“I don’t know how much Fermin told you of our circumstances, Highness, but despite our name, we did not live a noble existence. Poverty makes one resourceful.”
“I’m sure. But still, a woman alone, surviving war and hunger for so long.” She watched Lady Trella sip more tea, seeing how she forced herself to swallow. “You may have heard,” she went on, “that I have lifted all strictures on use of the Dark in this Realm. The Gifted now occupy an honoured place in my army, and upon speaking to them, I have noticed that they share a common trait. In each case their mother also had a gift, but not always their father. Curious, don’t you think?”
Lady Trella met her gaze then slowly raised her hand, splaying the fingers. “A Volarian soldier kicked my door in that night, found me hiding in my bedroom closet, laughed as he took hold of my hair and made ready to cut my throat.” A small blue flame appeared on the tip of her index finger, dancing prettily. “He didn’t laugh for long.” The flame turned yellow and flared, engulfing Trella’s hand from fingers to wrist.
“Highness!” Iltis appeared at her side, sword half-drawn. Lyrna realised she had risen and backed away, staring at the flames.
“I know of your edict, Highness,” Trella said. “But mere words do not dispel centuries of fear. My mother made certain I knew well the danger of revealing my nature, the terror it aroused, and the unwelcome attention it drew from the Faithful.” She closed her hand and the flames died. Lyrna took a breath, forcing the tremble from her limbs. She gave a nod of reassurance to Iltis and resumed her seat, sipping some more tea until the memories faded. The smell of her own skin as the flames licked over it . . .
“The Seventh Order is bound by my word,” she said after a moment, when she was sure there would be no quaver to her voice. “I will not allow them to compel any subject to join it. There is a small company of Gifted from the Northern Reaches who stand apart from them, answering only to Lord Vaelin and myself. You would be welcome to join them.”
“I am an old woman, Highness.”
“Not so old, I think. And I feel your son’s soul would smile on your service, don’t you?”
Trella’s eyes went to the children standing nearby. “I have obligations here, Highness.”
“These children will be well cared for, you have my word on it. They have no more need of your fire, but I do.”
Something must have coloured her voice then because the wariness on Trella’s face deepened, her eyes taking on the guarded cast Lyrna was seeing more often on a few select faces. Nortah, Dahrena, Reva . . . Vaelin. Those not in awe see more clearly. “I make no command,” Lyrna added with a smile. “Merely a queen’s request. Think on it a while. Meet with Aspect Caenis or the folk from the Reaches. I am sure either would welcome you.”
“I will, Highness.” Trella bowed as Lyrna rose. “One more thing, if I may crave a boon.”
“Of course.”
“My son’s sigil.” The lady’s eyes were bright with tears now, the children coming to her side as they sensed her distress. “I should like it to be a weasel. Of all the little beasts that followed him home, they were his favourite.”
“As my lady wishes,” Lyrna assured her with a bow. Better a weasel than a shark.
? ? ?
Although much of Warnsclave had been destroyed down to its cobbled streets, the infrastructure below the town remained largely intact, numerous cellars providing useful additional shelter, and places of confinement. The Volarian woman had been secured in the coal cellar of what had once been a blacksmith’s shop, judging by the soot-covered anvil sitting amidst the rubble. Two Realm Guard stood outside the steps leading down to the cellar whilst Lord Verniers waited, resting on the anvil as she approached, scribbling away in a small notebook. He rose on seeing her, bowing with his usual fluency and greeting her in Realm Tongue uncoloured by even the trace of an accent. “Highness. My thanks on granting my request.”
“Not at all, my lord,” she replied. “However, I feel I have brought you here on a false premise.”
“Highness?”
Lyrna gestured for the guards to open the door to the cellar. “Yes, my lord. I know you are keen for my knowledge to add to your history, but I regret scholarship will have to wait upon the needs of diplomacy.”
She bade him follow her down the steps, Iltis preceding her into the darkness. Fornella Av Entril Av Tokrev sat at a small table, reading by the light of a single candle. She wore no chains and her face and hair were clean, Lyrna having allowed her a bowl of water each morning for ablutions. She had also been provided with parchment and ink, the table before her covered with a scroll inscribed from end to end in neat Volarian.