Oracles of Ice

Oracles of Ice 15

For the seventh straight afternoon Aethelfrith returned from the shore disappointed. This time he left a runner waiting to send word if Gaielle appeared, ordering they trade off as the watchers on the wall did in a continuous cycle, and he headed toward Stanburh. He could see the city gate in the distance and the smoke rising from the tower in the center of the city. As usual, his guards were camped on the hillside waiting for him. He approached them from behind, startling them. They scurried to their feet, shoving sandwiches into their packs, and faced him with their shoulders squared. Ignoring their attention, Aethelfrith untied his horse and mounted up, turning his beast toward Stanburh and kicking it to a gallop. The confused faces of his guards flashed in his mind as he raced off toward the city.

The gates were held wide open as he neared. The Warrick flag flew high from the tallest watch tower, blowing in the breeze coming down off the mountains. Watchers stood to show their respect as he entered, slowing his horse. The streets were bustling with activity, making it difficult to ride, so he dismounted and led his horse by the reins until he saw Elan and handed the beast off to him. The guard vanished into the crowd, and Aethelfrith headed toward his house, his king's guard finally catching up and surrounding him.

"Sire, you shouldn't be alone on the streets. It isn't safe." One of the guards rebuked him as he stepped out in front of the moving entourage and led the way to the humble Gothon domicile.

"These people worship me as their savior, Malcom. They would never harm me. I have freed them of the weight of tyranny." He thought the pomp was unnecessary and a bit arrogant, but he yielded to their tradition, thinking it ignoble of him to step into their world and change everything at once.

"There may be traitors in our midst, Sire. Not everyone was happy with the king's downfall. It is our duty as sworn protectors of Warrick to ensure your safety."

The guard's incessant chatter annoyed Aethelfrith, and he quickened his pace, pushing the man out of the way. All he could think about was Gaielle and why it had been so long since she had visited the shore and him. His thoughts bounced between fear that she had been imprisoned, and anger that she was not returning to speak with him. As he walked, he counted on his fingers the number of moons it had been since they had met—seven. It had been seven moons since they sat on the shore and spoke about her pregnancy and the impending council she would attend. He knew he had let her get under his skin, but now she had an obligation to him more than just friendship. She carried his child.

"Sire," a young guard said, bowing before he opened the door to Aethelfrith's domicile.

With a snarl curling his lips, Aethelfrith nodded and entered his home, closing the door behind him. Anya lay on the bed coughing. She had been doing more and more of that lately, her condition worsening by the day. He had called on Iseult who had brought Hazelle to visit. The young girl's presence spurred a quick turnaround in Anya's symptoms, so much so she had gotten out of bed and tended to the girl's need for nourishment, choosing to dismiss the lady-in-waiting charged with that task, but as soon as the duo left, Anya began to feel ill again, taking to bed and coughing fits.

Aethelfrith poured a glass of water from the pitcher that sat on the nightstand and held Anya's head up until she could sip from it. It seemed to refresh her, and the coughing passed, so he laid her head back on the pillow and set the glass on the stand, remaining beside her, kneeling on the floor so he was at eye level with her. Looking into her eyes only reminded him of the moment he knelt beside Gaielle and stared into her frozen eyes. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the memory of the hauntingly beautiful mermaid, and he sighed as he pushed a hair out of Anya's face.