Kingsbane

by Claire Legrand

  Word must have traveled that she would be making her way home from Mazabat. People must have been waiting at their windows, watching for Atheria on the horizon. For when the godsbeast touched down at the edge of the city, in the tall, thin grasses of the Flats, there was already a crowd waiting on the lake bridges encircling the city. They stood along the central roads that wound lazily northward from the outer districts, toward Mount Cibelline and Baingarde, built upon its slopes. They leaned out of windows and clustered on rooftops.

  Not the entire city, not by half, but still many thousands.

  And they were shouting her name—not the name with which she had been born, but the names they had given her.

  “Blood Queen!” they cried.

  “Lady of Death!”

  “Kingsbane! Kingsbane!”

  That was one Rielle hadn’t heard before, and one that made her feel sparkling and hot, as if she’d stepped too close to a cliff’s edge and caught herself, right at the last moment. The giddy feeling of having barely avoided disaster.

  She held her head high and did as Audric had instructed her in those early days of her national tour. She waved and smiled, ignoring the jeers, the furious cries. No one threw anything at her—perhaps not even the angriest among them dared test her—but they waved crimson banners. They thrust sun pendants at her, the golden surfaces once pristine and now dark with red paint. They crowded close, an aggression in their nearness. The air popped like the heat of a hungry fire.

  “We must get you to the castle,” Tal muttered. He wore Saint Tokazi’s staff around his torso on a leather strap, much of it hidden beneath his cloak. “Take Atheria and go.”

  She shot him a look. “I won’t be cowed. I won’t run from them. They can’t harm me.”

  Ludivine sent her a feeling of urgency. I agree with Tal. Your presence merely serves to provoke them.

  Then provoke them I shall. Rielle caught the eye of a ferociously glowering man, his face puckered with hatred. She flashed him a dazzling smile. He spat at her feet, and she smiled even more brightly.

  “Where’s my mother?” someone cried as Rielle stepped off the bridge and entered the city proper.

  “Bring them back!”

  Those who died at the fire trial, said Ludivine.

  Obviously. Rielle squared her shoulders. I will say something to them.

  No. It’s neither the time nor the place for that.

  It’s the time and place when I say it is, Rielle snapped. She would stop in the market square up ahead, she decided. She would stand on the steps and address them all, tell them she had been studying resurrection, that she had been guiding her power down a path that would someday mean an end to death. No more soldiers killed mysteriously in the cold north. No more unforeseen attacks that would leave dozens dead.

  She picked up her muddy skirts and made swiftly for the market steps. Someone spat at her; someone did, at last, throw a fistful of mud that hit her boot. Tal called for her to stop, but she ignored him. He grabbed her wrist and she wrenched her arm free.

  Rielle, this isn’t the way, Ludivine said, but the feeling of her thoughts was weak.

  They were, all of them, weak.

  Rielle climbed the steps and turned to face the crowd with her head held high.

  But before she could speak, there came a sound to her right, beyond Tal. She whirled and saw a man marching forward out of the crowd, his dagger flashing.

  Astonished not that someone would try to kill her, but that they would do it so stupidly, she watched him coldly.

  Atheria darted between them, rearing up with her front legs flying. Her wings cast immense shadows across the square.

  Those nearest the chavaile cried out and jumped back, but the man—wild-eyed, grim-faced—tried to dart around her. Atheria’s ears flattened. With a hiss, she bared her long, black teeth.

  “It’s all right, Atheria,” Rielle said. “He can’t hurt me.”

  Atheria subsided at once, and the man pushed past her. Tal lunged forward to intercept him instead, but with a flick of her wrist, Rielle stopped him, freezing his body midstride.

  And then she saw the man’s dagger flying at her—a decent enough throw with good aim, but still she stifled a laugh at the sight of it, and only because she thought, at the last moment, that Audric would advise her against laughing with so many eyes upon her.

  Instead she raised her fingers and stopped the blade in the air. It dissolved to infinitesimal specks of metal and bronze and floated away in the wind.

  Then, gently, Rielle flattened her palm and forced the man to his knees. In the tense silence of the watching crowd, she approached him. She stood over him, watching him tremble, and relished the sight of his terror until two tears squeezed out of his limpid eyes, painting tracks down his cheeks.

  “As Sun Queen,” she announced, her voice ringing out clear and strong, “I am and will continue to be merciful. Even to the murderous and treasonous among you.”

  Then she bent to kiss the man’s forehead, her throat clenching in disgust at the grimy, slick texture of his skin. Without another word, she left him kneeling there in the dirt, held out her arm for Ludivine, and continued up the city streets toward Baingarde. The silent crowd parted before her. Rielle did not allow the man to rise until she had reached the temple district, where the sounds of prayer song washed her mind clean of anger.

  • • •

  Audric was inside his office, in a meeting with the Lady of Coin and the Lord of Letters and three other advisers, all of whom bowed their heads and swiftly left upon Rielle’s arrival.

  Once they were alone, her exhaustion rose up like a river swell, and when Audric came around his desk, she met him halfway. His arms came around her tightly, his hands soft in her travel-dusted hair. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest until the sensation of her fatigue was not so overwhelming.

  “A month apart is too long, my love,” he said. He kissed her hair, her cheeks, and then her mouth, then led her to the sofa against the windows. He sat in the cushions, and she climbed into his lap. He held her in silence, stroking circles between her shoulder blades until she found the will to speak.

  “They were waiting for me,” she whispered against his collar, breathing in the scent of his skin, his hair. “Thousands of them, on the bridges and in the streets.”

  “I know.” Audric’s voice was steady. Even without Ludivine to help her, Rielle sensed the quiet force of him, like a physical thing in her mind, soothing all her worries. “I hope you aren’t angry I didn’t come to meet you.”

  She looked up at him. “Why should I be?”

  “I thought it would be best for you to handle the situation on your own.” His soft gaze met her own. “God, how I missed your face.”

  She kissed him, long and slow, and then, drowsy, subsided against him. “They hate me,” she said after a moment.

  “Not all of them do,” he replied.

  “Even some is too many. Why should they fear me? Why don’t they love me?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  She frowned against him. “If they’d only step back a little from their anger and their fear of things they don’t understand, they’d see that there’s no danger in me. I don’t want to hurt them.”

  “I think, given time, they will see this well enough.” Then there was a pause, and when Audric spoke again, his voice was grave. “I received a letter from Queen Bazati. She told me what happened with the Obex.”

  Rielle stilled. “Did she?”

  “She said they attacked you, and Princess Kamayin’s friend, as well.”

  “That’s true.”

  “She said you killed them. Every single one of them.”

  She pushed herself back from him. “That’s also true.”

  “Wouldn’t incapacitating them have worked just as well
?”

  “They deserved to be punished,” she said at once. “Not only for attacking me and Zuka, the boy, but also for endangering the lives of everyone in the world by trying to keep the staff from me.” Then, worried that this reasoning was still too cold for him, she added, “And anyway, they attacked us—me, Tal, the boy. It was self-defense.”

  Audric nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. That’s what I thought.”

  “Then why ask me?”

  “I wanted to hear you say it. I wanted to see the light in your eyes as you said it.”

  She stiffened. “Because you wanted to ensure that it wasn’t simply bloodlust that made me kill them? That my power hadn’t gotten the better of me?”

  “That’s not what I meant, darling.”

  But she sensed it was in fact what he had meant, and she couldn’t even be angry at him for it, though she wanted to be. She pushed herself off the sofa, avoiding his gaze.

  “Well, then,” she said. “Perhaps I should pay a visit to your mother.”

  “She’s sleeping just now. I’m loath to wake her.”

  “What exactly is wrong with her? In your letter, you didn’t say.”

  He frowned at his feet. “I’m not sure, and neither is Garver, nor any of the royal healers. I worry that…”

  He paused.

  She went to him, reaching for his hand. He squeezed it gratefully.

  “I worry that it’s a matter of her no longer wishing to be in this world,” he began again. “She hardly eats. She barely sleeps. Terrible nightmares plague her. She talks of nothing else but Father. Him, and you.”

  That startled her. “Me?”

  “She talks madness, Rielle.” Audric looked up at her, his dark eyes solemn. “She says you can’t be trusted. She says everything that happened at the fire trial was your fault. I told her that’s ludicrous. I told her an angel was behind the attack. I reminded her of the Sunderlands and the Gate. She refuses to listen to reason.”

  Rielle forced herself to look right at him. “She must miss Bastien terribly.”

  “Yes, but it’s more than that. My mother is a rational being. I’ve never imagined her to be the kind of person who would let herself waste away like this.”

  “Grief is a terrible thing,” Rielle forced out, her mind faintly buzzing as it retrieved memories of the fire trial against her will—Bastien’s and Lord Dervin’s still bodies, flat on the ground. Her own father, his eyes fluttering shut as he sang to her. “You have never seen your mother suffer a loss as terrible as this. My own mother’s death altered my father forever.”

  Audric nodded to himself, brow furrowed. She sat down beside him, letting the moment of their shared loss stretch between them. Pretending, for his sake, that she felt her grief as keenly as he felt his. She kept very still, forcing her mind blank and clear, until the truth of her terrible lie dimmed.

  At last, Audric sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “There’s something else.”

  Rielle looked up sharply at the change in his voice.

  “Has Lu told you?” he asked. “About her brother.”

  “Merovec? No. Why?”

  He blew out a long breath. “He arrives in three days for a two-week visit. He wants to pay his respects to Mother, as he hasn’t seen her since Father’s death or the death of Lord Sauvillier.”

  Rielle raised her eyebrows. This was unexpected. “Why didn’t you tell me this in your letter?”

  “I assumed he would have written Lu, or else she would have somehow sensed his intentions. Though she’s not truly his sister, the body she possesses was, and I thought…” He gestured, a slight sadness falling over his face, as it always did when either of them spoke of Ludivine’s true nature. “I thought she might have known already.”

  “No. She didn’t, and she said nothing to me.” She hesitated. “Lu’s not well, Audric.”

  “The blightblade scar?”

  “It’s spreading. It’s interfering with her ability to read thoughts and communicate with me.”

  He stood. “And her ability to protect you from Corien.”

  She would never grow used to the sound of Corien’s name falling from Audric’s lips. It was like trying to shimmy into a gown that did not quite fit.

  “Yes,” she replied. “That too.”

  He was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window. When he turned back, his face had slightly closed to her.

  “Then you must practice, I suppose, and continue studying,” he said. “If Ludivine isn’t healed, then you’ll be left defenseless against him.”

  “Don’t use that word.” She rose, watching him return to his desk. “I’m not defenseless. We’ve discussed this before.”

  “I know.” His voice was hollow, weary. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. You aren’t defenseless. I only meant that, with Lu, you’re more protected than you are alone. You have an adviser in her, and she offers you counsel I cannot.” He gave her a small smile. “And I know it would please you to heal her. I know you want to help—her, and all of us.”

  In an instant, she had forgiven him. The quiet love on his face warmed her. It was trite to compare his ardor to sunlight, and yet every time he looked at her, that was what she felt—a warm, spreading glow from her scalp to her toes. He was the sun to her hungry earth. He was the steady voice in her mind that spoke to her when she didn’t feel steady at all.

  She went to him and climbed once more into his lap. He welcomed her easily, clinging to her softness as she settled against him. He whispered her name, his eyes drifting shut at her touch, and this time when she kissed him, she did not stop.

  • • •

  Merovec arrived at three o’clock in the afternoon, three days later, and the whole city came out to greet him.

  From her rooms, as her maids dressed her, Rielle watched his progress through the city. Evyline, at the door, kept clucking her tongue. They would be late.

  But Rielle did not relish the idea of standing there at the castle gates, twiddling her thumbs while Merovec took his time wandering through the city. She changed her gown four times before settling on one she deemed suitable—a velvet gown of deep plum and forest green, with a wide, swooping neckline that left her shoulders bare and gold trim at the sleeves and skirts. More of a winter gown than a spring one, but she couldn’t resist the drama of it—nor the unabashed House Courverie colors. The maids braided some of Rielle’s hair back from her face and left the rest falling free in wild, dark waves.

  “Ready,” she said at last, primly, as she glided past Evyline out the door.

  Evyline blew out a sharp breath and followed her, the rest of the Sun Guard falling into formation behind them.

  “My lady,” Evyline began.

  “Yes, my darling Evyline?” said Rielle.

  “I don’t think it wise to keep Lord Sauvillier waiting. In fact, as a general rule, I think we should scramble to please him.”

  “Evyline, who is the Sun Queen? Me, or Merovec?”

  “My lady,” said Evyline, exasperated, “that is not my point. House Sauvillier—”

  “Oh, I know all about House Sauvillier,” Rielle said, waving her hand. “Money and power and popularity and more land than they know what to do it. Awful, rocky land in the north, where it snows constantly and no one of sound mind likes to live, but it’s land nonetheless, I suppose.”

  “It’s just that in the wake of everything that’s happened with, ah, His Highness and Lady Ludivine… That is, with the betrothal broken, and your, ah, relationship with His Highness so publicly known…”

  Rielle stopped walking. “Evyline, do you think me ignorant of circumstances in my own life? And the political dynamics of my own country?”

  Evyline flushed. “No, my lady.”

  “Well, then. Let’s walk on in silence, shall we?”

  And so th
ey did, until emerging into the brightly lit stone yard outside the castle doors. A massive crowd had gathered at the lower gates, waving the colors of House Sauvillier—silver, russet, and slate blue. Raucous cheers met Rielle’s ears. They cheered for Merovec, for Ludivine. Merrily, they sang the old northern traveling song: “Beware, beware the Sauvillier smile…”

  Just before Rielle joined Audric and Queen Genoveve, thin and pale in her mourning gown, Evyline touched her arm, holding her back.

  Rielle nearly snapped at her—until she saw the expression on her face.

  “I only ask that you be careful, my lady,” Evyline said softly. “I do not trust him. And I very much dislike the things I have heard about stirrings in the north.”

  Rielle relented, squeezing Evyline’s gold-gloved hand. “We will discuss this later.”

  Then, with a twinge of apprehension in her breast, she turned with a bright smile to greet the Shield of the North.

  38

  Eliana

  “I’ve never had many friends. Most people think I’m foolish for believing in the old stories and for writing about them and for telling them over and over and changing things about them to make them better. The only person who’s never teased me even once is Eliana. She doesn’t believe the old stories are true, not anymore, but she listens every time I tell them. I help her sleep by reading them aloud to her. When I cry or get angry because I can’t decide on the right words, she holds my hand until I find them.”

  —Journal of Remy Ferracora, July 27, Year 1015 of the Third Age

  As the scouts informed the others of what they had seen—a force of Empire soldiers, thousands strong, moving inexorably toward a city that held hundreds of such soldiers already—Eliana carefully watched Simon’s face, but it gave nothing away.

  All the feeling he had worn recently vanished, a shutter swiftly falling down over his eyes. When the scouts finished speaking, and Ester had led them away to be fed and have their wounds tended to, a silence fell over those left in the room. Simon glanced at Eliana only once, and then turned away to stand at the far window.

  Patrik blew out a breath, his arm bound in a sling. Remy waited, fretting at the edge of his chair, Harkan sitting still and silent beside him. Dani leaned back in her own chair, a thoughtful frown on her face. Jessamyn stood in the corner, leaning on her crutch and glaring at the floor, her faded red hair falling in two neat plaits down her back.