Richelle Mead - Iron Crowned

“What battle?” I asked. I’d been feeling tired too, but his words jolted me to alertness.

“Tomorrow,” he said. He shifted me off of him so that he could pull the covers over us and then took me back into his arms. “I received word earlier about some Rowan movement tonight. I’ve sent an army to meet them, and I’ll join them myself in the morning. It’s near my villages at the river’s bend. I think Katrice hoped to take them by surprise, but a spy tipped me off.”

“Which army did you send?” We had them divided into units.

“The first and third.”

“Both?” I exclaimed. “That’s huge.”

He shrugged. “So is hers. We have to answer in kind. Besides, those villages are crucial. They supply a lot of food—to both of us.”

I repressed a shiver. Those villages were full of civilians as well. Dorian’s civilians, farmers and fishermen who could have been looted and killed if he hadn’t gotten the warning. He and I were allies, but again, I couldn’t shake the guilt of my own people being in danger over this dispute—let alone his.

“I should go too,” I murmured. “I should help.”

Dorian stroked my hair. “No need to put us both at risk. Besides, don’t you have more mundane human tasks?”

Yes, I’d promised Lara more jobs tomorrow. “They’re not as important—not like this.”

“Only one of us is needed,” he said firmly. “Honestly, probably not even that. We have good leaders, but the fact that one of us always shows up boosts our armies’ confidence—and demoralizes hers. She won’t set one dainty foot near the battlefield. So stop fretting. We’ll take them. We have greater numbers.”

He kissed the top of my head and took my silence as acquiescence. Soon, I felt him sleep, with that ease so many men possessed after sex. Not me. I was a longtime insomniac, and this was the kind of thing that could keep me up all night. I was tired of the armies endangering themselves. I was tired of Dorian endangering himself. I wanted the killing to stop. Kiyo had acted like it was so easy. If only that were true.

After a while, I gave up on sleep altogether. I slid out of Dorian’s arms and got up from the bed. Knowing my party would stay overnight, I’d packed casual clothes but nothing more. Searching through his wardrobe—twice the size of mine—I found a thick green satin robe. It was way too big but served fine as a cover-up. I left the room, needing to walk off my thoughts.

The castle halls were silent now, all the revelers having gone to bed. I walked barefoot along the stone floor, trying not to trip over the too-long hem. A few stationed guards nodded as I passed, murmuring, “Your Majesty.” I’d long ago learned that while some of my human behaviors would always baffle the gentry, most of a monarch’s actions—no matter how bizarre—weren’t questioned. No one thought much of me wandering around in Dorian’s robe.

I reached a set of glass doors that led out to one of Dorian’s exquisite courtyards. I knew it’d be chilly there, but sitting outside suddenly seemed like a good idea. Another guard stood there watchfully and opened the door at my approach. I knew this courtyard and knew where a gorgeously colored mosaic-tiled table stood in the corner. It was dull in the night, but as I sat in a chair, the spot gave me a good view of the garden and the thick stars above. Flickering torches set on poles were scattered around, just enough for guidance but not enough to ruin the night’s charm.

The beauty and peacefulness soothed me a little but couldn’t shake away my worries about the war. I’d spent so much of my life fighting that I’d thought I was immune to blood and killing. I now knew there was a very big difference between an individual kill and death en masse. One—usually—had a point. An individual kill punished the guilty party. Armies dead on the battlefield punished no one except the innocent.

“My lady Thorn Queen?”

I jumped at the hissing voice that spoke to me from the darkness. At first I saw nothing and wondered if I had a ghost on hand. Then, a dark shape materialized from between some trees. It came closer, revealing a wizened gentry woman. She was small, shorter than Jasmine, but her white hair was thick and lustrous, her clothing rich. She came to a halt before me.

“Who-who are you?” I asked. My words came out harsh, mostly because of my surprise.

She took no offense. Again, a queen’s behaviors weren’t questioned. “My name is Masthera.”

I shivered, not from the night’s chill. There was something unsettling about her. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’ve come to speak with you, Your Majesty. You’re worried about the war. You want to end it.”

“How do you know that?”

She spread her hands out. “I am a seeress. I sense things that are, sometimes things to come. I also offer advice.”

This chased a little of my fear away. “Seeress” was a fancy way of saying “psychic,” as far as I was concerned. When you dealt with the supernatural as often as I did, you ran into a lot of so-called psychics. Most were frauds, and I suspected that was as true among gentry as humans.

“Have you come to offer me advice?” I asked wryly.

Masthera nodded, face grave. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ve come to tell you how to end your war—without any more bloodshed.”

I glanced around uneasily. I knew there had to be guards on watch in the garden and wondered what it would take for them to come tackle a crazy old woman. Unless she openly jumped me or something, I had a feeling I was on my own.

“Unless your power extends to some kind of mind control over Katrice, I don’t see how that’s going to happen,” I said finally.

She crooked me a grin. “No, that’s not a gift the gods have chosen to bestow on any of the shining ones. Even they know the limits of mortals.”

I pulled the robe more tightly around me. Seeing as I couldn’t sleep, I might as well humor her. “Then what’s your plan?”

“You need to find the Iron Crown.”

“The what?”

“The Iron Crown.”

She said it in a grand, ominous way … one that really deserved an echo chamber to give it its full effect.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What’s the Iron Crown?”

“An ancient artifact. One worn by the greatest, most powerful leaders in the shining ones’ history. Leaders feared by all, who ruled many kingdoms.”

“I have a crown. A few of them.” Only one was my official “crown of state,” but designers had crafted me others to coordinate with my outfits.

“Not like this one,” she said.

“Let me guess. It’s made of iron.”

She nodded and looked like she was waiting for me to be impressed.

“Sorry. Like I said, short of mind control power, I’m not going on some magic object quest. My life is already like a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.”

Masthera frowned. “Dragons haven’t lived in the Otherworld in centuries.”

“Forget it. Thanks for the, er, advice, but I’m not interested.” I shifted uncomfortably. “I should really get to bed.”

Masthera leaned forward, undaunted. “You don’t understand, Thorn Queen,” she hissed. “Only a few are capable of completing the tasks required to gain the crown. Most would not even be able to wear it.”

That was easy to figure out. “Right. Because it’s made of iron. I don’t think an ability everyone already knows I have from being human would be that impressive.”

“Queen Katrice would think so. Many of her people would too. Her armies might revolt. She herself would be afraid and back off.”

“All because of the reputation of a crown that doesn’t have any power?” I asked skeptically. “Where is it?”