Skyre hesitated. “What do kings… usually have?”
Greyv laughed. “Salmon is popular in the city. The Vaich ought to savor the local cuisine. Set up a table in the garden.”
The chamberlain nodded and bowed, slipping out between Greyv and the doorframe.
“Thanks,” Skyre muttered. “Máta usually…” He didn't want to admit the rest.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Greyv was comfortable with luxury. There was maybe no one more excited for Skyre’s reign than him. They’d often passed time heatedly discussing all the fun they’d have, the games they’d play, when no one and nothing could stand in their way.
And in theory, a kingly life sounded glamorous, but Skyre was starkly reminded he had spent his whole life in the woods. Governing a household wasn’t a language he understood, and without a wife, he’d have to learn quick.
He glanced around the room, trying to make sense of it. When he had imagined his royal chambers, he’d neglected to consider the previous occupant having been a corpse. “Reckon there’s something to be done about it?”
“It’ll clear out soon enough,” said Greyv. “They’ll burn the body before the week is out. Jor’s already gone to the priests, begging for vigil at the kirk.”
Skyre nodded. “Then he shall have it.”
Greyv scoffed. “Give him a knot and he’ll take the rope. Believe me, Skyre. Jor’s no friend of yours.”
Jor was Lach’Dun’s eldest son. The previous Vaich had two boys, but the Thrys had never told Skyre much about either. It wasn’t customary for Sun heirs to be concerned with the progeny of their predecessors—princes were little more than trophies. Jor was older than him by some odd years, but neither prince had been permitted part of Skyre’s training cohort.They’d been absent at the coronation, having remained here at their father’s bedside. Skyre didn’t begrudge them that. It was a Vaich’s duty to rule and then die, and Lach’Dun had done his immaculately.
“Lach’Dun will be buried with his due honors,” said Skyre.
Greyv shook his head. “You shouldn’t let things fester. Let the old pass and the new rise.”
“He was a good man.”
“And you are not of his seed. By right, you owe him nothing.”
Skyre shrugged on a clean tunic. “He was not my father, but hewasa king.”
“And a king should put his mind to more important things. Gather your Aarden Féin.”
“I can hardly think straight about that.”
No, Skyre’s thoughts had been filled with the Oracle’s voice; the name spoken that broken morning.
Cerys.
Even now, the sound of it in silence made his teeth grind. “This Moon Queen… What am I to make of it?”
“What’s to make of?” Greyv asked, taking another bite. “With any luck, she’ll be bonny.”
“No Vaich has ever been issued a queen.”
“And you’re not justany Vaich.” Greyv slipped into a childlike taunt. “The man who’ll never die, remember? No prophecy foretold your death. But itdidgive you a woman. If I were you, I’d stop asking questions and get on my knees before the gods.” He held his arms wide. “Give me another, oh Sun Rider! And make her tits big as the moon!”
Skyre laughed, shoving his shoulder. “A king ought to have his choice.”
“You’ll get plenty of choice. Every maiden in Cullach will be begging to be yourMoon Queen. Lighten up, you blessed bastard. Now, let’s talk about your warband.”
But the matter was not settled. Not in Skyre’s mind. Nor anyone’s, as gossip gripped the court. Much to his annoyance, it spilled out into the city, and soon all of Rhyd-hal was a-talk of the new queen. Some imagined her a great beauty, with auburn locks and irises green as earth.“As lovely as our king is strong.”
She would be tall, they would speculate, and her hands would be quick. And she’d take fast to the eld, and give him many dark-haired children.
Others were not so certain. They spoke of the Moon’s prophecy with wary words. There grew the feeling that something was wrong. Why then? Why now? A thousand years, oracles had revealed the names of kings.
