Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“Your vengeance is hard indeed, brother.”

Fleet Lord Ell-Nurinʼs expression betrayed a mingling of disgust and judgement as his gaze swept over New Kethia, taking in the ruined houses evident in every quarter and the smoke rising beyond the south-facing walls. Corpses were still being consigned to the pyre, a task that had occupied fifty freed folk for six days now. “Your people certainly have a talent for destruction.”

“Justice, as ordained by the queen.” Frentis could hear the hollow note in his voice. The sight of the grey-clad girl lying dead in her motherʼs arms was yet to fade. So many years of battle and death, so many faces forgotten, but he knew this image would never dim.

“And the city is not destroyed,” he added. “Any damage will be restored according to the queenʼs design, in time.”

“A task dependent upon a successful outcome to this war.” The Fleet Lordʼs gaze went to the harbour, crowded with Meldenean ships and captured Volarian prizes, many more vessels anchored in the estuary beyond. They had arrived the day before, the sight of so many masts on the northern horizon provoking the newly freed populace to panic. Frentis had managed to calm them, though not before several hundred had fled the city with their bundled spoils. He arrayed his own people at the dockside in a thick defensive formation with archers on the surrounding rooftops, then ordered Draker to begin a cheer at the sight of the Red Falcon sailing into the harbour.

“I believe we have sufficient space to carry your entire command,” Ell-Nurin said, gesturing at the fleet. “I have to say there wasnʼt much heart in the enemy when we caught up to them. Seems their admiral committed suicide rather than face the Empressʼs wrath. Most gave up without a fight.”

“Carry my command where, my lord?”

“Volar of course. The queen will expect reinforcement.”

“Most people now bearing arms in this city were slaves up until two weeks ago. The others joined me to win freedom, not acceptance to the Realm. The Realm folk we freed will come, Iʼve little doubt of that. The Garisai too, though many will expect payment. Perhaps two thousand swords in all. The others have suffered much, more than I would ever have asked them to.”

“They may have seized a city and slaughtered their masters, but lasting freedom will only come through victory. As Iʼm sure youʼll explain to them.” There was a hardness to Ell-Nurinʼs voice, a reminder that he held rank here.

Frentis sighed and gave a slow nod of assent.

“Very good. This”—the Fleet Lord turned to a young woman standing amidst his entourage of captains—“is Sister Merial. You will give her a full report of your operations, and any useful intelligence gathered, for onward conveyance to the queen.”

Frentis frowned at the woman, finding her perhaps a year or two shy of his own age, dressed in clothing he assumed had been chosen for its plainness. She was also palpably uncomfortable in the presence of so many Meldeneans, though they seemed inclined to provide her with ample space. “Seventh Order?”

“Quite so, brother.” Ell-Nurin leaned closer. “And, however tempting it might be, you really donʼt want to touch her.”

“Nine thousand more, yʼsay?” Sister Merial spoke with a strong Renfaelin accent, largely devoid of honorifics and rich in dubious inflection. “Of these terrible red men.”

“Theyʼre real enough,” Draker growled. “Plenty of us with the scars and burns to prove it. Got one on my arse if you want to see it.”

“I think Iʼve seen sufficient horrors recently.” Merial gave Draker a broad but empty smile and accepted a bowl of goat stew from Thirty-Four.

They had occupied the unfortunate governorʼs mansion, though much of it was rendered uninhabitable due to the mobʼs attentions. Frentis camped in the main courtyard, the rest of the army that had followed him from Viratesk taking up residence in the extensive gardens. He had been surprised and gratified by their discipline, keeping to their companies and taking a comparatively small part in the looting that continued to preoccupy the newly liberated populace. Perhaps a dozen fighters had disappeared in the aftermath of the cityʼs fall, and a few more had asked his permission to leave, either to return to distant homes or in frank admission they had seen their fill of war. He told them all the same thing, “You freed yourselves the moment you joined me. Queen Lyrna thanks you for your service.”

“So the queen marches on Volar?” Illian asked Merial. “Despite losing so many at sea?”

“Not a woman to be easily dissuaded, the queen.” Merial took a bite of stew and favoured Thirty-Four with an appreciative grin. “Better ʼn that slop the pirates dish out, when theyʼre not beinʼ overly free with their hands.”

“When do we sail?” Illian asked Frentis, a keen eagerness shining in her eyes.

Will she ever grow tired of it? he wondered. “At the discretion of the Fleet Lord. He holds rank here.”

“Fuck his rank,” Lekran muttered around a mouthful of stew, speaking in his laboured Realm Tongue. “Donʼt know him.”

Frentis turned back to Merial. “You say the queen believes Lady Reva dead?”

She nodded. “Gone to the bottom along with half her heretic followers.”

“No, she lives. In Volar.” He shuddered at the memory of the previous nightʼs dream, the surging joy as she drank in the sight of Lady Reva battling the dagger-toothed cats. “Though for how much longer I canʼt say.”

Merial frowned at him, a line of suspicion appearing on her brow. “You know this, brother?”

“I do. Beyond doubt.”

Her frown deepened as she angled her head, eyes tracking over his face. “I sense no gift in you…”

“I know it,” he said, an edge colouring his voice. “And the queen should know it too.”

She gave a cautious nod and returned to her meal. “Allow a girl to fill her belly first, then Iʼll have a word with my darlinʼ husband.”

“What husband?” Draker asked with a bemused frown but Merial just grinned and kept eating.

Later she sat apart from them, taking on a concentrated stillness, eyes close and face devoid of expression. “Donʼt like this, brother,” Draker murmured, moving to Frentisʼs side and eyeing the sister with obvious distrust. “Dark ainʼt sʼposed to be seen.”

“The world changed when Varinshold fell,” Frentis told him. “Now none of us have anywhere to hide.”

Sister Merial gave a sudden jerk, her back arching and eyes flying open, a small but distinct gasp of shock escaping her lips. She slumped forward with a groan, hands covering her face, slim shoulders moving in jerking sobs.

“Donʼt like this,” Draker muttered again, moving back to the fire.

Frentis went to Merial, now hugging herself, face set in forlorn misery. “Sister?” he prompted.

She glanced up at him then looked away, hands tracing over her tear-streaked face as she rose, walking from the courtyard without a word. He waited a while before following, finding her perched atop a podium in the gardens. The statue it once held had been torn down and hauled off during the riots, no doubt destined for the smelter, bronze being a valuable metal. Sister Merial suddenly seemed very young, legs dangling over the edge of the podium as she raised her still-damp face to the sky. She spared him a brief glance before returning her gaze to the stars.

“Theyʼre different,” she said. “Not all, just some.”