The Burning Kingdoms

by Sally Green

  Edyon leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “That’s very good, March. Much more open and sharing. I like this new you immensely. And, as your heart is mine, there is something of yours that I’m definitely going to give up.”

  “Something of mine?”

  “My title as Prince of Abask.” Edyon eyed March. “It shouldn’t be mine. I’d like you to have it. If you’d accept it. If you thought it appropriate.”

  March’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m not sure.”

  “Think about it. I haven’t rewarded you yet for all you have done for me. The least I can do is give you your country back, as you have helped give me and all the people of Calidor theirs.”

  CATHERINE

  BRIGANE, BRIGANT

  Don’t bring kindness, don’t bring anger—bring justice.

  Illast saying

  HOW VERY easy it all seemed after the fact, mused Catherine.

  After Aloysius’s death, the Brigantine army had crumbled, the surviving lords scrambling to surrender to her and Tzsayn. Victory had been declared, and with victory came the spoils—a whole new nation.

  With Aloysius and both his sons dead, Catherine rode through Brigant to claim the empty throne within weeks of her triumph at Rossarb, spreading goodwill as she went. Even so, it was clear that most of the population didn’t trust her.

  “I wouldn’t take it personally,” said Tanya. “They don’t trust anyone. Not after Aloysius.”

  Catherine rode at the head of the procession with Tzsayn. He was, as ever, dressed entirely in blue, she in white. His leg had healed well, and, with the aid of a specially designed saddle, he was able to ride short distances, much to his delight. The procession moved slowly through the country day by day. Musicians and dancers as well as soldiers followed. The crowds who came to see them pass were a mixture of glum and cheerful faces, but all looked hungry.

  “If we give them food and peace, they should be happy enough,” Tzsayn said.

  “I thought you were aiming for more than that, with your new ideas of government?”

  Tzsayn chuckled. “I get the feeling Brigantines don’t em-brace change eagerly, but perhaps in time that too will happen.”

  “At the moment, I think the idea of a woman ruling them is more than most can cope with. They expect me to have children, keep house, and keep quiet, not run the country.”

  “They’ll soon learn how a woman can do it better than a man,” Tzsayn said, smiling.

  * * *

  • • •

  When they arrived in Brigane, the crowds were not exactly welcoming. There was some jeering and many angry faces—this was Aloysius’s capital, after all. The guard around the royal couple was increased, and Tzsayn said, “We must still smile and wave. They think of us now as the evil conquerors; in time they will think of us—of you—as their leader.”

  Catherine wasn’t so sure; she dreaded to think that some people had the same attitudes toward women as Aloysius and Boris had held.

  But the weight of these thoughts lifted when she caught sight of her mother, Queen Isabella. She raced to her and embraced her stiff frame.

  “I thought I’d never see you again.” Catherine looked up at her mother’s face, which was still reserved, still cautious. There had been too many years of hiding her feelings, so she wasn’t going to change overnight. Catherine guided her mother to a private alcove and kissed her cheek. “I’ve missed you more than you can know. I’ve so much to tell you. But I’m happy. And married.”

  Catherine’s mother smiled. “And chatty and bold.”

  “And victorious and back. But still your daughter, and . . . have I said happy? So happy to see my mother?”

  Queen Isabella nodded. “You have used the word ‘happy’ more than I’ve ever heard it said before.”

  “Are those tears in your eyes?” Catherine asked.

  “Indeed. Happy tears.”

  “Then you’ll hear the word ‘happy’ again and again.”

  Over the next few days, mother and daughter spent much time together walking in the rose garden and sitting in the library, but also going farther, Catherine encouraging her mother to step out of the confines of her small world.

  Isabella said, “You’re not my little girl anymore. You’re my guide, but I don’t want you to think you need to stay with me. I’m not weak—”

  “I know that!” Catherine interrupted. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

  “And I’ll find my place in the world. A new place, perhaps, for a new world. What will you do next?”

  “We’ll be crowned here in Brigane in a month. Dignitaries from far and wide will be invited. We want to use it as an opportunity to bring more trade to Brigant, to open the country to the world after my father cut us off from it for so long.” Catherine looked at her mother. “Much like he cut you off. Locking you up in the castle.”

  “Enough about me. I asked about your plans.”

  “After the coronation, we’ll return to Tornia. Perhaps you’ll come there to visit. It’s only three days by boat. It’s not a world away. And now that I’m an expert on shipping matters, I believe the Pitorian fleet will be constantly traveling back and forth across the sea.”

  “But your heart lies with Pitoria now?”

  “It lies with Tzsayn and you, and Brigant and Pitoria. Not just one person or one place. They are all important to me, and I love them all in different ways.”

  “And your role as queen.”

  Catherine nodded. “I love that too. I have you to thank for that. You showed me how to use my mind and my spirit, how to fight with what’s in here.” She tapped the side of her head. “That book you gave me written by Queen Valeria was an inspiration too.”

  “Perhaps you’ll write your own book one day.”

  Catherine laughed. “Perhaps.”

  * * *

  • • •

  That night in their bedchamber, Tzsayn asked, “How are you feeling about being back here?”

  “Good. Though I feel I should be doing more.”

  He kissed her neck. “No. You need rest. And we agreed that once that door was shut, we would not talk of work.”

  “True.” Catherine backed away and looked him up and down. “Shall we then talk about your jacket or your shirt?”

  Tzsayn quirked an eyebrow. “Why would we discuss either?”

  “Well, it occurred to me that they might be the cause of the jeers and boos we heard on our way here.”

  “Really? How easy it is to offend the Brigantine man. With a shirt!”

  “Hmm, perhaps it wasn’t so much the shirt as the blue body paint underneath. And, by underneath, I mean exposed by the slashes in the fabric.”

  Tzsayn lifted his shirt over his head and threw it on the bed.

  “This body paint, you mean?”

  AMBROSE

  BRIGANE, BRIGANT

  AMBROSE STOOD opposite Catherine. Tanya had finally left her hair alone and retreated to a distance. The coronation ceremony was about to begin, but Tzsayn hadn’t yet appeared, so Ambrose still had a few moments.

  Catherine smoothed her skirt—a habit he’d long recognized she had when she was nervous.

  “May I offer advice?” he said.

  “Of course. I always look to my nobles for their wise counsel.”

  Ambrose grinned, leaned close, and whispered, “Don’t do anything wild today. But sometimes, perhaps once a year, get on your horse and ride along the beach and leap into the water.”

  She smiled at him. “I wish I could do that now.”

  Ambrose shook his head. “I don’t think you do, really. You’d much rather be here, waiting to be crowned.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here with me,” she said, and she took his hand. “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

  “I am
your personal guard, Your Majesty.”

  Catherine shook her head. “No, you’re so much more than that, Ambrose. You’re one of my threads—a vital one. One that held me when I could have fallen, not just in Pitoria, but before that, here in Brigant, when you gave me hope that people—men—could be good and kind. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to still have your friendship and your support. I know it’s hard for you.”

  “It’s not hard to see you happy,” Ambrose replied, though he was lying just a little. It was more painful than he could say to see her with Tzsayn. “You’re where you belong.”

  “In an ugly, damp castle?”

  Ambrose smiled and shook his head. “In the place you deserve. Queen. Ruler. And, I think, a fair and just ruler of Brigant and Pitoria.”

  “And you are also in the position where you belong, Marquess of Norwend, Duke of Northern Brigant.”

  Ambrose bowed. He’d discovered after the battle that his father had been executed by Aloysius, and the Norwend lands stolen from him. But they had now been returned to him by Catherine and Tzsayn, along with further lands in the north of Brigant.

  “I need to get back up there soon. There’s much to do. There’s barely enough crops to last the winter,” he said.

  “I can’t quite see you as a farmer.”

  “I would never have thought it either, but it feels good to have a home again.” He looked down, then back into her eyes. “It has so many happy memories as well as the painful ones. But it is a special place.”

  “And will I get an invitation to visit at some stage?”

  “You’ll be most welcome anytime.”

  For a moment, Ambrose wondered what Tzsayn would think of that, but then realized he’d probably be unbearably supportive of it. He raised Catherine’s hand and kissed it. “It’s been an honor.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The following day, it was Ambrose’s turn to be nervous. Catherine and Tzsayn were giving rewards to those who had supported them. His position as Marquess of Norwend was to be confirmed, as was his position as Duke of Northern Brigant. The ceremony also honored those who could not receive the king’s and queen’s thanks because they’d given their lives, including Sir Rowland Hooper, the ambassador to Pitoria; Rafyon; and Catherine’s maids Jane and Sarah.

  As the names were read out slowly and solemnly, Ambrose remembered each of them: Sir Rowland’s sense of humor, his charm and wit, lost to the world. Rafyon, loyal and brave and stalwart, killed by a lunatic. Kind and gentle Jane, shot by arrows in the race to Rossarb. Sensible and practical Sarah, cut down by an assassin. Each death a waste. Each a person who should be with them. And then Tarquin’s name was read, as was Anne’s. And as tears filled his eyes, Ambrose chose to think of how brave they were in life, and how they were killed because they were true and honest and wouldn’t bend to another’s lies. He missed his brother and sister desperately and wished they’d known that the future wasn’t as bleak as the world they’d experienced. That was another pain, the thought that they’d not know that things could be better.

  Eventually the formalities were over, and music and talk and relaxed chatter filled the hall. Edyon joined Ambrose and raised his glass. “Congratulations, Lord Ambrose, Duke of Northern Brigant.”

  “Thank you, Prince Edyon. You still outrank me, though.”

  “Everyone does these days,” March said, flicking the gold medal on his sash. He’d been made Prince of Abask at the ceremony.

  “Well, I won’t for much longer,” Edyon said.

  “You’re really going to give up your position?” Ambrose asked. Catherine had told him some of this plan.

  “Yes, in time. I like Tzsayn’s ideas for a government of administrators. I’ll have to keep an honorary title, though, just for fun. Something absurd.”

  “Duke of the Demon World?” Tash suggested as she joined them from the buffet table. She herself had been given an award and was now Lady Tash of the Northern Plateau.

  “Not sure. Doesn’t sound quite me.”

  Tash nodded. “How about the Knight of the Burning Smoke?”

  “Oh, I like that.” He smiled at March. “What do you think?”

  “I have a bad feeling you’re serious.”

  Tzsayn and Catherine joined them, and Catherine proposed a toast.

  “To Lady Anne. The woman who started me on this journey. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her bravery.” Ambrose raised his glass and drank the toast to his sister. Perhaps he too would not be the man he was without her.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t stolen our smoke,” Tash said, giving Edyon a gentle kick on the shin.

  “And that’s why I’m the Knight of the Burning Smoke,” Edyon said.

  “Yes and no,” said March. “We’re all here because of our own actions. Good and bad. Others influenced us, but we made our own choices.”

  Ambrose nodded, though he wasn’t sure he agreed. He had chosen Catherine, but she had chosen Tzsayn. He stayed for the festivities that evening, then rode north in the morning as the sun was coming up.

  It was a glorious day, and he’d be home soon.

  TASH

  NORTHERN PLATEAU, PITORIA

  AT THE invitation of Edyon and March, Tash traveled to Calidor after a short stay in Brigant, but returned north before winter set in. She was Lady Tash of the Northern Plateau, after all, and she wanted to go back to her lands. She wasn’t alone, though. Geratan went with her.

  Now he sat gazing across the stillness of the lake.

  “Anything?” Tash asked, looking at the fishing rod, which was propped by Geratan’s feet.

  “Not since the last time you asked.”

  “It’s a bit boring this, isn’t it? Can’t we go hunting?”

  “We agreed to fish. It’s quiet. Relaxing. A pleasant change from fighting Brigantines and fleeing from demons.”

  “Actually, we didn’t have to flee from demons much; it was mainly fleeing from Brigantines.”

  Tash briefly thought of Gravell, who hadn’t been able to flee them.

  “Do you think of him much?”

  She knew Geratan didn’t mean Gravell.

  “Twist?” She looked across the Northern Plateau. The demon world had gone. There were no demon hollows at all left on the plateau. “Yes, I do think of him. I’m sure the smoke will return—maybe not here, but somewhere. It’ll seek out an undisturbed spot and make a new world.”

  “But that’s just the smoke. The smoke needs a body to make a demon.”

  “I prefer to call them smoke people.”

  “Well, it needs a body to make one.”

  “Yes, and it may take a year, or hundreds of years, or even thousands, but eventually, somebody will fall into the smoke and the world will begin again.” She looked at the lake. “Probably happen sooner than you catch a fish.”

  At that moment, the float bobbed down and Geratan struck. Tash yelped with excitement and ran to get the net.

  That night they cooked fish over the fire and slept beneath the stars. They’d have a few weeks living up here before winter hit, then move south. Tash wanted to travel to Illast and Savaant, perhaps even farther. The smoke had moved to find a new home, and perhaps she would too. But the Northern Plateau would always be here, and she could come back whenever she needed.

  PLACES AND CHARACTERS

  BRIGANT

  A war-hawkish country.

  BRIGANE: the capital

  FIELDING: a small village on the northwest coast, where Ambrose found the boy army training

  NORWEND: a region in the north of Brigant

  Aloysius: king of Brigant.

  Isabella: queen of Brigant.

  Boris: Aloysius’s first-born son. Killed by his sister, Princess Catherine.

  Harold: Aloysius’s second-born son and,
with Boris’s death, heir to the crown of Brigant. Fourteen years old.

  The Marquess of Norwend: a nobleman, father to Sir Ambrose Norwend.

  Tarquin: the Marquess of Norwend’s first-born son, tortured and killed as a traitor.

  Lady Anne: the Marquess of Norwend’s daughter; executed as a traitor

  Noyes: spymaster for Aloysius.

  Holywell: now deceased, worked for Aloysius as a fixer, spy, killer; Abask by birth.

  Thornlees: a lord and leader of one section of the Brigantine army.

  Pullman: a commander reporting to Lord Thornlees.

  March: an Abask. Once servant to Thelonius, and lover to Edyon. Exiled to Brigant.

  Sam: homeless Brigantine boy who joins the boy army.

  Rashford: leader of the Bull Brigade of the boy army.

  Killen: second in command of the Bull Brigade.

  Frank, Fitz: Bulls.

  Broderick: a Hawk.

  Gaskett: leader of the Stags.

  Tiff: leader of the Wasps.

  Curtis: leader of the Hawks.

  CALIDOR

  A small country to the south of Brigant.

  CALIA: the capital.

  ABASK: a small mountainous region, laid waste during the war between Calidor and Brigant, where the people were known for their ice-blue eyes.

  Thelonius: Prince of Calidor, younger brother of King Aloysius of Brigant.

  Castor, Argentus: deceased, legitimate sons of Thelonius.

  Edyon: illegitimate son of Thelonius, seventeen years old.

  Regan: a powerful lord of Calidor and close friend to Thelonius.

  Byron: a young nobleman, friend to Edyon.

  Ellis: a young nobleman of Calidor.

  Talin: personal servant to Edyon.

  Bruntwood: a senior lord and chancellor of Calidor.

  Hunt, Birtwistle, Grantham, Haydeen, Brook: lords of Calidor.