Free The Wizard King by Julie Dean Smith Page B

something!”
    “I am not mistaken.” His voice was cold, and there was a hint of warning in it; a warning not to question his abilities again.
    “I suspected this,” he went on, rising to his feet. “God has seen fit to elevate me, but not to grant you power. You are not worthy to be my wife; He has decreed it, and we must live by His will.”
    He turned his back to her and went to retrieve a clean shirt from his wardrobe. “You may stay here in the palace, of course. Provided we find some work for you to do. I’ll speak to Tullis about it. Perhaps the cook can use another hand.”
    Drianna blinked disbelievingly. Cook?
Work?
Now she knew he was mad…
    “But I thought I was coming to Caithe with you.”
    Brand quashed the notion with a curt shake of his head. “I need trained wizards at my side, Drianna. You would be of no use to me.” He tossed the shirt over his head and turned to go.
    “No, don’t go—not like this!” She sprang from the bed and grabbed hold of his wrist with desperate strength.
    “I have more important matters to attend to.” His voice remained steady and indifferent. “I have a kingdom to secure. Couric and the others have been heralding my arrival for months. It’s time I fulfilled their prophecies.”
    He peeled her fingers from his wrist as if removing brambles from his shirt and swept out of the chamber.
    “Brand, please!” She stumbled to the threshold after him, gripping the doorjamb for balance, the chamber a ship pitching in rough waters. “Come back!”
    He didn’t even slow his stride as he rounded the corner and vanished.
    Drianna staggered backward dizzy with shock; he had been cut from her life like a severed limb, and she was fast bleeding to death.
    Alone in the spacious chamber, Drianna crumpled into a miserable heap on the floor. Hot tears scalded her cheeks and left ugly dark spots on her pale blue skirts. Eight years at his side, eight years in his bed, and she was dismissed as perfunctorily as an incompetent scullery maid! With a few spoken words, Brand had plunged her back to the depths from which he had raised her; a fish too small and insignificant to bother saving for one’s meal. And someone like Peg—a common drudge!—had the chance to take her place at his side.
    In less time than it had taken to choose her dress that morning, her entire world had burned to ashes. She had been summarily rejected—by Brand as well as God, who had refused to gift her with magic—and now there was nothing left. She could never remain on Sare; after such humiliation, she could not bear to face another soul in this palace. And if she could not be mistress of this place, then she would not be anything at all.
    The inside of her eyelids felt coated with sand as she wiped away her tears and rushed from the chamber, ignoring the politely unseeing eyes of the guardsmen in the corridor. She was going to Caithe whether the Sage liked it or not.
    And if he did not want her at his side, then she would find someone else who did.

Chapter 4
    “You’ve almost got it,” Athaya said, keeping her voice and unobtrusive so as not to break the young man’s concentration. She stood directly behind him in the sun-mottled clearing, lightly supporting his elbows with her hands. “Keep the flow of power steady or you might lose control.”
    Focusing fiercely on his task, Girard struggled to balance the two turbulent jets of green fire streaming from his hands, looking as if he clutched a pair of blazing snakes and was trying to keep them from curling back to bite him. The deadly fire flowed less freely from his left hand—as a permanent reminder of how serious the king’s Tribunal was about eradicating wizardry in Caithe. Girard’s maimed left limb bore five ugly stumps instead of the once-agile fingers of a carpenter. It took great effort for him to direct more power through his left hand while curbing the flow to his right, and fat beads of sweat formed on his brow as he strove to