“It died too.” Verniers bowed again and walked from the chamber.
“What do you think?” Vaelin turned to find the queen greeting him with a smile, her anger abruptly vanished. “A little overdramatic, perhaps?”
“I’m sure Your Highness knows best how to deal with an ambassador.”
“Actually, it’s a skill I’m having to learn with some rapidity. So, do you think we should retake Verehl?”
“The decision is not mine to make, Highness. And you have a Battle Lord to advise on the practicalities of such an undertaking.”
“I don’t need Al Hestian to tell me it would be impossible, not for another year at least. Verehl sits on the southern coast, a fairly unpleasant place by all accounts, surrounded by jungle and subject to yearly storms of legendary ferocity. Its only value comes from the spice trade, contributing less than one-half of one-hundredth to the Imperial treasury. I suspect Empress Emeren seeks to test me, baiting a trap to see if I’ll bite.”
“Given the animosity between our peoples, a city of little value seems a small price to pay to heal the rift.”
She gave a small laugh, shaking her head and moving back to her throne. “Always the peacemaker, even now.”
“I hoped Your Highness had called me here to discuss my petition.”
“Indeed I did, though it suited me to add a little theatre for Lord Verniers.” She settled onto the throne, accepting a cup of water from Iltis. “You want to go home.”
“With my sister, yes.”
Lyrna’s face clouded a little as she drank. “Lady Alornis is . . . improving I hear.”
“She has nightmares every time she sleeps and, when awake, tinkers constantly with the engines she built on your behalf. They grow more deadly by the day, she tells me. She seems keen to see them at work. I am not.”
“We agreed this war had to be won, Vaelin, and we all gave much in the winning. Your sister more than most, for which I’m sorry. But she is a grown woman and I never forced her to any action.”
“Nevertheless, my petition stands, and I request your answer.”
She turned to Iltis, handing him the cup and requesting he leave them alone. “You will require a new commander for the North Guard,” she said when the Lord Protector had withdrawn. “Lord Adal has petitioned to be released from your service.”
Vaelin nodded in grim acceptance. Imparting news of Dahrena’s death to Adal had been a hard trial, made worse by the man’s rigid composure and clipped response to every question. Though the accusation on his face as he bowed and withdrew was plain enough.
“I trust you will find him suitable employment,” he told the queen.
“Indeed. I’m minded to create an East Guard for my new dominions. War has left us with many able hands to fill the ranks and who better to command them?”
“A fine choice, Highness. I would request Lord Orven as his replacement.”
“As you wish, subject to his agreement. I believe he has earned the right to choose his commands.”
Lyrna rose once again and went to the window. Council-man Arklev’s home stood on a hill offering a fine view of the harbour, still crowded with the fleet, though somewhat diminished now. The Shield had sailed away two days after the city’s fall, taking with him perhaps a tenth of the Meldeneans. There were rumours of a fractious dispute with the Fleet Lord, of challenges made and sabres drawn, though Lord Ell-Nurin seemed unhurt when Vaelin next saw him, bowing low to the queen as she gave him a sword, and a grant of land on the south Asraelin coast.
“Do you remember the night we met?” she asked.
“You surprised me, I threw a knife at you.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I kept it. It saved my life in fact.”
“I’m glad.”
“There was a question I asked you then, one I won’t ask you again, since both question and answer are now redundant. But, I’ve always been curious, did you ever regret saying no?”
Her hair was fully grown now, he saw, longer than it had ever been, a golden cascade in the light from the window. And her face, the porcelain perfection enhanced by the few small lines of experience and the keen intellect shining from her eyes, no longer subject to any constraint.
“Of course,” he lied. “What man wouldn’t?”
• • •
Weaver stood among the Politai, speaking in low but earnest tones as they clustered around. They were more animated than Vaelin had seen them before, many speaking up to interrupt, faces betraying distinct emotions, ranging from sadness to anger. The more recently freed stood on the fringes, frowning in bafflement but keeping close to their brothers. Frentis said it was always the way with them, an inability to be alone or tolerate the company of those not of their kind.
