King Dom Comes (5 page)

"She
is your betrothed. Are you not curious as to what awaits you? You could use the
time of travel to come to know her before the wedding."

"Mikel,
if I care not for her, I just might very well disregard Father's last wishes
and send her walking off the side of the ship. Is that a risk that should be
taken?"

"You
would not do either of those things. Your father's last requests are something
you hold dear, despite your anger towards him. As for that young woman, I could
see you flaying her backside before you cause her harm." Mikel grinned.

"I
loathe it when you are correct about me," Dom sighed. "Are they
bringing the royal carriage?"

"They
are, Sire. Although, the ship's captain was displeased. He sent a raven with
this comment." Mikel removed a piece of cloth with words scribbled upon
it. "Please remember that I am simply delivering the message."

"I
am no stranger to the captain's bluntness. Continue."

"Very
well, Sire. He said to 'tell your king that this is a fool's mission. It is
better to have leeches shoved up his arse than to try to impress a female.
Especially one from the island. Only an idiot would engage one of those.' Sire,
I…" Mikel looked up as Dom suddenly burst forth choking. "Sire?"

Dom
was laughing with such force that his wine was spewed across the table and onto
his books. He fought desperately to contain his mirth, but fond childhood
memories of the one-legged, one-eyed, barrel-chested seaman erased the man's
profound statements of disrespect.

"Old
Barton never ceases his attempts to be executed, does he? He once told my
father that it would be the only way he would succumb to death. But he is
correct. It is a preposterous idea to bring the carriage aboard ship. It would
not have hurt for the female's delicate tail to endure riding a couple hours on
horseback, from the convent to the docks."

"Why,
then, is it being sent? Is she so fragile that even a simple journey would
bring her discomfort?"

"Is
she is, then she will suffer greatly during her passage. As for the
carriage," Dom sipped his watered wine with an exasperated sigh, "my
father, in all his infinite wisdom, wanted to make certain to have the last
word, and he was determined to have that word be loudly proclaimed. By being
attended in this manner from the convent to the docks, the female's people will
gain hope that one does not have to descend from royal lines to rule, and give
them the courage to fight for what is theirs. Likewise, the future queen's
travel across the land in royal escort is a declaration of our country's
strength and power."

"Your
father wished to make a statement that Moldavia would not fall under the same
political agenda adopted by other monarchies. He was opposed to their attitudes
that divided the classes, and loathed the enslavement of the people,"
Mikel explained.

"I
well understand that. What Father failed to see was that this hideous wagon is
a symbol promising a lifetime of misery to his son. Plus, it is an annoyance to
travel with. It is like a giant target for my enemies, and one that will have
to remain hidden in order to protect the bitch inside."

"Have
faith, Domitri," Mikel whispered, resting his hand on the young man's
shoulder. "Things are not always as they seem."

"Nay,
they are often even worse. Leave me now. I have accounts to complete."

Dom
waited until the old steward had left the room before going over to the
washbasin at the far end of the hall. He poured cold water into the bowl from a
pitcher and splashed it over his face. Taking a deep breath, he then submerged
his head into the vessel and waited.

As
before, the image of the female remained a blur. The fact that he was unable to
visualize her through his mind's eye was disturbing, and left him to wonder whether
she was, indeed, a child of the dark. As he had done during the prior months,
Dom focused his concentration on his attempt to see into the true nature of his
future wife. His lungs began to scream for air and, just before he lifted his
face from the water, the distorted creature turned. She stared directly at him
with eyes that embedded into his soul, and opened her mouth in a silent scream.

Dom
took two steps backwards, breaking away from the watery mirror of the world.
Had she actually seen him, or was it purely his imagination slightly skewed
with wine? Dom shook his head, wiping the wetness from his face and hair. He
peered back into the still water and saw only his own reflection. Dipping his
finger into the liquid, he watched the ripples and wondered who and what this
thing was that was coming to invade his life. Growling, he slapped the table.
These were questions he needed answers to before he risked the safety of his
kingdom.

"Mikel!"
he shouted across the great hall.

"Your
Grace?" Mikel ran to his king's side and made a quick bow.

"Saddle
my horse. I'm taking a trip."

"Sire?"

"I
am going with the elite to retrieve my betrothed. I must make certain that she
is taught the rules of my household before she enters my kingdom. Father told
me that she is stubborn and opinionated, and has no difficulty challenging
authority. That will not be permissible under my reign."

Mikel's
lips quirked into a half-smile. "Yes, I have heard the late king comment
on the disposition of the druid and her daughter several times. I suspect that
teaching this young Irish queen to follow your rules might pose a challenge.
Are you certain you are ready for it?"

"The
palm of my hand surely is. Since I have no other choice regarding our
betrothal, she will quickly learn to follow my instructions or end up across my
lap. That, my good steward, is a promise."

***

Shannon
rubbed her forehead. The image of a severe looking, dark-haired man with
piercing black eyes still wavered before her. She looked up as a sister entered
her chambers.

"Shannon?
You were screaming. You'd best have a good reason to wake up the entire
Abbey," the older woman said firmly. "Please tell me that you are not
throwing another tantrum. This journey will happen for you whether you wish it
to or not, and the caning you received earlier was not severe enough to keep
you awake."

"I
had that terrible dream again, but this time, it felt real," Shannon said,
wiping the perspiration off her face. "The only way to escape it was to
call out."

"A
dream that set you to keening? Tell me about this dream," The sister sat
upon the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress.

"There
is little to it. His head appeared alone, but I only saw an expression of
tremendous anger and disgust. He had a face, yet he did not." Shannon
shook her head, snatching her long, thick braid in her hand. "His hatred…
it frightened me. It was death. It was coming for me and I could not escape
it."

"Have
you had dreams such as this before?"

"No,
never like this," Shannon sighed, accepting the mug of watered wine.
"What does it mean?"

"I
don't know, child. Perhaps it is your anxiety. Come sit next to me and we will
run through your exercises. They will calm you."

Shannon
sighed and nodded, watching as the sister placed a candle on the dirt floor
before them.

"Spark
the flame and draw it into the air. Hold it steady with no flickering. The
flame is your consciousness. Focus…"

Shannon
closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, finding the quiet place inside her heart.
She placed the palm of her hand two spans above the wick and slowed her
breathing. The cotton stalk smoldered, and then burst into an orange and blue
flame. Her head started to pound as she focused on the image of a slim line of
fire stretching to touch the center of her bare hand.

"Concentrate,
child. The flame is swaying," the sister said, lifting the birch bundle
that was permanently perched against a wall.

"Please,
no birch this time. I beg you."

"Shannon,
you know it is easy to conjure when you are at peace, less so when you fight
against your pain. Keep your attention upon your task."

"May
I sing?"

"No."

Shannon
bit her lip in dread of the moment when the flame touched her palm. The
swishing sound of the birch distracted her, as did the biting sting slicing
across her back. She cried out as the flame exploded against her hand and
seared her flesh. She gritted her teeth to the pain, hissing as the birch
bundle whipped into her shoulders at a rate that sent bits and pieces flying
every which way.

"Raise
the flame, girl! Higher!"

Shannon's
tears began to fall as her back throbbed with the cutting bites of the whirring
birch. Over and over again, the sticks fell against her thinly clad skin, until
spots of blood began to seep through the rough linen.

The
flame was suddenly extinguished with a loud pop. "I can't," Shannon
sobbed, clutching her scorched hand before collapsing to the hard floor. Cool
rags were placed over the shredded fabric of her dressing gown as she hunched
over her knees, and trails of mud began to form as her tears mixed with the dirt
below.

"I
have failed the Sisterhood," Shannon cried. "I beg forgiveness."

"Nonsense."
A second woman entered the cubicle. "You did not call upon your screams.
One day you will be able to pull the flame through your hand, but you must
learn to control your mind and disregard the pain and fear."

"It
cannot be done, Grand Dame. I am so sorry."

"Defeat
only comes when one ceases to try. This exercise," the Grand Dame said,
placing her hand over the snuffed candle, "is only the beginning. It
teaches you how to call upon the forces of nature, even in the middle of chaos.
This discipline will save your life outside of these walls."

Shannon
watched in awe as the wick burst into a thick flame and began to rise towards
the old woman's palm. It touched the center of her hand and Shannon could smell
the burning flesh. Yet, the Grand Dame did not cry out. Shannon's mouth hung
open as the flame sizzled its way through the old hand and rose above it, until
it was so thin that it could no longer be seen.

And
then it vanished.

The
Grand Dame smiled and showed Shannon the tiny black hole that had burned clean
through her palm.

"Does
that not hurt?" Shannon asked, awed.

"I
will not allow the pain to take away my concentration. But yes, it does. Very
much."

Shannon
hesitated, fascinated by the smoldering injury. She reached forward with her
index finger and touched the wound, then yipped as a tiny, sharp bite was felt
in her fingers. The Grand Dame gasped.

"What
have you done, child?" she choked out.

"I
did not want you to feel such torment. Was taking that from you an evil
thing?" Shannon looked fearfully at the broken birch, her back still
feeling quite shredded.

"The
injury remains, but the pain is gone." The Grand Dame shook her head,
dumbstruck by the discovery. "You have been with us since you were a
child, and yet we never knew you to be capable of such a miraculous feat! Are
you able to take pain from yourself as well?"

"No,
Grand Dame. Had I been able to work such a trick then I would not have been
concerned about the frequent switchings."

"This
is true. What does it feel like?"

"My
fingers grow warm and then the energy jumps from my hand. It feels as though a
small bird pecked my fingers. Then it is done. As you see, it does not mend the
injury, it merely removes the pain."

"Perhaps
you can learn to heal by conjuring."

"I
fear that gift is not mine. Had it been, King Malkai would still be
alive," Shannon said sadly, picking up her comb.

"Give
that to me," the Grand Dame ordered. She began to gently run it through
Shannon's locks. "You must pursue a way to control your thoughts when
distressed. That discipline will be what keeps true evil from harming
you."

Shannon
began to relax, soothed by the combing. "Mother used the comb my hair when
I was distressed," she said aloud. "Grand Dame? This place I am going
to—Moldavia—is it bound by rules of the common religion? Will I be
declared a demon?"

"The
sins and judgment of this world are everywhere, my dear daughter," the old
lady sighed, stroking Shannon's head. "Trust no one with your secret. Use
it only to defend your life or help those in need, but let no one know that it
is in you."

"No
one? Not even my husband to be?"

The
Grand Dame looked at the young woman with sorrow. "Your birth-father
killed your mother because of ignorance and hate. He fueled his jealousy by
stirring forth fear, and when people are afraid, they cease to reason. You
cannot trust that anyone, not even a husband, will protect you, or that he will
see what you have as being a gift."

"But
Domitri's father knew of it. He also told me that his son had gifts as
well."