I don’t know how you get used to just riding up to the castle gates as if you owned the place.” Rhistiart rode alongside Cam. It was market day in the palace city, and down the long road that led to Aberponte, vendors cajoled and bargained with passersby to purchase all types of foods, housewares, and jewelry. Cam and Rhistiart maneuvered their horses carefully through the throng as children ran across their path and shoppers bumped and jostled their way through the crowd.
“Every now and then, I wonder at it myself,” Cam admitted. “You’ve seen Brunnfen. It’s hardly the center of the aristocratic world in Isencroft. ‘Backwater’ doesn’t seem to quite cover it. That used to stick in Alvior’s craw. The few times he went to court with Father, he came home fuming because he wasn’t dressed properly and he was ashamed. That didn’t go over well with Father. He was more practical. It didn’t matter to him whether he had the latest fashions or not. That’s probably one reason he and Donelan got on so well.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way. Cam kept trying to imagine just how he would break the enormity of Alvior’s betrayal to Donelan, and he hoped the king would maintain his usual practicality in his response. After all the blows he’d taken from his older brother over the years, Cam had no desire to bear the brunt of the king’s wrath for Alvior’s treachery. Rhistiart seemed to sense Cam’s mood and, for once, kept his songs and stories to himself.
They passed the lower guards with a cheerful greeting from the soldiers who recognized Cam and welcomed him back. Stable hands ran to take their reins as they reached the courtyard. Cam headed for the broad palace steps, and turned to see Rhistiart standing still.
“I thought I’d see to our bags,” Rhistiart said nervously.
Cam glanced around the bustling courtyard. “There are servants for that.”
Rhistiart swallowed nervously. “What are squires for?”
Cam sighed and grabbed the reluctant silversmith by the arm. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re an eyewitness to what we found at Brunnfen. I want someone to back me up. I’d rather Isencroft not prepare for war on my word alone.”
“War? Nobody said anything about war,” Rhistiart protested as Cam prodded him toward the steps. “This isn’t really what I had in mind.”
“You wanted an adventure. Well, we’re right in the middle of one, and from what we saw at Brunnfen, it’s a lot scarier than Leather John and his Divisionists. If Alvior really does come back across the Northern Sea, I guarantee you he’ll have more than a few dozen malcontents with him.”
Cam strode off through Aberponte’s corridors, greeted and waved on by the guards and servants who recognized him. Rhistiart ran behind him, making halfhearted objections that Cam ignored. Cam finally stopped at the entrance to the king’s private chambers. Rhistiart hung back as Cam spoke quietly to the two guards at the doors. One of them disappeared inside, and Cam waited, drawing a deep breath to ready himself.
The double doors flew open. “Cam! You’re back! Thank Chenne. You look well. Come in, come in. How’s that leg doing?” King Donelan stood in the doorway. Though he was not dressed for formal court, one glance would have told anyone who wondered that this was Isencroft’s king. Donelan was a bear of a man, tall, broad-shouldered, and barrel-chested. He’d earned a reputation for reckless courage on the battlefield as a young man, and for a bottomless zeal for life as he aged that included a love of fine brandy and good hunting. The brocade doublet in rich tones of brown and gold accentuated hair that showed few signs of gray though Donelan was well into his fifth decade. His grin was genuine, as was the energy with which he embraced Cam like a long-absent son.
Cam smiled and motioned for Rhistiart to follow him into the king’s chambers, paying no heed as Rhistiart looked around himself, wide-eyed. “Leg’s much improved, thanks to Carina. I’ve got a thick letter in my bags for you. She made me promise to give it to you right away. And of course, she sends her love.” Cam chuckled. “I hope she delivers those twins on time, because she’s already as big as a house with two more months to go. But everything you’ve heard about how her healing magic has grown is true. She healed the rift in the Flow, and she can mind heal. Oh, and she can also reduce the pain of injuries to vayash moru and vyrkin.”
Donelan shook his head in amazement. “Truly? I thought such tales grew in the telling. And what of Jonmarc?”
“Up to his ass in trouble of one sort or another, as usual. If it’s not an uprising among rogue vayash moru, it’s undead refugees afraid of retribution for the plague or the mortal residents who are cranky about all the new vayash moru and vyrkin.”
Donelan uncorked a decanter of brandy and poured a generous amount for Cam. Rhistiart had stepped back to stand along the wall, for once as still and silent as the paintings. “I’ve got Allestyr working on a banquet in your honor,” Donelan continued, pausing to take a drink from his glass and give a sigh of contentment at the fine liquor. “Would have done it before this, but you were too banged up to enjoy it.” He gave Cam a knowing look. “I took the liberty of having him contact the head of the Brewers Guild. Your last letter indicated that you and that spitfire of a girl-”
“Rhosyn.”
Donelan made a gesture as if he recognized the name, and then went on. “Yes, yes. So you’re still planning on marrying the girl?”
Cam swallowed wrong and began to cough, startled at the turn of conversation. “Yes, we are. I mean, I am.”
“Good, good. I’ll do the honors myself. We can do it right before the banquet, give you two things to celebrate.”
Cam could only nod. Behind him, Rhistiart was chuckling from the shadows. “Oh, you’ve brought the silversmith back with you?” Donelan said, casting a glance to where Rhistiart was doing his best to be inconspicuous. “Good for you. He can help Allestyr pull the whole thing together. How did he like Brunnfen?”
Cam was used to Donelan’s abrupt changes in direction, but he was certain that the rapidly switching subjects were making Rhistiart’s head spin. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons I brought Rhistiart with me to the palace today. I have some more bad news for you from Brunnfen.”
Donelan frowned. “Renn’s well? They’re far enough north that the plague hasn’t reached them, I hope.”
Cam shook his head. “No, no. But I’m afraid there’s evidence that Alvior’s treason goes further than we first thought.” He paused. “We’ve seen evidence that I think shows Alvior means to return with an invasion fleet.”
Donelan’s mood changed as quickly as his topics of conversation. “Then we’d best have a few other people hear this,” he said, all joviality gone from his voice. He leaned outside the door and spoke to the guards. When he returned, his face was serious. “I’d like the head of the Veigonn in on this, as well as General Vinian. If war’s coming, they need to know.”
Cam felt nearly as nervous as Rhistiart looked as they waited. But before long, both Wilym, the head of the elite Veigonn, Donelan’s private guard, and General Vinian arrived. Donelan motioned for them to join him in chairs near the fireplace, where a banked fire kept the chill away. Donelan insisted that Rhistiart also step forward to assist in the telling of the tale, and he forced a generous portion of brandy into Rhistiart’s hand, which was visibly shaking.
Donelan, Wilym, and Vinian listened in silence as Cam recounted what they had found at Brunnfen. Rhistiart corroborated Cam’s story, as well as vouching for Renn’s ignorance of Alvior’s betrayal and Cam’s brother’s willingness to do anything to help capture Alvior and prevent his return to Brunnfen. Throughout the telling, Donelan’s expression grew dark and his eyes flashed with anger. When Cam and Rhistiart finished their tale, Donelan sprang from his chair.
“By the Whore! If Alvior wants war, then he’ll find it here.” He glanced at Wilym. “I’ll write to Tris Drayke in Margolan, to Staden in Principality and Kalcen in Eastmark. Their kingdoms border on the Northern Sea. They’d best know what’s brewing. We have no idea whether this invasion of Alvior’s would just target Isencroft, or whether it’s the entire coastline that’s at risk. I want riders ready at dawn to ride as hard as they can with the letters. The others need to be warned.”
General Vinian looked to Cam. “You have no idea of Alvior’s timetable?”
“If he intends to bring ships into Brunnfen’s harbor, then he’ll have to come before winter. What I gathered from Father’s ghost gave me to think it would be sometime in the fall.”
Vinian looked to Wilym. “That doesn’t leave us much time, especially if we’re to field an army and ready ourselves for an invasion fleet.”
“I’ve always been one to keep my feet solidly on dry ground,” Cam said. “But what of Isencroft’s navy? Can it hold off an invasion?”
Vinian shrugged. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had cause to worry. The kingdoms on the far side of the Northern Sea have kept to themselves for over a hundred years. Long ago, Eristan the explorer brought back ships with silver, gems, and furs from Temnotta, the Midnight Land. There were a few attempts to exchange ambassadors, but the king of Temnotta grew suspicious. He was afraid that Eristan would return with warships to take Temnotta’s riches. So the king closed the borders, and for generations, foreign ships have been refused entry.” Vinian rubbed his chin as he thought.
“Of course, that king would be long dead. We’ve had little information from Temnotta, and most of it can’t be verified. But what we’ve heard from traders who were allowed entry and from vayash moru who have come through Temnotta is that the succession was uncertain and that there was tension between rival aristocratic families. Several of the men in line for the throne died under suspicious circumstances. There’s very little known about the new king except that he’s fairly young-perhaps thirty summers at most-and that he comes from a noble family with strong ties to the military. We don’t even have a name.”
“What of the Northern Raiders? Where do they come in?” Cam asked, accepting a second drink when Donelan offered the decanter.
“The Northern Raiders have been at odds with Temnotta more than they’ve been aligned,” Wilym replied, swirling the dark brandy in his glass. “The Raiders hold the outer islands, and to the best of our knowledge, they owe fealty to no king. They’re a loose alliance of warlords who are just as likely to be fighting each other as anyone else, and they’ve usually been more interested in looting and carrying off prisoners than they have been in conquering territory.”
“I’d heard it said that the raids came more often long ago, before Isencroft was a kingdom,” Cam mused. “And that in those days, the Raiders sometimes stayed behind to trade or farm. There are rumors, in the coastal towns at least, that many a family had mixed blood with Raiders who traded more than trinkets and fur.”
Wilym nodded. “And the rumors are probably true. But the Raiders alone wouldn’t pose a threat to Isencroft, not without a navy behind them. Or at least they wouldn’t be a challenge to the king, but they might make a mess of the villages and rural areas, until we could get soldiers out to take care of it.”
Cam sighed. “At least we’re rid of the Divisionists.”
Wilym and Vinian exchanged a glance that made Cam’s heart sink. “Not totally,” Wilym said. “You took out the head of their organization, but there’s still anger among the rabble about Kiara’s marriage to Martris Drayke, and now that their child’s been born, it makes the idea of a joint throne even more ominous. We think the Divisionists have gone underground. We’re not counting them out yet.”
“Do you think they’ve still got ties to Alvior’s treason?”
Vinian shrugged. “Who knows? We’ve had years of poor harvests, and now, the plague. People are angry, and they blame the king. They don’t think about whether or not he could fix what ails them, but he’s in charge, so to their thinking, it must be his fault. I think Alvior was always using the Divisionists as pawns. They were just to draw off the army’s attention from the real threat. If Alvior really was in league with Temnotta, then he was never worried about the joint throne. He had plans all along to be Temnotta’s puppet king himself.”
“Was either group said to use magic? What we found at Brunnfen was a workshop for a mage.”
To Cam’s surprise, Wilym nodded, and his expression was solemn. “The legends say that Temnotta had many powerful mages, the Volshe. It was rumored that the kings of Temnotta ruled at the pleasure of the Volshe, and that it was the Volshe, not the kings, that cut off trade with the Winter Kingdoms, for fear their secrets might be stolen.”
“Do the legends say what kind of mages the Volshe were?”
Again, Wilym nodded. “The legends talk about blood magic, and about mages that could create horrors to punish their enemies. That’s consistent with the few stories we’ve gotten from the vayash moru, and what little our agents have been able to confirm.”
Cam finished his drink. It did little to calm him. “So the idea of a dark summoner coming from across the Northern Sea isn’t unthinkable.”
“No,” Vinian answered. “Unfortunately, it’s not unthinkable at all.”
By ninth bells, the fear of war was replaced by a very different kind of fear. Cam shifted from foot to foot as Rhistiart fussed over Cam’s uniform jacket and adjusted the new medal pinned there to let it hang straight. “Stand still! Sweet Chenne, if you’ve got nerves like a cat, how do you manage going to battle?”
Cam could feel himself beginning to sweat, although the night was cool. “Battle is one thing. This is my wedding. There’s no comparison.”
Rhistiart chuckled. “I wouldn’t know myself, but I’ve heard it said that both are forms of warfare.”
They waited in a small parlor just off Donelan’s private quarters. It was a room Cam had visited many times when he and the king had spent pleasant evenings playing dice or swapping tall tales over a bottle of brandy. Cam tried to remember a time when he’d felt quite as nervous and couldn’t think of one. “I imagine there’s a back door if you’ve changed your mind,” Rhistiart said with a grin.
“No, no. Rhosyn’s everything I ever wanted in a woman,” Cam replied, aware that his voice was not entirely steady. “I love her hair. I love her curves. I love her laugh.”
“And you love my daddy’s ale.” They turned to see Rhosyn in the doorway. Rhosyn’s unruly red hair was swept up and secured by a golden mesh. Her gown was in Isencroft’s traditional colors of flame, sacred to the Warrior Aspect, Chenne. Red silk, edged with a border of orange, made Rhosyn’s pale skin glow. The silk hugged her ample curves and Cam swallowed hard as he felt his body react appreciatively.
“Yes, I love your daddy’s ale, but that’s beside the point,” Cam said, moving to take Rhosyn’s hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop on the way to the palace. I had news for Donelan that couldn’t wait.”
Rhosyn sighed. “Always business.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Since it was for the king, I guess I can forgive you.” She grinned as Cam drew her close for a kiss. When they moved apart, she gave an appraising look to Cam’s newly healed leg. “How did it heal?”
In answer, Cam walked from one side of the room to the other. The limp was noticeable, but not pronounced. “Do I meet your approval? After all, no one buys a horse without checking to see if it’s lame.”
Rhosyn shook her head, as if she guessed that Cam’s humor hid a very real fear that she might reject him. “Cam of Cairnrach! You know I’d have you even if you were gimping along with a wooden peg. And here I was, hoping that your sister might knock some sense into that thick head of yours!”
Cam laughed. “Carina’s been trying to do that for years. If you ever figure out how, you’ll have to promise to let her know.”
Rhosyn took Cam’s hand, and beneath the banter he could see nervousness in her eyes. She smoothed her skirts with her free hand. “You should have seen the look on Father’s face when a messenger came from the palace with an invitation from the king. Father’d been thinking all along that we’d have the wedding down at the tavern. After all,” she said with a sly smile, “it’s one of your favorite spots. He’d already insisted that I spend a small fortune on the dress and he’d had his jacket made special for the occasion. He didn’t want it said you were marrying below your station.”
Cam frowned. “You know I’m not concerned with things like that.”
“Some are. Father didn’t want to embarrass you. But he never expected that the king himself would marry us.”
“You’ve met Donelan before, when I was sick. Is he that fearsome?”
Rhosyn’s eyes were wide. “He’s the king, isn’t he? That’s plenty fearsome.”
Cam squeezed her hand. “I’m glad it didn’t scare you off.”
Rhosyn tossed her head. “Takes more than the king to scare me away from you, Cam of Cairnrach. I’m made of sterner stuff than that!”
Just then, the door opened and Donelan swept into the room. Despite her protestations a moment before, Rhosyn paled enough that Cam feared she might swoon. Donelan seemed oblivious. Behind Donelan trailed Allestyr, the seneschal. Rhistiart stepped back, and Cam knew that the silversmith probably would have found an excuse to bolt from the room had Cam not expressly asked that he stay as a witness.
“We’ve got a roomful of guests ready for a banquet downstairs,” Donelan said. “Let’s get you two married so there’s even more reason to celebrate.” He peered at Rhosyn as if it were the first time he had looked closely at her. “Let me see you, girl.” Rhosyn was trembling, but she put on a good face and stepped forward. Donelan stroked his chin.
“I assume that you’ve seen this great ox when he’s well into his cups,” Donelan said. “I’d hate to think you didn’t know what you were getting into.”
Rhosyn drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve helped him stagger into the guest room to sleep off many a feast night, and on occasion, I’ve heard him sing and lived to tell about it. There’s no one who’ll do but him.”
Donelan nodded and looked at Cam. “She’s got enough fire in her belly to keep you in line, m’boy,” he said, and Cam heard the humor beneath Donelan’s sober expression. “She just might finish what Carina started and make you presentable after all.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Your Majesty,” Cam replied.
Donelan clapped them both on the shoulder. His huge hand nearly staggered Rhosyn, but she managed to keep her feet. “Excellent. Well then, let’s get on with it.” Allestyr handed an ermine stole to Donelan, as Cam and Rhosyn clasped their right hands together, facing one another. Donelan wrapped the stole four times around their hands. A large pendant of the dragon seal of Isencroft hung from a heavy chain around Donelan’s neck. He raised the pendant and touched it to his lips, and then removed the chain and draped it over the stole.
“Cam of Cairnrach, Lord of Brunnfen, and Rhosyn, daughter of Elkhart of the Brewers Guild. Be it known that from this day on, you are joined as man and wife by order of Donelan, King of Isencroft, witnessed this day by Allestyr and Rhistiart. May your days be long and may all the faces of the Lady smile upon you.” Donelan reclaimed his pendant and unwound the mantle from around their hands. Only then did Cam realize he had been holding his breath.
Donelan leaned forward and planted a kiss on Rhosyn’s cheek before the astonished girl had the chance to react. The king turned to Cam with a rakish grin. “There’s time before the cook brings out the venison and the banquet gets under way for the two of you to greet each other properly. Do me proud and have a baby on the way before we’re off to war.”
With that, Donelan was gone, striding from the room without a backward glance. Allestyr followed, and Rhistiart paused just before he left the room. “I took the liberty of having the servants tidy up Cam’s room to suit a lady’s sensibilities,” he said.
Rhosyn grinned, and punched Cam jokingly on the arm. “What ladies have you been having up to your room?”
Rhistiart glanced from Rhosyn to Cam, not sure whether the misunderstanding was deliberate. “M’lady, I readied his room with you in mind-”
Cam and Rhosyn both laughed, and Rhistiart relaxed, fleeing with a chagrined look on his face.
“Don’t go getting ideas that I’m going to be one of those fancy court ladies,” Rhosyn teased. “I’m from good, solid, common stock, and not ashamed of it.”
Cam wrapped his arm around Rhosyn’s waist. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
By eleventh bells, the feast was ready to begin. Cam was impressed by Allestyr’s ability to put such a gathering together on short notice. Then again, Cam realized, it was the night before the Moon Feast, and Allestyr would have had nearly everything ready for the holiday. Cam squeezed Rhosyn’s hand to reassure her as they entered. A cry went up from Wilym and the Veigonn in greeting, which was echoed by the guests, all of whom Cam recognized. He glanced at Rhosyn. Cam knew her well enough to know that the attention unsettled her, but Rhosyn had years of experience with crowds at the tavern. She squared her shoulders and smiled, and although she was nervous, the smile was genuine.
“A toast to Cam, Lord of Brunnfen, King’s Champion, and his bride Rhosyn!” Wilym made the toast, raising his tankard high. Voices echoed the toast, adding ribald comments and shouting well wishes. One of the servants ran to fill goblets for both Cam and Rhosyn. Out of the corner of his eye, Cam spotted Rhistiart busily helping Allestyr and looking like he’d been managing palace events all his life.
“To Cam and his lady! Hear, hear!”
Musicians struck up a lively tune, and Rhosyn began to sway to the music as she sipped her ale. A burly man with wild, red hair shouldered his way through the crowd. He was broad-shouldered and wide-chested, with strong arms and hands broadened by work. Tonight, he wore a jacket of dark green brocade with puffed sleeves and gilt trim, and it took Cam a moment to recognize Elkhart, Rhosyn’s father, since he had never in all his years seen the brewer dressed for court.
“Cam, Rhosyn, the Lady’s blessings on you!” Elkhart said. He slapped Cam on the back hard enough to slosh the ale in Cam’s tankard. “It’s good to see you up and about, m’lad,” he said with an appraising glance. “Last I’d heard, you looked as if you’d been ridden over by a tinker’s caravan!”
Cam grinned ruefully. “I would have been in better shape had it only been a tinker’s caravan. But thanks to the king’s battle healer, Trygve, and my sister, Carina, they patched the worst of it up right.”
Elkhart glanced down at Cam’s feet. “Looks like you kept the leg, thank Chenne for that.”
Cam nodded. “I understand I put both Trygve’s and Carina’s healing to the test. It’s good to be back.” He slipped his arm around Rhosyn’s shoulders.
Elkhart looked at Rhosyn, and the burly man teared up. “You’re a beauty to rival any at court in that dress, my dear.” He sniffed back tears as Rhosyn beamed. Elkhart looked up at Cam worriedly. “It’s not true what I hear, that there may be war, is it?”
Cam shifted uneasily, and Rhosyn looked to him with an expression that mirrored Elkhart’s concern. “There’s a threat from the north coming that we can’t afford to ignore. But I pray to the Lady that nothing comes of it, or that we put it right quickly.”
Elkhart nodded. “That’s how it goes, isn’t it? Ah, well. Tonight, we celebrate.” He managed a smile, although this time, it did not entirely reach his eyes. “Eat. Drink. Make merry. You deserve this night.” He glanced over his shoulder to where the ale was being poured, and was suddenly all business. “Wouldn’t do to run out of ale at the king’s celebration, would it?” He kissed Rhosyn on the cheek and ambled off through the crowd, already giving orders to the men from the brewery.
“Moon Feast at Aberponte is one of my favorites,” Cam said, steering Rhosyn through the partygoers to where a groaning board of food awaited. The scent of roasted venison, mutton, and duck filled the room, along with the delicious aroma of onions, leeks, and parsnips. Pies, cobblers, and trifles filled the air with the smell of baked apples, raisins, and rum sauce. Cam sighed. There was much he enjoyed about being the King’s Champion, and the palace food was worth every bit of danger he endured.
He steered Rhosyn to a balcony. “Look there,” he said, pointing. Bonfires flared in the courtyard, sending flames high into the night sky. Lanterns in the shape of the moon’s phases hung from trees and from cords strung back and forth across the open space. In the center of the courtyard, a large figure of a man made from dried cornstalks and tree branches blazed. The air was sweet with the smell of incense to the Sacred Lady and of ritual herbs rising on the smoke. Festivalgoers carried candle-lit lanterns on poles in the shape of the phases of the moon. The night sky was filled with paper lanterns lifted into the air by a fire within that carried them up to the clouds, and with them, the prayers of the people who released the lantern kites to the heavens.
“Tomorrow, there’ll be jousting all day. We get to sit in the king’s box to watch. I guarantee we’ll have the best seats!”
Rhosyn laughed. “And are you one of the jousters?”
Cam shook his head. “I’m a foot soldier at heart, not cavalry. Wilym will joust as the King’s Favorite. I can fight on horseback, but I much prefer to have the ground under my feet.”
Along one side, eight women in white robes filed into the courtyard. The crowd parted like water for them.
“Who are they?” Rhosyn murmured in an awed voice.
Cam’s eyes widened. “The Oracle and her attendants. This is very unusual. She doesn’t come to the palace. Kings go to her.” He touched Rhosyn’s sleeve. “Let’s go back inside. We’ll know why the Oracle is here soon enough.”
They had just filled their plates when trumpet fanfare blared from the doorway. King Donelan swept into the room, attended by two members of the Veigonn and half a dozen pages and retainers. He stopped in the center of the room as the crowd quieted.
“Good Gentles, all,” Donelan boomed. His voice filled the room and his force of personality assured that he had everyone’s full attention. “Tonight we thank the Lady, Mother, Childe, Lover, and especially our patron, the Warrior Chenne, for the harvest to be gathered.” One of his aides pressed a tankard into his right hand and a fresh loaf of bread into his left.
“We thank Her for the wine and ale that sustain us through the winter, and for the bread that feeds us. And we thank our Lady Chenne for the bounty of the hunters and the victory of the warriors. All praise to the Lady!”
Cheers erupted from the crowd and tankards rose into the air in salute. Donelan smiled, pleased with the crowd and the evening. But as quickly as the cheers had risen, the room suddenly fell silent as the white-cowled figures appeared in the doorway. Donelan turned slowly, and his eyes widened to see the newcomers.
“My lady Oracle,” Donelan said, bowing. Everyone in the room also bowed. A few fell to their knees. The faces of the Oracle and her acolytes were hidden beneath their cowls. The Oracle moved to the front as her entourage parted.
“Donelan, son of Jendran, grandson of Talith, I bear a message from Our Lady Chenne.”
Donelan took a step forward and spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “M’lady, we did not anticipate the honor of your presence. I have no gift for you.”
“The Lady desires no gift save your understanding.” The Oracle’s voice was clear, but if there was a face beneath the cowl, it was lost in shadow.
“Do you desire a private place to give your message? Is it for all to hear?”
“This is a true saying, one that touches all of Isencroft,” the Oracle replied. “All may hear it.”
“Speak, m’lady, and I will listen.”
Even though the Oracle’s face was hidden beneath her cowl, Cam had the feeling that Donelan’s deference pleased her. Cam had heard Donelan express his doubts about the Oracle’s wisdom on more than one occasion. Donelan was a man who preferred action and plain-spokenness. The Oracle’s pronouncements were often vague and open to interpretation, making it difficult to take decisive action.
“Harsh winds blow from the north. Fire burns the edge of the sea. Old graves spill forth their bones and souls are torn from the Lady’s embrace. Hear us, son of Jendran. Crowns will fall, and scepters pass to untested hands. All that has been will change. A War of Unmaking is now upon us. Even She of the Amber Eyes cannot see its end.”
Donelan hesitated for a moment, and then did something Cam did not expect. The proud king knelt stiffly and bowed his head. “Oracle of My Lady Chenne, if I have displeased my goddess, then let Her vengeance fall on me and me alone. Do not bring a War of Unmaking on the Winter Kingdoms.”
The Oracle glided closer to Donelan and laid her hand on his head. Or rather, something under her long, wide sleeve rested on the king’s crown. No part of the body beneath the robe was exposed to view, and Cam shuddered, wondering whether or not the Oracle was even human.
“You have well pleased My Lady. The fault lies not in you, or in the crowns of Her kingdoms. There is a current, swift and cold, and it bears all away in its depths. As the moon moves through her phases, so our times move from full to dark. I bear the message that darkness rises. But take heart, Donelan, son of Jendran, darkness also passes.”
With that, the Oracle and her entourage turned and left as swiftly and silently as they had come. Donelan rose, and for a moment, before his studied expression slipped back into place, Cam met Donelan’s eyes and saw something there he had never seen before. Fear.