‘Blaze.’
I curtsy deeply. ‘Your Majesty.’
‘Some day soon, child, it shall be I who will bend the knee to you.’
The very idea is so absurd that I almost laugh. Clearing my throat, I rub my scar as I try desperately to think of something to say.
The queen smiles. ‘It’s quite all right. After nearly twenty-five years as ruler I welcome the opportunity to step down. Naturally not all of my fellow Council members share my views, but they will come to realize that when something has run its course …’ She shakes her head. ‘Well, best to let it go.’
I sink down into the chair beside her as she pours me a cup of hot sweet tea.
‘And how is your brother?’
Flint still hasn’t been able to utter more than a few words. The physicians think it wise to keep him dosed with painkiller. Mostly he sleeps. Sometimes his good eye shoots open frantically, then slides closed again as the drugs pull him back under.
‘As well as can be expected, Your Majesty.’
Queen Hydra doesn’t press me. The circlet of golden waves sparkles in the light from the late-afternoon sun.
‘It feels right that I should be handing this crown over to you,’ she says softly. ‘I knew it was going to be yours. I knew from the moment I met you.’
Her words both touch me and terrify me in equal measure.
‘I have spent the last seventeen years locked away from the world,’ I say quietly. ‘I’ve never been to the Waterlands. I don’t know the people I’m supposed to rule over. I don’t know the first thing about being queen. How – how am I supposed to do this?’
The queen stirs her tea, tapping the spoon delicately on the rim of the cup before replacing it on the saucer. ‘If you were not daunted by the life that awaits you, I would think you unworthy of it,’ she tells me.
I swallow hard. ‘Will you help me?’
Queen Hydra’s voice is as solemn as a vow. ‘If that is what you wish.’
When I push open the door to my chambers, Elva is waiting for me. Though still beautiful, there are telltale shadows beneath her eyes, which have resumed their usual amberhue. She’s gripping the back of a chair as though her legs might crumble beneath her.
‘You’re back,’ I say bluntly.
She dips her head, butter-blonde hair spilling across her face. ‘I know you must be angry with me,’ she whispers. ‘I … I never meant, I never wanted …’
‘Elva.’
She looks up and there’s fear in those eyes, real fear, and for a moment I don’t see the girl standing in front of me but the girl torn from the arms of her mother and sold into serfdom, the girl who took a whipping to save a young boy from the same fate, the girl who ripped off a piece of the only garment she owns to bind my bleeding hand, and I feel any remnants of the betrayal that fuelled my anger fizzle and sputter out.
‘You love him, don’t you?’ I say. ‘Hal. You really love him?’
I see the answer in her face. I recognize it instantly. It’s the same way my mother looked whenever my father walked into a room. As though she were lit up from within.
I nod, then slump into a chair, gesturing for Elva to take the seat opposite. ‘How are you feeling?’
She looks stunned.
‘What?’ I shrug. ‘Who am I to stand in the way of true love?’
She blinks then perches tentatively on the edge of the chair, hands folded in her lap. ‘I feel …strange.’
‘What exactly did Fox tell you?’
Elva looks suddenly terrified. ‘He … he said that if I told anyone, he’d …’
‘He’d what?’ I raise an eyebrow.
