Queen of Fire

The various contingents of conscripts began arriving a month later, even though the rapidly descending winter did much to discourage marching. With the ever-deepening cold Reva ordered work on the walls stopped and all hands put to repairing the city proper, tents and oilskins to be replaced with walls and tiled roofs. Rationing was resumed as the snows blocked the passes through the mountains to Nilsael and halted further supply from the southern shore.

 

Reva began each day with Ellese’s lessons, starting with the knife, finding a long-bladed dirk that suited the girl’s small grip. For all her enthusiasm she was a clumsy student, given to frequent falls and scraped knees, though, unlike every other chore she was put to, her lessons with Reva never provoked tears, but her passion for questions remained unabated.

 

“Were you my age when you learned to do this?”

 

“I started younger. Don’t jump when you thrust, it’ll leave you unbalanced.”

 

“Who taught you?”

 

“A very bad man.”

 

“Why was he bad?”

 

“He wanted me to do bad things.”

 

“What bad things?”

 

“Too many to list. Watch me, not your feet.”

 

She left her to practice on the lawn and joined Veliss on the veranda, wrapped in furs against the frosty air and holding a sealed scroll. “It’s come then?”

 

Veliss nodded, handing her the scroll, though her gaze was still on Ellese, dancing her clumsy dance on the lawn. “She’s not really suited to this.”

 

“She’ll learn, from both of us.”

 

“Why did you take her in? You could have found a decent home for her elsewhere. Cumbrael is rich in bereaved mothers hungry for children.”

 

Reva glanced back at Ellese as she parried a thrust from an invisible enemy. “She didn’t run. When I went into her house she tried to stab me, and when I took her knife away she still didn’t run.” She turned back to Veliss. “I would appreciate it if you would see to the articles of adoption.”

 

“You’re sure? She’s so young.”

 

“She’s of noble birth and keen mind, with you to guide her she’ll do very well. And we need to secure the future.”

 

Veliss’s eyes went to the scroll, lingering on the queen’s seal. “I have never asked you for a promise. But I ask one now. Whatever awaits you across the ocean, promise you will stay alive and come back to me.”

 

Reva unfurled the scroll, finding it penned in the queen’s own hand, rich in warm regard and appreciation for her diligent enforcement of the edict, ending with a politely phrased order to bring her forces to South Tower by the last day of Illnasur. When winter will not have ended, Reva realised. She intends to sail before the onset of spring.

 

“Reva,” Veliss said in a choked whisper.

 

Reva took her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek, voicing another lie. “I promise.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

Vaelin

 

 

 

 

 

Vaelin had once spent a winter at the Skellan Pass attempting to combat an upsurge in Lonak raids. Then it had been busy with brothers and Wolfrunners, a stark contrast to the silent walls and turrets he saw now, bereft of brothers to greet them as they approached the squat tower at the mouth of the pass. He knew Sollis had abandoned it with good reason, the Lonak having agreed peace and the invasion requiring every hand he could muster, but still the emptiness of the Realm’s great northern shield was disconcerting, a measure of how much had changed in so short a time.

 

“My people would have rejoiced at such a sight once,” Kiral said, no doubt sensing his feelings. “Now even they find it a grim omen.”

 

Vaelin turned as Lord Marshal Orven reined to a halt at his side, his fifty men all that remained of the Queen’s Mounted Guard. “Post guards. We’ll rest here tonight.”

 

He spent the night in the tower with Kiral and the Gifted from Nehrin’s Point, all of whom had opted to accompany him rather than join the queen’s impending voyage across the Boraelin. The queen herself had blessed their endeavour with well-chosen words and a fine smile, both of which belied her reaction when he had related his intention in private.

 

“You want to go trekking across the northern ice floes in the middle of winter?” She had called him to her rooms at the palace and the hour was late. Although, judging by the laughter seeping through the door, some of the children were still awake. They had grown steadily in number since the city’s liberation until there were near two hundred orphans crowding this wing of the palace, all formally recognised as Wards of the Crown under the Queen’s Word. Lyrna’s rooms were mostly bare of finery, filled with books and a selection of Brother Harlick’s scrolls, her desk holding several neat piles of notes in her precise script. The space was dimly lit by a single lamp and the glow from the fire, leaving half her features in shadow as she fixed him with a frown of wary bemusement, as if waiting for him to conclude a poor joke.

 

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