Queen of Fire полностью

Davoka stepped back, a certain tense reluctance showing in her gaze before she spoke again, slipping into Realm Tongue with practised ease. “Brother Frentis . . .”

Lyrna turned away from her, Davoka falling silent at the sudden sharpness in her expression. Mention of the famed Red Brother had been frequent since her arrival the previous evening, amongst the first words spoken by her Battle Lord on disembarking at the docks, as well as a heartfelt entreaty from Aspect Elera and a clipped request for mercy from Brother Sollis. She had given the same answer to each of them, the same answer she gave Davoka now. “Judgement will be rendered in due course.”

“We fought together in the forest before it burned,” Davoka went on. “We are gorin. He is my brother as you are my sister.”

The Volarian woman’s red tears, the searing pain as her hair caught alight . . . Lyrna closed her eyes against the memories, feeling the breeze on her skin, her healed, unmarred skin. Healed? she asked herself. Is that what I am?

The night before she had watched Alucius on the fire. She had spoken briefly beforehand, formally naming him Sword of the Realm, his sigil to be a pen and a wine cup, for she knew it would have made him laugh. Lady Alornis stepped forward to add her voice, face pale and expressionless but with tears streaming from her eyes as her brother laid comforting hands on her shoulders.

“Alucius Al Hestian . . .” she began, faltered then continued in a broken voice, “. . . will be called a . . . hero by many. A poet by others, and . . .” she paused to form a faint smile, “overfond of wine by some. I will always call him . . . simply, my friend.”

Lakrhil Al Hestian had been permitted to attend, standing by, hollow-eyed and silent in his chains. He made no speech and stared at the rising flames with dry eyes. Lyrna allowed him to remain until the fire burned down to embers then ordered him returned to the dungeons, now crowded with other traitors awaiting the queen’s justice.

Justice. She had watched the smoke blossom on the pyre, concealing Alucius’s face and sparing her the sight of the flames consuming his flesh. What justice would I have shown you, old friend? Spy, traitor to the Realm, and now hero of Varinshold’s liberation. My father would have made show of forgiveness, lauded you with titles and gold, then, after a decent interval, had one of his hidden talents ensure a suitably accidental end. I would have been far crueler, Alucius. I would have made you follow me, stand witness as I administered full justice to our enemies, and for that, I know you would have hated me.

The clouds above must have parted for she felt a blush of warmth on her head, her new-grown hair no doubt making a fine sight as it shimmered, the sensation pleasant and free of the tear-inducing agony she recalled from her days on the Sea Sabre. Healed? she wondered again. You can remake a mask but the face beneath still lingers.

She opened her eyes and her gaze lit on something, a small yellow flower emerging from between two shattered flagstones. Lyrna crouched, reaching out to touch a finger to the petals. “Winter-bloom,” she said. “Always the clearest signal of changing seasons. Ice and snow come, sister, bringing hardship but also respite, for no fleet will sail the ocean whilst winter storms rage.”

“You think they will come again?” Davoka asked. “When the ocean calms?”

“I’m certain of it. This war is far from over.”

“Then you will need every sword, every ally.”

Lyrna looked at the winter-bloom again, resisting the urge to pluck it and resolving to plant a new garden here in time, one without walls. She rose, meeting Davoka’s gaze and speaking in formal Lonak. “Servant of the Mountain, I have need of your spear. Will you wield it in service to my purpose? Think well before you answer for our road is long and I offer no promise of a return to the Mountain.”

Davoka’s reply betrayed no hint of hesitation. “My spear is yours, sister. For now and always.”

Lyrna nodded her thanks, beckoning to Iltis and Benten. “Then you had best meet your brothers. Try not to kill Lord Iltis, his manner can be somewhat provoking.”

• • •