“My King, we have word that the Cresenvasht prince on his way. He travels the Trade Road and should arrive at the meeting point in eight days.” Moira stood at the entrance to his tent in her full armor, shaped leather bound together around her torso, lower arms and calves. Dark paint was smeared across her eyes and down her chin, a stark contrast to her pale skin and blonde hair. Her skirt was of leather as well, although a slightly thinner variety that left her legs free to move.

All in all, she would have made a fine wife, but she had chosen the path of the warrior instead. Well, maybe one day she would decide to be a wife as well. Alastar nodded slightly, his iron crown heavy upon his head.

It had been since the day it had passed from his father to him. King Danivell had been too young to die in his bed, but it was what he did, following his High Queen into the Mystland. Alastar had to wonder if he would find a woman to feel so strongly about.

He hoped not.

“Good. Has the Nyadvi clan sent their prospect-wives yet?”

“They have, and they have arrived. Do you wish to see them?” Moira asked.

“Yes.” Alastar unfurled the leather skin crafted from his own fathers back, looking down at the intricate diagram tattooed into it. He couldn’t deny that this business turned his stomach, but the mages had been clear. If he wanted to find his sister, they needed as much a link to the bloodline as possible. Alastar had offered his own blood to create the ink that made the diagram, and his father had agreed to offer his own skin.

Moira gave a curt nod, and turned on her heel, striding from the tent. The clans of Hesiodos did not usually bow. To expose ones neck and back was the height of foolishness, displaying vulnerability in the face of power. He was led to believe that was precisely why the people of Cresenvasht did bow. But was it to show trust, or submission?

He did not want submissive followers, he wanted strong ones. Warriors like Moira and Assi, shamans like Drust, and loyal advisors like Cael who would look him in the eye and tell him when he was being stupid.

As he had done last night when Alastar had considered not seeing the prospect-wives. Well, Cael had won that argument, and rightly so. Alastar had to choose a wife from each clan to maintain the unity of Hesiodos, and that would not wait for him to find his missing sister.

The tent flap was pulled aside once more, and three women stepped into the tent. A small selection from so large a clan as Nyadvi. Alastar toyed with the idea of being offended by the small selection, but he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt for now. Let the Eldwif of the clan explain her reasons for the selection.

His eyes strayed over the women as the Eldwif herself entered the tent, white hair pulled into a long braid down her back. In most clans the white hair would be a sign of age, but not for the Nyadvi, all of whom had white hair in honor of the moon goddess. No, her age was shown by the lines of her face, and the gnarled fingers that clutched a staff of grey wood.

“My King.” The Eldwif said, and inclined her head slightly. “I bring to you the most prized of our seers and mages for your consideration. Each one has agreed to perform the duty of wife and queen should you choose them. Each has been ruled fertile by our magics. And each has proven her mettle in our clan.”

“Your clan could only produce three to bring to me?” Alastar dismissed outright the woman who would not meet his eyes, but lingered on the two that looked into them unflinchingly. “A small selection for so mighty a clan.”

“Times have been hard these last many moons. You know that as well as I. These are the best of our women, the ones least likely to waste your time.” Eldwif of Nyadvi said, gesturing to the women. “Nala is a seer of great skill, Valery is a mage of exceptional talent, and Aysia has skills in both.”

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“And yet one does not even dare to meet my eyes. Look up woman, I am not some monster to be feared.” And yet he knew the growl to his voice was as fierce as any dragon. Still, if the woman would not even meet his eyes, what hope for a marriage would there be?

The woman in question raised her eyes reluctantly, looking at him out of pale grey eyes. “My King.” She said softly.

“Better. I will have you all look at this.” He tapped the diagram with one finger. “You will tell me what you see. Or you will leave this tent and your Eldwif can try to find another more suitable set of prospect-wives.”

This would be their test. Would they recognize it for what it was? Would they flinch from it in horror? Or would they tell him honestly what they thought and saw? He would have no wife that would bite her tongue with him, and his time was growing short before he had to travel to Cresenvasht.

Eldwif of Nyadvi nodded to the women, but remained silent as the trio approached Alastar’s heavy oak table, gathering around the diagram to study it.

To his suprise, the one that wouldn’t meet his eyes spoke first. “It is intricate work My King. Done by a shaman of great skill. May I touch it?”

Alastar nodded, the barest inclination of his head. “You may. You may touch it, turn it over, and channel magic into it. As long as it is not damaged.”

“Thank you My King.” She said, and ran her fingers along the leather, the skin of his father.

“It is a tracking spell.” One of the other women said. “But who or what does it track?”

“It tracks the lost one.” The last woman spoke in a dreamy voice. “She who was taken from the Hesiodos.”

“It does, through blood and skin the link is made. Through the Mystlands the dead do seek to aide in this search.” The woman he had thought was meek added. He looked at her curiously, intrigued in spite of himself. He had nearly sent her out of the tent without bothering with her, but she had found her tongue it seemed. She met his eyes again, pale grey eyes calm, unafraid.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Surely the lost one is truly gone. We’ve no sample of her to track any longer, it was stolen from us. And even if we did, would she not have changed so much in the time away that it would be useless to us?” The woman who realized it was a tracking spell said. He really had to figure out which one was which, the Eldwif had done a poor job of introducing them.

“Let us find out.” The dreamy one said, and rested a hand upon the skin. “Blood the brother will give us sight.”

“Blood of the brother will give us sight.” She of the grey eyes repeated. “My King, spill but a drop of blood on the skin. And we will see if it works in truth.”

Alastar drew his hunting knife, pricking one finger and letting the blood drip onto the skin. It wasn’t the first time he had done it, and so he was unsurprised when the skin soaked up the blood. The diagram bled upwards away from the skin, droplets of blood dripping up to float in the air above the skin. It glowed red, swirling and twisting together to create a sort of compass.

What did suprise him was that instead of one arrow as it had had before, there were now two. One faint and barely there, the other stronger, thicker. Both pointed towards Cresenvasht.

“It doesn’t work properly.” One of the woman said. “It points two ways!”

“It works.” Grey eyes insisted and traced a symbol in the air in front of the arrows. “She has shared her soul with another. That is why it points two ways.”

“Aysia speaks true.” The dreamy one said, her solid white eyes focused on the floating compass. “Two bound together but apart. One travels the road of gold, but the other, the other is your sister.”

He couldn’t pinpoint how he knew when the dreamy one turned her gaze on him, but he could feel it like a chill down his spine. “You will chose Aysia, My King.” She said and turned, her footsteps so soft it seemed that she floated to the entrance of his tent.

The other woman let out a sigh, and cut her hand through the floating compass. The blood fell back to the skin, seeping into it to form its diagram once again. “Aysia is a good choice My King, she is both mage and seer. She will guide you true.”

Alastar let out a snort, his eyes moving to Aysia. From meek to confident... and back to meek he saw as she lowered her eyes. But the women were right, it would be a boon to have one familiar with both branches of magic to advise him. “What say you Aysia, will you be my wife of Nyadvi?”

Aysia raised her eyes to meet his again, and folded her hands in front of herself. “I will, my King.”

“Let it be Husband now.” Alastar growled, and pulled the woman to him, kissing her fiercely. There was no point waiting to consumate the marriage, the Eldwif was present, and the woman had passed his test.