Coral headbutts my leg. I look down and she's staring at me with those intelligent eyes. The wyvern was never afraid. Even when a goddess wore her beloved Rhianelle's skin.
Healers swarm the arena now. Tending to Darstan and the others who barely survived their battles. Council members descend from their seats, eager to pledge loyalty to the queen.
But Rhianelle sways again. The toll of channeling divine power catching up to her. I sweep her into my arms before she can protest.
"Svenn?" Rhianelle murmurs against my chest.
"Yes, little fawn?"
"The Aeonians are gone now?"
"Yes," I say quietly. "Only one of them is missing."
She frowns, then goes quiet for a moment. Her fingers find the front of my cloak and hold on.
"Deanna, one of the Un, possessed me." A tremor runs through her. "I felt her. Inside me. The goddess wanted to stay. She wanted to keep this form and walk among mortals again."
"But you didn't let her," I comfort her.
Rhianelle looks back at Coral. "Because someone reminded me who I was."
The wyvern chirps proudly.
By nightfall, every corner of Aelfheim will know. They have a queen again.
The little elfling they mocked has become something far greater. Not through age or birthright, but through surviving what should have destroyed her. In the process, she's given her people something they desperately needed.
Hope.
12
Chapter 11 Rhianelle
Panic claws at my throat as I tear through the contents of my jewelry box for the third time this morning.
My wedding ring is gone.
It's crafted from a piece of rattan and bears no gems or royal markings. But Tallula and Lenna know not to throw it away. My fingers tremble as they search the drawers, under the pillows, and between the sheets.
No, this can't be happening.
I feel like crying. Svenn left for the mountains three days ago. He asked Aelfric and Garrett to chain him in some cave I'm not allowed to know about. They won't tell me where. Even when I begged, they refused.
And now his ring is gone too.
"Your Highness?" Lenna's voice carries concern as she enters the chamber. Her arms are full of the clothing and accessories I will need for today's deception. "Is everything prepared for your departure?"
I compose myself, burying the storm inside.
"Everything is ready," I lie, hoping she cannot hear the tremor in my voice.
She nods, though her sharp eyes glimpse the disarray of my jewelry box.
Please, Keeper of Lost Things, help me find my ring, I whisper a prayer to one of the gods.
But the ring doesn't materialize. Its absence gnaws at me. I lost my anchor today of all days, when I must venture into the heart of enemy territory. Maybe this is an omen of disaster.
I force myself to stop searching. My hands are shaking and that won't do. Not where I'm going. I press my palms flat against the cool wood of the dresser and breathe slowly, counting each inhale.
