A Red-Rose Chain

“Um, hi,” I said. “You are . . . ?”


“My name is Faoiltiarna. You may call me ‘Tia,’ as that will probably be easier on you.” The woman looked at me solemnly, her eyes large and liquid and filled with the sorrow that only dogs seem to have access to. “Madden is my brother. He was snatched from the yard of our home. We knew it must be an act of violence brought against him for his association with Queen Windermere. Cowards have always struck at brave rulers through their canines.”

Arden put her hand over her mouth again, and didn’t say anything. She seemed to have frozen under the pressure, which wasn’t the most useful reaction out of a monarch. I tried to swallow my anger. Inexperienced Queens can’t be expected to get everything perfect right out the gate. Her reign had consisted of one rebellion where she didn’t have to do much, a lot of cleaning, and a couple of parties. It wasn’t surprising that she was overwhelmed now.

“Can I see that?” I asked, taking a step toward Tia and holding out my hand.

“Certainly,” she said. She dropped the scroll into my palm, her sorrowful gaze flicking to Madden, who still hung motionless between the guards who had carried him inside. “My poor brother. He’ll have a good long sleep, and when he wakes up, we’ll be waiting to tell him about everything that’s changed in the world. May he slumber here?” She looked back to Arden. “Our mother told us when we followed her to the Mists that King Gilad had a chamber for sleepers such as this. It would be best if Madden could sleep in safety, with no need to fear the march of progress.”

“We haven’t finished opening the knowe, but if that room is here, we’ll find it,” said Lowri. Her voice was calm and even; of everyone in this room, she had the most experience serving in a royal court. “If Queen Windermere consents, we can place him in his own room while we search. He’ll be comfortable there.”

Queen Windermere wasn’t consenting. Queen Windermere wasn’t saying anything at all. She was still just standing there, frozen and silent.

I swallowed a sigh and unrolled the parchment, careful to avoid paper cuts. There was no guarantee that whoever had left us the message would be enough of a dick to poison it, but there was also no guarantee that they wouldn’t. Better safe than joining Madden in a century of sleep.

I skimmed the parchment, reading it twice over before I said, “The Kingdom of Silences is declaring war on the Kingdom of the Mists, in answer to our most treacherous and unkind act of treason. They want to depose Arden and return the ‘rightful Queen’ to the throne—their words, not mine. As per tradition, we have three days to give our final answer, or they attack.”

“What rightful Queen?” asked Quentin.

“Who do you think?” I held the parchment out toward him. They didn’t name their chosen monarch—of course they didn’t, no one ever had; no one had ever known her name—but they called her “our fair lady of the Mists” and “the Siren of the West.” It was pretty clear they intended to put the former Queen back in the position she’d held for more than a century, just like it was clear that we needed to stop them.

“But High King Sollys confirmed Queen Windermere’s claim to the throne,” said Quentin, sounding confused. “That means she’s legitimate.”

“He also confirmed the nameless usurper’s claim,” I said. “That means she can try to take it back. Your Highness, we’re not going to—” I turned toward the spot where Arden had been standing, and stopped. The smell of blackberry flowers and redwood bark was hanging in the air and the guards were staring, open-mouthed, at nothing.

The Queen was gone.





THREE