Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“There is a place,” Fornella said in a whisper. “A great chamber beneath Volar, hundreds of cells filled with Gifted. Those who are party to the bargain go there once a year… to drink. And every year, there are more empty cells, and always more red-clads clamouring to share in the Allyʼs blessing.”

“And so you need more, and the Ally promised you would find them in this Realm. That is why you came here.”

“And to secure a northern front for the Alpiran invasion, as I said. But yes, the Ally promised this land would be rich in Gifted blood.”

“And when that was all gone, and the Alpiran lands also stripped, what then? Send your armies forth to rape the whole world?”

Fornellaʼs head rose, her eyes steady though her voice was uneven, the voice of a woman facing her final moments. “Yes. In time, he promised the world would be ours.”

Is it shame I see in your eyes? Lyrna wondered. Or just disappointment?

“I assume it was the promise of endless life that seduced Lord Darnel to your cause?” she asked.

Fornella gave a rueful shrug. “The lure of immortality is hard to resist, especially for a man in love with himself.”

Lyrna moved back from the table, turning to Verniers. “My lord, do you find this womanʼs words to be truthful?”

Verniers forced himself to look at Fornella in reluctant but close appraisal. “I doubt she has lied, Highness,” he said. “Even as her slave, I found honesty to be her only interesting quality.”

“And do you think your Emperor would find her believable?”

“The Emperor is wiser than I in all respects. If she speaks truly, he will hear it.”

“And, I hope, understand the value of forgetting past differences.”

Verniersʼ face was grave as he met her gaze. “There is much to forget, Highness.”

“And a world to fall if we cannot forge common purpose.” She turned back to Fornella. “There is a man in Brother Caenisʼs Order who can hear lies. You will state to him your willingness to travel to Alpira with Lord Verniers where you will tell the Emperor all you have told me. If he hears a lie, Honoured Citizen…”

“He will not, Highness.” Fornellaʼs relief was palpable, her years showing again in the sag of her mouth. “I will do as you ask.”

“Very well.” Lyrna looked at Verniers, summoning her regretful smile. “And you my lord? Will you do this for me?”

“No, Highness,” he replied, the even tone of his voice and narrowness of his gaze making it clear her smile was a wasted effort. This one sees far too much.

“I will do it,” Verniers went on, “for my Emperor, who is great in his wisdom and benevolence.”

She stood on the roof of the harbour-masterʼs house to watch the ships leave, seeing Vaelinʼs farewell to Dahrena, finding herself unable to look away even though she felt like an intruder. He held her for such a long time. The small woman moved back from him, exchanged farewells with Lady Alornis, Lord Adal, Brother Kehlan and Sanesh Poltar, then turned and walked the gangplank to the Red Falcon , Ship Lord Ell-Nurin greeting her with a bow. As the ship made for the harbour mouth, Lyrna wondered if there was any significance in the fact that not a single Seordah had come to see her off.

Vaelin stayed to watch the ship sail away, responding to his sisterʼs embrace with a slight shake of the head before she and the others drifted away. After a while Lord Verniers and the Volarian woman arrived and she saw him escort them to the ship. She was still puzzled over the interest he had shown in choosing the vessel to carry them to the empire, but he was ever a man of secrets.

She turned as Orena climbed onto the roof bearing a fur-trimmed cloak. “The wind is harsh today, Highness.”

Lyrna nodded her thanks as the lady placed the cloak over her shoulders, still watching him as he stared after the departing scholar. “Murel says heʼs the most frightening man sheʼs ever met,” Orena mused softly.

“Then there is wisdom in the young,” Lyrna said. “Does he frighten you, my lady?”

Orena shrugged; of all her attendants, she was the least given to formality when they were alone, something Lyrna found sufficiently refreshing to forgive her often-wayward tongue. “Some men are brutes, some are kind. Every once in a while you meet one whoʼs both.” She straightened then gave a formal bow. “Lord Marshal Travick craves an audience, Highness. It seems his new recruits are squabbling over what to name their regiments.”

“Iʼll be there directly, my lady.”

Alone again, she waited and watched as he turned back from the harbour, walking away with a purposeful gait. It wasnʼt jealousy, she thought. I can permit you no distractions, my lord.

She was awoken in the small hours by Murelʼs soft but insistent hand. There had been no dreams tonight and wrenching herself from an untroubled sleep birthed a foul mood. “What is it?” she snapped.

“Lord Vaelin is downstairs, Highness. With Captain Belorath. It seems he bears an important message from the Isles.”

Lyrna ordered her to fetch a bowl of cold water and plunged her face into it, gasping at the instant headache as the lingering tiredness vanished. She dressed in her simplest robe and managed to summon a welcoming visage by the time she descended the steps to her makeshift throne room.

Captain Belorath matched Vaelinʼs bow though his face betrayed his discomfort at finding himself in a servile position to a woman once his captive, a captive he had come close to killing. After the Shield took over the monstrous Volarian flagship, Belorath had resumed command of the Sea Sabre , sailing back to the Isles for repairs and to impart news of the great victory at Alltor. Also, Lyrna had hoped, to fetch more ships for the fleet.

“My lord, Captain,” she greeted them, settling onto her throne. “I trust the news is grave enough to justify the lateness of the hour.”

“Indeed, Highness,” Vaelin said, nodding to Belorath.

The captainʼs face betrayed a certain reluctance as he spoke, the tone clipped and careful. “As Your Highness knows, the Ship Lords have been keen to ensure the security of the Isles through… certain discreet measures…”

“Youʼve had spies planted in this Realm for years, Captain,” Lyrna broke in. “A fact not unknown to the late King or myself.”

“Yes, Highness. Most have fallen silent since the invasion; however, we have continued to receive occasional intelligence from one in Varinshold.”

“The one who warned the Volarian fleet had sailed,” Lyrna recalled.

“Quite so. Upon returning to the Isles I found another message had arrived from the same source.” Belorath pulled a scroll from his belt and came forward to hand it to her. “Itʼs addressed to you, Highness.”

Lyrna unfurled the scroll, finding the words scant, but enough to make her wonder if, for all her vaunted intelligence, she wasnʼt just a fool after all.

Lyrna—

Attack on Winterfall Eve. Avoid the walls if you can. Aspects E & D in Blackhold. Iʼm sorry.

— Alucius

“Donʼt lie to me, little poet!” Darnel glowered at him, his voice low and filled with dire promise, the recently stitched cut below his eye threatening to split as he snarled. “They must have told you something.”

Alucius spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “No more than regret at the passing of a brother in the Faith, my lord. Though I did sense a certain satisfaction from Aspect Dendrish at finally becoming the fattest man in Asrael.”