They had stormed down the narrow ravine and onto cobbled roads, past rows of whitewashed cottages and beguiling market squares that she barely registered before they had passed. She kept her head down and her focus on the road ahead, even as she promised herself that one day she would come back and see them properly.
She didn’t even have a chance to stop when they reached the quay and she finally, for the first time, stood beside the sea.
Within minutes, she had been bundled onto a small boat and rowed out into the harbor. The sea spray on her face was salty and cold, and she had been very glad of the thick wool of the cloak they’d given her.
The men rowed them with rapid dips and pulls to a tall-masted ship with furled sails anchored near the harbor entrance. There was no figurehead, no flags flew, and the crew wore nondescript loose brown breeches and clean white shirts, with scarves tied around their sun-browned necks.
To a distant observer the ship would be unidentifiable, but up close, Lucilla had noticed the orderly discipline of the crew and the cleanly scrubbed deck, the speedy attention to commands, and the bristling array of weapons the impeccably tidy sailors carried.
Tristan had bustled her along the deck, briefly introducing her to Captain Cassiel, and then down a short flight of wooden stairs as the ship creaked and groaned, rocking on the swells.
He had taken the heavy woolen cloak she’d borrowed and hung it on a peg and then opened the door into a world of dark wood and gleaming bronze, compasses, and huge maps secured in rolls behind the captain’s desk.
What would it be like to have the freedom those maps suggested? To plot a course by the stars as you sailed over open seas toward new lands?
Or maybe it wasn’t like that at all—maybe it was weeks of being cold and lost and hungry? Certainly, that’s what her adventure had been like… until Matt. He had made everything different. Better. And he had started to make her want to be the queen that he believed in. That these people expected.
She looked behind her, wanting his reassurance, his comforting presence. But she didn’t see him, only Tristan, and behind him Tor, gently urging her inside.
She forced her shoulders down and lifted her chin, knowing that she couldn’t hang around in the doorway ignoring the people sitting in the room ahead. She took a step forward and then another, striving for her perfect mask of serenity.
One of the women caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile. Her loose chocolate-colored braid hung over her shoulder, and silver-gray wings lay softly at her sides. The other was tall and slim with short golden-blond hair tucked behind her ears. Beside her, his fingers laced through hers, was a dark-haired man with a heavy beard and lines down his forehead that suggested a lifetime of frowning.
Nim, Alanna, and Val.
Lanval leaned closer to Alanna, as if to protect her, and with that, her mask faltered. Damn it all. She knew them from Matt’s stories. She knew all the horrendous things her brother had done to them. Knew how difficult it must be for them to see her standing there, looking just like Ballanor.
She looked behind her again, desperately wanting Matt to be there, but Tristan and Tor were blocking the door. She was alone. But she had never been a coward before, and she wasn’t about to start. She took in a breath, let it out. Faced forward. And did what she had to do.
She walked across the slowly tilting floor and dropped the most perfect curtsey of her life. She knew it looked ridiculous in her stained leathers and dirty shirt, but she had to do something. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Before she could even start to rise, both the women were up and moving. And by the time she was ready to meet their eyes, Nim had grabbed her hands and Alanna had wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Nope.” Alanna grinned. “What did you say, Nim? None of that.”
What? Lucilla blinked. She had no idea what was happening. She tried again. “I can’t begin—”
Nim cut her off with a kind laugh. “Lanni, you forgot the rest!”
“Oh, yes,” Alanna agreed with a smirk. “This is all on Grendel and that asshole I married.” Then she turned, her face lit up with a magnificent smile, and looked back at the scowling man. “Not you, Val, obviously.”
And then they all laughed.
Laughed.
It was almost too much. The beautiful, golden woman had cursed and then laughed, and everyone had joined her. And she was a queen. Could have been a queen.
Lucilla was totally lost. She was alone and intimidated, and she was standing next to the woman who, by rights, should have been her queen. Ballanor had stolen everything from Alanna while torturing the man she loved. And Lucilla felt responsible for the crimes her family had committed.
She felt her face fall, despite her best attempt to keep the blank look that had worked so well to keep her safe in the past.
“Oh Bard, I’m so sorry.” Alanna’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Of course, he was your brother.”
“No. No….” Lucilla shook her head, trying to explain. “I hardly knew him, and I was very frightened of him. I can’t imagine….” She let the sentence fade away. Gods, now she was reminding the poor woman of what had happened to her.
And yet Alanna didn’t flinch. Lucilla couldn’t imagine this smiling, open woman ever hiding behind a blank face and demurely clasped hands. Instead, she seemed so confident, so noble. Straight-backed and elegant. She was everything Lucilla imagined a queen should be.
“Are you sure you don’t want to be queen?” The words slipped out. And then she instantly regretted them. How could she ask something like that of someone who had already endured so much?
