Ban the Fox had knelt first, in the winter blue of the Errigal earls, and sworn his loyalty to Gaela, then Regan. They had named him before everyone, not only as earl but as the first root wizard of Innis Lear’s new age.
That had further spread out gossip and hope, like threads of lightning.
Retainers and messengers were sent to the corners of the island, beckoning for the lords to come to their queens on the Longest Night, for the heads of towns and castle stewards to come. There to witness all three daughters of Innis Lear together: the rulers crowned and their priestly sister set to her place in the star towers.
Gaela studied the face of every man, woman, and child who knelt before them, composing to herself the letter she would write to Elia. The defenses she would mount against Aremoria immediately, the summons and plans for sea vessels, the enlisting of unlanded men and women, and the tithing of the landed. The urgent business of the western coastal road, adjustments for depleted grain to the south. Her father’s body would need to be brought to the Star Field. The star towers would be shuttered if they did not make prophecies to suit her needs, despite whatever choice Elia would come to make about her own future. All the wells might be opened if local folk so desired, but Gaela would first send a mission into the heart of the White Forest, perhaps led by the Fox himself. They would need to find the ruins of the ancient star cathedral where the navel of the island drove deepest, that inspiration of the old faith and the way of kings long dead. And that—that well Gaela would fill to the brim with sand and salt.
The only power on Innis Lear would be her own.
Hours ago, in the darkest moment of the night, just before they left that poisoned grove, Ban had spoken, holding Gaela’s sister carefully. His words were a warning, and a challenge:
“Elia would swallow the hemlock, and the rootwaters would save her.”
Regan had closed her eyes, lost to her selfish pain, but Gaela had smiled. “She will not, and they cannot. For I will stop her first.”
To Elia of Lear, and any who would be her allies:
We crown ourselves here at Dondubhan, where the kings of Lear have been crowned for seven generations. The island is ours: I who am Gaela King, and I who am Regan Queen, for the king who was our father named us his true heirs, and as we have made the necessary rituals of our people, so shall we rule.
If you would meet us on this island, be it as subject to her king. We shall appear on the plains of Errigal on the Fourday of this month’s dark week. There you shall submit to our rule. If you choose otherwise, death or exile will be the only way forward. Copies of this letter fly to every corner of Innis Lear, so that all understand our first decree, even so that the very wind and roots understand.
Your sisters and rulers,
Gaela King of Lear
Regan Connley of Lear
ELIA
FOR THREE DAYSElia had awaited her sisters at Errigal Keep. She moderated the line between Lear’s retainers and those of Errigal still loyal to Ban the Fox, meeting those she could at Rory’s side. He knew all the women and servants and the families of his father’s retainers, and they welcomed him, even when Elia cast suspicions upon Ban. She spoke twice, for long hours, with Curan Ironworker, the wizard, gleaning what information she could on the recesses of the forest and the changes in the song of the iron marsh, as well as asked him questions about Ban. Elia had made herself available to all, as best she could, letting go of her old instincts to withdraw, to remain apart. She was not a star, she told herself, but a woman. A sister. A friend. A princess, as well as a star priest. A daughter still, and one day, she hoped, a mother, though she was not with child now.
Nor yet was she a queen.
With the crushed-hemlock crown circling the crook of her elbow, Elia went to the ramparts in the evenings to see the first stars, to mourn her father alone and allow herself to feel anger toward him and all the mistakes he’d made. To explore the unfamiliar fury burning in her heart: that he’d put Elia in this position, and brought the island so near to ruination. But in many ways, the stars had ruined him, too. They had been Lear’s everything, perhaps more so than even Dalat, and surely more so than himself. That singular focus had made him weak. If the stars were always to blame, there was no way to hold oneself responsible for anything.
And Elia understood the answer was not to do the opposite: to obey the island roots unthinkingly. She could not eat the flower and drink the water on the island’s word alone. Ruling Innis Lear should be a partnership, a conversation, and she would not rush the moment, though she believed one would come.
There were many conversations to have first. The morning after Rory’darrived, Elia tended the dead Earl Errigal at his side. The body had been laid out in the cellar, washed and dressed, with his sword and chain of earldom. Elia held Rory’s hand while he breathed through great pain, and when he calmed, she asked, “Why are you here at my side, Errigal Earlson?”
His full name startled him, and he wiped under his eyes. “My father—” he said thickly.
Elia took the earl’s chain off the dead father’s chest. “I mean, why did you come home, why are you with me? Your brother is gone to my sisters, and they will take this chain from you for defying them, and give it to Ban. They have already declared it—you’ve heard what the iron wizard said was Regan’s order.”
“It’s mine,” Rory said. “Maybe Ban should have been my father’s heir, because he’s oldest, or because he’s smarter than me, but he isn’t. I am. I want it.”
“Your stars are suited to it.”
“They are.”
“Why not go to Gaela and demand your rights of her?”
“Gaela alarms me.”
Surprise widened her eyes.
Rory pressed on, distraught, “She doesn’t… Do you know anything about war games? Gaela wins them, but always the same way. Even when her specific tactics vary, the strategy is the same. It is always an aggressive one, always driven and determined, but she cuts losses without a thought. She is a great commander, but a queen should not leave fields trampled behind her every time, nor use a village as a point of play. They’re homes, and they matter beyond winning that single battle.”
“And Regan?”
