Queen of Fire

“Now there is no fleet,” Lyrna pointed out. “And the pickings are likely to be rich, are they not, given the enemy’s losses at the Teeth?”

He nodded again. “Rich indeed, Highness.”

“You gave me a ship yesterday. Today I give her back to you with a request you take your fleet and seize or burn any Volarian ship you find journeying to or from Varinshold. Will you do this for me?”

She felt the other captains stirring, hard gazes turning on the pirate. Don’t like to see a queen bargain, she decided. I’ll speak to him in private in future.

“My men may take some persuasion,” he responded after a moment. “We sailed to defend the Isles. And that task is done.”

Ship Lord Ell-Nurin stepped forward, bowing to her with accomplished grace. “I can’t speak for the Shield’s men, Highness. But my men are ready to follow you to Udonor’s Halls if you ask. As I’m sure will many more. After the Battle of the Teeth and . . . your healing, many wouldn’t dare refuse.” He turned to the Shield with an expectant expression.

“As the Ship Lord says,” the Shield grated after a moment. “How could we refuse?”

“Very well.” Lyrna scanned the map once more. “Preparations must be complete within the week. Whereupon the army will march not north but east, to the coast. We will proceed to Varinshold via the coastal ports where our Meldenean allies will resupply us with whatever riches the Volarian Ruling Council deems fit to send its garrison. Also, ports mean fishing folk, who I’m sure will be glad of the custom.”

“If there are any left,” Reva said softly.

“I hereby make the following appointments,” Lyrna went on, choosing to ignore the Lady Governess. “Please forgive the lack of ceremony but we have no time for such pettiness now. I name Lord Vaelin Al Sorna as Battle Lord of the Queen’s Host. Count Marven is named Sword of the Realm and Adjutant General. Brother Hollun, I name you Keeper of the Queen’s Purse. Captains Adal, Orven and Nortah are hereby made Swords of the Realm and elevated to the rank of Lord Marshal. Lord Atheran Ell-Nestra.” She met the Shield’s gaze once more. “I name you Fleet Lord of the Unified Realm and captain of its flagship.” She cast her gaze around the assembly. “These appointments include all due rights and privileges set down by Realm Law with grants and lands to be allotted at the close of hostilities. I ask you formally, do you accept these honours?”

She noted Vaelin was the last to voice his assent, and then only after the Shield had taken a seeming age to bow in agreement, a ghost of his usual smile on his lips.

“Other business, Lords and good sirs?” she asked the Council.

“There is the matter of the prisoners, Highness,” Lord Marshal Orven said. “Keeping them safe is proving a trial. Especially given the bow skills of our Cumbraelin hosts,” he added with a glance in Reva’s direction.

“They have been screened for useful intelligence, I assume?” Lyrna asked.

Harlick, the thin older brother, raised a bony hand. “That task was given to me, Highness. There are a few officers among them I’ve yet to question. Though, my experience to date indicates their usefulness is likely to be limited.”

“They can work,” Vaelin said, meeting her gaze with red-rimmed but steady eyes. “Rebuild what they destroyed.”

“I can’t have them in the city,” Reva put in, shaking her head. “The people will tear them apart.”

“Then we take them with us,” Vaelin responded. “They can act as porters.”

“And more mouths to feed,” Lyrna said, turning to Brother Harlick. “Complete your questioning, brother. Lord Marshal Orven will hang them when you’re done. My lords and sirs, to your duties if you please.”

• • •

She found him sitting by the river, seemingly no more than a well-built soldier plaiting rope with unusually nimble fingers. Vaelin had warned her not to expect much from him so it was a surprise when he scrambled to his feet as she approached, performing a bow of such perfection it would have shamed the most accomplished courtier.

“Cara said I should bow,” he told her, his broad handsome face lit by an open smile. “Showed me how.”

Lyrna glanced off to the right where the three other Gifted from the Reaches looked on. The girl, Cara, still pale and tired by her exertions the day before, regarded Lyrna with a suspicious frown, matched by the skinny young man who held her hand and the hulking fellow with copious hair who stood behind them both. Do they think I come to punish?

Benten put a hand on his sword as Weaver came closer, reaching out to touch her face. “It’s all right, my lord,” she told the former fisherman, standing still and allowing the healer’s hand to play over her features. It burned before, but now it’s cold.

“I came to offer my thanks, sir,” she told Weaver. “I would name you a lord . . .”