Okay, he still reminded me of a rabbit, but I was too upset by my circumstances to find it hilarious at that moment.
“Your Majesty,” he repeated, and stepped forward to unroll a sheet of vellum across the table. The vellum was an intricate map, although I didn’t recognize the location and couldn’t read any of the writing. “This day will be glorious. Our soldiers have confirmed Queen Khaevatz is inside the fortress, and the last barrier rose is catching fire. The day we end her reign over the Manol vané has arrived.”
He looked at me expectantly. And waited.
I had no idea what to say.
I had no idea where I was. Some sort of tent, although not the simple tent of a commoner or even the practical tent of a soldier. No, this was an elaborate confection crafted from silk and rare woods, with jeweled lamps hanging from threads of purest platinum. Fine carpets covered the floors and a brazier of sweet-smelling herbs burned in a corner. A wooden mannequin stood to the side of the room, the sort one might expect to use as an armor stand. Next to it was a weapons rack filled with swords, spears, and bows so elaborately carved that most Quuros soldiers would never use the damn things; they’d just put them up on a wall to be admired.
And Sir Rabbit still waited on my answer.
“Good,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “That’s … good.”
He noticed my hesitation but misunderstood its cause. “I’ve dispatched a messenger, as you ordered. Should this day go wrong, Valathea and Valrashar will both be escorted to safety.”
I blinked. “Wait. Valathea?” He couldn’t mean my harp, could he?
“Your wife, the Queen?” He looked confused.
I cleared my throat, waved a hand, and pretended I wasn’t even more confused myself. “Of course. Thank you. It’s not that.” I thought about saying something more. “I have every confidence in you” perhaps, but the more I said, the more likely I’d reveal myself as an impostor.
Was this another god-inspired vision? Or just a regular vision brought on by being drugged by Doc? It seemed too coherent to be a hallucination, and too literal to be another of Taja’s allegories. Was this going to happen every time I fell unconscious?
My reverie was interrupted by Sir Rabbit, who leaned over the desk and gave me a good, hard stare. “I know it’s not my place, Your Majesty, but you can’t be having second thoughts. Queen Khaevatz is tainted with voramer blood and no right to claim a vané throne. She has no respect for her vané ancestry. No matter what your feelings for Khaevatz, she’s conspired with the Quuros, conspired with their bastard Emperor Kandor. You are doing the right thing for the Kirpis people.”
Wait. I knew this story. Kandor. Atrin Kandor was the Emperor of Quur who’d conquered the Kirpis and pushed out its vané natives, before turning his attention to the Manol in the south.
Invading the Manol hadn’t gone so well. He’d been slaughtered, leaving behind the sword Urthaenriel as the world’s most expensive apology for crashing a party uninvited.
The Manol vané queen, Khaevatz, was usually given credit for Kandor’s death.
But King Kelindel of the refugee Kirpis vané had fled Quur’s invasion to join forces with Queen Khaevatz. He’d helped her, uniting the previously warring Kirpis and Manol groups. He hadn’t tried to kill her. Hell, he’d married her, uniting the Royal Families into a single bloodline. I’d never heard any rumor that she wasn’t full-blooded vané.
It seemed wisest to play along until I could understand what was happening. I nodded. “I’m fine. Let’s do this.”
He stared at me a moment longer, probably because I’d used five words where most vané would have used ten. He nodded and walked outside. I was expected to follow.
I stopped and looked around the room for a mirror and came up empty. King Kelindel evidently didn’t waste time on such frivolities. However, a shiny shield hung from one of the racks, which worked as well as the real thing. I stared at “myself.”
I wasn’t surprised to see I was Kirpis vané. I’d expected that with the clothes and the silk and the fluffy pink Kirpis vané general. However, my overall appearance hadn’t really changed.
I looked older, sharper around the edges, paler in skin tone, and I wore armor I’d never seen before in my life. But I still had the same gold hair. I still had the same blue eyes.
And I still had the Stone of Shackles around my neck.
Why change my appearance, if whatever or whoever was doing this left so many of the details exactly the same?
“Your Majesty?” Sir Rabbit peeked his head inside when I didn’t follow him right away.
“Lead on,” I said.
We exited the tent into darkness. It took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light. I started to walk forward and stopped as my senses reoriented. We weren’t on the ground. The darkness wasn’t caused by the time of day, but by a canopy of tree cover so thick it blocked out the light. Woven into this thick jungle foliage were wonders: birds with plumage brilliant enough to shine even in darkness, luminescent butterflies, and flowers like jewels. Perfumes floated on the air so thick and heady it was like breathing wine.
The Manol Jungle. Home to Teraeth’s people—and the refuge claimed by the Kirpis vané.
Apparently, they had claimed that refuge by force.
Contrasting with the natural beauty was an unnatural state of conflict. Many of the bridges linking tree to tree were on fire. Whole buildings, palaces, were burning or crumbling, the stress of the battle too much for their delicate construction. Lights twisted in the distance like a thousand fireflies locked in battle. I heard the ongoing conflict, a dull roar of orders shouted, screaming men wounded, and arrow volleys launched into the dark.
“Shields up!”
I startled at the screamed order as a group of men and women I hadn’t noticed raised shields up over our heads. Some of those shields were metal, some wood, but a great many of them had a ghostly patina of energy. The energy fields locked fingers with neighboring fields to form a glowing phantasmal wall. The incoming arrow fire bounced harmlessly against this barrier and fell into the vast unending dark between the trees.
A black Manol vané arrow hit the wooden bridge and made a hissing sound as the liquid on the head came into contact with the wood.
“Ready your bows!” A tall woman with daffodil-yellow, cloud-curled hair and skin the color of celery shouted the order.