A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Epilogue 3

It had taken the best part of a year to muster the courage to sail. Until then, parting from Sabran had been too terrible a prospect. She had dreamed of foundering on the waves, leaving her child alone. Those were the only dreams she had now – nightmares that knit the past and present.

She woke from one, snapping up straight as a nail in her bed. Fýredel had sunk its teeth into her belly and torn her baby out, swallowing Sabran whole, and Inys with her.

Glorian stared at the window, remembering where she was. She curled back into the furs, touching the brink of sleep again.

Sister.

The only answer was the moan of the wind through the mountains, shot with snow. She knew by now that the voice in her dream was gone, like Fýredel.

Flames snapped in the hearth. Shunted back to wakefulness, she pushed away the furs.

When Einlek had written to invite her to Hróth, she had thought of refusing him. Inys needed its queen more than ever, in the aftermath of the Grief of Ages. She had not wanted to part from Sabran, even though she had milk nurses now, and could hold up her own head.

By the Feast of Late Summer, her ladies had encouraged her to go. Helisent had seen it first – that she found it harder and harder to rise, as if her bones were not just lined with iron, but with stone. Siyu had warned her that some mothers experienced a deep sorrow after pregnancy, but Glorian had refused to accept it. She had no time or room for that.

Yet her own mother had carried a certain darkness, even years after being with child. King Bardholt had called it unmód, when the mind seemed to detach and sink. The Virtues Council had finally agreed that it would be good for Glorian to visit her cousin, to recover from everything.

She had arrived in Eldyng as the sky lights began their dance. Einlek had taken her to Isborg and Askdral, and then to the bleak towers of Vattengard, to finally meet the Sea King. Glorian had floated like a dead fish through that day. Einlek had been there to support her, but when she had clapped eyes on Magnaust Vatten, with a reserved Princess Idrega, her thoughts had come untethered, and she remembered little after that.

Now she rose and went to the window. Her bedchamber had a breathtaking view – the snowbound trees of a drunken forest. Once the royal visits were over, Einlek had brought her to his hunting lodge in the Nithyan Mountains, where all was quiet, and she could rest.

Outside, the daylight was still low, the moon out with the dawn.

When she stepped into the snow, her breath froze before her. Hróth was always crisp in late autumn, but this depth of cold was unusual, even in the mountains. The passing of the comet had somehow quenched the Womb of Fire, but in its wake, the cooling had gone on.

Glorian had always weathered the cold well, and walked in only her shift and fur boots. When she saw the woman sitting under an ash tree, a streak of white in her hair, she stopped.

‘Aunt Ólrun,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Are you all right?’

‘You feel it, niece,’ Ólrun Hraustr said, eyes closed. ‘The great chilling – the Vildavintra.’

Glorian stepped a little closer, wary. Her aunt had always been troubled. ‘Vildavintra?’

Wild winter, it meant.

‘We will survive it.’ Ólrun had the same eyes and nose as her dead brother. ‘You and I are touched by night, as Bardholt never was. Einlek will see, in the Vildavintra.’

Unsure of what to say, Glorian continued through the snow. Her aunt had survived two wars. Of all people, she needed peace.

The stovehouse was a short walk away, tucked among the firs. Once she had hung up her clothes, Glorian shut herself inside and ladled water over the hot coals, listening to their sizzle. She sweated for a long time on the bench, breathing in the scent of pine.

There was only one way to banish the feeling that had clung to her in Inys. Today was the last time she could use it.

Near the stovehouse, a waterfall had frozen stiff, and a door had been cut through the ice on its pool. Before she had given birth, Glorian would never have been allowed to sink in, for fear the cold would harm her womb.

Now she stood before the black water, belly still thick, ice underfoot. She took a slow breath and slid into the darkness, quicker than she had last time. Over three weeks, she had learned to endure. Pain came first – a bitter fire – and then complete relief. Like heavy bedding after sleep, the shadows were ripped from her mind, leaving her raw and stinging and new. She ducked under and surfaced again, her whole body ablaze with cold.

A thread of green light crossed the sky, then another. Leaning back into the water, Glorian closed her eyes and laughed – for she was awake, and her soul was alive, and her body was hers, it was fully hers now.

****

Einlek was breaking his fast on his balcony. Food remained scarce, but here in the wilds, there was game to be hunted, and fish to be hooked from the rivers. Glorian joined him, hair dripping.

‘How was the water today?’ Einlek asked her. ‘More bracing than your balmy Inysh lakes?’

Glorian nodded. ‘I have felt well for the first time in months here, Einlek. Thank you.’

‘You needed to stop for a time, to collect yourself. We both did, after so much tragedy.’ He passed her a bear pelt, which she wrapped around her shoulders. ‘It has been good to have you here, Glorian. I’m only sorry that I have to send you back so soon.’

‘Inys needs me. So does Sabran.’

His jaw tightened at the mention of her. Glorian laid a hand on his iron arm.

‘Prince Guma never touched me, Einlek. He never will,’ she said. ‘Sabran is not his.’

He narrowed his grey eyes. ‘Whose, then?’

‘I will not tell you, for his sake. Or hers.’ She looked away. ‘I know I shamed the Saint.’

Einlek snorted. ‘You gave Inys an heir, and spared us all from the Nameless One. I would not call that shaming the Saint.’ His warmer hand came to cover her fingers. ‘I am glad you told me. These last years were a trial from Halgalant. We did what was necessary.’

He served her a cup of hot wine, and she drank, letting it warm her all the way to her middle.

‘Aunt Ólrun mentioned something,’ she said, after a long moment. ‘The Vildavintra.’

‘A foolish tale from the heathen days. A time when the spirits will break free of the ice and kill the world.’ He swallowed his venison. ‘Pay her no heed. Her war days still wilder her mind.’

‘It does feel colder than usual, Einlek.’

‘Hróth has been on fire, like everywhere else. Anything would feel cold in comparison.’ Einlek glanced at her. ‘Before you leave, I have to ask you something, Glorian.’

‘Yes?’

For a time, her cousin looked out at the sunrise on the mountains, his face hard to decipher.

‘The House of Hraustr is young,’ he said. ‘At present, there are only three of us in the family, not including you. My queen wants many children, but I have no siblings, in the meantime.’

Einlek had married not even a month after the wyrms fell. Surviving his second war must have driven his mortality home. Instead of a foreign consort, he had chosen the iron-willed Chieftain of Vakróss, who was almost as wealthy and admired as Skiri Longstride.

‘It is a small family to rule after such a tragedy as the Grief of Ages,’ he said. ‘If Hróth is to remain at peace, and in Virtudom – which we know it must – I need to strengthen it.’

‘I will do all I can to help.’

‘Vattenvarg,’ he said. ‘He has a marriage to Yscalin, with Princess Idrega, but he still wants the foothold he almost had in Inys. He wants to betroth his younger son to your Sabran.’ Glorian watched him. ‘Haynrick is five. It would not be like your situation, a rush to the bedchamber. They would not have to wed until Princess Sabran is ready.’

‘Einlek, must we really appease the Vatten again?’

‘That has not changed. My wedding may have pleased my chieftains, but if we want to keep Mentendon in the fold, we should placate the Sea King. I wanted to plant the seed.’

Mentendon had to stay in Virtudom, or her parents’ legacies would be undone. Glorian could not allow that.

Yet she thought of her baby, and her hand trembled around her cup.

‘Sabran is not even a year old,’ she said. ‘It is hard to move my mind that way, Einlek.’

‘I understand, after everything. Nothing is yet set in stone.’ Einlek patted her hand. ‘Let me know when you are ready to leave. I will take you to your ship myself.’

****

Fýredel had made trophies of her parents’ bones. Glorian knew this, yet she always imagined her mother and father wandering over the Ashen Sea, trapped by the eternal fog.

She watched as an ice mountain appeared for the first time since she was a child. When her hands shook yet again, she clasped them on the wale.

She was Glorian Shieldheart. She was exactly who her parents had always needed and wanted her to be, and had to remain so – for Sabran, for Inys. Hróth had scoured the rust from her iron, lifting the heavy shadows off with it. They would not return.

They could not return.

The Steadfast docked at Werstuth. Once Glorian had loved to sail. Now she had to wait for a time at the port, so her legs would stop trembling, before she could climb into a saddle.

She rode with her guards through the snow, back to Drouthwick Castle. It was one of the few strongholds that had been left untouched during the Grief of Ages. More than once, she had to call them to a halt, her body pressing her for rest or attention. Sometimes it forgot that she had paid the tax on it, and sought to remind her of Hollow Crag.

She knew it would pass. Of course it would pass.

Her ship had arrived a day sooner than anyone expected. Upon reaching the castle, she started up the stairs to see Sabran.

‘Glorian.’

She turned. Prince Guma stood at the door, immaculately groomed, as always. ‘Your Highness,’ Glorian said, with her customary reserve. ‘I thought you would be at Glowan.’

‘No. I have been here for two weeks,’ he said. ‘Your grandmother and ladies have just settled Princess Sabran. It may be best to let her sleep. Will you join me for supper?’

Reluctantly, she nodded. Sabran was a fretful child, and had not slept with ease since the day she was born.

In the Dearn Chamber, supper was served. ‘I trust you enjoyed your visit to the North,’ her companion said.

‘Yes, thank you.’

Prince Guma did not touch his meal. He clasped his hands on the table, his rings glistening.

‘I have been made aware that certain letters were discovered at Parr Castle.’

Glorian stopped eating.

‘Yes,’ she said.

It seemed their confrontation would be now.

‘Any fool could see that Yscalin brought far more than Inys to our marriage,’ Glorian said, keeping her voice as low as his. ‘At first, I thought you agreed to the match because I am the head of Virtudom. A place at my side brings you the power and standing you have always craved, deprived of a throne by your twin as you were – but when Lord Robart Eller was arrested for performing heathen rites, your letters were found in his study. I learned that the two of you conspired to sway me to your hawthorn faith.’

‘Not just hawthorns,’ Prince Guma said. ‘In Yscalin, those of us who remember more often worship the yew.’ He reached for his cup. ‘When did you discover these letters?’

‘The Feast of Early Spring.’

‘Before my arrival.’ When she gave him no reply, he said, ‘You could have dissolved our union when you learned of my beliefs, since it was not consummated. You still could. The Saint forbids divorce or remarriage, but I’m sure your sanctarians would make an exception, in this case. How can a royal consort not believe the royal lie?’

Treason and blasphemy, laid in the open.

‘You are more than aware of our precarious situation in Inys,’ Glorian said. ‘I need the Ufarassus.’

‘As you needed an heir. It would have been hard to find a new consort at that time. Better to marry me and get with child by the barons’ son.’ He caught her expression. ‘Yes, I know who it was – Wulfert Glenn. Your ride at Hollow Crag was hardly subtle, Glorian.’

‘I had no choice.’

‘No.’ He returned his knife to the table. ‘You know what I plotted, yet we are still wed, because you need my gold. I applaud your attempt to outflank me. No doubt your father would be proud.’ His thick fingers pleached. ‘Did you execute Lord Robart Eller?’

‘He took his own life.’

Prince Guma closed his eyes, regret pinching his forehead and the corners of his narrow mouth.

‘He was the most devoted,’ he said. ‘The plan was his idea – to convert you to our faith. You see, he believed you were meant to help us, born as you were in the spring, to a heathen. He hoped you were our Green Lady, who would bring Inysca back to the true way.’

‘A vain hope, for I believe in the Saint. Did you not see the sign that came from Halgalant?’

‘You can believe it was from your Halgalant, or you can see it as an act of unconquerable nature. Perhaps it was our ancient rites that called the comet, not your prayers.’

Glorian managed to hold his gaze, even as her heart surged into her throat.

‘You are aware that I went to Ascalun, before Arondine,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘That is because I sent my servants to Arondine first. I had thought your people might have rallied against our marriage, you see, and wanted to be assured of my safety. I believed I was risking both my reputation and my life.’ He raised his white eyebrows. ‘Imagine my surprise when I saw how deeply your people had come to believe the Berethnet lie. All they wanted was the heir. You were but a womb to them; so will your daughter be.’

Glorian clenched her jaw to stop it trembling.

‘Your cousin, Einlek. His dynasty is young and fragile,’ Prince Guma said. ‘How long will it take him to want to barter Sabran?’

‘I know Halgalant is real,’ Glorian whispered. ‘I have met the dead who dwell there.’

‘They cannot protect your daughter. If you stay this course, you will doom her to a life of sorrow and servitude. I would not trade her like horseflesh. Let her become a true Queen of Inysca.’

‘Inysca is gone.’

‘You believed you had no choice but to bear a child. Will you take hers?’ His voice had gone flat and cool as a knife, working deep under her skin with each word. ‘Or will she be allowed to listen to both my beliefs and yours, and decide which she prefers?’

‘For a Berethnet, there is but one path.’

Prince Guma regarded her. With shadow filling the lines of his face, his eyes were cabachons of amber, petrified on the bark of a tree.

‘I pity you,’ he said. ‘It was unthinkably cruel of Galian, to build a legacy upon the wombs of his descendants.’ He returned to his meal. ‘Allow me to show you the way of the groves, and you could save more than your throne, Glorian. If not, I will go back to Yscalin – but even when I am returned to the earth, others will rise to take up the mantle. After this Grief of Ages, our numbers will only grow, along with doubt in your Saint.’

‘Take the blinders off your threat, so I may look it in the eye.’

‘The raiders know I make no threats.’ He held her gaze. ‘We, the believers – our roots go deep. They may yet tangle around your loved ones. Keep me from Sabran, and I will not stop them.’

Glorian scented the threat, but this time, it did not freeze her.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘do you know how my late father executed Verthing Bloodblade?’

At first, the question went unanswered, and the only sound in the room was the fire.

‘He kept his enemy alive for a long time, bound in chains. He thought for many days on how best to kill Verthing, who had murdered his brother and so many others,’ Glorian said. ‘Then the Saint came to him in a dream – though he did not know his name – and told him how it should be done.’

Prince Guma did not betray a flicker of fear, but even her blood had run cold when she first heard the rumour, whispered by two servants who had thought she was asleep.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I heard what Bardholt did.’

‘I am Marian the Less – but I am also the Hammer of the North, and I am the Malkin Queen. They live in me, too. I am not the soft creature you hope to mould. Not any more,’ Glorian said. ‘Threaten my family again, and you will remember, as I give you wings.’

Prince Guma raised his goblet in a wry toast.

‘I do hope you enjoyed your visit to Hróth. How sad that your daughter will not have the same freedom,’ he said. ‘My faith accepts her as she is. Yours demands that she be ploughed and sown.’

Glorian broke a sweat at those words. The earthen smell of the cave filled her senses – smell of iron and unbirth, the reek of wyrm. Holding her silence like a shield, she rose from the table and left.

She had no memory of starting to run, but she must have, for suddenly she was in the nursery, where Siyu watched over the crib. ‘Your Grace, I thought you were coming back tomorrow,’ she said in surprise, but Glorian had already gathered up Sabran. ‘Queen Glorian—’

‘No.’

It was all she could say, all she could think.

She passed her startled guards and hurried down the stairs, along the torchlit passages. Heaving for breath, she unlatched a door and ran into the night, straight for the queenswood. The pines were so tall, and so terrible, and yet they seemed to call to her.

Her boot caught on her hem, and she fell hard, a cry escaping. Sabran screamed awake.

Glorian tried to rise. When she looked up, Inys was still everywhere, surrounding them.

Sabran bawled as if her heart was broken. Strips of linen swaddled her, tucking her tiny arms to her chest. In desperation, Glorian tried to tug them off, but Sabran only screamed louder, and Glorian stopped, realising she had no idea how to do it, how to unbind her.

‘I’m sorry.’ She forced the trembling words out. ‘I’m sorry, Sabran. We have to protect them. We can’t let this happen again, can we, all this death?’

Sabran stared at her in accusation, crying.

We do not break. We do not falter. Glorian choked out a bitter, tearless sob. One day, you will sit across a table from your own daughter and tell her who she will wed for the realm, and you will remember this.

At last, someone knelt in the snow beside them. Glorian flinched in anticipation of a touch.

‘Queen Glorian,’ Siyu said, ‘I have a small daughter, too. Her name is Lukiri, and I would do anything in this world to protect her.’ Her voice was very soft. ‘You won’t always be able to. This world is not always kind. But we will try, as long as we can, all of us. All women can be sisters. We will be yours.’

Glorian looked up at her, tears leaking down her face. ‘Why are you being so kind?’

Siyu just smiled at her. She gave Sabran the gentlest touch on the cheek, and at once, the child stopped crying.

‘I will tell them you ran out because you thought you saw a fire.’ She held out a hand. ‘Come, Your Grace. Come inside, where it’s warm. Princess Sabran does not like to be cold.’

Glorian looked down at her baby, and a tear dropped on to her brow. Then she reached out, and took the other woman’s hand.

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