The Vaich dragged him behind the velvet drapery, whispering his fury through the candlelight. “I warn you now, do not fight me for all to see.”
The druid struggled against him. “I would not need to fight you if you knew not to be a brute.”
“A Queen—awife—should be kind andquiet.”
“I am not your wife! Not now and not ever!”
The Vaich held fast, but there came a growling at his feet as the pups set their black gazes upon him. He sneered. “So much for loyalty.”
“I was not given into your collection, and you well know it. Something brought me here—greater than Ioryou. Whether gods or prophecy, I do not know, but I have had visions. Something dwells beyond the storm.”
“Not this rambling again—”
“It isn’t rambling! And youmustlisten! I have seen their pale ships. They come—”
“Of course.” The Vaich laughed. “Of course.” He released the druid as if his skin had scalded him and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Othrik was right. You’re faithless and mad.”
“You think me deranged?”
“You think yourself a prophet! It’s hysteria.”
“I have dreamt—”
“Men do not dream,” hissed the Vaich. “I am not a fool.”
“Youarea fool! Your gods spokemyname! But you will bury your head in the dirt—”
“Enough! I was warned of you. This game you’d play.”
“It is not a game! I give myself willingly to your hand—why should I do so? To have you listen! To help—”
“I ken what you want.” The Vaich’s eyes flicked to the silver diadem. “And you will not have it.” He tore himself away, even as the druid tried to pull him back. But the moment was shattered.
He stood, trembling in its wake, the pups geckering at his feet.
“Why?” he whispered. “What would you have me do against such a man?”
He received no answer.
They feasted for hours into the night. No one seemed any the wiser to the druid’s change in mood. The Vaich returned to the crowd. It was clear that he enjoyed it. There was no trace of rage nor worry upon his face, as if the druid had been nothing but a passing ghost; momentarily unsettling and otherwise forgotten.
What had revealed itself to him in the lake had brought the Oracle—the voice of gods—to her knees. And without her word, without her influence, he was powerless. Even if he should stand and tell them all of his truths… No one would listen. Even if he should scream it with all his lungs, no one would hear. But if he could not make them see… then what would he do?
The party was in full swing. A servant came and took the pups to kennel, and the druid found himself approached again. This time by an old acquaintance—Jor.
The two hadn’t spoken since the king’s feast, and now, again, were caught amongst revelry.
Jor said, “It seems we are similar, druid. Two sides to the same smoothed stone.”
“I’m afraid I am not profound enough to understand your metaphor.”
“Oh, I think you are quite profound. Long washed by the beating sea.”
“Until two months ago,” said the druid, “I had never seen the sea. Yet, somehow, it haunts me.”
Jor eyed him. “I should congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials. Seems the matter is settled after all.”
“I would say it is far from settled. It is decided, and that is all.” He wondered, then, what the man might say if he told him of his visions. He supposed he, too, might think it madness, but would there also be care? He thought of Lady Merah. Jor’s mother was a woman of compassion and wisdom. If her son were at all similar, maybe he would understand.
