Devilos’s fingers dug into his daughter’s arm as Doranis straightened in his seat, then leaned forward, renewed interest glittering in his eyes. “You readdoaEnrai?”
She tried to answer, but stopped at the increasing tightness of her father’s grip. He spoke for her. “Yes, Your Majesty. My daughter and I are scribes. We’re familiar with the old languages such asdoaEnrai.”
Castil’s lips thinned at the scornful mutters around them. Aristocracy engaged in trade was a thing viewed with contempt. Judging by Doranis’s intrigued regard, he didn’t hold the same opinion. She found herself admiring the flawless alabaster face with its long thin nose and prominentcheekbones.
“Fascinating,” he said. “I have in my possession a set of scrolls written indoa Enrai. They are accounts of the last days of the Elder cities before the advent of the Wastelands. I’ve translated some of the writing. Perhaps I’ll send copies to you.” His gaze slid over Castil, curious and measuring. “My compliments, Madam ilVeras.”
Castil blushed, surprised by his remark. She heard the restless murmurings of the boyars waiting behind them and bowed with her father before leaving the king and merging with thecrowd.
That brief meeting irrevocably changed her, for in the days that he and his delegation resided in Caskadan, Doranis sought her out numerous times. It was the cause of raised eyebrows and speculation among the boyars and warning glares from the Marcamfamily.
Their concerns were baseless. Castil posed no threat to Kareena or her family. When she spoke with the king, it was of scholarly things: ancient scrolls, and books they both read. Dowerless and low-ranking, she should have been far beneath the notice of a monarch, and most treated Doranis’s interest in her as an amusing foible—one odd creature’s fascination foranother.
The union between the Marcams and House Alisdane commenced without incident, though Kareena looked pale and ill as she held Doranis’s hand and spoke her vows before overlord and country. Castil watched the exchange with a mixture of pity and envy—pity for her friend who had been sold into marriage to a man she found repulsive, envy because Castil would have gladly traded places withher.
Kareena refused to look beyond the white mark of the Wastelands, seeing only a man disfigured by the old magic. She didn’t know of the remarkable mind and dry wit that lay behind that severe visage. But Castil did, had watched, enthralled, as the days passed in celebration and Doranis revealed aspects of himself that would have surprised his newwife.
On the day the king and his new queen were to return to Helenrisia, Castil made her way to the docks and waited amidst a crowd of onlookers as the Helenese royal couple and its retainers gathered at the pier. Tears clogged her throat. She and Kareena had said their goodbyes the previous night, crying as they hugged each other a final time. She couldn’t help but be here for a last glimpse at herfriend.
Doranis was unmistakable among his escort. Mounted on a big bay stallion, he rode robed and hooded against the summer sun’s bright light and sat tall in thesaddle.
As if sensing her eyes upon him, he maneuvered the horse in her direction, the slow turn of his head revealing his search for thewatcher.
Castil’s eyes widened as the bay suddenly trotted toward her, sending bystanders scattering out of the way. She froze in place, squinting as she peered up into the shadows of the king’s hood. The light eyes, ringed in heavy smears of protective black kohl, shone with pleasure at her presence. King and scribe eyed each other on the small section ofpier.
She committed his face to memory. He was, in her eyes, the most beautiful creature she’d ever beheld. Distracted by her fascination with him, she almost forgot to bow, and he laughed gently as she blushed and bent at thewaist.
“There’s no need for ceremony here, scribes woman.” That low, silky voice slid over her skin like scented oil, deep and rich with the promise ofdecadence.
Her thighs clenched in reaction, and she crossed her arms to hide the pinpoints her nipples made against her bodice. “Fair journey, Your Majesty,” she said, just loud enough for him tohear.
He seemed to still for a moment before bending down close enough that she became ensnared in the glitter of his eyes. “All men wish to be gods, madam, even fey kings. Were I granted such power, this would not be farewell.” He straightened again, his sharp face drawn with an emotion that made her stomach flip. “You would have made a worthy queen, Castil il Veras.” She gaped at him as he wheeled the bay around and trotted back toward the ship. He dismounted and crossed the gangplank, following Kareena as she descended into the hold. The retainers filed aboard behind her, leading the horses onto the ship. The sun dipped low on the horizon as the ship took sail, easing out of the harbor toward the open sea. Castil stood at the docks, watching until it was nothing more than speck, taking with it a forbidden wish and a treasuredfriendship.
* * *
“They’ll be loweringthe dinghy soon, madam. You’d best get your geartogether.”
Castil was startled out of her musings by the rough, friendly voice of theEstarta’scaptain. She smiled, hoping he hadn’t been standing there long, watching her moon for something far beyond herreach.
“Will there be an escort to take me into theinterior?”
Captain Lizera claimed a spot beside her and leaned against the railing to stare at the closing shore. “Aye, madam. You’ll travel with us to the trading houses. From there, we’ll set up an escort for you to the Frozen Maiden.” She raised an eyebrow in inquiry and he smiled. “The fortress of thekings.”
The cold of the northern sea faded as memories of a morning in a ruined temple surfaced, and she pushed them down again. Therein lay a dangerous path, one of forbidden dreams. She turned to watch as the gray mist blanketing the shore thinned, allowing a view of ramshackle huts and nets hung on poles formending.
The captain’s voice, hard with a black humor, sent shivers down her arms. “Madam il Veras, welcome toHel.”
2
“She has arrived,”the royal steward announced. “I’ve instructed the servants to take her to the queen’ssolar.”
Doranis nodded once and placed his son into the arms of the waiting nursemaid. The baby squirmed for a moment before nestling contentedly against the woman’s breast. Tiny and fragile, he looked much like his father, save for his coloring. The king still gave thanks to whatever deities listened that the curse of his blood didn’t pass to his offspring. He looked to his steward, finding the other man regarding him with hooded eyes. Marcilun always had more tosay.
He didn’t disappoint. “The news of your wife’s death will come as a blow, Your Majesty. What do you wish me to tell Madam ilVeras?”
Doranis thought for a moment, wondering if such tidings would be more merciful coming from a stranger or from him. In the end, it mattered little. Kareena was dead, and Castil il Veras didn’t know it. The pain would be no less, no matter who delivered themessage.
“I’ll tell her. Kareena would have wished it, I think. She adored her friend. And if Madam il Veras was willing to travel so far, the sentiment was reciprocated.” He kept silent of his wish, his need, to once again speak with the woman who had haunted his dreams these manymonths.
