A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 3 – Chapter 63

Glorian jolted awake to a realm drenched in honey. The day was mild, the sun warming to bronze as it descended, but she was so cold that fog curled through the air in front of her.

They were no longer on the sunken way that snaked through Bernshaw Forest. Now they rode on wider paths, past meadows rich and thick with flowers, and Arondine was in the distance, its castle like a white helm on the hill.

She had turned seventeen on the road, on the Feast of Early Spring. At last, she was lawfully allowed to bear the heir to Inys.

Dark seas I cannot cross, but snows I can. The words were already fading. Nowadays, each time she dreamed, she glimpsed the messenger, the woman, even if she could not always speak to her. I have the wind and rain itself to carry me.

Around half of the people of Ascalun followed her court. The train of thousands sprawled for miles behind, hauling carts of grain and wool and other provisions from the capital.

The Royal Guard rode in a tight formation around Glorian. Only one person had drawn their attention – a man calling her a liar and fraud, just like the one at Glowan Castle. Though her hands had trembled in their gauntlets, Glorian had not looked back, and the guards had taken him away, finding him unarmed.

Arondine was an ancient trade city. Positioned between the north and the south, it served as both a crossway and a crucible of the queendom, thronged with merchants from all six provinces. This was where Glorian meant to have her coronation – the first Inysh queen in centuries to be crowned beyond the Sanctuary of the Sacred Damsel.

Her regent had still not returned. Instead, Lady Brangain and Lord Damud rode with her, while Lade Edith had taken several hundred people towards Stathalstan to prepare its caves, clearing them of bats and bears. Glorian meant to drain the surrounding farmsteads into them, including some livestock, so the people would have meat, milk and cheese.

On the road, with nothing but her own thoughts and the scorched meadows to distract her, she had come to accept that she could not meet Fýredel in the field. Her Northern side recoiled from the prospect of hiding, but it might be their best defence. Inys was full of caves. Spineless as it seemed, the only way to triumph was to scatter and lie low, at least until she worked out how to slay a wyrm.

She had a season until Fýredel returned. When it did, she could not ask her people to fight fire. On the other hand, she could not conceal them indefinitely. Food supplies were already dwindling.

They were close to the River Tyrnan when they came across a body, sprawled under an ancient oak, legs torn off at the knee and one arm stripped to bone.

‘Saint,’ Lady Brangain said. Her horse whinnied as she motioned to the guards. ‘Move him out of sight, at once.’

‘Wait,’ Glorian said sharply, and the guards stopped. ‘Check his hand for the red stain.’

They did, with care. ‘He’s fine, Your Grace,’ one of them said.

‘Debatable,’ Lord Damud said, eyeing the corpse. ‘Make haste. We should cross the river before dusk.’

It was late in the day by the time they forded the Tyrnan and began the final approach to Arondine. A steep and narrow path led up to its first gatehouse – a misstep would send her horse slithering into the deep moat around the city. Glorian kept her eyes on the pale walls.

A city like this, built on high ground, would offer sound protection from the creatures Fýredel had left. Still, she meant to move when he returned. Arondine was too vulnerable to the sky.

By summer, she and her court would be gone again. She had Stilharrow in mind – a keep tucked into a clough in the Marshes, surrounded by wetland. If not, she might abscond to the coast, to the cliffside sanctuary at Offsay. She would have no single residence.

If only she had Ascalun, the True Sword, which had vanquished the Nameless One. It might work against Fýredel, if it had not been lost. Glorian imagined her father riding at her side.

Think, the apparition told her. Think of other ways, dróterning.

Arondine clambered from the foot of the shallow hill to its crest. In the distance, to the south, was the giant loaf of rock – Stathalstan Knott – that bestrode hundreds of secret caves.

‘Make way for Queen Glorian,’ a steward bellowed to the people as they entered. Cheers and curious murmurs filled the air. ‘Make way for the Duke of Courage and the Duchess of Justice, descendants of the Holy Retinue!’

No one had expected a royal visit. Glorian tried to keep her face calm and still. She was soiled and dishevelled from the road, but she sat like a knight, with her chin high. In their faces, she saw every emotion, from joy to curiosity to fear. Most looked shocked.

They see my youth, she thought. They see they are led to war by a girl.

‘Lord Damud,’ she said, and he leaned close. ‘The wyrms did not come here. I leave it to you to make these people understand the threat. All should be armed. Every blacksmith must work to that end, every fletcher and bowyer. Once the city gates are sealed, those who wish to enter must seek permission from the guards. The gates must remain locked, and all who approach should have their hands checked before they can enter.’

‘It will be done, Your Grace.’

Glorian rode on, followed by her guard, her ladies, and the rest of the court. She felt every eye in the city upon her – the young queen in armour, without her regent.

Arondine Castle loomed at the crest of the hill. It had three curtain walls, each higher than the last. Once they had passed them all, crossed a bridge, and entered a large courtyard, Glorian handed her horse to an ostler and faced the castellan, Sir Granham Dale.

‘Queen Glorian,’ he said, bowing low. ‘Your Grace, you honour Arondine by coming here.’

‘I am sorry to arrive with so little warning, Sir Granham.’ Glorian removed her gauntlets. ‘I must take Arondine as my stronghold for a few weeks. Inys is at war.’

‘I have heard the rumours that Ascalun burns.’

‘They are true. The Nameless One has not returned, but the Saint has sent us a great trial. A wyrm has sown our land with a plague and sent beasts to torment our people – a black wyrm that calls itself Fýredel. I ask you to confer with the Regency Council.’

Sir Granham looked stunned. ‘The Dreadmount,’ he said. ‘It has truly birthed more?’

‘As I say.’

The old knight seemed to recover, and his face hardened. ‘Your Grace, forgive me, but where is the Lord Protector?’

‘He should be here within the week. In the meantime, I bid you make tallow – a great deal of it. Your people will be moving to Stathalstan, where they can be safe, and they will need light in the dark.’

‘Yes, Your Grace. I’ll see to it.’

‘Thank you.’

Her bedchamber was in the largest tower. Her ladies helped her to remove the armour, and she sank on to the bed in her tunic, saddlesore. ‘Are there any baths here?’ she asked Florell. ‘I have a chill.’

‘I’ll find out.’

‘Helly, stay with me tonight.’

When the others had left, Glorian looked down at the city as the sun descended. People filed towards the sanctuary for the evening prayer.

It had not taken long for Florell to persuade the Dukes Spiritual that they had to leave Ascalun. Lady Brangain and Lade Edith had both agreed that the threat of plague was enough to break from what Lord Robart had commanded. They had ridden from the city with the creatures still hammering at the gates, chopping them down with sword and spear.

‘I can’t believe any of this has happened,’ Helisent said, as she wrapped her hair with silk for the night. ‘Glorian, are there enough caves for everyone?’

‘I sent riders to scout.’

‘What gave you that idea, the caves?’

‘My father. Towards the end of the war, he began to use only part of his forces in battle, keeping the rest in nearby caves. Thinking him weakened, Verthing Bloodblade was emboldened to attack his war camp in the Nurthernold. That was his last mistake.’

‘Then some Hróthi do know that hiding can have its advantages.’

‘Yes. I mean to remind Einlek.’ She looked at her friend. ‘Helisent, you are a year my senior. On my commendation day, you told me you hoped to feel more settled, as you grew older. Do you?’

Helisent considered for a time.

‘It feels like so long since then,’ she said. ‘My mother told me we are all like roses. I always thought it means that we opened our petals, took our true form, and gradually withered. But perhaps we never stop growing. If women are flowers, we are not roses, but day’s eyes – blooming not once, but over and over, each time the light touches us.’

Glorian felt a tear on her cheek. She dried it with her sleeve, but Helisent had seen, and gathered her close.

‘Everything will be all right, Glorian,’ she whispered. ‘I made sure of it.’

‘What do you mean?’

A light knock at the door interrupted them, and Florell stepped inside. ‘Your bath is ready,’ she said to Glorian. ‘Even queens must rest.’

****

At dawn, Glorian ventured back down to the overcrowded city, wearing her armour again. The Regency Council had expressed their disapproval with her excursions, but until Lord Robart returned, she meant to do as she pleased, before she was shut away.

She found Lord Damud Stillwater pacing the outermost wall, watching the guards build tall stockades and dig a trench beyond. Behind those defences, tents and rudimentary shelters huddled against the city, housing those who could find no room within.

‘Your Grace,’ Lord Damud greeted her. ‘Good morrow. As you see, your people are fortifying Arondine. There will be stakes inside the trench, which could be set aflame.’

‘More fire. Will that help?’

‘The creatures that attacked Ascalun were not wholly like wyrms. They had flesh – even fur and feathers. They should burn.’

‘Very good.’

‘Wood is being cut from Bernshaw Forest to build catapults and springalds. Water will be placed in vats across the city, to help quench any fires,’ Lord Damud went on. ‘In the meantime, Baronesses Pintrow and Suthrey will oversee the retreat to the caves.’ They walked along the wall. ‘There is an old Inyscan tunnel that leads from the undercroft of Hyll Sanctuary to Stathalstan, which I have set a group of flint miners to strengthening. There is room in the caves for around fourteen thousand people, as well as the supplies to keep them fed.’

‘The combined population of both cities is far greater. What about the silver mines to the west?’

‘Indeed. They might make a habitable shelter for the nobles.’

‘The nobles?’

‘Those are royal mines, Your Grace.’

‘The nobles will not be hiding. The people who work those mines will have first right to stay there.’

‘As you wish.’

She left him on the wall. At the bottom of the steps, she found herself surrounded by people, and tensed as her guards reached for their swords. Too many eyes were on her. They stripped away her armour, and she was young and alone again.

Then a girl of ten or so was moved forward, and shyly held out an Inyscan rose. ‘For you, Queen Glorian,’ she said with a neat curtsey. ‘We are so happy you came to Arondine.’

Glorian took the red flower. It had been stripped of thorns.

‘I am glad to be among you all,’ she said, and found that it was almost true. ‘I swear that I will be your shield.’

****

In the days that followed, she watched Arondine brace itself. She walked among the people, to shake her fear of them, and they seemed to grow used to her presence. The best seamstress in the city came to take her measurements, while Florell oversaw the preparations for her coronation at Hyll Sanctuary, where her namesake and two others had been crowned.

The message arrived in the small hours. Glorian was sleepless in her bedchamber, writing to her cousin, beseeching him to remember his temperance when he fought the wyrms. Einlek needed to prove the endurance of the House of Hraustr, but indulging the Hróthi thirst for war and glory would only end in scores of their people dying.

She had just dipped her quill when Florell appeared. ‘Glorian,’ she said, ‘a messenger has come from Lady Gladwin. She has asked you to meet her at Glowan Castle.’

Glorian lowered her quill. ‘Why?’

‘She didn’t say, but we must refuse. It’s far too dangerous for you to ride in the wilds.’

‘Lady Gladwin knows that, which means she would not have asked without reason. Instruct the Regency Council to hold the city in my absence,’ Glorian said, rising. ‘Ready my guard – and Mastress Bourn, in case we need a healer on the road. We ride at dawn.’

They set out before many people could wake. Glorian wore a plain grey cloak over her garments and kept the hood up.

As their horses galloped northwest, Glorian saw what Fýredel had left behind, a parting gift to Inys. Field upon field had been laid to waste, the farmers’ bones left among their scorched crops, along with the remains of their ploughs and other tools. All the nearest settlements were abandoned. A few miles on, an orchard of apple trees, hundreds strong, had faced the same devastation.

‘We are doomed,’ one of her guards croaked. ‘All this in weeks. What will come in years?’

‘Have faith in the Saint,’ Florell told him. ‘And in your queen. This will not last for ever.’

Glorian herself said nothing. She nudged her horse onward, away from the ruined trees.

By afternoon, the party had crossed into the deep wilds beyond the Striding Hills. The farther they rode, the closer the air became. ‘It’s too quiet,’ Helisent said, watching the branches. ‘There are boneless souls nearby.’

‘You are absurd,’ Adela muttered.

‘What happens to people who can’t pass into Halgalant?’ Helisent asked her. ‘Where do they go, hm?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Well, I’ll tell you, Adela. They linger on the clapper bridges and the bier roads.’

‘Mastress Bourn,’ Glorian said. The bonesetter came to her side. ‘Whereabouts in Inys did you live, before you came to court?’

‘Merstall, in the Fells.’

‘What should the farmers in Merstall be doing now?’

‘Working the fields, preparing them for seed. Spring is a busy time.’ Bourn glanced at her. ‘Your mother was careful, Your Grace. There should be enough grain to last at least a year.’

‘And what if this goes on not for a year, but a decade, or a century?’

Glorian rode ahead before they could answer. No answer in the world would comfort her if she dwelled on that question.

****

Wulf saw the Queen of Inys crest the horizon at sunset. He waited for her at the doors to Glowan Castle.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the markings in the grove.

The haithwood opens only to those who know the path, like you. He could not shake those words from his mind. She told me about you.

Glorian met him at the entrance and lowered her hood. ‘Wulf,’ she said in surprise. ‘I only expected Lady Gladwin. Why are you here?’

‘I didn’t just go north to see my family.’ He led her inside. ‘Come and get warm. Lady Gladwin will tell you.’

They walked to the Old Hall, where his father and Lady Gladwin waited at the end of a long table. Under his shirt, Lord Edrick was bandaged. Wulf was glad to see the bonesetter.

‘Your Grace.’ Lady Gladwin bowed. ‘I am sorry to call you from Arondine. Thanks to several of your nobles, starting with Lady Helisent Beck, we have made a grim discovery.’

‘I fear we can bear no more grimness, Lady Gladwin. What is it you’ve uncovered?’

‘I’m afraid that Robart Eller can no longer serve as Lord Protector of Inys. He is a heathen.’

Glorian stilled. ‘A heathen.’

‘Farfetched as it sounds, yes. He was seen in the haithwood, performing a ritual, dressed as if to mock a sanctarian. His followers, who fled before they could be seized, seemed to be throwing blood upon a yew. It was a hawthorn grove, Your Grace.’

‘Has this been going on for long?’

‘It seems he has lived a secret life as a heathen for decades.’

‘I am very sorry to hear this,’ Glorian said. ‘My mother thought highly of Lord Robart.’

‘Many did. I myself have called him a dear friend for years, and never saw his true leanings.’

‘What is to be done in such a circumstance?’

‘There is no precedent. I would recommend execution, but the people need hope and unity now. The last thing they need is to know that their Lord Protector disavowed the Saint.’

‘Imprisonment, then.’

‘Yes. For now.’ Lady Gladwin paused. ‘He has asked to speak with you, Your Grace. I would advise against it.’

‘I have nothing to say to him,’ came the tired reply. ‘Thank you, all of you, for the risks you took to find this out. If you will all join me in Arondine, I would treasure your counsel.’

‘You need a new regent, Your Grace,’ Lord Edrick said. ‘By law, you require one for another year.’

Wulf watched as Glorian seemed to ponder.

‘My grandmother should be offered a chance,’ she said. ‘I know she is not a strong woman, but she is a Berethnet.’

‘Lady Marian will have our full support, Your Grace,’ Lady Gladwin said. ‘I will summon her from Cuthyll.’

‘One more thing, Queen Glorian, before we let you rest,’ Lord Edrick said. ‘While we were in the haithwood, my daughter made the decision to search Parr Castle.’

‘You mean that she decided to break in.’

Wulf hid a smile.

‘Yes, Your Grace. For the common good,’ his father said, clearing his throat. ‘In a hidden cabinet, she found evidence that Prince Guma of Yscalin – your companion – shares the same religion as the Lord Protector.’ He placed a small pile of letters across the table. ‘Their contents would legally invalidate your recent marriage. You could remove your ring.’

Glorian picked it up. ‘These say he is a heathen?’ she said. ‘Was there a plot between them?’

Lord Edrick nodded. ‘A plot to return Inys to the old ways, through controlling you.’

Slowly, she leafed through the pile, casting her eye over each letter. When she was finished, she said, ‘No. Let him come.’

Wulf frowned.

‘Queen Glorian, you cannot have a heathen consort,’ Lady Gladwin said, looking stunned.

‘To my understanding, we need the gold and soldiers no less than we did yesterday. Inys needs an heir no less than it did yesterday. Fear not, Lady Gladwin,’ Glorian said. ‘I have a plan to make this marriage work in our favour. I hope you will trust me.’

She left with the letters. Wulf stood aside to let her pass, leaving Lady Gladwin to drink from her goblet of wine.

‘A heathen for a prince consort,’ she said, ‘and a young girl for a queen, all at a time when we need guidance more than ever. Saint, Edrick, what will become of Inys?’

‘King Bardholt always had a tactic,’ came the mild reply. ‘So might his daughter yet.’

Wulf slipped away to let them talk. He paid a visit to the bonesetter, who cleaned the bite wounds on his arm and dressed them with clean linen. As soon as he left, Helisent Beck waylaid him at the bottom of the steps.

‘Helisent,’ Wulf said, giving her a nod. ‘Seems your scattered thoughts grew into quite the laidly flower.’

‘You did well to watch him for so long, Wulf. I’m sorry I doubted you,’ Helisent said, with the weight of sincerity. ‘Was there really nothing in the haithwood but Lord Robart?’

‘Other than some dancers and a pack of wolves, no.’

‘That’s a comfort. I feared it all my childhood, too.’ Helisent leaned close enough for him to glimpse a tiny freckle in the white of her eye. ‘Glorian has asked if you’d be willing to come to her bedchamber tonight. There are fewer tongues to loosen in this castle than in Arondine.’

Wulf looked up at the ceiling.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I would.’

****

Glorian waited in the gloom. Her breast rose and fell, and her hands were clammy. She wrung them in her lap. Though the royal bed was close to the fire, her skin felt thin and cold.

The letters from Prince Guma had revealed the whole conspiracy. The odd pair had not meant to usurp her outright, but instead, to sway her to their religion in earnest, hoping she would renounce the Saint. Far easier to mould a monarch than force the people to embrace a new dynasty. She ran her fingers along one of them, reading its final lines again.

From what you say, I think she will be willing to hear reason. Bardholt was a licentious traitor for taking up the False Sword, like Isalarico before him – but he would have nurtured an appreciation for his world in her, and nowhere in Virtudom is more heathen, still, than Hróth. If we water that seed, I say Glorian the Third will blossom in our favour. If not, then we will let her be and quietly mould the heir. Surely five centuries of this is enough.

When her rushlight was halfway burned, Helisent arrived with Wulf. ‘Jules and I will stand guard at the bottom of the stair,’ she said, and closed the door.

Wulf fastened it behind her, and there was a concise silence.

‘Are you all right, Wulf?’ Glorian asked him. He nodded. ‘Tell me about the haithwood.’

‘It was a grim place. So dark and still.’ A muscle flinched in his jaw. ‘And I remembered it, Glorian. Not much. Just a feeling. But I knew in my soul I had been there before.’

‘You are not there now. There is nothing left in those trees. It was only ever Lord Robart.’

‘Aye. Likely I was born to one of his followers.’

‘I was born to a heathen, too.’ She sighed. ‘Apparently, that’s why Prince Guma sought to marry me, so we could roll Inys backwards together.’

‘You’re not going to dissolve the marriage?’

‘No. Your sister has given me a way to make it work.’ She nodded to the letters. ‘These prove his intentions. Knowing those, I can keep to the contract, but also make sure he does no harm.’

‘You want to do this, then,’ Wulf said. ‘You and me.’

They looked at each other.

‘Prince Guma will know me for an adulteress,’ Glorian said, ‘but I already know him for a heathen. He will have to accept the arrangement.’

His expression was hard to read. ‘So we’ll start now?’

‘If you’re still willing.’

Wulf nodded, but stayed where he was, waiting for an invitation. When Glorian laid a hand on the bed, he sat next to her and took off his cloak, smelling of the applewood that had been smoking in the hall. She was more aware of him than she had ever been – his collarbone, the burl in his throat, the deep hollow beneath.

A fresh bandage wrapped him from wrist to elbow. Glorian said, ‘What happened?’

‘Ah, just a bite. I’ll heal.’ He raised a tired smile. ‘I had an idea. We could handfast.’ She shook her head, lost. ‘An ancient custom. We wed ourselves in private, with no sanctarian, for a year and a day. You’d be lovemaking in wedlock, and then the lock would disappear.’

She matched his smile. ‘You’ve thought about this.’

‘Aye, a bit. To ease your mind.’

‘Do we really want to indulge in a heathen custom, while Lord Robart rots for the same?’

‘The sanctarians in Hróth sometimes allow it. They say it makes for stronger unions.’

‘How do we go about it?’

‘Just a few words.’ Wulf clasped her wrist, and she clasped his. ‘Glorian Hraustr Berethnet, I take you to be my companion. Bone to bone, blood to blood, and limb to limb, may we be bound. This night, and for one year to come, I will be yours alone.’

‘Wulfert Glenn, I take you to be my companion. Bone to bone, blood to blood, and limb to limb, may we be bound. This night, and for one year to come, I will be yours alone.’ Glorian could feel his heart. ‘Is that it?’

‘That’s it.’

Glorian rose. She worked off her gold ring and locked it away, wanting it out of sight. Next, she reached for her thick braid, but found her fingers stiff and nerveless. Wulf came to stand behind her.

‘Let me.’

He stroked his callused hands over her scalp and started to ravel the braid, taking with ease to the task. Each small undoing calmed and woke her, all at once.

‘I suppose you laced braids for your lith,’ she said.

‘Sometimes. Vell always made a state of his, so I’d give him a hand.’ Wulf teased a few strands apart. ‘But it’s working with rope that gave me the knack. You do a lot of that on ships.’

Glorian waited. By the time he was done, her hair fell to her waist.

A log crumpled in the fire, and they both looked towards it. Wulf stared for a long moment, and Glorian realised what he must be seeing. He had taken the bandages off his hands, showing burn scars.

‘We can bank it,’ she said, after a silence.

Wulf shook his head. ‘It’s the cold I usually remember, not the fire.’

‘Then let us warm each other.’ Glorian touched his shoulder. ‘Let us try to forget, for one night.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I want it to be you.’

His face softened. He reached up and pulled his shirt over his head. Beneath it, he was muscular, forged over years into a weapon and a shield. Small dark hairs curled on his chest.

He took his time undressing. The Hróthi usually went naked in the hot springs and stovehouses, but that was not an Inysh custom. Wulf held out his left hand, with the palm up, and she placed her own into it, finding it steadied her.

‘Have you done this before?’

Wulf nodded. ‘Just with the one person.’

‘At least one of us knows what they’re doing.’

He smiled a little. ‘It’s not too complicated.’

Glorian moved a curl out of his eyes. He had a cowlick. She had never really noticed that before, not being able to look for too long. Wulf reached up to take her hand.

Even this tiny, intimate thing – even this was as a vice, with him. A Berethnet, above all others, was bound to be untouched until her wedding night. It was the only way to prove her child belonged to her companion.

Wulf ran his thumb across the backs of her fingers, as if he could hear the thought. The skin of her arms stippled. His hands were flecked with little scars from archery and sparring.

‘I wish my hands were like this,’ she said truthfully. ‘The hands of an adventurer. A warrior. I wish I had lived the life you did, with my father. Inys is my duty, but Hróth is my heart.’

‘It’s mine, too.’ Wulf tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘We can pretend we’re there tonight. With the sky lights above us, the snow all around.’

Glorian pictured it. The first time she had seen the lights, she had known that she could fall in love – not with a person, but a place.

There was a strange, tight feeling in her, low down, woken by his closeness. It reminded her of her courses, except that it was painless, a sweet ache. When she opened her eyes, his were there, dark and serious in the firelight. There was a question in them now.

When she gave him a nod, he unlaced her shift and skimmed it away from her shoulders. She shrank at first, but he lifted her chin, so they looked at each other, and she nodded again. He knelt to slide the shift lower, down past her hips, and then it was on the floor.

Wulf looked up at her. Glorian shivered under his gaze. Before she knew it, she had joined him on the floor and taken him by the nape. He smoothed his hands up her waist and kissed her.

The feeling of his mouth was strange at first. She was unsure of so much – how long to kiss, how to kiss. His lips opened hers, and she tasted him, catmint and wine and an herb, rosemary. She felt a sudden whelming grief, and clutched him with a shudder, arms tight around his neck.

Wulf drew her to his chest, and she understood how deeply she had wanted his embrace, after the pain they had endured. His chin rested on the top of her head, and he kissed her there, murmuring comforts in Hróthi. His heart beat against hers.

They were each other’s past. A memory of a different time, when they could laugh in plum orchards, nothing in the world to fear. She wished she could armour him, as he was trying to protect her.

Without letting her go, he moved from his knees to a sitting position and drew her into his lap. It made her shy of him again, but he cupped her face and bade her look him in the eyes.

‘It’s just me,’ he said, his voice low.

‘I know.’

‘Tell me if you want me to stop, and I will.’ The fire limned his face. ‘Do you promise?’

‘I promise.’

Wulf folded his hands at the small of her back. ‘We’re in the eversnow,’ he murmured, ‘and the hall is open to the stars.’ Glorian closed her eyes, and she was there, she could already see it.

****

They stayed on the floor, with the furs from the bed under them, as if they really were in a hall. After, Glorian gazed at the ceiling, while Wulf drowsed on his back with one arm around her.

He had been slow and gentle, letting her warm to his touch. They had even been able to laugh a little, muffling the sounds with their lips. It had been awkward and clumsy, but it was done, and without much disquiet. Just a strangeness that had waned in time.

It troubled her that sinning had seemed like the only right choice. The Saint had set her a curious test.

Wulf stirred. Glorian watched his heavy blinks, waiting for him to remember. When he did, he leaned down to kiss her forehead. ‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘Are you?’

‘Aye.’ He touched her jaw. ‘You know we might have to do this again. More than once.’

‘Oh, no. How shall we ever bear it?’

He smiled and shifted to face her. In time, he slept again, his hand loose on her waist. Glorian lay against his chest, listening to the heart that had kept beating in the icy sea. Had she been free to choose, she would not have lain with anyone; she knew she never would again, after she got with child – but with a friend, she could find comfort in the closeness.

Helisent and Julain would sneak him away at dawn. They would keep the secret from Adela, who would collapse under its weight, but Glorian knew she would have to tell Florell.

She could not sleep, for worry, for the tenderness where Wulf had filled her. Julain had counselled her to sleep on her back, but she was never at ease that way. When the black hour came, she drew on a thick bedgown and padded barefoot from the chamber.

Her former regent had been locked into the gatehouse, where prisoners of noble birth awaited trial. When she reached the door to his cell, she found Lord Robart Eller still awake, staring at the snow moon. His red hair was awry, and he wore a simple dark tunic and breeches, which made him look much smaller than he always had in his fine garb.

‘Lord Robart,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

He looked at her. ‘Queen Glorian,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m surprised you came to see me.’

‘I wanted to understand. I am told you performed some rite in the woods. For this, you will be stripped of everything. Why would you ever risk it?’

Lord Robart rose and came to grasp the bars. She made sure to stand just out of reach.

‘For the Lady of the Woods,’ he said. ‘I was trying to call her back to Inysca, Your Grace. To help us. The wyrms have come to scour this land clean of Galian’s vainglory. They have come because a balance of two forces is unsettled.’

‘I thought you were a man who cared deeply for Inys.’

‘I do,’ he said, a little hoarsely. ‘More than anyone. I had to try to bring this island back to the old ways.’

‘The ways of witches and petty wars?’

‘Not the wars. I had to give the trees their due, if nobody else would.’

‘Trees are just trees,’ she said, frustrated.

‘And a man is just a man, yet he is worshipped. Even in death, he chains the realms to his false legacy.’

‘The Saint performed a heroic deed. What is special about a yew, and why does it demand blood?’

‘It was not blood, Your Grace. I swear it on all I hold dear. Go to the haithwood and taste it yourself. It was wine,’ he said. ‘A libation for fertility and growth – and for undoing. Galian Berethnet made this land bleed by cutting down its hawthorns. Those trees were sacred to the Lady of the Woods.’

‘I do not believe in your witch. I believe in the Saint,’ Glorian said. ‘Surely you didn’t think me so stupid as to discard my own claim to the throne.’

‘Queen Glorian, I beg you, heed me.’

‘Is that what Prince Guma will say?’ she asked him. ‘Will he beg me to listen to him as well?’

‘You still mean to wed him?’

‘Yes, for his gold, and all else he brings. But I will not let him mould me, as you clearly intended.’

‘I admit it,’ Lord Robart said. ‘To have true believers in the position of prince consort and regent – that was a precious chance to effect change, by influencing you and the heir.’

‘I would not have changed, my lord.’

‘I think you would have, when I told you the truth, which I will now. Your ancestor was not a hero. You do not need to bear the fruit of his eternal vine. It is a lie, created to perpetuate his legacy, no more. Surely, after all that has happened, you see that you do not control the Dreadmount.’

‘The Nameless One has not returned.’ Her voice quaked. ‘Besides, your springtime rites have not prevented this.’

‘My rites are for stopping it happening again. We humans are more than ourselves, and must remember it by worshipping our world,’ he said. ‘You are a daughter of the heathen North. You were even born on the Feast of Early Spring, our most sacred day. We all believed you might be the one Berethnet queen who would see the truth of our cause.’

‘And what would you have had me do?’

‘Call her back. The Lady of the Woods. I know she can save us – her magic is as deep as the sea. Wulfert Glenn was marked by her,’ he said. Glorian tensed. ‘He might not have her power, but she touched him with it. He holds its remnant. He is more than he seems.’

‘Wulf has nothing to do with your witch.’

‘The Hawthorn Mother is no witch. She was the guardian of these isles, before we drove her far away.’ Lord Robart drew back into his cell. ‘Queen Glorian, I promise you, my way is the right one – but it may already be too late. I fear your reign will end in fire.’

‘We cannot be sure of that, my lord.’ Glorian spoke softly, sadly. ‘But we can be sure that yours ends here.’

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