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Authors: Fiona McIntosh
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I don’t think fear stops her from doing anything. If not for Elspyth, I would be dead with the rest of my family.”
The new Duke of Felrawthy could refer to his loved ones now without threat of anger or tears. His brief time in Werryl, offering distance from all things familiar, and the new title by which everyone seemed determined to address him, had madethe difference between his collapsing into inconsolable anguish or rising to the challenge of what he was born and bred to do. It was what his fine parents would have expected of him.
A knock came at the door. Liryk put his glass down. “Shall I see to it, you highness? It may be the messengers.”
“Please,” the Queen said, distracted as she pondered the business of Elspyth’s disappearance. “I miss Krell,” she muttered.
Crys held his tongue. No one had heard the exchange between the Queen and her chancellor that had preceded his death, but Valentyna had openly admitted that she had driven him to anguish with her harsh criticism. Crys had to admire the Queen for her forthright manner; she refused to shrink from blame but accepted and dealt with it as best she could. Krell’s death had been a shock for everyone, most of all Liryk, but the doughty soldier had kept his feelings to himself and remained stoic throughout the funeral and the ensuing mourning that had gripped the palace.
Crys sipped his wine quietly, wondering why he had been summoned to what appeared to be a formal meeting. It would be better for Valentyna, he knew, if he were to leave Briavel. Perhaps he should offer and save her the trial of asking him to do just that.
Liryk returned to disturb his thoughts. “Your majesty, we found this note in Elspyth’s chamber.”
“Anything else?” Valentyna asked as she broke the wax seal. “Clothes?”
“Nothing, your highness,” he replied, watching her frown as she quickly read the note’s contents.
Valentyna looked up and sighed. “Your hunch is correct, Crys. She believes she has done what she came here to do and has taken her leave.”
“Gone to the Razors?” Crys inquired.
“It doesn’t say but I suspect you’re right. I know how fond she was of this man Lothryn. If I were her, I too would want to know the truth of his fate.”
There was another knock at the door. Valentyna could notdisguise her frustration at being interrupted again. She stuffed the note into her pocket and stood. “Gentlemen, I’m going for a ride. We shall continue this meeting this evening, please, when we can talk without disturbance. There are many things to discuss and I need to think. Liryk, would you see to that?” She nodded toward the door. “I’ll leave by the back way.”
The two men stood and watched her go.
T he highest point of the moors was the farthest Valentya could get from her subjects—or so she liked to believe—and the ideal place to vent her fears or frustrations. Her ever-present escort, however, was hovering nearby, so she swallowed the bloodcurdling shriek she longed to let rip. She gave a deep groan instead. Too many of those she loved or trusted had been taken from her or left her. She stared back toward the palace and counted them off softly to herself.
Her father: murdered. Wyl Thirsk: murdered. Romen Koreldy: murdered. Fynch, her little rock of strength: disappeared, and with him the strange yet somehow reassuring presence of Knave. Now Elspyth, her new friend and confidante, had disappeared as well, almost certainly advancing toward her own death as she ventured into the Mountain Kingdom to discover the fate of her beloved Lothryn.
Valentyna paused in her account of her personal sorrows to think on those of Crys Donal. An entire family slaughtered in one evening. So much death. And now, in order to protect Briavel, she would have to banish her latest friend too. That was what she needed to discuss with the new Duke of Felrawthy, but this afternoon, with all of its interruptions, conversation had proved
The new Duke of Felrawthy could refer to his loved ones now without threat of anger or tears. His brief time in Werryl, offering distance from all things familiar, and the new title by which everyone seemed determined to address him, had madethe difference between his collapsing into inconsolable anguish or rising to the challenge of what he was born and bred to do. It was what his fine parents would have expected of him.
A knock came at the door. Liryk put his glass down. “Shall I see to it, you highness? It may be the messengers.”
“Please,” the Queen said, distracted as she pondered the business of Elspyth’s disappearance. “I miss Krell,” she muttered.
Crys held his tongue. No one had heard the exchange between the Queen and her chancellor that had preceded his death, but Valentyna had openly admitted that she had driven him to anguish with her harsh criticism. Crys had to admire the Queen for her forthright manner; she refused to shrink from blame but accepted and dealt with it as best she could. Krell’s death had been a shock for everyone, most of all Liryk, but the doughty soldier had kept his feelings to himself and remained stoic throughout the funeral and the ensuing mourning that had gripped the palace.
Crys sipped his wine quietly, wondering why he had been summoned to what appeared to be a formal meeting. It would be better for Valentyna, he knew, if he were to leave Briavel. Perhaps he should offer and save her the trial of asking him to do just that.
Liryk returned to disturb his thoughts. “Your majesty, we found this note in Elspyth’s chamber.”
“Anything else?” Valentyna asked as she broke the wax seal. “Clothes?”
“Nothing, your highness,” he replied, watching her frown as she quickly read the note’s contents.
Valentyna looked up and sighed. “Your hunch is correct, Crys. She believes she has done what she came here to do and has taken her leave.”
“Gone to the Razors?” Crys inquired.
“It doesn’t say but I suspect you’re right. I know how fond she was of this man Lothryn. If I were her, I too would want to know the truth of his fate.”
There was another knock at the door. Valentyna could notdisguise her frustration at being interrupted again. She stuffed the note into her pocket and stood. “Gentlemen, I’m going for a ride. We shall continue this meeting this evening, please, when we can talk without disturbance. There are many things to discuss and I need to think. Liryk, would you see to that?” She nodded toward the door. “I’ll leave by the back way.”
The two men stood and watched her go.
T he highest point of the moors was the farthest Valentya could get from her subjects—or so she liked to believe—and the ideal place to vent her fears or frustrations. Her ever-present escort, however, was hovering nearby, so she swallowed the bloodcurdling shriek she longed to let rip. She gave a deep groan instead. Too many of those she loved or trusted had been taken from her or left her. She stared back toward the palace and counted them off softly to herself.
Her father: murdered. Wyl Thirsk: murdered. Romen Koreldy: murdered. Fynch, her little rock of strength: disappeared, and with him the strange yet somehow reassuring presence of Knave. Now Elspyth, her new friend and confidante, had disappeared as well, almost certainly advancing toward her own death as she ventured into the Mountain Kingdom to discover the fate of her beloved Lothryn.
Valentyna paused in her account of her personal sorrows to think on those of Crys Donal. An entire family slaughtered in one evening. So much death. And now, in order to protect Briavel, she would have to banish her latest friend too. That was what she needed to discuss with the new Duke of Felrawthy, but this afternoon, with all of its interruptions, conversation had proved
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