Was this horse mine to give away?
Was thismyhorse as part of the royal livery?
What was going to happen to East S’Kir now that both King Savion and Queen Niniane were dead?
I swallowed hard, my thoughts swirling.
As Savion’s only living child, I had a legitimate claim to the throne. I had the only claim to the thrones. From what I had been able to get from Gwen and Bel—wasn’t that a fun situation?—the vampires of Earth were chosen by contest, which was how it was done originally in S’Kir, how Niniane got the throne. But I saw so many things wrong with that.
Would it be possible to set up a ruling council like we had in West S’Kir? It made more sense, or it did to me.
“Hello, Mistress Breaker.”
Starting, I spun around to where the voice had come from, my sword half out of its scabbard. I settled quickly when I saw who was standing there.
“Oz. What on S’Kir are you doing here?”
“Still wandering the land, my lady.” He smiled. “And I could ask you the same question. What are you doing in Short River?”
“Turning some horses over after my latest adventure,” I said.
We’d agreed we would not say anything to anyone about Niniane’s death. Yet. Not until we had some idea of what had to happen now. The only person we were going to tell was Master Tymon, but Lord Knight Kane, who Aiko had sent for, was going to be the messenger. They were the only people Aiko and I felt we could trust with the information.
But.
Rumors were swirling. After the death of Reo Elkthorne, there was a firestorm of terrible rumors, which Yuuto, Aoi, and now the newly elected Ikue, Aiko’s aunt, could do little to stop. They were quickly spreading that Niniane either was dead, was dying, or would be renouncing the throne.
That last one was a little far-fetched when her head wasn’t on her body.
“How true are the rumors?” Oz asked, taking a brush from the wall and helping me brush down the dun.
“What rumors?” I laughed. “There are a lot of them.”
“That the queen is dead?”
I glanced at the bag in the corner that had her head in it. “I couldn’t say. I’ve heard that same rumor.”
“It would be a bit ironic if she lost her head”—he chuckled—“seeing as how insane she was.”
A spike of shock went through me. That guess was too close. I hoped the laugh I let out was not as strained and false as it felt.
“What joyful conjecture that thought has, though,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s fun to playwho gets the throne, don’t you think?”
“Sir, as a Temple master, I don’t find much joy in that conjecture. It is my job to help govern, and choosing a new person to lead the vampire is…not an easy matter.”
“Why not just have the old crowns come back?”
I stared. “Old crowns?”
He returned my gaze, “You saw the ceiling in the old temple. You saw the stained glass in the Stronghold. The gold and the red. The old crowns.”
“The druids were never ruled by a crown on S’Kir, Oz. We have been governed by council for thousands of years.”
He stopped and considered at me. The pools of dark amber swirled, concealing and revealing all manner of things. “Interesting,” he finally said. “No king at all?”
