She felt Rangar tense beside her and rested a calming hand on his arm. “Remember,” she whispered, “Decorum above all else.”
His jaw tensed as they entered.
Hytooth Palace’s library was a beautiful, airy space with a high ceiling and tall glass windows to protect the books from the ocean breeze. Thousands of tomes lined the walls, with worktables by the windows and a sitting area near an unlit fireplace.
Queen Amelia sat in a high-backed chair near the fireplace with a cup of tea. Her gray hair was piled in curls on top of her head in an attempt to hide its thinning volume. Her skin was as wrinkled as silk left too long in a trunk, and so thin that blue veins were visible in her hands.
Baron Marmose sat across from her, petting one of his lap dogs. He looked unchanged from when Bryn had last seen him many months ago, when he’d come to the Low Sun Gathering with the intention of proposing marriage. His dark skin and hair were in sharp contrast to his elegant white clothes with the thick cuffs typical of Rumese wealth. She had once considered him a handsome enough man, though he was ten years her senior with the start of graying hair, but now she only felt repulsion.
The queen and the baron looked up at the sound of their footsteps. Queen Amelia’s eyes were cloudy and distant from age, but Marmose’s sharp gaze skewered Rangar and Bryn.
What was the emotion that crossed his face? Surprise? Rage? Perhaps even the thrill of a challenge?
Queen Amelia raised her warbling voice as she squinted across the library. “Phillipa? Is that you?”
Snapping to her senses, Bryn straightened her spine. “Queen Amelia.” She gave an exaggeratedly deep bow to ensure the old woman’s eyesight would take in the movement. “I am Queen Bryn Barendur of the Baersladen, formerly Lady Bryn Lindane of the Mirien. We’ve had the pleasure of meeting before at my family’s gatherings, though briefly. I’m with my husband, King Rangar Barendur of the Baersladen.”
Queen Amelia perked up at Rangar’s name. She set down her teacup with an unsteady hand and pushed slowly to her feet. She held out her hand. Bryn and Rangar hurried to her side so that Rangar could take her bony hand in his strong one. “Rangar Barendur? The brooding little boy who sulked around my palace that one summer in need of a hair comb?”
Bryn couldn’t stop her laughter at the accuracy of that description, despite the presence of Marmose.
Maybe the old queen’s mind isn’t as dull as everyone says.
Rangar said in a rare warm tone, “The same, my queen. I remember that summer fondly. It is a pleasure to return and visit with you again.”
A chill crept over Bryn’s skin, coming from the direction of Baron Marmose. Breathing out a long exhale, she turned to face him.
He gave a flat, cruel smile. “Lady Bryn.”
“QueenBryn Barendur of the Baersladen,” she corrected, then couldn’t help but add smugly, “EsquireMarmose, is it?”
He gave a mirthless laugh at her dig. “Baron, actually. Not that I would expect you to remember. You’ve had somanyfiancés in such a short amount of time. It must be hard for you to keep track.”
Rangar, overhearing, rolled his shoulders back, but Bryn quickly rested a hand on his bicep to say she could handle the baron.
“Now, I’m afraidyouare mistaken, baron.” Bryn turned to Queen Amelia and raised her voice, though keeping her tone light. “The baron and I were never formally engaged, your highness, though I heard the strangest rumors that he claimed otherwise when I was the crown heir of the Miren.” She feigned confusion. “I can’t imagine where such awful rumors began. Someone must not like you, baron, to have accused you of such bald-faced ambition for the Mir crown.”
Queen Amelia’s brows furrowed, though Bryn couldn’t tell if the woman had understood her veiled accusation or not. The queen patted Rangar’s hand like he was still a boy instead of a towering warrior in a crown.
“And how was your journey, my dears? Where were you again, Declan?”
Bryn’s hopes sank. The elderly queenwasconfused—she thought Rangar was her nephew, and the two looked nothing alike.
After a moment of hesitation, Rangar said, “It was a swift journey, my queen, though we were disheartened to hear of the growing berserkir wolf attacks.”
The queen still looked distant and confused, and Baron Marmose took the opportunity to cut in. “Yes, as a matter of fact, Queen Amelia and I were just speaking of the monstrous wolf problem. You aren’t the first people I’ve heard compare them to the berserkir beasts from the old legend.”
“Yes,” Bryn said tightly. “It’s uncanny, almost as though someone planned it.”
The baron cocked his head, his smug smile vanishing. He quickly recomposed himself and said, “In any case, Queen Amelia and I agree that dark magic is behind the attacks—and it must be stopped by any means necessary.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suspect there will soon be significant changes throughout the Eyrie. I hope you are happy with your hexmarks because, after the grand parlay, I doubt you’ll be allowed to get any more.”
Bryn narrowed her eyes as her heart pounded. That snake had gotten to the queen and already influenced her! Or at least, he seemed to think he’d won Amelia over to his side . . .
Queen Amelia suddenly tightened her grip on Rangar’s arm as though she was faint. A servant standing at attention disappeared to fetch help, and in another moment, King Marthin arrived. He was a gray-haired, sallow-faced man with the habit of leaving his mouth hanging open.
“Amelia,” he said in concern, then looked at Bryn. Rangar, and Baron Marmose as though he had no idea who these guests in his palace were. “Come, my wife; you must rest.”
Servants moved to escort the queen out of the library, but as she shuffled away with her husband, Bryn felt a moment of panic.
