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Erida could not help but balk. “What?”
The old woman shrugged again.
“Fear is not so terrible as we make it out to be,” she said. “Fear means you have a head on your shoulders, a good one. It means you have a heart, as much as you try to hide it from the rest of us.”
Like Erida, Lady Harrsing had her own mask, shaped from decades in the royal court. She let it slip to show a smile of her own, warmer and softer than the candle. It made Erida’s heart twist.
“A king or queen without fear would be a horrific thing indeed,” she added with a scoff.
Erida could not agree. Her own fears seemed endless, looped aroundher neck in an unbreakable chain. She wondered what it would mean to be free of her misgivings and worst thoughts. To be so strong as to be beyond fear itself. Where only glory and greatness remained.
Lady Harrsing arched an eyebrow, watching the Queen. “Tobefeared is another thing entirely.”
“That is necessary too,” Erida replied swiftly.
“To an extent,” Harrsing said, careful and deliberate. Her gaze wavered, dropping to the blanket beneath her hands. “But—”
“But?” Erida echoed, heart in her teeth.
From the bed, Harrsing leaned forward, whispering without cause. Her little smile returned but her pale eyes went icy.
“Would you permit the ramblings of a feeble-minded old woman?”
Erida knew Lady Harrsing to be the smartest person in her circle, calculating as any courtier and wiser than a priest. Withering as she was, Erida would never describe her as feeble-minded.
Still, she nodded, allowing her to continue.
“You are feared, Erida,” she said plainly. “But you are also loved. By me, by Lord Thornwall, by the legions. Even by your pestering nobles. Most of them, anyway. We have all watched you grow into something magnificent, and make your kingdom magnificent too.”
Erida blinked fiercely, her eyes suddenly stinging. Again, she wanted to run from the room. Again, her mind outweighed her heart.
“Thank you,” she bit out.
Lady Harrsing leaned again, reaching for Erida’s wrist. Her grip was surprisingly firm, her touch cold.
“Taristan is not loved,” the old woman murmured. Soft as her voice was, every word another razor cut. “And he never will be.”
Erida’s fingers curled in the old woman’s hand, her own body itching against the truth.
“Ilove him,” Erida said stiffly. Instead of fire, she felt ice creep into her heart.
Lady Harrsing pursed her lips. “If only that were enough, my dear.”
The ice spread, working its way through Erida’s body, numbing her to all feeling. She raised her chin, feeling the crown on her bare head.
“Without Taristan, I would not be the Empress Rising. I would not be Queen of Four Kingdoms. My nobles would not be richer than they ever dreamed, their lands expanded, their treasuries overflowing.” The words spilled from her like blood from a wound. “Lord Thornwall would not command an army stretching across the continent. Andyouwould not have the ear of the most powerful person in the realm.”
She expected an apology at the very least. Harrsing only shrugged and dropped her grasp to throw up her hands in lazy defeat. Her head shook, her pride wiped away. She looked on Erida not with love, but pity.
It was worse than a slap across the face.
And Harrsing knew it.
“As I said,” she sighed, raising her only defense. “These are just the ramblings of a feeble old woman.”
Erida could only blink. “Taristan of Old Cor will sit the throne long after you are dead.”
Harrsing glared back up at her.
