Angora stood on the highest balcony and opened her arms to the wind. It was slightly chilled and damp, rolling in from the north where ominous storm clouds were gathering about the peaks. She could smell the promise of rain and smiled. She had not imagined that she would be able to feel so content in a city. Two weeks had passed since she had left Te’Roek but it felt so much longer. Every day was filled with activities and Samian always had something new to show her within the castle grounds. Te’Roek and the Circle were rarely on her mind and she was glad of it. Delseroy was her home now.
In the rare moments she was alone, she would walk the castle wall and gaze down into the courtyard below and the upper city buildings beyond. Samian would not let her venture beyond the wall, for a great mass of civilians constantly gathered at the gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of their future queen. The wall encircled the castle grounds completely and many sections of it provided beautiful views of the city below. Guards walked the ramparts and, in passing, she would say a few pleasant words to them in response to their deep bows of respect.
Yet, with every day that passed, a terrifying conflict waged within her. The hatred she felt for the Ayons since their invasion of Teronia was fighting fiercely with her newfound liking of them. They were pleasant people, not at all how the Ronnesians had painted them; the Ayons treated her like one of their own and she did not feel the need to hide her heritage. “I see our king has made a very good choice in selecting you as his bride,” one lady had said to her, smiling. “Modesty is not a virtue very common among royal folk.”
Angora was also uncertain about the man she was going to marry. The shock that he was the king of the Ayons still tormented her. When she was alone, her anger would flare, only to extinguish the moment he smiled at her. Perhaps she was wrong about him too. Perhaps he was more like her Sam than he was willing to reveal to his advisers and servants. In the moments they stole together, he would talk easily with her, whisper flirtations in her ear and run his fingers across her exposed skin. He was slowly but surely breaking down her defenses.
There was a light tap behind her and Angora turned to find Lillian, her maid, rising from a deep curtsey by the balcony door.
“The king is expecting you for supper in the royal suite, milady.”
“Thank you. I will go directly.”
She had grown accustomed to her maid never being far away and was even growing less embarrassed at being dressed each morning and night. There were some things, however, that she felt she would never get used to – including Samian’s advisers.
Admittedly, Igmund Lhunannon behaved like any other man at court, polite, refined, willing to discuss any subject. He was a mine of information and even smiled and joked with her. He went out of his way, in fact, to converse with her and showed an uncanny knack of picking subjects in which Angora was already interested, such as herb lore, the art of healing and birds. Their discussions were often lengthy and fulfilling, leaving her with the feeling he genuinely found her to be pleasant company. Though he shared the same power as Emil, he thankfully did not share the shaman’s temper and countenance.
But Samian’s other advisers made her nervous and uneasy.
Tarvenna Mei, the witch from the western lands, had spoken few words to Angora and kept her eyes averted. The dark-skinned woman had given Angora the impression that she was disinterested in her master’s future marriage. The only thing in which she seemed to take pleasure was magic. On the one occasion that she and Angora had been alone, Markus Taal’s double had conjured a little ball of blue light and sent it flying around the room.
Eron Galenros, the seer, passed more time delving into the possibilities of the future than occupying himself with the present, so his eyes were frequently black and unfocused. When she saw him out of a trance, which was rarely, he was almost always talking with Varren in low tones. He spoke sparingly to anybody else, which made conversing with him awkward and difficult.
Archis Varren himself, however, was not immediately frightening – until she was subject to one of his piercing stares. Icy blue-gray, his lingering gaze provoked a feeling of unease within her. And then, when Varren’s fury was raging, an occurrence Angora had already witnessed twice, white fire would flicker at the corners of his eyes. Never truly having understood the powers of the mages, she wondered whether this trait was exclusive to him or whether Kayte Heron, if provoked, might also fly into such a fury.
Vrór Saranov hated her, that much was obvious. She supposed this was because he had been refused the opportunity to kill her, and now she was out of his reach. The two leikas avoided each other as best they could, but some occasions brought them together and Vrór would narrow his eyes and hiss his greetings at her behind a forced smile of pointed yellow teeth. He was still something of a mystery to her. Having succeeded in digesting his physical appearance, she began to wonder how in the world he had become so deformed. She knew, from what Samian had told her, that he had once been a pure man, but there was now very little evidence of this. She knew nothing of self-changing and, after glancing at Vrór, she was unwilling to experiment. However, she wondered just how many other avenues of her gift there were of which she was ignorant. Perhaps it was a blessing that, now, she would not need to face Vrór and discover just how powerful he was.
As she approached the royal suite, she was surprised to hear raised voices.
“But this is madness!” Varren cried. “You are disgracing your father’s memory!”
“If they raise no sword, they should not be the victims of any Ayon offensive, Archis! The Spirits did not give their gifts to mortals so they could watch as we massacre the weak!”
“Then what of your wedding preparations? Minimal guards?”
Angora cautiously pushed open the door and saw Varren pacing agitatedly. Samian himself was seated in an armchair beside the empty fireplace, watching as his adviser angrily flung his arms in the air.
“What if there are assassins?”
“Then, of course, I would expect you to deal with them, Archis. Ah, my dear!” The king rose from his chair, stepped past Varren and embraced Angora tightly. Angora glanced at the sorcerer over Samian’s shoulder and noticed the slight flicker of white fire in his eyes.
“My lord – ” Varren began when Samian drew away from her.
“No, Archis,” the king said, cutting him off. “We have spoken long enough on the matter tonight. Please, if you have nothing more to add, leave us.”
“As it happens,” Varren said, “there is something…”
“Make it brief.”
“I am not yet convinced that your future queen is trustworthy.”
Angora fixed him with a stern gaze. For weeks, his true feelings about her had been leaking out of his false bows and smiles, his forced conversations with her. At last, he was speaking his mind in her presence.
“Gods, Archis, what will satisfy you? Do you want her to return to Te’Roek and kill her former mistress?”
“What assurances would you wish from me?” Angora asked before Varren had the opportunity to reply. The sorcerer seemed taken aback by her interruption, as was Samian. “How must I prove my indifference to the Ronnesians? Do you want information on their military numbers?”
“Honesty will suffice,” Varren said. “Answer me this: Why did you really return to Te’Roek when Vrór attacked? Were you drawn by the cries of innocent civilians or Ronnesian friends? I can sense lies, so answer truthfully.”
“Archis…” Samian warned, his eyes narrowed.
“My lord, it’s a simple question,” Varren said calmly.
“No question from you is simple. Angora, you don’t have to – ”
“I have told you before,” Angora said stiffly. “Aiyla is my friend, beyond the boundaries of politics or anything else. I will not deny that. She sent me a vision. I saw Te’Roek burning, destroyed, with Vrór’s creatures circling in the sky. Despite what I think of my former companions, I have a duty to protect innocent people from my double. That is why I returned, to stop Vrór.”
“But the other members of the Circle could have dealt with him, surely,” Varren said. “You seemed so eager to leave Te’Roek, yet something as small as a vision – one which never came to fruition, might I add – drew you back. Are you sure you simply didn’t return because your allegiances remain with Queen Sorcha?”
“I am no Ronnesian!” Angora cried, her fists clenched.
“And, yet, you have willingly struck down Ayons in the heat of battle,” Varren replied, his tone still calm but his eyes fiercely fixed upon her face. “What is it now? Eight more Ayons to kill before you have your revenge? Or will you be satisfied if you kill just one more, the king perhaps?”
Angora gasped. A memory flashed before her eyes of fifteen etches on the windowsill in the tavern in Metaille. She had heard fifteen reports of the Ayons attacking Teronia and had promised to kill fifteen in revenge. It was true she had killed seven soldiers early on in her service to the queen, but had since given up on her endeavor. She had come to understand her position in the world – she was a shield, not a sword. Though she possessed a power that could kill hundreds, her heart could not.
“I cannot deny that the promise of killing Ayon soldiers encouraged me to learn more about my gift,” Angora said, lowering her eyes. “My island had been burned to the ground during an Ayon invasion. I was angry and scared!”
“Ah, but you see,” Varren continued, a thin smile forming on his lips, “you are now a member of the Ayon court. What an opportunity! You could dispatch several of the castle’s inhabitants without too much trouble. The king is particularly vulnerable, especially to you.”
“Archis, I don’t like what you’re implying,” Samian said.
“My lord, do not forget how General Carter met his death.”
“How dare you! You liken me to a whore? You believe your master is in danger from his future wife? He should be more afraid of you!” Angora cried, taking a step toward Varren with her hand raised to hit him.
Varren swiftly caught her wrist and fixed his still flaming eyes on her own. She struggled but he held her firm.
“You must have a heart of stone if you believe I would ever wish Samian harm, let alone harm him myself, lord general.”
The king came between them, pulling Angora gently away. “That is enough, Archis. You have all you need. Leave us.”
“Yes, my lord.” Varren’s eyes lingered on Samian’s for a moment before he moved swiftly over to the door. Samian’s gaze followed him and only returned to Angora once the door was firmly shut.
“I apologize for his behavior,” he muttered. “He’s over-protective.”
“Yes,” Angora said stiffly, “and rude and blind.”
“Come here,” Samian said and drew her in close.
Angora relaxed slightly and rested her head against his chest. A moment later, she heard him chuckle softly and raised her eyes curiously.
“I’m starting to like your fiery moments. Not many could stand up to Varren as you have just done! It may well have been enough to convince him.”