Dornar interrupted her with a snarl, cutting off her words as he spun to face the arrayed palace officials.
“Fine. As the king has died leaving no heirs, and the queen has refused to step up and accept her throne,” he said loudly, “we will need an alternative solution.”
He gave them a slow look. “The heavy mantel of authority will, it seems, fall to me. If we wish to avoid a needless internal war that would weaken us and make us vulnerable to Verturian forces, you must declare me king.”
There was a rumble of shock. Some loud disagreement. But enough heads were nodding. Enough of the court would throw themselves behind Dornar. By the time he had bullied and manipulated the council, they would support his bid. Even from where she stood, Alanna could see the glimmer of satisfaction in his face.
It was only a matter of time before Dornar had himself crowned. Which would inevitably be followed by the uprising of those nobles who did not accept his claim. Those who believed their tenuous blood ties to the throne held more value than his strength-based authority. She was bleakly certain that Dornar would prevail in the end, particularly with the weight of the palace guards and the cavalry behind him. But how many lives would be lost in the interim?
She had to stop him.
She lifted her chin and raised her voice. “Dornar is not the rightful king. You cannot give him this power.”
Dornar gave her a wide smile that she noticed never reached his pale green eyes. “You are not the queen, as you’ve so eloquently explained to us all.” His lips twitched slightly. “I think you’ll find that makes me the highest-ranking official in the kingdom.”
“No, you are not—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dornar started, but her back was up and she wasn’t going to let him silence her. No one would silence her, not ever again.
She took a breath and continued. “The true ruler of Brythoria is King Ballanor’s sister. Surelysheis the rightful queen?”
“Sister?” Val frowned and rubbed his thumb between his eyes as if they ached. “Ballanor had a sister?”
“Yes, of course,” Alanna replied, surprised that no one else had mentioned it.
“No,” Dornar shouted angrily, fighting for attention. “No one has ever heard of this mystical sister. This woman”—he waved at Alanna—“is clearly deranged.”
Alanna flinched and stepped closer to Val.
“Don’t speak to her like that,” Val rumbled, but Dornar didn’t even look at him as he crossed his arms and repeated, “There. Is. No. Sister.”
“There is!” She had to be certain that every person on that field, especially those going back to the palace, knew the truth. “Ballanor and Grendel used to talk about her sometimes. Lucilla. She’s the true queen.”
“Truth,” Ramiel observed with a commanding look toward the courtiers.
“I believe Ballanor did have a sister,” Haniel interjected. “That was how his mother died, in childbirth with his younger sibling. Nothing was ever heard of the girl after that, and we all assumed she had died at the same time.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. A few of the courtiers were old enough to have been in the palace at the time and they were agreeing that there had indeed been a sister. Who had been believed to be lost at the same time as the queen, her mother.
A sister who had perhaps survived after all. Kept away from the palace after the death of the queen.
“Assuming there is a sister, this Princess Lucilla, where is she now?” Dornar demanded.
Alanna felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise at the icy expression on his face. It was a relief that she could answer completely honestly. “I have no idea.”
There was a moment of heavy silence and then Dornar spun around and stalked away. She watched him go for a few seconds. Bard. She had been granted salvation. Dornar could so easily have been her future.
Around her the crowds were whispering and debating. Loudly considering what it meant for there to be a true queen of Brythoria, hidden somewhere in the kingdom.
The whispers grew louder as she stepped slowly through the dust toward Val, and then faded into silence as everyone stopped whispering to stare at her.
Val looked stunned. His face was lined and exhausted. His dark eyes watched her with confusion, as if too much had happened for him to be certain of his place in the world. As if he still couldn’t quite believe that she hadn’t already left with Dornar.
She took his hands in her own and felt them shaking. Val, her ferocious warrior, who had withstood torture for weeks without succumbing, was shaking.
For a moment she was lost in how huge his hands were, engulfing hers, and then she brought them, one at a time, to her mouth and kissed them, giving him the same honor that he had given her.
She stood on her toes and lowered her voice to whisper in his ear, just as he had done. “I love you, Val. I will love you forever. Until I die. There’s no one else for me. Can you forgive me? For all the happiness I stole from you? Could you bear to give me one more chance?”
