in trouble. If his reputation was to be believed, he preferred to watch his victims die slowly and painfully, like a spider with its next meal caught in its web but that was in no hurry to feed. “Don’t think I will let you off just because you brought us back a pretty trophy,” the man Angora assumed to be Varren was saying. “You disobeyed me and your king, and you will be punished for that. You need to be taught some respect!”
“Respect?” Vrór cried. “It was I who brought you here and I who gained you audience sss with King Corhillar when you were just a pup! It is you who should respect me!”
Varren shouted angrily in reply and Angora both heard and smelled the spell he cast. Driven by fear and curiosity, she cautiously opened her eyes a slit. She saw Varren’s towering figure standing at the end of her bed, one arm outstretched, looking menacingly down at a crumpled and smoking form at his feet. The room was dark but Angora could make out stone walls and an open cell door. Pale, natural light was drifting in through a barred window, revealing the aging Lhunannon looking utterly shocked at what he had just witnessed.
“My lord!” he exclaimed. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes, and more besides for his insolence. Get up!” Varren moved over to the figure and waved his hand over him, smothering the lingering flames that licked at his clothes. “I said, get up!” he yelled and motioned swiftly with his hand.
Vrór was lifted up from the floor as if by strong invisible hands. His legs dangled in the air for a moment before they found the floor and took the weight of his body.
“Never insult me again,” Varren warned, his voice once more quiet but unmistakably sinister.
“N-no, my lord,” Vrór stammered weakly.
“Then get out of my sight!”
Vrór bent to all fours and slunk away like a subservient dog. Angora quickly closed her eyes again, fearing Varren would catch her watching, and tried with all her might to remain calm and still.
“Lhunannon, I cannot trust that accursed creature. The next time he goes against my word, he will wish his whore of a mother never set eyes on that sea captain. Please inform the king that his presence is required.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Angora heard the sound of footsteps crossing the stone floor and the cell door shutting with a clang. She began to sweat slightly with fear, for she could not imagine a sorrier position to be in. She expected any moment to hear a muttered word and feel pain that would rip a terrifying scream from her lips.
“You are a very strange contradiction.”
Angora tried to remain as still as she could, feigning sleep.
“A Teronian who fled her home to escape her monstrous father, but ended up on the mainland, protecting a queen who acts against your own beliefs. Why do it? Why exchange one set of chains for another twice as strong? There is no need for pretence, I know you can hear me.”
“I am no longer with them,” Angora said, her voice breaking. She opened her eyes and saw the sorcerer looking down at her curiously. “I freed myself.”
“And that is why you returned at their call?” he asked mockingly.
“Aiyla showed me a vision I could not ignore. Vrór is my responsibility. Whenever he fights the ungifted, I must intervene.”
“Even if he is attacking the people who treated you like a slave?”
Angora looked away, unable to block out the truth. “Yes, some Ronnesians enslaved me, mistreated me, deceived me and ignored me. But must every one of them pay for the crimes of a few?” She looked up at him again with defiance in her eyes. “He used his power on innocents, people who could not defend themselves. Had he thought to attack only the Circle, I would have done nothing to stop him.”
“You have been corrupted,” Varren said. “You have allowed yourself to become another’s servant so unconsciously that you believe wholeheartedly that it was you who decided to return to Te’Roek.”
“If you know so much about me, you should also know that I was forced into their service and I left without their consent!” Angora replied angrily. “What does it matter to you anyway? You will kill me all the same.”
“Perhaps,” Varren mused. “Though not just yet.”
Angora tried to move once more but found that she was still powerless.
“There’s nothing wrong with your body,” Varren said. “It’s a simple paralyzing spell of my own creation. I know you can use magic without your staff. I’m not willing to give you that chance.”
“Did you send Vrór away so you could finish me off yourself?”
“No. He was under the impression that he would impress me and gain the opportunity to kill you at his leisure. However, I am not impressed.”
“Will you let him?”
“Kill you? No,” Varren said. “The king will decide your fate.”
“A Mensor king? Then I am doomed. I expect no less than a public death.” She turned her eyes away from the sorcerer and focused on the walls of her cell. She had no idea where she might be. The natural light puzzled her, for she could not imagine any of the cells of the Delseroy castle or city barracks being above ground. She heard footsteps down the corridor and looked anxiously toward the door to see whether Lhunannon had brought the king with him. Whatever these men did to her, she told herself, she was determined to hide her fear – and her pain, too, if it came to that.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Varren said, bowing slightly. “This is the fruit of Vrór’s latest escapade.”
The man who walked in through the doorway did not sound impressed. “Escapade?”
“He defied your orders, sire, traveled down to Te’Roek and wreaked havoc on the castle. He brought her back as a plaything.”
“Where is Vrór now?” the king asked.
“Skulking around somewhere, licking his wounds. I have already given him a taste of what his punishment might be.”
“But surely this situation can be dealt with without my supervision, Archis. I know you will be fair with him, and her.”
“Under normal circumstances, yes, sir,” Varren said, “but this is not just some unfortunate wench he plucked off the street. It’s his double.”
“What?” the king exclaimed. “The Ronnesian leika?”
“Yes, though she is no Ronnesian,” Varren said. “She has a curious past, which needs to be taken into consideration when you decide her fate.”
“What do you mean?” the king asked, moving forward and fixing his eyes on the small bed. “What could possibly be in her past that could – ”
His voice faltered as he approached her. Angora watched as he moved into the ray of sunlight from the window. He appeared to be strong and had probably been trained to be a fine warrior from a very young age. He had dark hair cut short, vivid green eyes and his mouth had fallen open into an expression of pure disbelief.
With a pang of fright and fury, she recognized him. “Sam! You – But, no, it cannot be you!”
“You will address the king with proper respect,” Varren said. “Speak only when he requires an answer – ”
“You barbarian! You murdering beast! Eshei dehall!” Angora struggled in vain against Varren’s binding spell, but even though the rage that coursed through her would have given a wildcat of the northern mountains of Turgyl reason enough to flee, it did nothing to loosen the magical bonds on her limbs.
“Quiet, woman!” Varren moved to strike her across the face but King Samian lunged forward and caught his arm. He shook his head and Varren reluctantly withdrew. The king was still stunned, and when he spoke, his voice sounded unsteady.
“Archis…leave her.”
“You are the king of the Ayons?” Angora asked. “You are the one who burned my island to the ground? There are no words in any tongue that can voice my hatred of you!”
Lhunannon stepped forward, his eyes questioning. “King Samian, sir – ”
The king shook his head firmly. “Lhunannon, Archis, leave us.” He motioned to his two advisers and Lhunannon left without a word. Varren, however, glanced at the king with incredulity. Samian noticed and they locked gazes for a moment, before Varren clenched his jaw and made his way to the door.
“And release our guest, Archis,” the king ordered. “Show her some hospitality.”
The sorcerer paused in the doorway, sighed, flicked his hand unceremoniously and shut the door with a loud bang. King Samian shook his head before turning back to Angora, a tentative smile forming on his lips. Angora, finding herself no longer a captive of Varren’s spell, gathered her aching limbs up to her chest and fixed the king of the Ayons with eyes full with anger.
“It is you, isn’t it?” Samian asked eagerly. “Lalean! You go by the name Angora now, but I would know that face anywhere!”
“Stay away from me, you monster!” Angora cried. “Why did you lie to me? I trusted you!”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you…but you must understand why.”
“Yes, to save your hide!”
“Of course, I was afraid! I was stranded on an unfamiliar island without a friend in all the world!” the king exclaimed. “You said yourself that, had I been discovered, your father would have had me killed!”
Samian sat down on the end of her bed and reached out for her hand. Angora recoiled, feeling the skin on her back around the wound stretch painfully.
“Keep away from me!”
“But, Lalean – ”
“Do not call me that! Lalean is dead!” she cried. “How could you lie to me for so long? I told you everything!”
“I wanted to tell you the truth so many times but would you really have given me the chance to explain? I couldn’t risk losing you.”
“Perhaps not when you needed me, but you let your army march south and burn every island off the coast! You could risk to lose me then, could you not?”
“No!” Samian said defiantly. “That was my father. I had nothing to do with the southern campaign.”
“Then you should have done something to stop him!”
“How could I? He was ill, mad. He wanted to see the south burn!”
“And you follow in his footsteps. You disgust me.”
“I was forced into this war,” Samian insisted. “I asked for Queen Sorcha’s hand in marriage to end the conflict, but she responded by building up forces on her northern border! Was I to let them march up to the gates of Delseroy without raising a single sword?”
“You are despicable!”
“You say that when it was Sorcha who sent her mages north to attack our soldiers!”
“You would have done the same!”
“Why are you defending them? And how is it that you are fighting for the Ronnesians anyway? You didn’t care for the mainland when I knew you.”
“I care about innocent lives, not squabbles over land! I cannot let others suffer. Those who are trapped in this stupid never-ending war between your empires have no defense against an army as strong as yours.”
“Then you claim to be neutral?”
“I have no allegiances. Had I been born with knowledge of my gift, I never would have left Teronia! I would have protected them from you, from anyone who would have dared attack us!”
“I told you, it was my father who ordered the invasion! I would never have harmed Teronia. How can you doubt my affection for you and that island?” the king asked. “I owe you and your mother my life! Don’t you remember the long nights we spent together on top of Alenta Mora? You see, I have not forgotten its name.”
He was now only inches from her and his eyes were wide and fervent. His closeness made her skin crawl and she shuffled away.
“Stop it!”
“There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought of you.”
“You…” Angora said through clenched teeth. “I should kill you!”
“But you won’t, will you? You still feel the fire, our connection.”
“I feel nothing!”
“Do you remember what I told you that last day?” the king asked. “Those words I whispered in your ear?”
“Of course I do,” she replied, her voice shaking with anger, “but I bet you never looked back once you paddled past the breakers.”
“Four years ago, when I was pronounced king, the first thing I did was withdraw the armies from campaign. My advisers and military commanders were livid. They told me we could have pushed on to Te’Roek and a swift victory, but I didn’t listen. All I could think about was Teronia – you. I asked for reports of all the places my father had ordered to be attacked, and the islands had not escaped his madness. I was devastated! I returned to Teronia as soon as I could get away and I found the forests and villages burnt. I thought you had perished along with all your people when I saw the island so damaged.”
Samian rested a hand on Angora’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. “I didn’t let you down,” he continued. “I returned just as I said I would, but I couldn’t bring you back with me because…well, you weren’t there. I searched the entire island for days and called and called, but could not find a single soul.”
Angora began to cry. After her mother had died, she had hoped Sam would come and take her away from the pain and sorrow of her lonely existence. She had waited many long months, hoping and praying, but eventually, she had decided that he was never going to return. They must have missed each other by a matter of days. If she had waited, she could have had the future she had so often dreamed about. But was that simply her own wishful thinking? Would she instead have been murdered by the invading force, just like all the others? But if King Samian had returned for her and taken her to his home in Delseroy, she would have found out who he really was. She had been only sixteen, so vulnerable and naive. Would she have forgiven him?
“I still love you, Lalean…” The king leaned in and kissed her forehead. Angora pushed him away, wiping her eyes.
“Stay away from me!” She felt utterly betrayed. Everything she had known about her dearest friend was false. Sam had not been an islander at all but a mainlander and an Ayon prince, everything she had been taught to fear and despise.
“Do you know what pain I’ve had to endure all this time? The Spirits must have heard my prayers and have delivered you to me!”
“I was brought here by your servant so he could kill me. Is that what you prayed for?”
“You’re here, that’s all that matters! This cannot be a coincidence. Don’t you understand, Lalean? My father is dead, I have no one to answer to!” He took her hand in his own and looked at her almost feverishly. His eyes sparkled and his mouth curled into a smile that had not changed in four long years. “Queen Sorcha rejected my proposal. The Spirits must have known you would come to me, they must have known we would be reunited!”
“I am on death row,” she reminded him, pulling her hand from his grasp and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Tomorrow, no doubt, I shall be dead, or begging for death at the hands of your executioner.”
“I can give you a full pardon.”
“Your advisers want me strung up in front of the city, I doubt they will let me go!”
“I won’t let them touch you.”
Angora looked down at him. He was crouched by the bed, his arms outstretched. In that moment, she recalled the first time she had seen him, clinging to a jagged rock on the coast of Teronia, merciless waves crashing around him. He had begged for her help and she had given it, risking her own life for a stranger in the surging seas. She saw the same look in his eyes, as though his life depended upon her. But he was not her Sam any more. In fact, he never had been. He had been weaving lies around her from the moment his feet had touched Teronian sand.
“How do I know what you are capable of? The Sam I remember was a lie, the fantasy of a trusting child! And you broke that trust.”
He bowed his head, crestfallen, and turned to the window. He ran his hands over his short hair.
Angora glanced at her cell door. Could she risk running for it? She knew nothing of what lay beyond. She might be on the top floor of a well-guarded tower. Varren could be around the next corner. Seeing her out of her cell, the sorcerer would strike her down without a moment’s hesitation.
Samian turned back from the window and his eyes twinkled fiercely again with unmasked excitement.
“Become my wife and we can forge an alliance with all the islands and neutral countries in the Kalladean. I will promise them safety in the war should the Ronnesians or any other force threaten them. I will guard their harbors and trading routes from piracy, and welcome their travelers and merchants across my empire. We can scour Teronia and the surrounding islands to find your surviving people and give them whatever support they require in rebuilding their lives. This I promise, Angora, upon my honor, should you consent to be my wife.”
Angora was about to open her mouth to protest, but stopped. Securing the defense of every man, woman and child across the Kalladean…What if her people had survived after all? It was only her own freedom, she told herself, and she had survived being imprisoned in Te’Roek for three years. Surely marriage to a man she had once loved could be no worse, even if he was the king of the Ayons. She would be comfortable as his wife and have no small amount of influence over him and his policies.
Angora looked at him, no longer the young man she had known. Yes, his face was the same but his childish spark and character had been corrupted by the influence of power and, no doubt, his advisers. Regardless, she could not help but hope that something of her Sam was left. If what he had told her was true – that he had not been able to stop his father from burning the islands and that he had pulled the armies back the moment he had become king – could it be that he was everything she remembered?
“Promise me that the neutral islands will not be harmed or forced into an alliance for your own benefit.”
“I promise.”
“If war must be fought, then it will be done fairly, soldier to soldier. Varren and the others will not be involved in any normal battle.”
“If the Ronnesians will also abide by this rule, then I will give the order,” Samian said sincerely.
“And the trading – ”
“The pirates and barbarians will be dealt with to ensure safer trading routes, you have my word, and any Teronian who requires aid will have it. I will commission builders to help them rebuild their villages, provide them a payment of free-traded goods every year, if you wish it – anything.”
Angora thought his eyes were glistening with tears, though it could have been merely a trick of the light.
“This is not exactly how I imagined proposing to you, but…Lalean, Angora, do you have an answer for me? Will you be my wife and queen?”
Angora sighed, then nodded. “On the terms you have proposed, I accept.”
*
Moments later, the king commanded a servant to fetch the best healer in the city to tend to her wounds. “And be careful with her!” he said when the man opened his box of tools and ointments. “This is your future queen.”
Samian sat with her as the healer cleaned and stitched her lacerations, offering her his handkerchief when her eyes began to water. Finally, the man wound a bandage around her middle, apologized for the pain he had caused and left. Angora pulled up her torn dress and tied it loosely at her back before turning to her betrothed.
“Come,” the king said. “Let’s get you out of those rags and this room.”
She was still very weak and he aided her steps with caution and great care. Her cell, she discovered, had been one of a dozen situated in the defensive wall that encircled Delseroy castle. Most were used for storing supplies for the gate wardens but some had been set aside for interrogations and holding cells. They emerged into a grand courtyard and she looked up at the great structure. The sight of the castle took her breath away. It was magnificent and the warm afternoon sun made it all the more resplendent. A series of intricate gardens encircled the citadel and the air was rich with the scent of grass and damp earth.
As they approached the castle doors, the two armored wardens bowed and offered their assistance, but Samian assured them he could manage with his guest. Her feet bare, Angora walked slowly and unsteadily on the king’s arm through the wide doorway and across the entrance hall. They paused briefly as Samian pointed out the portraits of his ancestors.
They continued up several flights of stairs, along a crimson-carpeted corridor and, finally, into the rooms that were now her own. There, Samian eased her carefully onto a large, comfortable sofa and sent a servant to the kitchens to find her something to eat. As they waited, he talked excitedly about the future that lay ahead and of the many years of happiness that would follow their sorrowful years of separation, and Angora found herself smiling slightly. His enthusiasm was contagious.
“Just think!” he exclaimed. “No one can stand in our way now! We can make our own decisions, not care what anybody else thinks!”
“But how long will it be, do you think, before your servants find fault with this arrangement?” Angora asked. “An hour? Two, perhaps?”
“They are not my servants, not all of them, but they are as loyal as any subject.”
“How do you keep them all here if they are not bound to your service?”
“Money, prospects and status,” Samian said, smiling. “My father made Archis a lord, which was a very good decision. He is my most trusted adviser and, unlike many other men of court, you won’t catch him slipping off into the city at night to flash his coins in the brothels or spend them in the taverns until he can no longer walk. He is dedicated to his work and he always speaks his mind. That kind of honesty is rare at court.”
“Do you suppose their loyalty would falter if you did not pay them?”
Samian laughed. “Not an inch! How are they supposed to live without some sort of income? Didn’t Queen Sorcha pay you for your service?”
“No,” Angora admitted. “We were granted money for personal expenses only. She supplied our clothes, our food and drink, everything necessary to survive, but we were not paid in the usual sense.”
The king shook his head. “You were right to leave them, Angora. It sounds as though they regarded you as little more than a slave.”
She nodded grimly, remembering the brief period when she had been a slave before Rasmus rescued her. Her hand absently rose to her shoulder to where the brand had been seared into her skin.
“Do you know what Archis told me a few weeks ago?” Samian asked. When she shook her head, he continued: “Sorcha may well have ordered the assassination of General Carter.”
“Carter is dead?” Angora asked, astonished.
“You know nothing of it?”
“I left the queen’s service months ago,” Angora said, “and the farmsteads and villages I stayed at during that time very rarely received news from the capital. What happened?”
“Archis found his body. Our general was assassinated by a whore, no less. However, she had been acting for another. Luckily, with the help of Galenros, Archis was able to find and interrogate the client.”
“And?”
“He confessed that Mayor Challan himself had hired him. Do you know what that means?”
“Challan did not like Carter?” Angora asked, shrugging.
“Undoubtedly, that is true! But when an order comes from the mayor, it usually comes attached with a royal seal. Now, Archis has since told me that Challan denies that Sorcha had anything to do with it, but he could be lying. What despicable behavior by the Ronnesians! So what do you think of them now?”
Angora stared back blankly. She was not ready to admit that Queen Sorcha would resort to such measures. However, there was something to the story that sounded credible; after all, Tiderius had offered to come north and kill King Samian. And Rasmus had once told her that if a pack of wolves was terrorizing a village, normally the death of the dominant male or female deterred the creatures from returning. Had the death of General Carter been the queen’s attempt at preventing the war?
“It is a possibility, I suppose,” Angora said. “But if the queen or one of the others issued that order, they kept the decision from me.”