Brona went to his side, grabbing a shirt and helping him into it. As they dressed him, Gaela worked to slow her heated blood. Kayo moved stiffly and leaned hard on the cane Brona handed him once his boots were on. “Be gentle with yourself,” Brona murmured.
“Try to rest, love,” Kayo said. He moved carefully toward the door but stopped before Gaela. “First-daughter-of-my-mother’s-only-daughter, your future rests on the death of Brona’s son, so do not treat her poorly tonight.”
Gaela had forgotten that. She blinked, scowling. “Did you know? About Dalat?”
“I told him, a year past her death,” Brona said, nudging Kayo away by the shoulder and putting herself in Gaela’s line of fire.
Kayo left, slowly, feeling the way into the dark hall with his cane.
Alone with the witch of the White Forest, Gaela suddenly felt trepidation.
“Come, sit.” Brona knelt by the hearth, slid all her cards into a stack, and shuffled slowly.
“I don’t want a reading.”
“I know. I’m asking questions about my son.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
Brona glanced at Gaela from beneath her lashes, her face tilted toward the cards in her lap.
“It isn’t.” Gaela plopped down on the hearth rug and crossed her legs. She leaned forward, peering through the gentle orange light at Brona. “Ban the Fox made himself.”
“As you did. Do you think those things disconnected?”
“I think my mother had a hand in making me, in ways I did not know until tonight.”
The witch nodded and flipped over three cards: two from the suit of trees and one bird. Gaela could not identify them further.
“Well?” Gaela asked when Brona flipped three more cards, then three more, but remained silent.
“I thought you did not want a reading.”
Baring her teeth, Gaela said, “I want to know why my mother trusted you, and not my sisters. Not me.”
“She did trust you, Gaela. She trusted you to protect Regan and Elia and grow into a strong queen.”
“She didn’t say goodbye.”
“In some ways she did.”
Gaela pursed her lips. Her neck ached from the weight of all her hair coiled atop her crown and the layers of clay sculpting it in place. She ought to have rinsed it clean and smeared these decorations off her cheeks. Flattening her hands against the soft wool of her skirt, she carefully asked, “Did my mother leave me a message? Did she say anything about me?”
“She loved you, Gaela. She said to Kayo that this fate was her choice, and he must understand that. So, too, must you.”
By now Brona had spread all twenty-seven cards atop her cloth, in five circles that spiraled atop each other, so only the top layer of cards was completely visible. The steady glow of embers cast them in umber and shadows, the roots and feathers and bright stars, the splashes of water and several moons in several shapes. Splatters of blood and new-budding flowers. “What will you do, in the morning?” Brona asked, placing the bones down one at a time, instead of tossing them in a scatter.
“Be king.”
“If my son lives.”
“You sound doubtful. Have more faith, Brona Hartfare. Ban is wild and vicious, and—though not easily—he might defeat the steady, predictable king of Aremoria.”
Brona stood abruptly, scattering the cards. “You will never give up the crown.”
Standing, too, Gaela said, “Should I?”
“You made a bargain.”
