Children of Fire (12 page)

Vaaler lay on his back staring at the ceiling, eyes wide despite the lateness of the hour.

He reached over and gently rubbed the moonstone on the night table beside his bed. The gem began to glow, its soft blue light casting strange and unsettling shadows on the walls. He knew the shadows were only his bedroom furniture, but sometimes they looked more like monsters, watching and waiting for him to fall back asleep so they could pounce.

He thought of calling for the servants—they were there, just outside the door awaiting his every command. He was, after all, a prince. The crown prince, in fact, direct descendant of Tremin Avareen, the first Danaan King. Though he was only nine, Vaaler already understood what that meant. Someday, when he was older, he himself would become King of the North Forest.

The young Monarch-to-be shifted in his bed but didn't call for the guards. The shadows didn't really bother him. Not much. It was the dreams. Not his dreams. His mother's. He wasn't supposed to know about them, but he did.

Vaaler couldn't tell anyone that he knew about the dreams. If he did, they would ask him how he knew. And he would have to show them how the tapestry on his wall was actually hiding a secret door to a warm, dark tunnel. He didn't want to show them the tunnel. The tunnels were his own special place.

He only went in them at night, when his attendants thought he was sleeping in his bed, his way lit by glow of his moonstone night-light. He'd found them by accident a few months ago, and since that day he'd spent many hours exploring them.

Sometimes the secret hallways inside the walls took him past the council room, and he would hear his mother and her advisers talking about her dreams. Scary dreams, mostly. About fire and monsters. And then in the night his own mind would dance with dark visions and the terrified imaginings of a child.

But he couldn't tell anyone. He had to pretend he didn't know about his mother's nightmares, or they'd find his special hiding place. He had to pretend he didn't know about the Sight.

He heard one of her advisers say it, once, just like that—“the Sight.” The Queen had the Sight. Vaaler didn't understand what that meant, exactly, except that his mother saw things in her dreams. Things that sometimes made her wake screaming in the night.

Yet it wasn't the manifestation of his mother's fears that had woken the young boy on this evening. Tonight Vaaler—the only child of Queen Rianna Avareen, the crown prince of the North Forest and the future leader of an entire nation—wanted a drink of water.

He sat up in his bed, a slightly undersized nine-year-old Danaan boy. He had the brownish green skin common to all the Danaan, and he'd inherited the sharp features of his father's royal bloodline … though his father had died before Vaaler was even born. For all intents and purpose, he was a typical child; unremarkable in every aspect, save for the fact he was destined to one day rule a kingdom.

Turning and casting his covers aside, Vaaler dangled his feet over the edge of the mattress, suddenly reluctant to let them touch the floor. He didn't believe in monsters anymore. Not really. He was too old to think an ogre or dragon lurked beneath the bed. Not during the day, anyway. At night, however, he wasn't so sure.

In a sudden spurt he leapt to the floor and darted across the room, yanking open the door and letting the light from the torches burning in the hallway beyond spill into the chamber, overpowering the soft glow of the moonstone. The attendants outside were caught off guard by his sudden appearance; they had been sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall.

Vaaler giggled as they scrambled to their feet, brushing themselves off and bowing toward the royal heir. The boy gave a slight wave of his hand as he'd been taught; the monarchal equivalent to returning their gestures of supplication.

“Does His Highness require anything?” one of the attendants asked.

“Water, please,” Vaaler replied.

His mother had taught him to always be polite, especially to the personal attendants assigned to serve and protect him.
They will serve out of duty to House Avareen,
she had once explained,
but it would be better if they served with pride.
And his mother was the Queen, so Vaaler had to do what she said.

“Shall I fetch you a glass from the kitchen, Your Highness?”

“I want to get it myself. Please.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

The two attendants fell into step behind the young prince as he padded down the halls of the vast castle complex. Vaaler barely noticed them. After a lifetime of having attendants always following in his wake, even a lifetime of a mere nine years, he had grown accustomed to their presence.

“The dream is the same, always the same. Fire, flames, the Destroyer of Worlds. Always the same.”

Vaaler halted on recognizing his mother's voice. The halls in the castle often played tricks with sounds, making noises seem much closer or father away than they truly were. But Vaaler could guess the room that was the origin of his mother's words.

“Perhaps the dream has some symbolic meaning, my Queen.”

He knew it was High Sorcerer Andar speaking this time, confirming what he had guessed—his mother was in the council chamber. Vaaler turned down an intersecting hallway, suddenly eager to see his mother's face. His attendants followed wordlessly behind.

“If this vision is symbolic, we should consult the ancient texts for possible interpretations.”

This voice belonged to Drake. He liked Drake. Drake knew how to ride and fight and wrestle. He knew fantastical stories about Tremin and Exter and all the ancient kings; he knew about the Gods' War and the Cataclysm and the Chaos Spawn. Sometimes he'd talk about the years he spent beyond the boundaries of the North Forest, exploring and adventuring with the humans in the Southlands. And sometimes Drake even let Vaaler practice archery with his bow, as long as the prince promised not to tell his mother.

Vaaler heard people say Drake was his mother's consort, but he didn't know what that meant. He had asked once while Drake was teaching him how to fletch an arrow, but the man had stammered and turned red and hastily excused himself. Vaaler liked it better when Drake was around, so he hadn't asked again.

At the door to the council chamber a pair of armed guards stood watch. They stepped aside at the crown prince's approach, each man giving a slight bow in Vaaler's direction. Almost subconsciously, Vaaler raised his hand in royal acknowledgment of the gesture.

“It's not symbolic. The dream is too consistent to be …”

His mother trailed off upon catching sight of her son, her right hand unclenching and releasing its grip on the plain gold ring that hung from the chain on her neck. The ring was the symbol of the Avareen House, she had once told Vaaler. She had to wear it because she was the Queen, and one day when he was King he would have to wear it.

Vaaler wasn't much looking forward to that. He thought the ring must be very uncomfortable. His mother was always tugging and grabbing at it or wrapping her long, thin fingers around it, hiding it from view with her tight fist pressed up against her chest.

The Queen crouched down, arms held out to embrace him. Vaaler trotted obediently up and into her loving embrace. Her thin but surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his body, clutching him to her breast. He felt the metal of the ring on her neck pressing through his thin nightshirt, cold against his chest. She held him for a second then pushed him back just far enough to plant a brief kiss on his forehead.

“What's the matter, Vaaler dear?”

“I couldn't sleep, Mummy.” The words were out before Vaaler even realized his mistake. He wasn't a little boy anymore; he was supposed to use the proper forms of address now. “I mean, I couldn't sleep, my Queen.”

Neither his mother nor the other half a dozen men and women in the room seemed bothered by his breach of royal etiquette.

“Has the young prince had a nightmare, perhaps?” It was Drake who asked the question.

“No, Drake. I was just thirsty. It's hot in my room.”

“The summer heat makes sleep difficult for us all,” Andar agreed. Though his tone was kindly, Vaaler sensed something odd about his voice. Almost as if he was disappointed to learn Vaaler hadn't been awakened by a nightmare.

“Why didn't you have one of your attendants bring you a drink?” his mother asked, stroking back the lock of hair that always seemed to fall down over his forehead.

Vaaler shrugged. “I can do it myself.”

The prince sensed they had important business to attend to. Business that did not involve him. But for some reason he was reluctant to leave.

The Queen kissed him once more on his forehead then rose to her feet.

“Hurry off and get your drink, my love. Then back to bed. You need your sleep, and the Queen must continue to receive the council of her advisers.”

Normally he would have gone without question. His mother was the Queen; everyone had to do what she said. But Vaaler didn't want to leave, not yet. His room was hot and stuffy, and the shadows would still be there waiting for him to make his mad dash from the door to the safety of his bed.

And this was his chance to finally ask the question he could never ask. They had been talking about the dreams when he had come in. He could ask about them now and nobody would wonder how he knew. Nobody would go looking for his secret tunnels in the castle walls.

“What kind of dreams were you talking about, Mummy? I mean, my Queen?”

The Queen exchanged concerned glances with her council then turned back to her son. “They are nothing for you to worry about. Mummy has many dreams.”

“Why don't I have any dreams?”

The question hung in the air for a long, long time. Drake shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot; Andar stared down at the floor. One of the other advisers coughed softly into her fist.

“Now is not the time for this discussion, Vaaler.”

The Queen's voice was firm and insistent, but not angry. She never got angry. Not at him. But Vaaler had learned there was no use arguing with her when she used this particular tone of voice. He called it her queen voice.

“Yes, Mother.” He turned to go.

“Vaaler, remember your manners.” His mother's voice was soft and warm once more.

“Please excuse me for interrupting,” the young prince dutifully recited.

“'Twas no trouble, Your Highness,” Drake responded.

The others murmured similar sentiments as Vaaler left to resume his quest for a drink of water. At a word from the Queen the guards closed the doors to the council chamber as soon as Vaaler had stepped out of the room.

A silence fell upon the council chamber in the wake of Vaaler's exit. The Queen seemed lost in thought, and none of the others were inclined to break her concentration.

“When the prince came in I had hoped …,” Andar began at last, but when the Queen glanced up to meet his gaze he trailed off.

Typically, it was Drake who had the courage to say what had to be said.

“He should have had a dream by now, my Queen. A vision. Something. You yourself had manifested the Sight by the time you were four.”

The Queen sighed and gazed down at the floor. “Llewellyn also had the Sight. He understood the vision in ways not known since the days of the Cataclysm. Perhaps if Vaaler's father yet lived …”

“My Queen,” Andar reassured her, “your husband was a great Seer and prophet, but you are easily his equal. If anyone … that is, you cannot blame …”

Realizing Andar had trailed off the Queen looked up. “Speak freely,” she said to her advisers. “What is said shall not pass beyond the walls of this council room, but I command you to speak freely.”

After a deep breath, Andar continued. “Your son will one day sit upon the throne, my Queen. He is the sole heir to the crown. But will he be fit to lead our people?”

“My son is a bright and capable boy with a good and noble spirit!” Despite her intentions, the Queen's voice was tinged with the anger of a mother defending her child.

“Chaos is thin in his veins. There is no blame in this, it happens sometimes. There have been Monarchs in the past who have been weak in the Sight,” Andar said softly, trying to cushion the blow.

The Queen made no reply. His words were meant to be kind, but the true meaning lay just below the surface. Other Monarchs had been weak in the Sight, but her son was not weak. He was blind. Such a thing was unprecedented in the unbroken line of the Avareen House, descending from Tremin himself through thirty generations.

Her husband had been a prophet of rare talent, surpassed only by her own remarkable abilities. They were the preeminent Seers among all the nobility of the Danaan Houses. Chaos burned strong and pure within both male and female, and their union was expected to produce an heir whose blood would also be thick with Chaos.

But somehow the mingling of their rich bloodlines produced a child without the Sight. A beautiful, intelligent, kind, and perfect child save for this one inexcusable flaw. In all their history, the Danaan people had never rebelled against or refused to accept the rightful successor to the throne. But the Danaan people had never been asked to bow down to one such as her son.

It was Drake who jumped to her defense, as always. He had been there for her when they brought news of her husband's death in the battle with the manticore. He had led the army out to destroy the creature that had widowed the Queen. He had been there to provide her comfort and support and even love once her mourning time had ended. And he had been there to help her raise Vaaler and teach him all the things only a father can teach a son.

“We all know Vaaler does not possess the Sight. But his bloodline is pure and Chaos runs deep in the wells of his family. Perhaps he possesses the Gift.”

There was a murmur of surprise and even disbelief from the advisers at Drake's bold statement.