1
With a grand flourish,the chamberlain swept open the double doors to the royal suite, revealing a spacious receiving room, office, library, and bedroom. All signs of rubble were gone, the damaged marble tiles had been replaced, and vibrant new rugs delineated seating areas. The glass in the previously shattered windows sparkled. Even the furnishings had been painstakingly plucked and swept clean, leaving nothing to indicate that two chandeliers and half the ceiling had come down during the invasion.
“Your team has done good work.” Princess Syla Moonmark, her portable writing desk clutched to her chest, half-penned letters filling it, pushed her spectacles up on her nose. She lamented that she hadn’t yet had time to find her optometrist to have lenses of the proper power made.
Was he even alive? So many Garden Kingdom subjects had perished when the dragon riders had sabotaged the sky shielder and attacked Castle Island.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Bald, plump, and enthusiastic about his work, the chamberlain bowed to her, then straightened and raised his eyebrows. “Or should I sayYour Majesty?”
“I… don’t think so.” Syla winced at the reminder that her mother and four older siblings were gone, not lost by chance during the attack but because they’d been targeted by the ruthless riders. Only luck—and her aversion to family dinners at the castle—had kept her from the same fate. “I understand there’s a lot of… debate on the proper succession. Or rather debate on whether the proper succession will be followed. Nobody has planned a coronation or even spoken of it to me. From what I’ve gathered, the only ones who want a politically naive healer to assume rule over the castle and kingdom are those who long for someone else to take responsibility for cleaning up all the messes.”
“That’s most people in life, Your Highness. You must assert yourself. Ensure everyone knows that you’ve the ability to serve, the same as your father and then your mother did.”
“People have rightfully pointed out my lack of experience with governing.”
“As a healer, you’ve certainly had experience dealing with contentious and unpleasant patients. It’s the same here.” The chamberlain waved airily.
“My bodyguard, who’s nearing retirement age and has a lot of chronic ailments that he brings up frequently, is possibly contentious.” Syla smiled over her shoulder to where Sergeant Fel—shaven-headed, tall, and muscled—loomed in the hallway a few feet away, watching her back. “Definitely surly.”
“Sergeant Fel, yes. We’ve met.” The chamberlain pursed his lips.
“I’matretirement age,” Fel rumbled in his bass voice, “notnearit.”
“And yet here you are.” Syla smiled sadly at him.
“Manyaren’there.” He shrugged.
“Yes.” Syla blinked a few times to keep her emotions from flowing to the surface. Again.
“Will you go in, Your Highness?” the chamberlain asked. “See if the suite meets with your approval.”
“My?” Syla touched her chest.
Why would she have to approve of how her mother’s suite looked? Oh, she would like to see order restored to the entire castle, but the entire city needed cleaning and repairs. With Mother gone… Well, there was no need to prioritize this.
“Of course, Your Highness. I trust you’ll want to move in as soon as possible.”
“Move in?” Syla mouthed.
To her mother’s suite? Her mother hadn’t been dead a full two weeks. Syla couldn’tmove into her suite. It was presumptuous. She wasn’t even sure… She sighed. Yes, she was sure her mother had passed. The identities of the bodies that had been extensively burned by dragon fire had eventually been confirmed. Aside from aunts, uncles, and cousins, Syla was alone, her future daunting.
She’d succeeded in retrieving the sky shielder from nearby Harvest Island and restoring magical protection to the heavily populated capital, but now Harvest Island was in danger, with dragons hunting prey in the forests and stormers stealing crops from the fields. Ships filled with refugees were arriving in Sky Torn Harbor every day.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the chamberlain said. “Moving into the suite will not only be more comfortable and proper for you, but it’ll help establish in people’s minds that youarethe legitimate heir. We don’t want one of your cousins—especially not that conniving gossip Relvin—or any of the military officers taking over. Did you know that they tried to install martial law while you were gone?”
“I did.”
“And did you know that Relvin is having royal wine and candies delivered to every wealthy merchant, minor lord, andlandowner who might help persuade the people thatheshould be the next ruler? Why, oh, why have you invited your relatives to the castle for a meeting? It’ll simply give him a chance to snoop.”
“Chamberlain Julan, I do appreciate your work here, but I can’t presume to take up residence in the royal suite.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” came a new voice from the hallway.
Aunt Tibby approached, a textbook under one arm and wearing an apron so full of tools that it was a wonder she didn’t clank with each step. Bespectacled and graying, she shared Syla’s determination to restore full protection to the Kingdom.
“My room is fine,” Syla said.
“Your Highness,” the chamberlain said, “there’s a giant hole that adragonripped through the roof when it kidnapped you.”
