The Lioness

Clear as water on a windless lake, Laurana’s expression never changed. “I see you have come back by unusual means, Nayla. You felt the need for secret haste?”

Nayla reached into her shirt and withdrew a small leather pouch. She spilled the contents into her hand, a gleaming emerald shaped like a leaf half-furled. This she put into Laurana’s hand. “I have, Madam, and I thank you for the use of the talisman. As magical talismans work these days, it served well enough.”

She hesitated, then, when she spoke, she spoke directly to Gil.

“I’ve come with unexpected news for you, Your Majesty. I hope you will understand that although I might not understand the full weight and import of what I saw last night, I give you news of it with the best will possible.”

Puzzled, Gilthas frowned. “Please speak freely.”

She drew a breath, and she stood tall, trusting her instinct better than she trusted the king to hear her news calmly. “Sir, while I was upon my errand for your mother, I chanced to witness an incident at the Hare and Hound—”

Gil’s heart jumped.

“—Haugh and I had sat down to supper when an elf-woman came into the tavern.” Her glance jumped from Gilthas to the Queen Mother. “Madam, the rumors we’ve been hearing are true. There’s something...” She shrugged. “Something wrong in the forest.”

Gil leaned forward. “Wrong? What do you mean?”

“Your Majesty, it’s as though something bewitches one’s senses in there, in the deepest parts of the wood. On the road, one may be fine. Farther in—and with no regularity of pattern to discern—a kind of… it feels like magic takes hold, and all the senses are muffled. In the villages and towns, they mutter about the Kagonesti and say the Wilder Kin have something to do with it. I don’t know about the cause, sir. I only know the effect.” She paused. “It is the elf-woman I want to talk about, Kagonesti.”

“At the Hare and Hound.” Gil’s voice was unsteady. If his mother or Nayla noticed, neither acknowledged it.

“She is Kerianseray, Your Majesty, servant in the household of Senator Rashas. I believe you know her, and I believe you will not welcome the news I bring of her.”

“Tell me,” said the king, startled by the coldness of his voice.

“Your Majesty,” said Nayla, “while we were there three Knights came in with a Kagonesti woman for a prisoner. She had been badly beaten. The leader of those Knights is Sir Egil Galaria, one of those beholden to Lord Thagol.”

“Speak of Kerianseray.”

“Sir, Your Majesty, there was a sudden altercation. Somehow she rescued the prisoner and fled the Hare and Hound with her.”

A smile twitched at the corners of the king’s lips. His heart swelled with sudden pride.

“She fled, sir, and on the way out, she killed a Knight. With luck, Lord Thagol doesn’t know it yet, but when he does learn the news …”

She need not have finished the thought. Beyond Laurana’s garden, past the grounds of her residence, the span of the eastern bridge shone in the morning sunlight, mist curling around its towers, wisping like ghostly tendrils of hair around the piked heads.

“Thank you, Nayla,” said the king softly, after a long silence. “I appreciate your effort to bring me this news.” He looked at her with faraway eyes. “I appreciate your discretion, as well, for you must have many thoughts on the subject of Senator Rashas’s servant and reasons why I would be interested in her well-being.”

Nayla bowed, again a courtier’s sweep. When she stood, her green eyes were clear and bright. “I have no thoughts on the subject at all, my lord king. I hope you will trust me ever as your lady mother has. I hope you will know that in all matters, Haugh’s heart and mine are as one.”

He knew it. He had not known the Forest Keepers, that shining legion of warriors who had been the buckler and sword of a kingdom. Fate had commanded that he disband them, the breaking of that valiant army part of the fee to be paid for an uneasy peace that would keep his kingdom intact, his people alive. He saw in the eyes of this messenger the kind of loyalty few but kings would ever know.

Gilthas dismissed her with his gratitude and turned to his mother.

“My son,” she murmured, “it seems your Kerian has become an enemy of your enemy.”

“She has,” Gil said, “and her head is no safer now than her brother’s. She’s a headlong fool, mother.”

Laurana raised a brow. Her lips moved in a small smile, and Gil was reminded that the same had once been said about her by his father.

Laurana took a sip of water, another taste of the cooling peach muffin. “Let’s give Nayla a chance to rest and eat, then let’s see if we can find Kerian before Thagol does.”

The glint in her eye, sudden and keen, was like that of sunlight on dangerous steel.