The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key Read Online Free PDF Page B

struggling to keep the weariness from his tone. “Until then, I am king, and will conduct the affairs of this land as I see fit.”
    Rogun snarled. “You have no idea what it takes to rule this kingdom. You are a forest peasant, nothing more.”
    “Which is why I depend so greatly on your counsel, my good general.” Rogun may have been above mockery, but Torin was not. “If you would but—”
    “Torin, my sweet.”
    He stopped at the sound, and there she was, the light on a frosty morning, Marisha Valour. Or Marisha Lewellyn, as she preferred to be called now. Valour was the designation applied to an apprentice healer of her former order, while Lewellyn was reserved for those who had attained the rank of master. And although none other remained of that sect to bestow the coveted mantle, she had taken it upon herself so as to honor her former people.
    His bride-to-be was framed by the doorway of an embroidery chamber. Within the chamber, she stood upon a pedestal, flanked by a pair of hand-maidens. She wore the framework of a breathtaking gown, which the maidens were fussing over with all the determined focus of master craftsmen—measuring, cutting, folding.
    “Hold still, my lady,” one of them said through gritted teeth. She removed from those teeth a pin that she used to hold an unstitched hem in place.
    Marisha froze, though her candid smile remained ever bright, untroubled by the rebuke. Torin found himself drawn to it like a drowning man to the water’s surface.
    A gruff snort from behind reminded him of Rogun’s presence.
    “General, will you excuse me?”
    Not without protest, it seemed. “We’ve not yet—”
    “I thank you for bringing this to my immediate attention. We shall discuss it at length this afternoon.”
    “I’ve no doubt we will,” Rogun grumbled. “Without action whatsoever.”He spun and marched away, the jangle of his spurs echoing down the corridor.
    “What was that about?” Marisha asked as Torin approached.
    “Nothing new.” He reached up to clasp her outstretched hands. “You look radiant this morning.”
    The woman freed one hand to paw at her hair in a self-conscious fashion. The golden tresses hung free, unbound by ribbon or braid, to steal light from the sun streaming in through an open window.
    “I’ve not yet had a chance to prepare for Your Lordship’s greeting,” she teased in apology.
    “None is required, given such natural beauty.”
    Marisha pushed him away with a laugh. Torin smiled in return.
    “I expected you’d still be sleeping,” he said.
    “On the day of first rehearsal for my lord’s coronation?”
    Torin’s smile slipped.
    “Or had you forgotten?”
    “No, of course not,” he assured her. Why had Stephan not reminded him?
    “What do you think?” Marisha asked, twisting back and forth so as to cast a ripple through her garment. This of course drew sharp glances and even a cough from the seamstresses fighting to hold her steady. A coronation dress, yes, but also that which she would wear for their wedding, scheduled just two weeks hence.
    “Does it not bear ill fortune for the bridegroom to see his lady in her gown before the ceremony?”
    “As you can see, the gown is not yet finished. Besides, there is no ill fortune that we cannot overcome.”
    Torin flinched. Though he had come to believe that destiny was what one made of it, he saw little need for tempting fate. Still, no small sense of foreboding was safe in Marisha’s presence, and he found the chill sensation melting quickly away. All things considered, he had much to be grateful for. The responsibilities, the headaches, the enemies—a small price to pay for that which his fortunes had granted him.
    Marisha sniffed twice in exaggerated fashion. “Someone needs a bath,” she remarked.
    Torin stepped back, bowing humbly. “With your leave, my lady.”
    The woman tossed a piece of fabric at him. “Get out of here, you knave.” She then smiled. “I’ll see you at the