Queen of Fire

? ? ?

 

The newcomers were unusual in that, unlike most of the other groups to make their way to Warnsclave over the past week, they were rich in children. One of the most frequent and difficult sights on the march had been the plethora of small corpses, often herded into houses and burnt to tiny remnants, others just slaughtered like unwanted livestock and left to rot in the open. Seeing so many still living gave a lift to Lyrna’s spirits, though they were mostly gaunt and silent, staring at her as she moved among their mean accommodations.

 

“Brother Innis,” Brother Hollun introduced a thin man in a grey robe. “Master of the Orphanage at Rhansmill. He hid his charges in the woods for weeks.”

 

“Brother.” Lyrna returned the man’s bow with grave respect. “I thank you, with all my heart. Your deeds credit the Faith.”

 

Brother Innis, clearly unused to royalty and ill from lack of food, staggered a little but managed to remain upright. The children clustered around him, clutching at his robe, some glaring at Lyrna as if she had done him harm. “I had a great deal of help, Highness,” the brother said, gesturing at the comparatively few adults in the group. “These people starved so the children could eat, led the Volarians away so that they might remain undiscovered. Some paid dearly for their courage.”

 

“They will receive full justice for their sacrifice,” she assured him. “If you require anything, speak to Brother Hollun and it will be provided.”

 

He gave another unsteady bow. “Thank you, Highness.”

 

“Now. I seek a woman named Trella Al Oren.”

 

Innis blanched at the name, shooting a guarded glance at a shelter nearby, a roof of thin planking over what had been a woodshed. “She . . . gave much to keep these children warm,” he stammered. “Forgive me, Highness. But I beg that no punishment be visited upon her.”

 

“Punishment?” Lyrna asked.

 

“How may I serve, Highness?”

 

Lyrna turned to find a tall woman standing outside the shelter, arms crossed. She was somewhere past her fiftieth year, handsome features set in a wary frown and white streaking her black hair. “My lady”—Lyrna bowed to her—“I bring news of your son.”

 

Lady Al Oren had contrived to preserve a china tea-set throughout her ordeal, two small cups and a spherical pot, finely decorated with an orchid motif inlaid with gold. “Alpiran,” she said, pouring the tea as they sat outside her shelter. “A gift from my aunt on the occasion of my wedding.”

 

Lyrna sipped her tea, finding the taste surprisingly rich. “My lady is resourceful,” she offered, hoping to ease the woman’s obvious tension. “To keep such treasures safe, and procure tea of such quality.”

 

“We found a merchant’s cart a few weeks ago. The owner killed, of course. They took everything but the tea, though a single sack of grain would have been more welcome.” She sipped her own tea and sighed, steeling herself to ask the obvious question. “How did he die?”

 

“Saving my life, and the lives of those who now make up my court.”

 

“But not his own.”

 

“My lady, if there had been any way . . .”

 

Lady Trella shook her head, eyes closed and face downcast. “I kept hold of my hopes, throughout it all, during the flight from Varinshold, the long days on the road, finding Brother Innis and the children . . . I held to my hope. Fermin was always so clever, if never wise. If there was a way to survive the city’s fall and escape the dungeons, he would have found it.”

 

Lyrna thought of the shark and the battle, wondering if she should share her suspicions, her belief that Fermin had found at least some form of escape, and vengeance. But the words were beyond her, the enigma of it all so great. Was he a man living in a shark? Or a shark with a memory of once being a man? In either case, she felt sure this brave woman had no need to be burdened by further mystery.

 

“It is my wish,” she said, “to make Fermin a posthumous Sword of the Realm. In honour of his sacrifice.”

 

Lady Trella’s lips formed the faintest smile. “Thank you. I think he would have found the notion . . . amusing.”

 

Lyrna glanced around at the onlooking people, the adults busying themselves with the chores of cooking or building, but Brother Innis and his clutch of children continuing to view their meeting with deep concern. “Brother Innis said you kept them warm,” she said.

 

Lady Trella shrugged. “Anyone can light a fire.”

 

“Also, to survive the assault on the city, and the flight southward. Quite an achievement.”

 

Anthony Ryan's books