Queen of Fire

“Your reward is already given,” he said, withdrawing his hand. His face lost its smile, his brow creased with confusion as he tapped a finger to it. “Always the way, something comes back.” His gaze widened a little as he stared into her eyes. “You gave more. More than any other.”

Lyrna experienced a bout of the same near panic that had gripped her at the Mahlessa’s mountain, the desire to run from something unknowable but undeniably dangerous. She exhaled slowly and forced herself to meet his gaze. “What did I give?”

He smiled again, turning away to sit once more, reaching for his rope. “Yourself,” he said in a faint voice as his hands resumed their work.

“My Queen.” She turned to find Iltis marching towards her, his face paler than she would have liked but he still refused to rest. Beyond him she could see Brother Caenis standing with four common folk, two young women from the city, a Nilsaelin soldier and one of Lord Nortah’s free fighters. Lyrna saw the three Gifted from the Reaches stiffen at the sight of them, exchanging worried glances, the big one even hefting the quarterstaff he carried and stepping protectively in front of the girl.

“Lord Marshal Caenis requests a private audience, Highness,” Iltis told her with a bow.

She nodded and beckoned Caenis forward, moving a short distance away from Weaver. She paused a moment to view the frozen waters of the Cold Iron, then glanced over at Cara, now glaring in naked animosity at Brother Caenis as he fell to one knee before her. The power to freeze a river in summer, but she fears this man.

“Highness, I crave your attention . . .”

“Yes, yes, brother.” She waved him to his feet, gesturing at Cara and the other Gifted. “You seem to be making my subjects nervous.”

Brother Caenis turned to the Gifted, grimacing a little. “They . . . fear what I have to tell you.” He faced her, straightening his back. “My Queen, I come to offer the services of my Order in this conflict. We subject ourselves to your commands and shirk no duty in pursuit of victory.”

“I have never doubted the loyalty of the Sixth Order, brother. Though I wish I had more of you . . .” Lyrna trailed off as she looked again at the group of common folk, seeing how they shifted under her scrutiny, every face tense and wary. “These folk do not strike me as likely recruits for the Sixth.”

“No, Highness,” he said and she had a sense of a man forcing himself to a long-feared duty. “We belong to another Order entirely.”

CHAPTER TWO

Alucius

The Kuritai’s name was Twenty-Seven, though Alucius had yet to hear him say it. In fact he had yet to hear the slave-elite say anything. He reacted to instruction with instant obedience and was the perfect servant, fetching, carrying and cleaning with no sign of fatigue or even the faintest expression of complaint.

“My gift to you,” Lord Darnel had said that day they had dragged Alucius from the depths of the Blackhold, expecting death and gasping in astonishment when they removed his shackles and he found his own father’s hands helping him to his feet. “A servant of peerless perfectitude,” Darnel went on, gesturing at the Kuritai. “You know, I think I’m growing fond of your wordsmithing ways, little poet.”

“Yes, I’m very well this fine morning,” Alucius told Twenty-Seven as he laid out the breakfast. “How nice of you to ask.”

They were on the veranda overlooking the harbour, the sun rising over the horizon to paint the ships a golden hue he knew would have sent Alornis scurrying to fetch her canvas and brushes. He had chosen the house for the view, a merchant’s domicile no doubt, its owner presumably dead or enslaved along with his family. Varinshold was full of empty houses now, more to choose from should he grow tired of this one, but he found himself too fond of the view, especially as it covered the entirety of the harbour.

Fewer and fewer ships, he thought, counting the vessels with accustomed precision. Ten slavers, five traders, four warships. The slavers sat highest in the water, their copious holds empty, as they had been for weeks, ever since the great column of smoke had risen to blot the sun from the sky for days on end. Alucius had been trying to write something about it, but found the words failed to flow every time he put pen to paper. How does one write a eulogy for a forest?

Twenty-Seven placed the last plate on the table and stood back as Alucius reached for his cutlery, tasting the mushrooms first, finding them cooked to perfection with a little garlic and butter. “Excellent as always, my deadly friend.”

Twenty-Seven stared out of the window and said nothing.

“Ah yes, it’s visiting day,” Alucius went on around a mouthful of bacon. “Thank you for reminding me. Pack the salve and the new books, if you would.”