Hel straightened and stood stiffly.
“Your Majesty, I—.”
He never completed his thought as
Fleur’s hands shooed him into
silence. “Never mind. It’s not
important. Tell us how we can help
you and Nyth Uchel.”
Hel bridged his temple with his
hand and rubbed. “I, ah, I need to
sit down,” and proceeded to
collapse into the chair next to
Adonia. “So…no magistra. My
problem is more ominous than I
thought.” He dropped his face into
his hands and Adonia wanted to
put a hand out to comfort him—but
didn’t. She didn’t know if this
proud man would accept it or
embarrass her again by shrugging
it off.
Hel exhaled heavily, sat up and
faced Ari. “As soon as the Haarb
retreated from Verdantia, we
rebuilt the shattered diamantorre. If
you re-energized all of the sigil
towers on Verdantia, then Torre
Bianca should be lit like a star in
the night sky.
Ari pursed his mouth in thought.
“We have always regretted the
absence of Torre Bianca’s light in
the eastern skies. Our planetary
shield is weak in one quarter of the
western hemisphere without her.
We assumed the white tower
destroyed. We meant to send a
party to explore why she remained
dark, but…”
Hel nodded. “We are not easy to
reach, particularly during winter.”
“Your damned mountain is
impossible during winter. A man
on foot, perhaps, but not a work
party,” Doral murmured.
Ari grunted an agreement. “Since
the coronation of our queen, the
Tetriarch has performed the Great
Rite at least once a month—
barring those months when our
queen’s pregnancies excluded her.
Torre Bianca should be as a star
dropped from heaven. There is
some other malignancy at work.”
Hel sagged in the chair, his
devastation apparent. He scrubbed
his face with his hands for a
moment and then stood, pacing to
the window. “I still have need of a
healer and brite-weed.”
Adonia spoke before thinking. “I
am a healer. I will go with him. I
would like to see the storied Nyth
Uchel and the celebrated Torre
Bianca. I would like to help in
whatever way I can.” She rose
from her chair and stepped toward
Fleur. “You have many skilled
medicae to attend you, Ma’am.
While not as advanced as some, I
am a skilled healer and I’m used to
hardship. I have studied with all
the medicae at the High Enclave.
From the sounds of conditions, I’d
give ninety percent of them a
week, or less, before they retreated
to Sylvan Mintoth—if they even
finished the journey to Nyth
Uchel.”
“Are you sure, Adonia? It will be
arduous and quite possibly
dangerous.” Fleur’s delicate brow
knit with concern.
Adonia met Fleur’s eyes. She
would miss the young queen. Other
than Sophi DeStroia, her former
flight leader, this was her only
woman friend—well, actually, her
only friend in Sylvan Mintoth—but
this opportunity was
unprecedented. “My Queen, I was
medica and First Arrow of Falcon
Flight. I am a skilled archer and
highly trained in mounted combat.
We of the desert-dwelling Oshtesh
fought in the last Haarb battle of
Vergaza alongside several of those
in this chamber. I have known the
hard life of the arid wastelands and
have traveled the long road from
Sh’r Un Kree to Sylvan Mintoth. I
am not afraid of the danger or the
hardship. If Prince DeHelios will
have me, I want to go.” Adonia felt
the weight of Hel’s perusal and
turned to face him. After a long,
anxious moment watching him
silently evaluate her, he lifted his
chin and brought it down
decisively.
“Yes. I will have you.”
The peculiar, slow twist Hel gave
to his words made Adonia wonder
if he intended another meaning, but
she shook the thought away as
ridiculous. He couldn’t want her
that way. No man had wanted her
that way…not even Klaran.
Klaran’s damning words rang in
her memory as clearly as if her
lover had spoken them yesterday
instead of almost two years ago.
“What is it you don’t understand?
I’m done with you. You got me
into service with Ducca DeStroia
and out of Sh’r Un Kree—for that,
I thank you. But, did you seriously
expect me to stay with you when I
had a choice? There is nothing
womanly about you. From your
body to your soul you are a hard
creature.” Her former intended’s
furiously hurled words had
stripped her soul bare and the lushfigured, flagrantly-accessible
female who’d replaced Adonia in
his arms had loosed the killing
shot. “No man wants between the
legs of a gawky, stick figure
reeking of some vile concoction.”
Adonia had fled to Sylvan Mintoth
under the guise of advancing her