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The shouting and cheering continued, with more than a few of the Treckish clapping for Sigil as well as their prince. Sorasa kept up her shout, applauding, and gestured for the others to follow suit. Dom roared louder than them all, raising his fists in the air.
“The iron bones of the Countless will never be broken!” he boomed out.
It was the last nail in Oscovko’s coffin.
Sigil let out a guttural cry, the war scream of the Temurijon, and slammed the prince’s fist back against the tabletop. His body nearly went with it, twisting to keep his arm from snapping intwo. As Sigil leapt to her feet, hands raised in triumph, so did he. The hall thundered with cheering as he took her wrist in his spare hand, the other cradled into his chest. With a shout, Oscovko raised their joined hands together, celebrating her victory for all the feast to see. And the soldiers celebrated with him, spilling wine and ale and good wishes.
“We ride tomorrow, for war and the Ward!” he called.
“For the Ward!” his men answered.
“For the Ward!” Sigil bellowed.
For the Ward,Sorasa thought.
Hope fluttered in her chest, flickering, the light of a single candle. But too small, too weak. The hall echoed with triumph, but all Sorasa heard was the tolling of a death knell. Even as she smiled, dread curled in her belly. It was never far away, but now it reached for her with icy claws, its sting sinking too deep.
19
The Ruthless Chosen
Erida
Even covered in burgundy velvet, the throne of Madrence was uncomfortable, the stone cold through the fabric, the high back maddeningly straight. After a long morning of sitting in council, Erida was eager to walk off the ache.
With a forced smile, she left Thornwall and Harrsing in the throne room and swept out to join her retinue of waiting ladies. She wished she could dismiss the various girls and women outright. They served little purpose on the campaign, besides making her presentable for the day. And spying for their families or husbands. But appearances were important, maddeningly so, and therefore the ladies remained. They followed at a respectable distance, murmuring among themselves, their voices a low hum.
The Lionguard trailed her, silent but for their clanking armor, ever present as she stalked the unfamiliar halls of the palace. As they walked, Erida took stock of the oaths again, going over themany Madrentine nobles who pledged fealty to her yesterday. She spent hours listening to simpering praise and veiled insults.Young,most of the nobles called her, bowing their heads to their bold conqueror. Erida knew better than to think it a compliment. They saw her as a child, a girl, barely old enough to rule herself, let alone two kingdoms with the making of empire.
They are wrong, and soon they will know it,she thought.
In the windows, clouds rolled in across the bay, darkening the afternoon, with only a beam of gold on the western horizon. The once-brilliant halls went dull, the pearl tiles losing their luster. Robart’s palace felt suddenly small and unimpressive, a pittance compared to Erida’s home many hundreds of miles away.
She had not expected to miss the New Palace, but a small ache crept up inside her. She missed the gardens, the cathedral, the stained-glass windows filled with mighty Syrek and the many gods. Her peerless city, overwhelming in its size, filled with her many thousands of loyal people. They cheered even for a glimpse of their queen. Not like the people of Rouleine and Partepalas, who spat at her feet and spilled blood for spite.
Erida wandered with no real direction, but her feet led her out into the magnificent palace gardens. Trees and flowers bloomed, the air perfumed with all scents, and a fountain rippled somewhere, undercut with birdsong. Small ponies picked their way among the grasses, their round bellies like shiny golden coins. Part of Erida wanted to expel them from the palace. They were, after all, Prince Orleon’s pets, and she didn’t need any more reminders of the dead.
She glanced at the darkening sky, weighing the threat of rain. Against everything else, a storm felt like nothing at all.
The city is yours. The kingdom is yours,she thought. The many nerves in her body began to uncoil, releasing slowly.The next will fall, and the next. Until all the map is your own.
She smiled to herself, trying to picture Allward in her mind. From the Nironese rain forest to the Jydi snows. The sweltering Tiger Gulf to the glens of Calidon. Ascal, the jewel in her crown, to the steppes of the Temurijon and Emperor Bhur. So many thrones, so many kingdoms. Some would kneel, stricken by her rampage through Madrence. Many would not.
Erida’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together. Whatever relief she felt moments ago disappeared, fading as she listed the great obstacles in her way. The many dangers on the road to her destiny.
“Twice Queen,” a deep voice said, and Erida’s toes curled.
The Lionguard knew to let Taristan approach.
He appeared from somewhere down the path, stepping out from a line of poplar trees. Erida felt her ladies react behind her, some of them whispering. A few knew better, going silent. With a single wave of her hand, she dismissed them all, sending them scurrying back into the palace.
The Lionguard remained, a loose ring around their queen.
“I thought you were still helping Ronin in the archives,” Erida called down the path to him. He walked toward her at an easy pace. “Reaching high shelves and the like.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the urge to smile. “I’m wasted in the pages.”
Taristan fidgeted in the garden, out of place, as always. Hewore no cloak or armor, leaving only his fine red tunic, a rose embroidered over his heart.
