The captain of my Royal Guard had been in love with me for years. I knew it. Not intuitively, as I did many other things I have no way of knowing, but as a woman knows when a man is in love with her. Pieter was handsome. He was strong, yet kindhearted. I respected and admired him. Cared about him. In another life, another world, we might have become lovers. But he accepted that he could never have me. He understood duty and honor, both his own and mine, and he would never overstep the boundaries society had placed between us.
“Please, Pieter, humor me in this. I want you to quit thinking of me as your queen. Pretend I’m a cocky young recruit. Train me as you would train him. Show me how a real soldier fights. Let me take the blows, so I have no doubt I can be brought to my knees and still find the strength to rise and fight on.” I stood. Put my hand on his shoulder. “Will you do that for me, Pieter? Will you make me a warrior?”
The next day, my training began in earnest. Hand-to-hand combat, Tridacian wrangling, advanced bowstaff. And finally, the sword. I leaned to parry, to thrust. To lift with the muscles in my upper back when blocking a strike. To plant my feet then surge with the power of the earth behind me. I developed muscle and speed and stamina. And with every lesson, every blow I took, I gained the strength to face my fate.
I welcomed the training. Learning how to defend myself, how to attack and disarm an opponent, required every ounce of my concentration. During those precious hours, I was able to clear my mind. I couldn’t dwell on the prophecies of the Oracle when a soldier was coming at me with his bowstaff whirling, threatening to sweep my legs out from under me then knock me in the head while I was down.
Every other moment of the day, her dire warnings and cryptic verses replayed themselves in my head, like one of those annoying songs that sticks in your mind. Playing in an endless loop just below your conscious thoughts until it becomes a mental leech sucking away your sanity.
How could I forget? Though I tried to dismiss them as the ravings of a madwoman, I knew they were true. Iknew. The moment the Oracle began to speak, I recognized the truth of her words in the depths of my soul.
* * *
I still remember every moment of my journey to the temple.
We left the morning after my coronation. Once again, Antonius dragged me from my bed, grousing and complaining. I had a horrible headache, probably from supporting the weight of that damned crown all day, and I was exhausted from the hours of ceremonial duties I’d had to perform.
Coronation Day is a time of celebration for the common folk. A day away from the usual grind. There’s a royal parade in the street then partying in the pubs. Toasting the new monarch’s health with round after round of mead and ale. But for the new ruler, it rips away the bandage over grief, a stark reminder he or she is there only because a loved one is dead. And any heir to the throne grows up schooled in the traditions and responsibilities of ruling. Knowing he or she has lost forever the ability to live any semblance of a normal life doubles the grief.
So, I was in a terrible mood. And the journey didn’t improve it.
We set out early in the morning. The shops were still shuttered, the streets covered with litter. The carriage wheels ran over my likeness on banners that had fluttered to the ground or been torn down by jubilant crowds. I took that as a bad omen. Any celebration that includes citizens cheering and singing while stomping on your face doesn’t bode well.
We headed through the silent streets at a fast clip, and soon left the city behind.
I stuck my head out the window and breathed deep. It was still early enough that the scent of moonflowers lingered in the air, though their buds were once again tightly furled. The journey itself was an adventure. On any other day, I’d have welcomed it. Exclaimed in wonder at the vistas laid out before me, the beauty of my kingdom. The World of the Seven Stars had everything – vast fertile plains stretching off into the distance, a ragged dark range of mountains on the horizon blocking us from the desert beyond. Though I couldn’t see it, the ocean lay to our right, with a tropical jungle on its southern shores.
This morning, a mist lay over the fields. The heat of the sun would soon lift it, but for now it covered everything in a warm, damp blanket. I closed my eyes and breathed, emptying my mind.
The fresh air eventually restored my wits enough to care about our destination, and I pulled my head in. “Where are we going, Antonius? I’ve been everywhere in the kingdom, but I’ve never seen or heard about an Oracle in a temple.”
He’d been staring off into space, lost in thought. “To Mt. Jarazal,” he replied automatically. Then his eyes focused on me. “So you’ve been everywhere in the kingdom, have you?” His voice held more than a trace of sarcasm.
“You know I have. You were usually with us,” I replied tartly. Was Antonius suffering from memory loss?
I softened my tone. Perhaps it was to be expected at his age. “If you recall, Papa began taking me along on his journeys when I was just a child. We visited the lords of every realm once a year. My father made a point of checking on the welfare of his citizens on a regular basis. I plan to do the same,” I reminded him. “But I’ve never seen or heard of Mt. Jarazal.”
“There’s a great deal you’ve never seen or heard of,” he replied cryptically.
I wasn’t about to be sidetracked by his crankiness. “Where is this mountain?”
He waved vaguely to the jagged dark peaks on the horizon. “There.”
The mountain range that curved protectively around the kingdom defined our world. Beyond lay a vast desert, inhabited only by snakes and scorpions. Father told me no one ever ventured there and lived to tell about it.
Even if some foolhardy soul wanted to explore the desert, the mountains were a formidable barrier. On the northern end, the peaks were covered with snow year-round. To the south lay a dormant volcanic crater.
We headed south.
The trip took three days. Antonius had alerted no one of our journey, so unlike on my other trips, we weren’t hosted by local gentry at the end of each day. We traveled in a plain carriage without the royal insignia painted on the doors. He insisted I wear frocks in drab shades of gray and navy blue, and a cloak with a hood to draw around my face when we were among other people. There were no feasts in my honor. At night, we stayed in wayfarer’s inns, with Antonius taking on the role of my grandfather. He cautioned me about speaking as little as possible to those we met along the way.
“Why such secrecy?”
“Melisandre, the Lord of Darkness has risen. He has taken down your father, and you are his only heir. His followers could be anywhere. No one can know the new queen is in their midst. You’ll understand when you meet the Oracle.”
Antonius busied himself during the journey consulting ancient scrolls he pulled from a wooden trunk then scribbling notes to himself, muttering all the while. Left to my own devices, I passed the hours thinking about my father. Remembering the wonderful times we’d had together as I fingered the locket on a gold chain around my neck. Father had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday. It held miniature portraits of him and my mother, likenesses of them on their wedding day.
Mother died when I was five. My memory of her was hazy. I’d seen official portraits of both her and my father, but I treasured the locket because the artist had caught something in both their expressions that I never saw in the ones hanging on display in the palace. He painted them so when the locket was open, they gazed toward each other. Looking tender and young and so much in love. My parents were blessed. Father didn’t have to choose a bride to unite warring factions of his kingdom or bring wealth to his coffers. He was free to follow his heart.