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daughter into a gentle embrace, holding
her a moment before releasing her and facing Lonen. Without waiting
for Oria’s explanation, she launched her attack. “Destrye. I can’t
imagine what brings you back to Bára—surely you’ve pillaged enough.
We have nothing more to sacrifice to your bloodthirsty lusts.”
    If she only knew about those lusts.
    “Mother,” Oria inserted herself between them.
“You did not have the opportunity to meet before. This is King
Lonen of the Destrye—not the king who led their armies to Bára.
He’s a good man and an honorable ruler, doing his best as we are,
to salvage something for the future from this terrible conflict.
He’s come here in peace, to ask for our help.”
    A pretty speech and not entirely accurate—as
he was far from good and honorable—but he wouldn’t object even
silently as Oria calling him that made up for any bending of the
truth. He did send a mental apology to his father, however, for not
defending his honor. As the former queen’s hard gaze came back to
him, he tried to look like a good and honorable king, and not a
giddy lad flattered by a pretty girl’s sweet words.
    “King Lonen”—Oria inclined her head—“my
mother, Rihanna, former queen and priestess of Bára.”
    No title for the woman now, apparently, but
he bowed to her anyway. “I greet you, lady mother of Bára, and
thank you for your hospitality under such trying
circumstances.”
    “What do you want of us?” The former queen’s
face remained still and remote as a carved statue, but her dark
eyes held dread. “We have nothing left to give.”
    “Mother.” Oria took her mother’s hands, skin
to skin, Lonen noted. So it could be done. “The Trom have attacked
Dru and again stolen water.”
    Though pale as ice already, the former queen
blanched, then eased herself into a chair. “Oh, Yar,” she
whispered.
    “It has to be.” Oria went with her, keeping
her hand and kneeling at her mother’s knee. “There’s only one path
left to us. I must become queen as soon as possible, both to hold
the throne against him and find a way to … take control
myself.”
    Oria didn’t look his way, but her mother did,
gaze flicking to ascertain how much he understood. “Yourself? You
can’t mean you propose to try to summon them ?”
    “I do. I see no other way. As queen, I’ll
have access to all the temple secrets. I have to try this.”
    “And if you break?” Cagily, Oria’s mother
looked at him and away again. “We need to discuss your plan without
this barbarian present.”
    “I’ve proposed to King Lonen that we wed,”
Oria interrupted. “And he’s agreed. If you’ll support my choice
with the temple we can marry tonight and petition the council
tomorrow.”
    The former queen’s expression didn’t falter
from its smooth serenity, but Lonen didn’t miss how her knuckles
whitened as she gripped Oria’s hands. “This extremity is not what I
had in mind when we discussed the necessity of a marriage for you,
my daughter.” The words seemed to hold a wealth of subtext, enough
to fuel a furious urge in him to lay about with his axe and cut
through all the stultifying politics. They discussed marriage to
him, not a death sentence, though you wouldn’t know it from the
former queen’s dire expression.
    “I know what I’m doing.”
    The former queen shook her head. “I don’t
know that you do. Are you doing this out of some misplaced
guilt?”
    Oria’s slim shoulders moved in a shimmy of
discomfort. “It seems someone here should be shouldering that very
well placed guilt.”
    “Becoming my honored wife and queen of the
Destrye is hardly a punishment,” Lonen grated out, harshly enough
to startle both women out of their communion.
    Oria stood hastily and brushed a slim hand
over her immaculate braids, as if caught with a hair out of place.
“My apologies, King Lonen. We intended no insult. I am indeed
honored to wed you and become your queen, as Bára is privileged