James West - Queen of the North

“The words might not have been spoken, but that changes nothing.”

With some effort, Nesaea kept her mouth shut. There had been times after the madness of Ravenhold when it seemed Rathe would speak the feelings of his heart, but he never had.

Nesaea gusted a sigh. “I do not wish to speak of this.”

Fira shrugged. “You’ll have to come around to it sometime, unless you plan on sending Rathe away, and going after your sister alone.”

“I might at that,” Nesaea said, hating that a part of her meant it. She’d had help along the way, but most of her life had been ruled by her own actions.

And is that the real reason you are angry? a small voice asked. Nesaea conceded that it was. The idea of relinquishing her freedom to a man who had cast her aside once before, even if he had done so thinking that was the best way to keep her safe, didn’t sit well with her.

Even for love? came that same small voice.

Nesaea considered the question, but could find no answer.

Erryn started awake, eyes taking in the pale gray light spread across the uneven floor tiles. Morning already, she thought, but felt unrested. She had seen the same snowy glow of dawn every morning since taking shelter at Stormhold. The fortress was vast, with countless chambers and halls carved into the mountain. Had she chosen to, she could have explored for days, maybe weeks.

But what good is exploring a prison? The idea wasn’t new, but no less troubling for its frequency. She almost laughed at her former irritation of Aedran calling her girl instead of queen. What I’d give to be a mere girl again, one who Aedran tapped on the nose, and favored with wanton looks.

Now, because her hired subjects had shown her their convoluted history through a series of dances, she was the Queen of Pryth. She didn’t understand that custom in the least, and the longer she thought about it, the more foolish it seemed. Worse still, instead of revering her supposed authority, they treated her as a jewel or a talisman to be fawned over on occasion, then tucked inside a locked box and hidden away.

I have to escape , she thought, this new idea making her heart race. Just as quickly, her hopes fell. Before she had gone to bed, One Eye Thal had reported that another storm was blowing in. Despite the news, Aedran ordered the men to make ready to set out come dawn, just in case. Another safeguard was to keep up the hunt for more hidden food stores within Stormhold.

Seeing no reason to crawl out of her makeshift bed on the floor, Erryn closed her eyes. She lay there a long time, struggling to find sleep, before her eyes popped open again. The pale light she had seen earlier was gone, and she guessed a guard must have passed by before, using a candle to light his way. Weary as she was, sleep seemed farther away than ever. She rolled to her back and pulled her blankets up to her chin.

Queen of Pryth , she thought in disgust. Voice of the gods. I want to take back everything I ever hoped for, sneak off into the night, and behave as if I never named myself queen of anything ….

Her thoughts trailed away when she noticed the faint light had returned, and was falling from the ceiling … a ceiling that was moving . She blinked, rubbed her eyes. The glow remained-not from a single source, but from many hundreds, maybe thousands, all tiny and wriggling.

Erryn sat up, the blankets pooling at her waist. She held up her hand, turned it with growing wonder. A silver radiance bathed her fingers. She flung aside her blankets and stood up-

The light winked out, leaving her in absolute darkness.

Not absolute , she thought, turning toward a faint golden glow … the light of a candle pushing through the doorway, made weak by the length of the corridor beyond, at the end of which stood her guards. She tilted her head, listening for any indication that the men had seen anything alarming. Other than the blood pounding in her ears, she heard nothing.

Erryn was moving before she decided she should, rushing for the doorway. She had to tell someone what she had seen. A shape loomed before her, huge and furred. She recoiled, eyes bulging. Something strong grabbed her shoulders, pulled her close when she lashed out, burying her in the scent of wolfskin and leather and oiled steel, and that of a man. Aedran .

Almost as soon as she recognized the smell and feel of him, her fear became rage. “Unhand me, oaf!”

He held her, speaking in a soft rush. “Easy. It was just a dream. Just a dream.”

“It was no dream, idiot. There’s something in here with us.”

He stiffened, and she heard the gentle ring of steel escaping its scabbard. “What?”

“Be still,” she said, “and you’ll see.”

He stood stock still, his breath deep and even. She stood at his side, irritated that some foolish part of her tried to move her closer to him. Somehow, she resisted.

Minutes crept by, but the room remained dark.

She sensed him shifting about, and squeezed his hand to signal him to stay still. When did I catch hold of his hand? She would have dropped it, but his fingers were twined through hers, and the jackass would probably make her work to get free, which in turn would leave them standing here even longer in the dark … near her bedding, where she had wanted to be with him not so long ago. She hated that a part of her still wanted to feel him pressed against her, his lips on hers-

Her amorous thoughts ended when the light on the ceiling came to life again.

“What is that?” Aedran breathed, craning his head. In that cold glow his beard looked more silver than red, his skin lined and gray. That’s how he’ll look as an old man, she thought.

And still handsome , a pesky voice intoned, irritating her.

“Do you know what they are?” she asked.

“No.” He studied the crawling lights awhile longer, eyes wide with wonder. “They don’t seem dangerous.”

“I wonder how often folk have said the same, only to end up dead,” she answered scornfully.

He either didn’t hear her, or was acting as if he hadn’t.

Erryn squinted, letting her lashes weaken the light enough to make out the creatures. They looked like furry caterpillars, she decided, though smaller than any she had ever found around Valdar or Hilan. And, of course, these glowed, something she had never seen before, let alone heard of.

One of them fell off the ceiling and hit the floor with a faint plopping noise. Its light died at once. Erryn kept her gaze on the spot, waiting. After a few moments, it began to glow again, apparently unhurt by the tumble. It inched over the floor, a fuzzy, luminous ball.

“I don’t want them falling on me,” she said, shuddering at the thought. Caterpillars were a short step up from worms, to her mind, and worms were an even shorter step up from maggots.

Aedran opened his mouth to answer, but a revolted shout cut him short.

“That was close,” he said.

“One of the guards,” Erryn answered, sure of it.

They darted from the chamber into the corridor, and there halted, the earlier cry forgotten in their amazement. The walls, ceiling, and floor of the passage were crawling with the small caterpillars, filling the air with a misty light.

Aedran waved his hand near one wall. The insects recoiled, but didn’t fade. “These don’t seem to mind our presence.”

“They must’ve been here all along,” Erryn said. “Maybe they’re getting used to having us about.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Another shout got them moving again.

Erryn trotted after Aedran, wincing every time the leather soles of her boots burst a caterpillar with a crunching pop.