The Queen Mother laid it in her lap, gently smoothed out the fragile cloth with her old, wrinkled hands. For a moment, just a moment, she smiled. But pain returned and her face grew tight with anguish. She balled up the cloth and cap and flung it into the flames. It fell like a blanket of white over the wood and fire, but black scorch marks appeared as quick as thought, and then it was gone.
She struggled to her feet, grasping the dagger she’d taken first from the box. Yfin offered his hand and helped her up as best he could.
“Strong young man,” she puffed, then steadied herself on the back of the chair. She drew herself up to her full height. towering over Yfin. Once again she pulled the blade from its sheath, then tossed the sheath into the flames.
She held up the dagger, the steel gleaming in the light. The image froze in Yfin’s eyes. The tall, old woman, made gold by the fire. Every detail seemed clear; Yfin could see a small sigil on the hilt’s cross-piece, glittering in the firelight. The blade glowed in the light, drawing his eye, bright and hard and sharp.
Yfin’s heart leapt to his throat.
Tithanna, Queen Mother, shone in the firelight as she lifted her braid, cut it from her head, and flung it into the flames.
The smell of burning hair filled his lungs, and Yfin knew that he’d never forget the heat, the stench. The sight of her face lit by the fire, the short strands of her hair starting to curl without the weight of the braid. She looked no less a Queen.
She stood there tall and unbending, and watched it all burn, the dagger still in her hand. The sheath melted, the gemstones turned brown and cracked. It was something to see.
“Now the chest,” she said. “Push it against the wall and fill it full of wood.”
Yfin scrambled to do as she bid as a knock came at the door. She placed the dagger on the mantle and went to open it.
There was a blast of cooler air as she pulled it wide. Captain Roth stood there, his eyes going wide as the heat hit his face.
“Your Majesty,” he bowed. “A small group of riders approach. They fly no banners, but they come from the field.”
“They didn’t bother to tend the wounded or see to the dead. Typical.” She turned away. “It matters not. I will await them here.”
“As you wish, Majesty.”
Captain Roth bowed himself out, but she held up a hand. “Captain, this lad is Yfin. He has served me well this night.” She gestured Yfin to her side. “He would be wasted as a hearth boy. I think he’d make a fine warrior. Take him into the Guard.”
Yfin’s heart leapt into his chest at those words. He was sure he looked the fool, mouth wide open and eyes bulging out of his head. “Really? Really?” He trembled as his voice cracked.
Captain Roth didn’t hesitate. “As you command, Majesty. Come, lad. Come with me.”
Yfin ignored him and fell to his knees before the Queen Mother, his heart so full he could barely croak out the words. “My hand to yours,” was all he could manage as he held out his hands, stuttering as he tried to say her name.
The Queen Mother smiled. She reached out and pressed his hands together, between hers. Her palms felt cold and thin against his skin, but her eyes were bright and her words warm. “My hand to yours. Blessings upon you, Warrior of the House of Xy.” She released him and reached out to brushed his hair from where it was plastered to his forehead.
The sound of bells came at that moment, city bells, then temple bells, all pealing the news of the victory.
Captain Roth pulled Yfin to his feet and toward the door. The Queen Mother turned back to the fireplace. Yfin blurted out “Lady, what will you do?”
Tithanna looked at him and her smile was bitter. “I will endure,” she said. “I have endured the death of my husband. I have endured the death of my sons. I have endured the marriages and departures of my daughters, only to hear of their deaths in letters from distant lands. I will endure the sundering of this House and the triumph of Xyrath, my third grand-nephew, once removed, or whatever he claims to be. I will endure,” she repeated.
Captain Roth went to one knee. “My hand to yours. Bless you, Tithanna, Daughter of the House of Xy, Daughter of Xyvoth, Wife of Xykahn, Warrior King.” He bowed his head.
The Queen Mother stood silent and still for a moment. “My hand to yours. Blessings upon you, Warrior of the House of Xy.” For the first time, Yfin heard a tremor in her voice. “Ah, Roth,” her voice the barest whisper. “Xywellan was such a golden child. And such a terrible king.”
She stood there, a dark figure before the raging fire. Captain Roth put his hand on Yfin’s shoulder and they both stepped back, bowed, and closed the door behind them.
Chapter Five
Amari’s weary heart leapt as Orval pledged himself to Xylara.
She’d loved Queen Kara and been grateful for the offer to be a wet nurse, but she was no warrior. For months now, she’d been surrounded by fierce soldiers, men and women with hard muscles and harder eyes, ready to defend their rights with sword and shield. Even the marcus had carried with him a sense of edgy danger.
But this man was different. Short and stout, wearing a bed-coat of all things, he walked oddly. He…bumped into things. He had plump cheeks and a high hairline under short black curly hair, with skin so pale he must never go out in the sun.
He took Lara into his arms like she was a precious thing he feared to break.
