“And to tell your fellow creature and his pet priest where to find me that night at Alltor.”
Iltis bared his teeth, sword quivering a little as he fought his rage, though she was gratified by the discipline he displayed in not surrendering to it.
“A task I was forced to,” Orena said. “Like countless others.”
“More than once, no doubt. I assume our enemies are fully aware of our preparations.”
“They know all I know.”
“So why risk discovery tonight? Lady Davoka has kept careful watch on you since Lord Vaelin imparted his suspicions. Why choose tonight to poison my wine?”
Orena said nothing though Lyrna saw her eyes flick in Al Hestian’s direction.
“It seems our enemy fears you also, my lord,” Lyrna told the Lord Marshal. “I find myself suddenly glad I didn’t execute you.” She levelled her gaze at Orena once more. “Why does the Ally want his death?”
“He has a genius for command. One that will be of great use when you reach Volaria.”
“We have met before, have we not? In the mountains.”
“It matters not.” The woman’s voice grew yet more devoid of emotion, her gaze losing focus, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Nothing matters. Build your fleet, gather your army, sail them to their deaths. We are all but pieces on his board and if the game goes awry, he’ll start another. I have died a hundred times and woken in shell after shell, each time praying that this time he will leave me be. When I first awoke in this one I heard no whisper of his voice and I thought . . .” She fell silent, head lowering as she hugged herself.
“You had ample opportunity to kill me on the
Orena issued a wistful laugh, soft and soon lost to the wind. “You made me a lady. You were . . . my queen. And . . .” She paused to smile. “And there was Harvin. To live so long without ever touching another heart is a terrible thing. To think I should find it with him, a common outlaw with no more wit than a scavenging fox.”
“You expect me to believe this?” Lyrna felt her anger quicken and fought to keep it in check. This thing’s attempt to manipulate her was dangerous, provoking her to hasty revenge. “A creature such as you is immune to love.”
“You think yourself so wise, my queen, but you are still a child. I have seen much done in the name of love, the wondrous and the horrifying, always finding it so amusing. There is a corner of my soul that wishes you were right, that I had remained immune to its touch, for then my grief would not have been so great. I think that’s how he found me again, hearing my despair as it seeped into the void, calling me back to his service.”
“A call you could have refused.”
“He bound me to him long ago, welded my soul to his, cutting away any will to resist. It’s how he chooses us, those souls best suited to his purpose, those with malice sufficient to match his own and weakness enough to be moulded.”
She sank to her knees, glancing over her shoulder where Davoka now stood, a small glass bottle in hand. “You should know,” Orena said, turning back to Lyrna, “that the mind of this shell is fractured. Broken by rape and near strangulation the night the city fell, saved only by her gift, which shattered the mind of her assailant, but left her spent and easily claimed.”
“She will have the best care,” Lyrna said. “And I promised Lord Vaelin I would return his cousin.”
Orena nodded and drew back her sleeve, raising her hand, palm extended. “This time there will be no forgiveness, my failures become too frequent, my soul too sullied by feeling. This time he will rend me to nothing, stripping away even the memory I was once alive. A fate I believe will suit me very well.” Her face was set, determined, her fear well controlled, a stark contrast to the girl who had begged and wailed beneath the Mountain. “I am ready, my queen.”
In later years there would be few among the Dead Company left alive to recall the scream that pealed across the headland that night. But those that did, although calloused by many horrors, would still manage a shudder at the memory of the sound, recalling it as an omen of what lay ahead.
• • •
The full fury of winter came early that year, heavy rain giving way to snow with unwelcome speed, the tent roofs of Varinshold sagging under its weight. Lyrna had ordered fuel stockpiled but the depth of the cold took many by surprise and there were some who perished in its grasp, mainly the old and the sick. Others were found outside the city walls, shorn of warm clothing, their frozen faces often serene, accepting. The invasion had left many bereft of all family and vulnerable to despair, precious hands lost to grief that wouldn’t heal.
