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'You said yourself, you're not a warrior …'
Fyia saw red, turning so fast she had to brace herself against the pain in her head. 'I'm Queen; I've never shied away from any part of that, including killing the men in my way.'
'I was trying to help.'
'You were trying to make a name for yourself … to prove yourself the great warrior you think you are. You wanted glory, songs, women to fall at your feet …' Even though they did that already. 'When I need help, I ask for it. You betrayed me, and I would've been within my rights to execute you.'
'But you didn't, because you knew sending me away would hurt me more. And it did hurt, every moment.'
'Because you longed to be in the middle of the action … to be a part of the stories.'
'Because I longed to be with you.'
The blood drained from her brain as she looked into his eyes, flicking from one to the other, trying to see into his soul. He seemed to believe his words, but did he mean them? Would he make the right choice next time, or was his ego too strong to overrule …?
Her head hurt.
'I've learned my lesson,' he said quietly. 'I will never disobey you again.'
'I can never trust you again …' She wobbled, and had to grab his leg so as not to fall to the floor, the edges of her vision going black.
He took hold of her shoulders. 'You can,' he said, 'and I'll prove it, but right now you have to rest. You can't go into the Vipers' Nest like this.'
He was right, and better to sleep on Adigos than risk falling on the floor at every lurch of the carriage. She lifted her legs onto the cushioned red velvet bench, then rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. He dropped a muscular arm around her, and she nestled in, wrapping both of her arms around his much larger one. They'd travelled like this on countless occasions, and the familiarity was comforting. He was warm, and strong, and smelt faintly of leather, and not two turns of the carriage wheels later, she was asleep.
Fyia's carriage pulled up outside a colossal stone building. Copper runners zigzagged across the front, from the top, where a dragon clock ticked, all the way to the bottom, where the runners dipped into the small channel of water that circled the building.
Few dragon clocks existed, and the ones that did were spread across Fyia's kingdoms. The mechanisms were much like any other, but the numbers—one to twelve—started and finished either side of a dragon head, which sat where the number twelve would in any other clock.
They had once been used for more than just telling the time, or so said the legends, but for what, no one knew, at least in Fyia's five kingdoms. Magic had long been outlawed, and the fae and witches had fled, the old kings killing the magical for sport whenever the opportunity arose. It was one of the many things Fyia would change …
Fyia stepped down from the carriage, and a deep rumbling ground through the air. She looked up to see a metal ball drop out of the clock. The sound of metal on metal reverberated across the open piazza as the ball rolled down the copper runners. Fyia watched as it travelled down the left side of the building, then dipped into the water with barely a splash.
'Auspicious,' said a tall old woman, who was walking—spine ramrod straight—down the steps towards them.
'Stop,' said Fyia, starting up the stairs. 'We'll come to you.'
'I'm as fit as a fiddle, Your Majesty.'
'Even so …' Fyia climbed the endless stairs Sensis had lined with guards. The old woman sank into a deep bow when Fyia reached her.
'Spider,' said Fyia, 'it is good to see you.'
'And you, Your Majesty. If you'll come this way, the Extended Council has assembled.'
'The Viper's Nest,' said Sensis.
'That name is typically reserved for the Small Council,' said the Spider, with a stern look.
'Can't imagine it's much different,' said Sensis.
The building was ornately decorated, with mosaiced floors, patterned ceilings, and glassless windows. The city had been built long ago, when the lands had been warmer, when a frost this far south was virtually unheard of. Now, although not yet cold, the leaves only just beginning to turn, they still had need of their cloaks. Come the winter, the place would feel no warmth for three long cycles of the moon.
The Spider led them up a set of stairs, then along a wide corridor, where mechanical artwork lined the walls, making whirling, clicking noises as it moved. Fyia couldn't say she was a fan, not when she compared the artwork here to the wild paintings of her mountainous homeland.
'They're amazing, aren’t they?' said Adigos, admiring a piece that depicted the movements of the sun.
'Hmm,' said Fyia, throwing him a questioning look. 'Not exactly what I was thinking …'
