Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
The Wolves Den II
It was a challenge. The druid knew the Vaich was not a man who could surrender. Not with the hot blood running in his veins. Still, the cards remained stacked in his favor, whether he had earned them or not.
The druid meandered through the crowd like a second thought—jostled by wayward elbows, and nearly trampled by great beasts of men.
They cantered about in celebration, bare chests on display.
Some exhibited expert showmanship, their bodies either flesh-painted or carved.
The former was a ceremonial procedure conceived by his ilk in ancient times.
Though the men of the west would hardly recognize the druids’ part now, and his people had long since strayed from the blood inking.
But the druid was far from the comfort of his traditions.
Amongst his people, he would not have been out of place.
Druids were lithe creatures who lacked the economy of the western territories, and thus what few belongings they ever came to possess were practical and unimpressive.
He could say, confidently, he was still quite unimpressive, but his presence drew attention all the same.
One man stepped out, shoulders heaving beneath his mantle, and he fixed a dark gaze upon the druid. Whatever he saw there caused some insult, and the man reared back and spat at the ground near his feet.
“Stinks of mulch,” said the brute, lumbering off.
Perhaps they all lived up to each other’s expectations.
“So, this is the Moon’s Queen.”
The druid was approached by another man who was—as most men were—unfamiliar to him. He had a practiced gait, not a warrior’s stride, but something more poised, nearly measured. His hair was auburn, like river soil, and his eyes were a deep, piercing amber.
The druid did not know what to make of him, at first. The man’s voice betrayed neither reverence nor disdain. Instead, he presented himself with a shallow bow and a hand across his heart.
“Terach aen,” he said, which was a greeting of the Fáoth, and not likely to be spoken west of the Everstretches.
“Is it curiosity that brings you forth or caution?” asked the druid.
The man gestured him aside. “I’ve heard the stories. The High Nytherí spoke your name. But what that entails…”
“No one knows, and thus I have become a great threat.”
The man glanced at him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Very well. Then state your intent.”
“One could say I am skeptical of your purpose. Moreover, the Oracle’s word does not impress me. But before I deem you Usurper, I thought I might simply ask your objective.”
“I have none,” said the druid. “I make no claims upon the throne.”
“The gods seem to think differently.”
“They are no gods of mine.”
They came to a stop beneath an alcove where sat a small window. Beyond it was the night and the swell of the sea.
“Your position is unique,” said the stranger. “Usually when men are offered crowns, they take them.”
“My kingdom is not here,” said the druid, nodding towards the window, “but there. This is not my world, and I wish not to belong to it. I was called forth on another’s command, and now I stand, not in power, but prisoner.”
“It’s true then… you druids are not beholden to the witches’ magick?”
“I recognize they have power because men granted it to them. And men keep me here.”
“Then we are kindred, you and I. I, too, would see the bonds of false faith broken.”
“It seems far more dangerous for you to say so.”
“That may be, but I believe there is a wind coming; a new season, swift approaching. Suppose that is why your name was spoken.”
It became more clear to the druid with each passing day that there were few at Rhyd-hal that did not have some grand ambition.
“If you are being held here against your will, that is a matter the people should know.”
“Is it?” said the druid, curiously. “More likely it would only sow chaos. Unless that is your intention.”
“Intention matters not—it is the truth. Already, you have come to see how twisted this world of fire can be. I would use truth to enact change. Neither of us need lay ourselves before a man who would choose our torment.”
“You ask me to exchange a throne for a pitchfork. I’m not interested in causing upheaval.”
“You are upheaval made flesh. But a king worthy of his crown would not fear the uncertain.”
“And I suppose you believe yourself that king.”
“My father ruled this country for fifty-one years, and for twenty of them, I stood at his side. Tell me, druid, would you rather answer to a petulant child, or a man who knows the reality of rule? Who would not keep his fears tethered on short chains?”
A riotous commotion broke out as an enormous cake in the shape of a boar was brought in on a large platter.
It was sat upon a trestle at the center of the table to much applause and shouting.
The Vaich made his show of it; a spectacle meant to curry favor.
And it worked. His audience adored him, if but for a fleeting moment in which he could do no wrong.
The druid saw their devotion; all of them sworn to a man who had never done anything to earn their respect but to be born under a certain star.
“I suppose,” the druid whispered, “it is all unfair, isn’t it?”
The crowd clamored, prodding at the cake and speaking its praises, till the man stepped forwards and cried, “What a feat! Our Vaich’s prowess in the kitchen—unmatched!”
The room laughed, but the Vaich looked displeased. His gaze slid to the druid. “Jor, what delightful company you keep.”
“I was just getting to know our dear moon,” said Jor. “And how clever he is.”
“Never met a clever tree-hoor,” said the brute from before. “What good is he if not for the fur? Not a bit of meat on ’im!” He staggered over, a foul smell on his breath.
Jor reached out with a careful hand, urging the druid closer. “Away with you, Ennis. You’ve had far too much drink.”
“The thing’s nae more than a sprite. Wee’un virgin… I can make him bleed for His Majesty.”
Iron screeched as Jor withdrew his blade, holding it at Ennis’ throat. “I said, away with you.”
The room tensed. The druid felt the weight on every side. The laughter and music died down again, and what remained was a crippling quiet.
“Raising blades in my feast hall?” growled the king.
“Does the Vaich allow rabble to threaten a Chosen?” inquired Jor. “Tell me, my laird, do the gods speak truth? Or is it only true when it suits you?”
Murmurs rolled through the crowd like low thunder, and the Vaich’s irises burned.
“You do not question that they named you Vaich. But here you hesitate?” Jor nodded towards the druid.
It was suffocating.
The king slammed his chalice upon the table. “Away. Ennis.”
“But m’laird—”
“Go!” His roar left the hall trembling. “It is no way to speak to a queen.” The Vaich’s words were bitter, even to the ears, and soon the crowd was again a-mutter—question on their lips, denial in their eyes.
“The Oracle’s prophecy is sound. That is no matter for debate.
I have brought the druid here in reply. He is Chosen of the Moon. My…”
“Prisoner?” asked Jor.
The druid held his breath.
“Consort,” the Vaich said, a heat in his tone. “We are intended. Sun and Moon—just as the gods requested.”
Jor loosed a strained laugh. “You don’t mean you’ll—”
“We will wed.”
Cold dripped through the druid’s blood. He could not speak. Could not move. He felt a weight upon his chest. So unfamiliar was the feeling that he could not call it by its name, but the ache settled there, and it would not go.
“The Moon has granted me this divine favor and I accept it openly before the court.” The Vaich addressed the crowd, but his attention lingered upon Jor. “The druid shall be my bride; thus, I advise you take your hand off him.”
Jor muttered beneath his breath, releasing the druid with a sharp recoil.
“Rejoice!” said the Vaich. “For your rulers are foretold. For first and for last, a blessed king and queen stand before you. We enter an era of unprecedented strength. Look well and see—the gods smile upon us!”
The crowd, once hesitant, set themselves upon the news with hunger, erupting into cheers; a firestorm of pride and primal desperation. It was dizzying, and for a moment, the druid felt ill again.
He stepped away from Jor, from the feast table, from that battering crowd. And through the fury and fever, those molten eyes fixed upon him. Not in defiance, not in fire…
But fear.
The feast carried on. But for the druid, it had ended with those three words.
We will wed.
Returned to his room, he was gripped with terrible pain. His stomach churned and he braced against the first sturdy thing he could find. His palms wrapped tight around the bedpost, unwilling to let himself collapse.
He would marry the Vaich.
It was a joke. An awful, cruel joke.
He hadn’t desired this. He hadn’t desired anything until it was so far beyond his reach that he could do nothing but gaze back in longing.
He wanted the wind and the grass. He wanted to bathe in the rivers and sleep beneath the velvet sky.
He wanted to wake every day to the promise of nothing and be nowhere.
He wanted to exist quietly. Now, that freedom was all but stolen.
He was lost and could not find himself amongst the world any longer. He had been torn from it, like the banner of an old kingdom ripped loose in the wind.
Why?
All his life, he had known only one truth: the gods spoke not. They walked not. They did not exist like men. They breathed within the world around them, free of ambition, judgement or care. They were the sun and the moon, yes, but they did not make demands. They did not seek devotion.
Then what was it that called his name? What force spoke his prison into being?
Something shifted behind him and he whipped around to face the doorway.
“You,” he whispered to her. The moon priestess stepped down into the chamber, her shoulders relaxed, eyes sparkling with starlight. “You knew this would happen.”
Hirí smiled sweetly.
“It’s an awful, terrible story,” she said in her sing-song voice. “The little bird with his wings all pared, caught in his cage of stone. I warned you there was only one way out of this.”
His jaw set. “Your ambition is aimless. There will be no crown. No king. The Vaich has made his intentions clear. They will use this marriage to shutter me.”
She came closer with her serpent steps, her milkish face more eerie than ever. “You misunderstand. This changes nothing. ‘Queen’ does not mean lesser. Though they may use it in effort to minimize you, the power will already be yours. There is nothing they can do to stop you from wielding it.”
He shook his head. “This is folly.”
“The only folly here is your perception. This fate is foist upon you. Embrace it.”
“It will help nothing.”
“Not your present, which you were too unwilling to accept, but your future is yet undecided. The game has only begun, druid. All you must determine now is which piece are you.”