by Frank Morin
Jean grinned. “Plenty of time for Kilian to block the whole thing. I do hope Mattias is desperate enough to send the money before the plans get canceled.”
Lord Eberhard’s smile widened. “We’d have to dedicate those funds to the rebuilding effort. Probably even name one of the buildings in his honor.”
“I’d feel obligated to send him a thank you letter, signed by all of us for his generous patronage,” Jean said.
They rose and he bowed over her hand. “Keep up the good work, Lady Jean. I will keep Mattias at bay.”
Only after she left did she realize what he’d called her. Was he just being polite, or did the crafty Lord Eberhard actually plan to raise her to Grandurian nobility?
If it helped her watch over her friends, she’d eagerly accept.
36
Is That Hope, or Indigestion?
Shona walked slightly behind Harley as the two approached the queen on her throne in Donleavy. Shona would have looked elegant in her sky-blue satin dress if not for her badly burned hair. She felt immensely self-conscious under the scrutiny of every eye as they traversed the packed throne room.
Her wide-brimmed hat with its ridiculous eoin feather would have helped mask her shameful hair, but the queen had passed a new edict that very morning that all hats must be removed in her presence.
Harley wore a set of Boulder battle leathers, but had added a bright blue cape that flared as she walked. The queen was already scowling, and Shona schooled her expression to careful neutrality. Luckily Harley led the way and would therefore hopefully receive the brunt of the queen’s wrath.
Would the leftover anger still prove fatal?
She glanced at her father, who stood at the queen’s right hand, up on the dais. He looked confident, and Shona had heard reports that the queen had praised him highly for how well he maintained order in her absence. Could his good standing help Shona if the audience went poorly? Would he even dare try to help?
Ailsa stood on the other side of the queen, near the dais, slightly farther back. Shona met her gaze momentarily, and Ailsa gave her a quick, encouraging smile. Knowing that Ailsa was there, offering her silent support, helped a little.
“How could you make such a stupid blunder?” Queen Dreokt snapped even before Harley and Shona stopped before her. Shona curtsied deeply, while Harley brought a fist to her heart and bowed her head in a strange type of salute.
Harley faced the queen with none of the cowering terror of most of the nobility. She did look contrite and had mentioned on the wild flight over the mountains from the Carraig that she hated letting down her liege.
“Evander rejected your offer.” That generated a ripple of nervous whispers. People who knew about Evander feared him. “He has grown stronger during our long sleep. Our duel laid waste to the Carraig and in the heat of battle, we both drew too deep from the elements. I still did not expect the backlash that we triggered. The connection to the unstable border must be stronger than it used to be.”
“Of course it is,” the queen snapped, ignoring the fresh wave of rippling whispers. “You should have considered the possibility.”
Shona couldn’t turn around and study the crowd, but the glimpses she caught with subtle shifts of her head showed worry and horror at the news. The Carraig was a vital city, but Harley just reported its destruction as casually as one might discuss weeding a garden.
The queen rose, and most of those assembled took a fearful step back. Some of her executions grew quite messy, and more than once innocents were injured or even killed just by standing too close.
Harley bowed her head in the deepest display of humility Shona had seen from the woman. “I returned immediately to assist in protecting Donleavy from the elemental backlash.”
Queen Dreokt swayed forward, one hand rising toward Harley, her expression a mask of rage. Shona tensed for the deadly blow, hoping the queen didn’t kill her too.
It never came. Amazingly, the queen stopped, her hand half-extended toward Harley. Her fingers shook, as if the queen had to fight her own instinct to destroy, but the hesitation only lasted for a second.
Then she let her hand drop and took a long, slow breath. Her expression softened from a killing rage to stern disapproval. “So the foolish boy escaped?”
“For now.”
“I am severely disappointed in you,” the queen declared, with sparks of fire dancing in her eyes.
This was usually the point when the queen executed whoever had displeased her. Shona was tempted to sidle farther away.
Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when the queen turned her angry glare on her. “Tell me what you witnessed.”
Stumbling a little over the words, Shona summarized the confrontation with Evander. She left out the details of the conversation. She wasn’t sure if Harley wanted the entire court knowing she and Evander had once dated, or that she had offered to resume their relationship when he returned to the queen’s service.
She couldn’t help mentioning the wonder of Harley’s gift of quartzite senses. That generated waves of murmured interest from the assembled crowd, and her father looked pleased. His proud smile faded a bit when she mentioned that those Pathfinder powers were only a temporary gift.
She looked forward to discussing the experience with him. Could they somehow figure out how to replicate that gift? Might that help them discover the secret to unlocking additional Petralist powers?
Shona’s description of the epic duel between Harley and Evander drew gasps of awe from every side, but the queen listened in silence. Only when Shona mentioned her final glimpse of Evander traveling away, with that huge vault on his back did the queen speak.
“What has that boy been collecting?” she asked with furrowed brow.
“He always loved researching and delving into old secrets,” Harley said, not looking pleased by those memories.
“Indeed, and he’s had too long to root around in the bones of Stornoway.”
The queen gave Shona an approving smile. “You served well, my dear, and all worthy service earns rewards.”
She beckoned Shona closer. Shona approached carefully, hoping the queen didn’t suffer a sudden mood reversal. Queen Dreokt stepped to the edge of the dais, took Shona’s face in her hands and kissed her on the forehead.
When the queen released her, Shona’s scalp began to itch, but she refused to scratch and draw attention to her burned, patchy hair. Gasps of wonder filled the hall, and she risked glancing around. The men looked impressed, while the gathered women looked thunderstruck. One of them patted her own hair.
She could no longer resist, but lifted one hand to her itching scalp. Instead of rough, burned hair, she felt silky smooth locks. Astonished, she pulled her hair forward over her shoulder and was stunned to see thick, golden waves cascading almost down to her elbow. The queen had gifted her a glorious new head of hair.
Shona turned to the queen, who watched her with a little smile on her lips. Shona dropped into a deep curtsy, loving how her beautiful, heavy hair fell around her face. “Thank you, Your Majesty! This is a wondrous gift.”
Harley grunted. “It’s a simple thing.” She glanced at the queen and added in a softer tone, “But wondrous, as you say.”
“I will deal with the traitor Evander soon enough, but the elemental instability is an immediate and pressing concern. We cannot risk further destabilization.” The queen spoke in a ringing tone. “Therefore, as of this moment, all tertiary Petralists must cease all slate or marble activities unless granted specific permission by myself or Harley.”
Most of the gathered nobles looked as shocked as Shona felt. Those were the two most powerful battle stones. Terminating use of slate and marble effectively shackled the army’s greatest weapons. Shona had seen the destruction of the Carraig, so she supported the plan one hundred percent.
“Dougal, see that the edict is communicated to all corners of the realm. We must exercise great care until this elemental threat is contained and reversed.” Then s
he waved a hand and shouted, “Begone. Everyone out. Only my chief advisers remain. I want to counsel in private.”
People flooded toward the exit, eager to escape her presence. In moments, only Shona, her father, Harley, and Ailsa remained, along with the royal family, patiently waiting behind the throne for any orders.
Queen Dreokt paced away, then returned to Harley. “I expected better of you, my dear.”
“As did I,” Harley admitted.
“You’ve placed us in a dangerous position. You of all people know the risks. We cannot allow the elements to reject our control, not again.”
“We have time,” Harley insisted.
Shona wanted to ask what they were talking about, but didn’t dare open her mouth. The queen looked distracted, and she’d learned the hard way that interrupting brought painful consequences.
Then again, maybe the queen would decide to speak with her in more depth later. Shona would welcome the chance to serve as the queen’s sounding board again. Such proximity brought risk, but she would accept them for a chance to learn more of the deeper truths. She was quickly coming to realize that access to that knowledge would determine how far one could rise in the queen’s court, and perhaps factor in to how long they lived.
“We’ll have to remove him before he can cause any mischief,” the queen said, switching gears back to Evander.
“I’ll see to it at once.”
Queen Dreokt shook her head. “No. I have another job for you.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “The rest of you leave us. Harley and I must confer alone.”
Shona’s father insisted on waiting just outside the throne room. He seemed terrified to allow any space between himself and the queen. Shona wondered if he worried another might try to slip into his spot. She doubted anyone was brave enough to make the attempt, even if they were ambitious enough to seek the opportunity.
“I’ll speak with you soon,” he promised her and kissed her forehead. “Well done, my dear.”
“Thank you, father.”
Shona descended one of the long stairways leading back down to the central palace. Ailsa had paused on the stairs to walk with her.
“It sounds like you were lucky to survive.”
“Most of it was terrifying.”
“I find it interesting that she did not punish Harley for such a failure.”
Shona nodded. “She needs her. Harley is one of her strongest supporters from her first reign. I think it would take a lot for her to actually punish her.”
Ailsa nodded, thoughtful. “That suggests that perhaps she does not consider her reign as secure as she would like us to believe.”
“I can’t imagine anyone challenging her,” Shona said, careful to keep her tone neutral and not share how much she’d love to see the queen removed. Life was simply too unstable around her.
“Perhaps. And yet if she felt secure in her power, why hasn’t she simply flown north to Granadure and taken the royal family there like she did here?”
Shona stopped, one hand on the rail, the other going to her mouth as the horror of that idea stunned her. “She could, couldn’t she?”
“Perhaps. But she hasn’t.” Ailsa let her think about that for a moment. As they resumed their descent, Ailsa added, “What do you think she meant by that comment about not allowing the elements to reject her control again?”
“Not sure. I was wondering about it.”
“I suspect it might be important. Pay attention and perhaps you’ll discover more.”
“I will, but do you think it could actually help?” Shona glanced around to make sure they were alone, wishing for her Pathfinder hearing to double-check the rest of the stairway, then added in a whisper. “You talked about hope, but now with Harley returned from the long sleep, it’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible, just sometimes harder than we can manage,” Ailsa said with that indomitable look in her eye.
“You didn’t see her fighting Evander. He helped Connor defeat that elfonnel, but he barely held his own against her.”
“And yet he survived and managed to salvage important information from the ruin of Stornoway.”
“How do you know it was important?”
“In the midst of that catastrophe, he risked using earth one final time to pull that vault to the surface and carry it away. I guarantee whatever it held is important. I just need to find a way to learn what was in there.”
“Share it with me when you do.”
37
Nothing Like a Road Trip to Ease Tension
Connor sat at Verena’s bedside on a little wooden stool pulled close. He’d spent an hour beside her every day since returning to Altkalen. Even though Abigail, the Healer, insisted Verena did not need any more healing magic, he’d continued his attempts to reach her through chert and sandstone. If she didn’t need help, she would have woken up.
He’d grown used to her new hair color, which hadn’t changed, even when he applied a bit of healing magic to it. He barely noticed the time flying past as he immersed himself in chert and sandstone. His mind rode along with the comforting warmth of the healing magic as it flowed into her, and he tried to link it to the occasional weak pulses of distant murmuring he sensed through chert. They still weren’t as strong as any wakeful person he’d sensed, but they seemed to be growing in regularity. He took that as a good sign and clung to the fragile hope that he was somehow helping.
The regular immersion in the two stones helped strengthen his connection to both of them. With the aid of the sandstone pendant, he’d always enjoyed a strong connection to that affinity, but previously the pendant had done most of the work, sweeping his senses along with it as it healed. Applying only a tiny trickle of healing to only the points it was most needed dramatically improved his sensitivity. Thankfully Student Eighteen was willing to share more of her tiny hoard of chert.
He came to know Verena on an entirely different level. With one touch of healing magic, he could tell how she was doing physically. He knew how her internal systems worked, and he marveled at how strong and healthy every other part of her was. Only her mind resisted his efforts.
Connor worked every day to tease out a connection to her flighty, weak thought patterns. He still sensed no emotions emanating from her, but several times briefly felt a tighter connection, a whisper of a link, like a gossamer thread to her mind. At each of those moments, he pushed a trickle of healing power across the link, willing her to receive it.
The work was delicate and surprisingly exhausting. He ended each session feeling like he’d run for miles without basalt. He began to worry he might exhaust the pendant before fully healing her. It had seen him through many adventures and saved many lives. He dreaded losing it, and needed to find a way to contact his aunt Ailsa. Could she supply a replacement somehow?
When Verena’s thoughts seemed quiet and unreachable, he talked. Abigail had suggested that the sound of his voice might help, so he spent the time reviewing what he learned from Kilian in their daily training practices and his worry that they might never find a way to defeat the dread queen.
Speaking with Verena helped keep the maddening hunger for porphyry at bay. The first couple of days after diorite burned it out of his system, he’d felt great, but it had begun creeping back into his thoughts. He found himself dwelling on those moments of porphyry glory with renewed longing.
He tried blocking those thoughts, pushing them away, refusing to give in to the soft tugging at his will. He’d slipped far too close to the edge of control in Merkland and he knew better. The oath he’d made to Verena helped, as did the daily talk. If the craving grew much more, he’d ask Kilian for another chance to practice with diorite.
Now he looked down on her slumbering form and studied the contours of her lovely face. He’d long since memorized every curve of her cheek and how every lock of her hair caressed her skin.
Connor leaned over and kissed her forehead, then whispered, “I know you’re in there, Verena.
You’re strong. You will find a way to solve this puzzle, and I’ll be here when you wake up. No matter how long it takes.”
Verena’s mouth fell open into a soft snore.
Connor leaped to his feet, shouting for Abigail. She rushed in, her blue eyes seeming to glow as she shouldered Connor aside to place a hand on Verena’s head.
“What happened?” she demanded.
“She snored,” Connor said excitedly, keeping his eyes glued on Verena, expecting to see her eyelids flutter open any second.
Abigail dropped her hand, rounded on him, and asked very slowly in a deceptively soft voice, “She snored?”
“Right after I spoke to her. I think she’s waking up.”
“Tallan . . . preserve me from fools,” the woman muttered. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. When she opened them, her gaze was once more kind. “People snore when they sleep. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“But she’s never done that before,” Connor protested. He refused to believe she hadn’t made the sound in response to his voice. “She was trying to tell me something.”
“If anything, it was a plea for some blessed silence.”
“But you said the sound of my voice might help.”
“And it might, but monologues are always annoying. Try pausing for breath once in a while at least.”
“Have you been listening?” Connor asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Thankfully the woman shook her head. “I just hear the drone of your voice, not the words.” She patted his hand gently. “No doubt she appreciates your dedication, but I’ve heard her snore. Not often, but occasionally. I tell you young man, it means nothing.”
“It did this time,” he insisted.
She gave him an understanding smile and gestured him out of the room. “Maybe it did, but a message just arrived for you bearing Lady Marshal Saskia’s seal. It’s on the desk in the other room.”
Surprised, he followed her into the sitting room where a scroll sat on the table, sealed with teal-colored wax, stamped with an image of a Sapper tower standing before a rising sun. He broke the seal and scanned the short letter. “I’m summoned to the council chamber immediately.”