I glance around, but there’s no one beside me—where did the voice come from? Is it the voice of the Door of Uncertainty itself…or some benign spirit that lives in its strange, other-land spaces?
I have no answers, but I feel drawn to look again at my father as he sits at the Royal table. A moment later, my older brother comes in. He is dressed in his Court finery, as are all the Nobles and he bears The Cup of Sovereignty to my father. It is a large chalice made of pure gold with a stem as long as a candlestick and a cup as wide as a bowl. It can hold nearly an entire bottle of wine, though that much is almost never used, since it is for ceremonial purposes only.
I frown—why is the Door showing me this? It’s not an unusual occurrence—it’s standard practice that the Heir Apparent is always the Cup Bearer to the King.
As I watch, my brother lifts a rich crimson cloth and runs it carefully around the lip of the large golden chalice before handing it to my father.
“Your Majesty—health, wealth, and long life to you,” he intones, speaking the traditional words as he passes the Cup.
“Thank you.” My father takes the Cup of Sovereignty in both hands, nods to my brother, and takes a sip. Then he passes it back again.
Once more my brother wipes the cup. Then he bows and retreats. He will hand the Cup off to a servant and then come back to take his rightful place at my father’s right hand for the banquet.
I’m still frowning with uncertainty when the scene shifts—but only subtly.
I am still in the dining hall but this time it is my mother, the Queen, who sits in the place of honor at the Royal table. Again my brother comes in, bearing The Cup of Sovereignty. Again he wipes the rim with the crimson cloth before he hands it to her to sip from.
I see the shadows in my mother’s lovely eyes—this must be after my father’s death. She still grieves him, for they loved each other dearly. But she holds the heavy Cup strongly and sips from it before handing it back.
My brother bows, and leaves.
I still don’t understand.
“Why are you showing me this?” I ask aloud, looking around for the owner of the voice I heard earlier.
I get no reply, however—only another flash of brilliant purple light.
When next I open my eyes, I find that I am…
61
VALEN
…standing in the middle of a clearing in the woods with the leaves rustling and the smell of grass and wildflowers strong in the air. In fact, it looks a hell of a lot like the place I first Shifted with Irena on my back. We took off from here, after I drank from her for the very first time and then flew over the Poison Dessert.
And in fact, there she is—standing just a few feet away from me. I start to walk towards her, but I see there’s a man with her already—a tall male with long black hair and broad shoulders—I can only see his back since he’s turned away from me.
What the fuck? Who is this fucker? I feel a growl of pure possession rise in my throat as I watch him cup her face and lean towards her.
I rush over to grab him by the shoulder and pull him away…only to find that my hand passes right through him. What the hell is going on here?
“Hey—get your hands off her!” I growl but when I try to step between them, I catch a glimpse of the stranger’s face.
With a shock I realize that he is me.
The strange man that Irena is speaking with is none other than myself. I study my own face, which is filled with hope. Then I look at Irena and see that her pretty features are etched with regret.
“I’m sorry, Valen, but you know what we had couldn’t last,” she is saying. “My people would never accept you. And my mother and brother would never allow us to marry.”
“Come with me, then,” I urge her. “After you give your mother the Healing Draught, of course. We’ll fly away together and live in my land where no one will tell us we can’t marry.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry but I can’t. My duty is here—I must be certain my mother is healthy and well and support her until she can take up her duties as ruler again.”
There are tears in her eyes as she speaks, but determination in the set of her shoulders and the lift of her chin.
I feel my heart tighten with grief and the look on my face—the other me, I mean—reflects that emotion fully.
