“And he has a name, this endless man?”
“A thousand, changed with every lifetime as he passes from nation to nation. One of the Ally’s creatures, the one they call the Messenger, caught his scent some fifteen years ago in the Unified Realm. He was calling himself Erlin.”
CHAPTER ONE
Lyrna
It took some time to find her garden, the ruins having been cleared by Darnel’s slaves to make way for his architectural ambitions, leaving only an outline of stunted brick and bare earth where flowers had once grown. Strangely, her bench was still intact, if somewhat blackened. She sat surveying the wasted remnants of the vanished refuge she had cherished. It was here she had led Vaelin that night, winning his enmity with her clumsy intrigues but learning a lesson in the process; some eyes will always see through a mask. Here also she had spent those delightful hours with Sister Sherin after securing her release from the Blackhold, the healer’s innate kindness and sparkling intellect dispelling jealousy, for the most part. Lyrna remembered finding friendship an enjoyable if brief novelty and, when Sherin sailed away to Linesh, she had stopped coming here. The secluded courtyard no longer felt like a welcoming haven, just an empty corner of a palace where a lonely woman nursed flowers and schemes whilst she waited for her father to die.
“Ler-nah!”
She raised her gaze in time to catch a glimpse of a tall figure striding towards her before Davoka’s embrace forced the air from her lungs and pulled her from the bench, her feet coming free of the ground as she was crushed into the Lonak woman’s chest. Lyrna heard the pounding of boots accompanied by swords scraping free of scabbards. “Unhand our Queen, savage!” Iltis snarled.
Davoka ignored him, releasing Lyrna after a final crushing squeeze, clasping her head in both hands. She was smiling, something Lyrna found she couldn’t remember her doing before. “I thought I had lost you, sister,” she said in Lonak, fingers tracing over her face, from her brow to the rapidly growing red-gold locks beyond. “He said you burned.”
“I did.” Lyrna clasped her hands and kissed them, nodding reassurance at Iltis and Benten, who sheathed their swords, retreating with bows and bemused expressions. “I still do, sister.”
Davoka stepped back, a certain tense reluctance showing in her gaze before she spoke again, slipping into Realm Tongue with practised ease. “Brother Frentis . . .”
Lyrna turned away from her, Davoka falling silent at the sudden sharpness in her expression. Mention of the famed Red Brother had been frequent since her arrival the previous evening, amongst the first words spoken by her Battle Lord on disembarking at the docks, as well as a heartfelt entreaty from Aspect Elera and a clipped request for mercy from Brother Sollis. She had given the same answer to each of them, the same answer she gave Davoka now. “Judgement will be rendered in due course.”
“We fought together in the forest before it burned,” Davoka went on. “We are gorin. He is my brother as you are my sister.”
The Volarian woman’s red tears, the searing pain as her hair caught alight . . . Lyrna closed her eyes against the memories, feeling the breeze on her skin, her healed, unmarred skin. Healed? she asked herself. Is that what I am?
The night before she had watched Alucius on the fire. She had spoken briefly beforehand, formally naming him Sword of the Realm, his sigil to be a pen and a wine cup, for she knew it would have made him laugh. Lady Alornis stepped forward to add her voice, face pale and expressionless but with tears streaming from her eyes as her brother laid comforting hands on her shoulders.
“Alucius Al Hestian . . .” she began, faltered then continued in a broken voice, “. . . will be called a . . . hero by many. A poet by others, and . . .” she paused to form a faint smile, “overfond of wine by some. I will always call him . . . simply, my friend.”
Lakrhil Al Hestian had been permitted to attend, standing by, hollow-eyed and silent in his chains. He made no speech and stared at the rising flames with dry eyes. Lyrna allowed him to remain until the fire burned down to embers then ordered him returned to the dungeons, now crowded with other traitors awaiting the queen’s justice.