by Cara Witter
All three of them drew their swords.
Forty-seven
The head steward, Rakal, showed up to lead them personally to their appointment with the queen shortly after Daniella had given up trying to force herself to eat lunch. He stopped at her room first, and then, after exchanging meaningless pleasantries that fled from Daniella’s anxious mind the moment they left her lips, they knocked on Kenton and Perchaya’s door.
Daniella wasn’t sure if it was the success of their plans so far or just a good night’s rest, but as Kenton strode down the hallway behind Rakal, he carried himself taller, with more purpose. Like a nobleman.
Even Perchaya seemed affected by his transformation, her gloved hands fiddling less with her skirts, her stance more natural. Her gaze kept drifting to Kenton’s face, then down to her hands, her cheeks flushing lightly.
Daniella desperately wished she could ask Perchaya if anything had happened between her and Kenton last night. Though even that distraction couldn’t keep Daniella’s heart from all but pounding free of her chest when they approached the massive throne room doors.
Behind which waited the queen. And the Sunstone.
And probably at least a dozen guards, judging by the six stationed around the large antechamber leading to the throne room itself.
I can do this. All I have to do is talk. I can talk, and not get us killed.
Probably.
The guards flanking the doors—were those swords even sharper-looking than the ones carried by the guards outside?—pulled the slim, golden doorhandles and then Kenton, Perchaya, and Daniella followedRakal into the throne room.
The massive throne room.
It was easily twice the size of her father’s throne room in Peldenar, and the ceiling rose considerably higher than any room in that castle. Considerably higher than she would have thought possible carved into a mountain.
The walls themselves were mostly plain, dotted with large light globes in pure white. But the lack of decor on the walls only served to accent the beauty of the ceiling above them. Hundreds, if not thousands, of panes of multi-colored glass arched to form a dome above them, the pieces individually framed in gold. The ceiling itself shone, lit with globes from behind, casting a pale reflection of the swirl of color onto the plain tiled floor under their feet. Daniella closed her mouth quickly when she realized she was gaping, but couldn’t keep her eyes from trying to seek out a pattern in the spray of colors and shapes.
Daniella startled as the doors closed behind them with a definitive boom.
It was enough to remind her she wasn’t here to study Tirostaari ceiling art. That, and the sight of the pedestal directly under the apex of the dome, circled about by an iron railing.
Nerendal. Daniella’s throat went dry, even as her palms sweated furiously against her long silken sleeves. The stone was clear, with a single flickering flame blooming inside it, casting a glowing light on the iron table on which it rested. Daniella stared at it, transfixed. Being in the presence of the god, it was easy to see why he was known by so many names. Hearthstone. Flower of Tirostaar. Heart of the Island.
And they were here to steal it.
On the far side of the room, the queen cleared her throat. Daniella startled, and beside her, Kenton and Perchaya did the same. They’d all been staring at the stone—between the churning glow of the god and the riot of color from the ceiling, it was easy to overlook the actual throne and the queen sitting on it.
At first glance, Daniella knew that overlooking this woman would be a grave mistake. Saara’s aunt watched them with a sharp intensity, her dark eyes flickering over each of them and, Daniella feared, taking in far too much.
The queen sat tall on the elaborately carved throne, which was made of a light-colored polished wood of a kind Daniella had never seen. While the queen wore a long, finely woven tunic of green silk, dotted with dozens of lustrous pearls and belted in gold braid, her loose pants looked similar to those the guards wore.
Daniella couldn’t help but hope the queen didn’t have one of those hooked blades hidden under her throne cushion.
“Your Majesty,” Rakal intoned in Tirostaari, “may I present to you Lord Jaemeson of Grisham and his wife, the Lady Perchaya. They hope to discuss a potential alliance with Tirostaar.”
Even as Daniella translated the words into Mortichean, it was obvious that the queen was already aware of who they were. The Andronish court had been like that too, full of formalities and obvious proclamations that seemed to exist only so the nobility could hear themselves speak. Daniella’s father had no patience for such things.
She hated that this was one more thing she had in common with him.
Queen Aiyen inclined her head as Kenton and Perchaya made the proper show of respect, their palms pressed to their foreheads as they bowed.
“Welcome to Tir Neren,” Queen Aiyen said in Tirostaari. Her expression was so similar to Saara’s. Serious. Guarded. Calculating.
“I am interested to hear your proposal, of course,” the queen continued, her long fingers drumming lightly against the throne’s armrest. The pearlescent lacquer on her fingernails gleamed in the light of the pulsing, swirling Sunstone. “I rarely receive visitors from Mortiche. But first, let us free your translator of her burden. I assume you speak Sevairnese?”
Daniella’s pulse thrummed as she translated. Saara was right, and thankfully Kenton wouldn’t have to speak much more Mortichean, but that did nothing to ease her nerves.
Because the next part was up to her.
“I do, and I thank you for honoring us with this meeting,” Kenton said in Sevairnese, with a tight smile that may have been his best effort at basic friendliness.
Or perhaps he was doing as Daniella was, trying hard not to keep glancing over at the guards—five of them, three back by the door and two behind the queen’s throne—and trying to discern how many weapons they each had.
No, Daniella thought. Kenton had undoubtedly already assessed the threats and planned for them. If he was worried about anything, it was whether Daniella would do her part.
Which she would.
She shifted nervously, her gaze drifting back to the Sunstone. As soon as Kenton introduced Daniella, as not only his translator, but a devout follower of Kotali who’d longed to see the Sunstone in person, she would—
“Tell me, Lord Jaemeson,” the queen said. “Why have you personally come all this way to treat with me, rather than reach out through the usual Council channels?”
Daniella’s heart skipped several beats. Saara had told them her aunt rarely led straight into business, preferring to put her guests at ease with small talk. Perchaya’s wide eyes met Daniella’s for the barest of moments.
Kenton’s expression, however, remained unfazed. “The Dukes Council is a mighty force, but it can be unwieldy and lumbering. My uncle thought that perhaps making an alliance between Tirostaar and the duchy of Grisham specifically would encourage the other duchies to take similar measures, thus strengthening Mortiche as a whole. None of us can afford to sit on our hands while Sevairn continues to grow stronger and greedier.”
Now Daniella’s eyes were wide for a wholly different reason. Kenton’s tone and words were so perfectly politically savvy she might have actually believed him to be a nobleman.
Queen Aiyen studied him for a moment, her fingernails still clicking against the wood of the armrest. “Interesting,” she said. “Especially given the missive I recently received from the Council, with your uncle’s signature among those of the other dukes. The Council didn’t seem to have had any trouble reaching a consensus about forming an alliance with me then.”
Daniella’s breath caught her in her throat, and even Kenton’s tightly controlled expression slipped. If the queen had already reached an alliance with Mortiche before they’d arrived, she knew they were here for something else.
Kenton swal
lowed, the tight smile returning to his lips. Daniella could almost see the calculations in his mind, measuring the distance between him and the guards, between him and the queen. He opened his mouth to speak, likely to give one last shot at keeping their ruse from crumbling.
“My uncle is a determined man,” Kenton said. “He thought it best to entreat you to negotiate in person, so that we might better understand each other and avoid the delays of long correspondence across the sea.”
Daniella stared at the queen, waiting to see her reaction. It was possible the queen had already told the Council no, in no uncertain terms.
But if she had, Aiyen didn’t give it away. She leaned back against the throne, seeming mollified, for the moment at least.
Which made it Daniella’s turn. She looked to the stone, barely having to put on a show of being completely enthralled by it. And before any of the rest of them could speak, she cut in.
“Nerendal’s Haven,” she said. All eyes turned to her, the queen’s shrewdly considering gaze turned appropriately confused. Daniella’s heart squeezed, but there was no turning back now.
Kenton turned toward her, and his face flickered with relief.
“I’m so sorry to have interrupted, your majesty and my lord,” she continued, and with all the people in the room watching her in varying degrees of surprise and wariness, she didn’t have to fake the deep flush that was likely bringing her cheeks close to matching her hair. “I was distracted by the glory of the Sunstone, and something in my long years of study of the Banishment finally came together for me. Please forgive me.”
The silence that followed seemed to echo in the large room, even more than her words.
“Your Majesty, I beg you to forgive her this rudeness,” Kenton said, and for once, Daniella knew the irritation he directed at her was only for show. “She begged to be our translator because, after years of devout study of the Chronicle, she longed to see the Sunstone, and I allowed her this because of her skill at Tirostaari. I regret this now. Allow me to dismiss her, and we shall continue to speak of more important matters.”
Now it was the queen who appeared irritated, if not as deeply insulted as Rakal Suvin, who scowled openly at Kenton. “Lord Jaemeson,” the queen said, “Surely you did not mean to imply that an alliance with Mortiche is more important than the presence of our very god, who guides my nation and people.”
“Of—Of course not,” Kenton stammered, “I only meant—”
“We have long welcomed the truly devout of the other nations to view Nerendal with their own eyes,” she continued smoothly over him. “Please, child,” she said directly to Daniella, “what understanding has Nerendal inspired in you?”
Daniella smiled tremulously back at her. That statement about the welcoming of the devout was a bit of a stretch. Tirostaar had never exactly opened its arms wide to everyone with a copy of the Banishment Chronicle and a prayer in their heart. Rather, priests or priestesses from the mainland with high connections—and a very full purse—could often finagle an official pilgrimage. Even those, though, would have been much rarer since her father took power, and only the priests of Kotali, in Mortiche, were free to worship so openly.
“Nerendal’s Haven, your Majesty,” Daniella said. “In the Chronicle, it names this as the place where the refugees fled after the great battle of Hironen Valley at the eastern edge of Mortiche. A camp surrounded by protective flame that kept them safe from Maldorath’s armies, while the Four themselves began their final preparations to sacrifice themselves and seal him away.”
The queen smiled indulgently. “Indeed.”
The panic squeezing Daniella’s heart began loosening its grip. She’d gotten their attention—the queen, Rakal, even the guards.
Now all she had to do was keep it.
“But there’s that line in the Chronicle that has always confused me,” Daniella continued. She cocked her head to the side as she spoke, staring at the swirling flame within the stone as if Nerendal Himself were drawing the words from her. “How the Haven never shone as bright as when the ‘glory of Nerendal’s Orb descended into the hands of the people.’ Most scholars just assume that’s some poetic reference, but the phrase is repeated in other accounts of the events, discovered years later.”
Daniella wanted to look back at Kenton, to see if he was finding an opportunity to get into position, but she didn’t dare draw attention to him. So instead she took a step toward Nerendal, and then another, slowly, her gaze still riveted to the god, so bright she thought she’d be seeing the afterimage of his flame behind closed eyelids for days.
No one moved to stop her—why would they deprive her of a closer look at their god? She was still several feet back from even the protective iron railing. And it wasn’t as if anyone could touch the thing.
Daniella kept talking, still staring. “By the time the gods went to destroy their physical forms in the Wastes, Mirilina, Arkista, and Kotali had already hidden their stones, and would draw their souls from their bodies in the Wastes to wherever they now lie hidden. But Nerendal’s stone was here with his people, in Tirostaar. It could never have been in Nerendal’s Haven all the way out in the Wastes.”
Another step and another. Still no one moved to stop her or interrupt her purposefully dreamlike tone. Yet she could almost feel the uncertain tension rising, the guards leaning closer in case they needed to intercede, the queen sitting farther forward on her throne.
“And if anyone at the Haven had touched the stone, they would have been killed instantly, wouldn’t they? So why is the imagery used this way, as if it falling into their hands could bring them peace instead of destruction?”
She’d reached the iron railing now and drew in a deep breath. Then she put her hands on the railing itself.
A sharp intake of breath came from behind her. “My lady,” Rakal said, “be careful around the stone. The barest touch can be deadly.”
“Of course,” Daniella said, looking back self-consciously. She noted that Kenton had shifted a few steps closer to the throne, and that Queen Aiyen was gripping the armrests now instead of idly tapping her fingernails against them. The guards behind the queen had stepped away from the throne, readying themselves to stop Daniella at the first word from their sovereign, but they were still several paces away. They weren’t worried about the Sunstone, which could protect itself. But no one wanted to risk the political implications of a foreign guest burning to death in the throne room.
But the queen made no motion for Daniella to stop. “Tell us,” Aiyen said. “What is your theory?”
Daniella smiled gratefully at her. The queen didn’t have to indulge her in this way.
In a moment, if all went well, she’d wish that she hadn’t.
Daniella still gripped the iron rail tightly, the metal cool beneath her hands. Scholars had long said the Sunstone didn’t give off any heat, and this seemed to be the case. The burning came only when the surface of the stone itself met with living flesh.
“Nerendal had instructed that his stone stay here,” Daniella said. “With his people, who would protect him. The other gods felt the need to hide themselves away, lest their stones be discovered and used for evil, or even destroyed. But Nerendal put his faith in the Dynasty of Queens.” She smiled and turned to look at the queen with what she hoped was a gaze of awe and respect. “In you, Your Majesty, and your predecessors. The stone was to remain here while Nerendal traveled to the appointed place to complete the ritual, destroy his body, and seal Maldorath away. With Tirostaar in the west and the Wastes in the east, Nerendal’s soul would have to traverse the breadth of the Five Lands to inhabit his stone, presumably much farther than the souls of the other three gods, if their stones are indeed hidden in their own nations.”
Daniella paused, as much for effect as to steady herself. She couldn’t keep this up much longer. Beyond the queen, she could see one of the guards growing distracted�
�looking away.
Toward where Kenton stood, much closer to the queen than he had been before.
“But I think it didn’t,” Daniella announced, more quickly and loudly than perhaps was wise. But it worked. The guard whose eyes had been wandering snapped her attention back to Daniella.
Queen Aiyen frowned at her. “You think that Nerendal’s soul didn’t travel to his stone? But you see the evidence before you now—”
“I think,” Daniella said, noting the tension on the faces of the guards as she interrupted the queen, “that the stone itself was taken by a faction that feared the first queen of Tirostaar, or perhaps doubted the ability of Nerendal himself to come to the stone from so far a distance after his body was destroyed. I believe they took the stone east, and when they sought shelter there, happened upon Nerendal’s Haven.”
Daniella lifted one hand from the railing and held it up, palm towards the Sunstone, as if wishing to feel the heat that wasn’t there. She heard more rustling behind her, perhaps Rakal wringing his hands within his long sleeves. She could almost picture Kenton moving too, but she wouldn’t be hearing his cautious steps.
“I think there the Sunstone fell from its specially-made box, and these people, who owed their lives to his protective flame, refused to let the stone be hidden against his wishes.”
“My lady, please step back,” Rakal said. “Your Majesty, for her safety, I must insist—”
“I think these people carried the Stone back to Tirostaar in their own hands,” Daniella said louder, cutting off Rakal. They couldn’t stop her yet. Almost there, almost . . .
“Of course, that Nerendal’s orders were disobeyed was an embarrassment, so it was left out of the Chronicle, except for that one little hint.”
All of the things she had said up until this point were true, or at least were a theory she’d read in a Chronicle commentary by an Andronish scholar. This next part, though . . .
Be ready, Kenton.
Daniella kept her breathing steady. The swirling flame was hypnotic, the sound of her entranced voice become less and less an act. “But I am a direct descendant of the Havensmen, the true followers of Nerendal,” she said. “So I, too, can touch the stone!” With that shout she thrust her hand forward, stopping within inches of the deadly godstone.