“I would like to be alone,” Queen Rowan announced to the sundry servants and ladies-in-waiting within her private apartment. The servants paused in their duties and the various aristocratic daughters of the kingdom’s most elite families ceased their irritating chatter to stare at their royal guardian in stunned silence. She met their wide eyes with a steady gaze and repeated her request. “If I need anything I will be sure to send for one of you.”

The bravest of the ladies, a young girl who had been fostered at the palace only this summer, forced a smile. Her thin, pale hands were clasped before her, the tips of her fingers white with pressure. “Are you certain, your Highness? We would be happy to keep you company.”

Rowan, her green eyes darkening with ire, did not return the girl’s smile. “I am certain. Leave me.”

The servants made haste to do their sovereign’s bidding; their gray frocks disappearing in a stream through the guarded door. Less willingly followed the Queen’s ladies, their eyes seeking her and each other for guidance. A few even had tears in their eyes as they moved uncertainly out of the room. Rowan refused to be swayed by their pleading eyes. She desperately needed some time to herself.

Sighing in relief as the last of the girls moved through the arched doorway, Rowan reached up and gently removed the dainty crown from the curls her maid had so artfully arranged that morning. The diamond-encrusted metal had been worked into an intricate weave and stood no more than a half a finger’s width high. In the center of the crown was a large sapphire gem. As she walked slowly through the outer apartment and into her secluded sanctuary, the room she shared with her husband and King, she stared into the tear-shaped blue depths.

The sharp facets of the gem blurred as tears long denied streamed down her face. She did not bother to rub away the salty wetness, knowing these were only the first of many she would shed this long, lonely night. Throughout the day she had remained the calm, unperturbed figurehead of her husband’s kingdom, her expression carefully neutral. She had even gone so far as to wish him and their son, Mair, the kingdom’s heir, victory and honor upon the field. When they had kissed her fingers and promised her nothing less than the annihilation of their foes, she had forced a serene smile.

“Do not fear, mother, for we will prove victorious upon the battlefield,” Mair had whispered to her, his confidence shining in his bright smile and dancing eyes. Then he had kissed her knuckles and straightened, his hair falling briefly into his eyes before he could brush it aside.

She had been unable to answer him, fearing any noise from her throat would betray her growing anxiety. Instead, she had smiled and allowed a slow, barely perceivable nod to affirm her assurance in him and his father’s army. As much as she had wanted to throw herself upon them, beg them to leave off the fighting for those more expendable, she had not been allowed the luxury. While other women could weep and publicly bemoan their loved one’s fate, she was unable to portray anything untoward, anything which may compromise the regal façade she had been trained to wear.

Reaching the crown’s nightly resting place, she gently settled it on its plush bed of velvet. The case it sat in would remain open for no one would dare to touch the royal crown, not even to clean it. Rowan looked away from the stately icon and into the mirror above the bureau it sat upon. Her eyes were fairly glowing in the descending darkness, a telltale effect of her tears.

The Queen of Aerd had hardly changed since the birth of her son eighteen years ago. Although the rigors of bearing a child and birthing him had widened her hips and generally rounded her figure, she was still considered slim. A few wrinkles had taken residence near the edges of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, yet they did not detract from her famed beauty. Her black hair, amazingly free of any unseemly gray strands, still shone with blue highlights whenever the sun happened to fall upon it and her green eyes had lost none of their luster. She would never see eighteen again but she was not ashamed to greet the autumn of her life in such a dignified manner.

Leaving the crown on the bureau, Rowan moved to the bed in the center of the room. She did not try to stop the sobs. Her fear and anxiety would have prevented it had she tried. So, in complete surrender, she allowed her misery to flow from her eyes. Mourning the necessity for this dastardly war was pointless but she could not seem to help herself. The Djuhah, or Holyslayers as they were more commonly known, had given Ginse no choice but to go to war once again. Yet, she had to admit, the raids had increased after Habim had been assassinated and Mair named Aerd’s heir.

Habim. Her grandson. He had come to them as a toddler, his four-year-old fingers smudging the walls and raiding the sweets. She had not thought of him in nearly nine years because thoughts of Habim eventually led to thoughts of Maye. Yet, tonight, as she sat weeping on the edge of her empty bed, she could not keep thoughts of her grandchild or the daughter who had borne him from her mind.

Seeking refuge from the painful memories, she rose and walked quickly out of the room. Standing at the window, looking out into the cool autumn evening, she found their ghostly presences had followed her. A long forgotten echo of Maye’s laughter teased her memories. If she closed her eyes she knew she would see the sweet, round face of her firstborn. A cherub’s face could not be so sweet, she had once told Ginse, and it had been true. Maye had been adorably cute. Not pretty or beautiful, not even as she matured and lost much of her baby fat.

Habim had inherited the shape of his mother’s face and nothing else. They had found relief in that small resemblance when he had been a child. Yet, as he matured, his face had lost some of the roundness and he had, in fact, lost much of his resemblance to Maye or the royal family of Aerd. At sixteen he had been the spitting image of Emir Habim abd Akir, his grandfather on his father’s side. The misery his resemblance to this hated rival had caused was still spiraling out of control.

Watching the gardens below, the wind playing in the grass and rustling the leaves in the trees, Rowan found herself wondering if Habim’s death had been a royal decree given by her mate. She had never asked and he had never volunteered the information. In part, her silence was based in fear. How could she so love someone who could conceive of murdering their grandchild, the only living link to their deceased daughter? She couldn’t, not even if it had been done to put their son on the throne. So she had never asked because she loved Ginse more than she loved her next breath.

Chills raced down her spine. Suddenly the garden looked very inviting. Grabbing a cloak from the nearby closet, she made ready to leave the growing oppression within the palace walls. As she exited her apartments two of the four guards assigned to her door followed her down the hallway. They stayed far enough behind her to afford her some privacy but yet close enough to protect her if needed. She paid them no heed. She moved quickly in the direction of the garden, fairly racing down the three flights of stairs to the main floor, praying the whole time she would escape the attention of those courtiers who would beg a moment of her time.

It was not to be. “Your Highness, if I may.”

She did not pause, “Please see the steward to set up a petition, Lord Uwen.”

“This will only take a moment,” he insisted, glancing fearfully over his shoulder at the frowning guards as he fell into step next to her.

Refusing to look at the man and have the rumor of her upset spread throughout the court before she had even reached the center of the garden, she quietly threatened him, “If you are unwilling to abide by our wishes, Lord Uwen, we will be most displeased.”

A moment of uncertain silence followed her words, “I will see your steward first thing in the morning, Your Highness.”

She did not answer, relieved when he finally fell away from her and rejoined the other nobles along the corridor. She had no idea what she would have done had he persisted in discussing his problem. Her displeasure would have been genuine but it would have in no way compromised his case with the court. The kingdom of Aerd was not run in such a manner. The royal ethics would not be compromised by such pettiness. Thankfully Lord Uwen had not enough experience with the court to know as much.

She was nearly out of the palace when Lady Alicia found her. The girl was sixteen and had been a ward of the court for nearly two years now. She often joined Rowan in the gardens, exchanging pleasantries and idle gossip, which usually was more important than the orphan knew. “Your Highness.”

“Good evening, Alicia. I hope you do not mind but tonight I’d like to visit the gardens alone.”

The girl stopped short, clearly hurt. “Oh, of course. I had not meant to….I’m very sorry.”

Rowan felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Alicia. I’ll join you in the garden tomorrow morning if it doesn’t rain.”

The girl looked out into the cloudy night and frowned, clearly thinking the likelihood of rain was greater than her Queen did. “Certainly. That would be wonderful.”

Rowan nodded and stepped out into the night. The gardens were not empty but she was able to avoid contact with those present simply by taking an alternate path. Her guards followed her to the center of the garden, through the hedge maze to the fountain at its center. They stood sentry next to the only opening in the hedges, far enough away to see her but not to hear anything other than the tinkling music the water made as it fell to the surface of the pool.

Settling onto the raised stone surface surrounding the fountain, Rowan looked deep into the water where lights from the palace windows above danced and shimmered in the ripples. As the peaceful night soothed her troubled soul, she found herself chanting softly beneath her breath. Words once thought forgotten spilled from her lips with amazing ease and she did nothing to stop them. She was worried about her family. Surely that was excuse enough to merit her actions.

The spell cast, the seer was pulled into the vision. Her peripheral vision wavered and warped, her eyes focused on the water directly before her. The glassy surface became murky, the lights taking on color and shape. Gone was the fountain. In its place was a vision called into being, awaiting her final wishes to complete itself.

“I wish to know the outcome of tomorrow’s battle.” She spoke the words aloud; although softly so the fountain would cover her actions from the guards. At first she was angered, thinking she had not been clear enough in her desires. Nowhere did she see the two faces she most yearned to view. Horses, bodies, blood. Then a glimpse of Mair’s handsome face, a grimace of pain marring his features. The vision turned red.

She tried not to cry out, fearing any reaction now would prevent her from seeing her husband, her King. Another rioting vision of the battle. She willed Ginse to appear, fearing his absence was an omen of ill tidings. But then Ginse’s beloved face appeared, blocking all else from her vision. His face dissolved and the crown, the one he wore not to battle but to rule in his throne room in the very palace she had just exited, appeared with the coat of arms behind it. The crown began to crumble and the coat of arms burst into raging flames.

“Milady, please, milady.”

The voices were worried, hovering above her in the darkness. She struggled to open her eyes. The two guards and someone else, someone she had not noticed earlier, were leaning over her. Their expressions were full of concern and…fear. “What happened?” But she knew. The vision haunted her even now. Her husband was going to die tomorrow and leave her alone. The crown had crumbled and his coat of arms had been destroyed amid flames. He could not escape his fate. Death was seeking him even now. She tried not to let her despair show. Yet, with each breath it grew.

“Are you all right, your highness?” the stranger asked, his cloak covering most of his body and the hood shadowing his face. He appeared deformed at first glance but she quickly deduced the bulge along his back was not an abnormality only an instrument. He was the bard. She had listened to him play earlier that day.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, attempting to sit up. Three sets of hands reached out to steady her. “I must have fainted. I’ve had nothing to eat since breaking my fast this morning.” The guards nodded agreement but the bard, blast him, appeared doubtful. She narrowed her eyes on him, wondering how long he had been present. Had he witnessed her trance? Could he guess she was still capable of seeing visions? The rumors had been carefully laid to rest but something about his demeanor warned her that he paid little head to rumor and strict attention to fact.

At least he could not have seen her vision, only she could see it. But what if he had heard her? When the visions were powerful she was powerless, a ship at the mercy of a storm tossed sea. Many times in the past she had spoken words only the witnesses were privy to, words not even she would remember upon waking.

Fear twisted her guts. What might she have said? Had he been close enough to hear it? Certainly her guards would not allow a stranger so close without her consent.

“Where did you come from?”

He did not play stupid. He did not attempt to give her his origin of birth or even the most recent city he had visited on his bardic travels. “I was composing a poem on the other side of the fountain when you arrived. I was sitting with my back to you until the guards cried out for help.”

Her eyes slid away from him to gauge the distance between where she sat and where he indicated he had been. He may or may not have heard her. It really depended upon whether or not she had spoken aloud and, if she had, how loud her voice had been. He didn’t look alarmed. Surely news of his King’s imminent death would produce some kind of reaction?

Ginse was going to leave her alone. The thought pushed her concerns of the bard’s knowledge aside. She slowly gained her feet, brushing away the helpful hands that appeared. She spared the bard one last glance and then moved away from the fountain. Slowly, each step a burden on her breaking heart, she made her way back into the palace. She heard people hailing her but she did not stop or acknowledge them in any way. Her thoughts were focused on her husband, the man who fate had claimed in her visions.

Her apartments were empty when she returned. The guards stopped outside to notify their counterparts of her fainting spell. She heard one of them leave to retrieve the royal healer. She did not bother to stop the man, although she knew no healer would ever be able to treat her ailment. How could a mere healer repair a broken heart? This was no wound to treat, no sniffle to drug.

Ginse. Through all the turmoil and uncertainly in the last twenty-odd years, he had been her anchor. Life had been bearable only because he had been there to lean on, to share confidences with, and, more importantly, to accept her as a woman and not just as the Queen. He had loved her. Their union had been one of the rarest, a true meeting of the minds and hearts.

Could she live without him? Did she want to? For without him there was only the responsibilities of rule and the war with the Maritkans. Mair had been covered in blood. He, too, a likely victim of death’s embrace. Their deaths left her nothing to live for…nothing to cherish.

She moved to the window. She was three stories up, well above the garden tiles far below. Taking her courage in hand, for she was afraid of heights, Rowan climbed onto the narrow sill. As she launched herself out into the night, she heard the royal healer scream her name and her guards rush into the room. Yet, as she fell unfettered to the unforgiving stones below, only the rush of the wind in her ears could be heard.

©2001 Krista