Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
The Morning
The druid stirred awake. Not to the bustling of maids, but a quiet nearly serene in its loneliness.
His eyes opened to a dimly lit chamber. He had never seen it before, yet knew at once where he was. The grandness of the bed, with its thick velvet canopy and warm dark furs; the musky scent of sage and smoke told him to whom it belonged.
On a near table sat a bowl and beside it a pile of dirtied rags. His body had been scrubbed of the silver sigils, the paint removed from his lips and eyes. It was a poorly job, but it was done.
Curiously, he sat up, searching the dark to find the Vaich in a chair beneath the window; his figure doused in shadow. Whether he noticed the druid or not, he remained quiet and so the druid spoke first.
“How long have I slept?”
The Vaich tensed at the sound, but did not turn. “… not yet midday.”
So, he had slept the night through. That begged the question—why was he there? If not to share the marital bed, the Vaich might as easily have returned him to his room and let his girls handle the cleaning. Instead, it was almost certain he had done it himself.
“Have you spent all night in that chair?”
The Vaich did not answer.
A throbbing ache was in his belly and groin, and an unreasonable burning elsewhere. The druid recalled the ceremony only in broad strokes, but did not wish to linger in dull memories. It was passed and now it was settled.
“Did we depart that place together?” asked the druid.
“I carried you. You fell unconscious upon the altar, and so I brought you here.”
It was as he expected, yet no less curious.
“The blood,” the Vaich muttered. “I tried to… but there remains… some…”
The druid glanced again at the bowl. “That is alright.” He pulled back the furs, only getting so far as one step from the bed before he was forced back down.
“What are you doing?” hissed the Vaich, gripping his arms.
“I would tend to it,” said the druid, but the Vaich did not budge.
“You’re not well.”
“I am plenty rested.”
“Hogshit.”
“Is it proper for the Vaich to have such a foul mouth?”
“Be quiet.” Grumbling, the Vaich settled him back against the pillow, pulling the blankets over his legs.
“No need for theatrics,” said the druid. “We simply consummated. I am not on my deathbed.”
The Vaich’s fingers tightened in the sheets.
“I see.” The druid tilted his head. “The idea of our copulating has greatly unsettled you. It was my understanding this was your wish. Now the castle, and all of Cullach, will know you have claimed me. What have you to fear?”
“Don’t spew nonsense!”
“Nonsense? A day ago you were happy to remind me—”
The king grasped for him, but fell deliberately short, clawing at the air instead. “The gods curse me with you,” he said, his head falling forwards. “You’re infuriating.”
The druid watched with keen eyes. He understood, then.
This was not the same man from yesterday.
“What…” The Vaich struggled with the words, pushing up slow, reluctant growls. “Tell me of… these visions.”
“You’re asking me?”
“I said as much!”
The druid considered it. He had not dreamt now. Perhaps it was different when he slept against his will. Suppose Hirí’s medicine had something to do with it. He still felt odd in the wake of the pill.
“I dream of pale ships on the horizon, manned by murderous giants.”
The Vaich stared.
“By the flame, you are mad.”
“No,” said the druid, “I don’t think so. I did not know what to believe, at first. But then I went down into the lake. I should have died there. Perhaps I did.”
“I pulled you from the water myself.”
“And how did you receive me?”
The Vaich’s brow wrinkled as the admission rippled across his face. “You were unbound. Your anchors removed.”
“Something that wasn’t you released me,” said the druid. “I would neither believe, nor embrace it, but I cannot deny what is true. I went down into dark water, and I heard this… voice.”
“And what did it say?”
The druid shook his head. “It was not words, but sensation—illusion. I saw a land of ice and frost… I believe it showed me beyond the storm.”
“The Quell? That’s impossible.”
“That there might be lands beyond the sea? It seems only reasonable.”
“The Quell is not simply a gale. Hundreds of men have gone out beneath the tempest and never returned. The water is unforgiving, and cold as a thousand blades. The swells would leave even the sturdiest ship overturned.”
“It is true,” conceded the druid. “Even my kin spoke of it. They carried its memory from the Ere of Wood. They carry much in memory, but its origins remain unknown.”
The Vaich narrowed his eyes.
“I went into the bookhold in search of understanding. Contrary to what you may think, I do not chase ghosts blind. And I found my truth in old records. These… creatures… I believe they have come before.”
“This is…”
“Absurd? Perhaps. But I begin to think we’ve been placed in this moment… together.”
“And for what? Why us?”
“I cannot know, yet I have been gifted these visions, and you a kingdom. Is it really all coincidence?”
“If it was so important, the Sun might have gifted these visions to me,” muttered the Vaich.
“Yes,” said the druid. “If your gods are as you say, then you are beloved, and what need have you of me?”
“But you are here.” The Vaich did not seem angry in that moment, but exhausted, as if he’d come to a realization he ought not have. “If these visions are prophecy… if invaders come, then what shall it matter? I command a vast army. We will fight them as we have always fought.”
“Do you?” questioned the druid.
“What?”
“Do you command armies? Your reign has just begun, and yet it is fraught upon every side. Our shores are fractured, and you may not defend them.”
“What do you mean? Of course I command them! I am Vaich!”
“Mm.” The druid hummed. “That’s right. The boy who would be king. The man who shall not die. Yet, you are not as powerful as you think. Are you?”
The words were a challenge, but they were also truth; the evidence of which still stained his thighs. The Vaich could not fight it, and so, he backed down, his face filling with darkness.
“I won’t be lectured to by a woodsingr,” the Vaich muttered. “Even if you are Chosen of the Moon.” He shook his head. “No. Where is your proof?"
“I have none at present, but if you’ll let me return to my kin—”
“It’s too late for that now. I gave you your chance.” The Vaich rubbed his temple, his face pinched in frustration. “Hundreds of women have survived the lunar trials, but no Oracle has ever warned of invasion from the sea.”
“And no queen was ever foretold.”
The Vaich ground his teeth. “So not only are you prophet, but savior? You certainly think highly of yourself.”
The king rose to leave, but the druid reached for him. “Wait—”
Like a hunter sensing danger, the Vaich snapped out, snatching his wrist in a tight hold. The druid winced and immediately the Vaich loosened, his eyes going wide.
“I—” The words stumbled as the Vaich’s gaze snagged upon the sagging blue ribbon around his wrist.
The druid’s stomach seized, and he yanked his arm back, covering the marks with his hand.
“What is…?”
“Never mind it,” the druid said. “What matters is—”
But the Vaich grasped him again. This time, his grip was tender, and the druid’s heart fluttered.
Carefully, the Vaich drew the satin band away, revealing the bruising mark once and for all. His golden irises flared and when he spoke, it was not a question, but an accusation.
“Othrik.”
He could not tell a lie, but neither would he allow himself to agree.
The Vaich, however, needed no confirmation. “What did he do to you?”
“That’s unimportant.”
“Answer me.”
Images of that dark tower flooded his mind. Seasalt was on his tongue, in his nose. He glanced away, eliciting the king’s furious snarl.
“I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The druid pulled free of his grip.
“Tell me what he did.”
“No.”
“Why do you defend him?”
“It has nothing to do with him,” the druid said flatly. “And nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me!” He reached for the druid’s cheek. “Did he do this, too?”
The druid flinched away. “I told you to let it be.”
“I won’t—”
“What good will knowing do? Shall you punish him and not yourself?”
The silence was sharp.
“I…” the Vaich began, but whatever words would follow were swallowed up. “Fine. I’ll leave you to rest.”
The druid made to rise, but was pinned down by the Vaich’s fearsome glare.
“Stay put. I will have your breakfast brought.”
“I am happy to return to my quarters—”
“It was a command, druid. You may have been gifted by the Moon, but I am Vaich and you are my consort. My word still holds law.”
“So, you command me to rest?” the druid asked.
“Yes,” he grumbled. “Rest. I will summon Lady Cearnathán—”
“My chambermaid,” corrected the druid. “Halla. Send for her.”
The Vaich looked annoyed, but relented. “Then you will remain here until it is determined you are well. I will have you examined by the Líaig.”
The druid’s face rumpled at the thought, but he did not refuse. The Vaich went to the door, his hand gripping the latch. “About the… about the wedding…”
“We needn’t speak of it.”
“Alright.” And with that, he was gone, leaving the druid alone.
His gaze trailed to the sliver of sun that tiptoed between the curtains, then to the mask of iron lain dormant beside a bowl of silver and blood.
It was not a victory. At least, not yet. But something… something had shifted.
The druid pressed his fingers to his cheek, tracing the faint scar.
The moon and the night had seen him baptized. Now, in the morning light, he was Queen.