She wondered what she would be next.
A mother, she thought. A wife. On cue, Grey reached her side once more, immediately clasping her hand. She loved him for it. He was so attentive to her needs and Noura’s. She kept her head held high as they threaded their way through the rotting corpses, mounting the steps up to the palace atrium.
She stopped where her father had died, the same place she’d run into Ennis when she’d finally returned after that night of horror. Grey had been long gone by then, but now he was here again. Full circle, she thought again, marveling at the way the world worked. She didn’t know if it was fate or some higher power as Roan had believed, but she also couldn’t ignore the truth: I was meant to return to this place. To my home.
Their footfalls echoed on the tiled floor as they made their way to the throne room. This was Rhea’s request, as she felt leadership would be the key to the west’s recovery. They would need to clean up the city, rebuild, encourage citizens from the other realms to immigrate to the western capital and make their home here. Trade agreements would need to be signed, the inkreed communication network restored. New laws created and old laws amended or rescinded.
As she entered the throne room, Rhea felt the steely determination inside her once more, so familiar but different at the same time. Before, she’d always entered this room ready to conquer, to impose her will on her subjects and the world at large. Now, she entered humbled, taking Noura from Grey and kissing her cheek.
She stopped before the steps to the throne. A Loren should sit the throne, she thought. Her grandfather before her father, her father before her. And now…
She turned back, all eyes on her, the occasion feeling momentous, full of the weight of history, one that would be written about and discussed by scholars for centuries to come. Her eyes fell on Grey, who nodded. She’d already discussed what she was going to do, and he fully supported her decision. She smiled, shivering slightly with emotion, and then located Ennis, who was standing apart from the others, staring downward. Not broken, not anymore, but somewhat uncomfortable all the same. To him, this was a place of bad memories. His brother’s death at her hands. The many times she’d ignored his advice and taken him for granted. She had a lot to make up to him. I’d best get started.
“Ennis Loren,” Rhea said, and she saw him stiffen. His chin rose slightly, and he watched her from behind slightly narrowed brows. “I am the heir to the western throne, by law and by divine right. But that doesn’t make me the right person to rule. No, that is determined by action alone, and there is only one who has been loyal and true to the west from the very beginning. And that person is you, my dear cousin.”
One-Hundred-and-Nine
The Northern Kingdom, Castle Hill
Annise Gäric
Despite the chill of the first day of autumn, Annise was warm in Tarin’s arms. The return journey to Castle Hill had been long and arduous, but that was in the past, and Annise was determined not to waste a second of what they had now. Yes, there was work to be done—frozen hell, half the cities were empty—but compared to the struggles they’d faced for almost a year everything else felt easy.
Not the least of which was her relationship with Tarin.
“I refuse to be your trophy husband,” he said, kissing her shoulder blades and sending a shiver along her spine. One hand rested on her hip, the other curled around her chest.
“No?” she said, spinning around to face him. “Who said you would be my husband at all? A queen has to maintain standards.”
She’d meant it as a jape, but his eyes smoldered with the rugged seriousness that had always undone her. “Annise, you are my moons and stars, the light of my dark life. I have loved you from the moment I met you. I have watched you conquer kings and ice bears and sellswords and monsters—including me. My heart is yours now and forever.”
Annise’s eyes were already flooded with tears. “What are you doing?” she asked as he turned away to collect something from the drawer in the bedside table.
When he faced her again, he held a small, ornamental sword. It was polished to a shine, the hilt studded with a variety of smooth stones of many colors. Etched on the broad side was a shield, cracked but not broken.
“Tarin?” Annise said again, recognizing the sword for what it was: a symbol.
“Annise Gäric, Queen of the Northern Realm, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Frozen hell, are you joking?” Annise said. “Of course I will!” She pressed her lips to his, nearly getting poked in the ribs by the sword of offering, grabbing it and tossing it aside.
A rough sound scraped from Tarin’s throat as he pressed against her. “Not a trophy husband, remember?” he managed to mumble. “I need to have a purpose.”
“You do,” she said, still kissing him, her lips wandering lower. His chin, his neck, his chest.
“And what’s that?” His voice was strained now.
“You want a big family, right? You can help with that. In fact, let’s get started now.”
“As you command,” Tarin said, pulling her chin back up so he could kiss her again.
Many hours later, they finally emerged from the bedroom. Annise slapped him on the rear as they exited. “You’re still my trophy husband,” she said.
“I know,” he said, which made her smile. “A big family?”
“Aye,” she said. “We will have to work hard at it.”
“Raising our future children?” Tarin asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No, creating them,” she said mischievously. She enjoyed watching the way he squirmed. Let him take a cold bath.
They made their way to the kitchens, passing the armory on the way. Sir Metz was inside with Tarin’s cousin, Mona. He was sorting and polishing the weaponry and armor for the third time in as many days.
“Keep up the good work,” Annise hollered, surprising the knight to the point where he almost dropped a sword on his foot.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the dutiful knight said, and Annise felt a little bad for mocking him. She was lucky to have a man such as he in her employ.
She stopped, surprised at her own thoughts. That one word in particular: Lucky. Not once in her life had she ever considered herself lucky, or blessed, or any of those other words that meant something had gone well. But now, she realized, she did feel all those things.
“Annise?” Tarin said, looking back. “Everything all right?”
She smiled. “Yes. Everything is wonderful.”
They continued to the kitchens, where the smell of fresh-baked bread and roasting meat made Annise’s mouth water and her stomach rumble.
Zelda was propped on a stool, violently hacking at a pair of onions set on a wooden block. She turned as they entered, still chopping, missing as often as she connected. Onion bits flew everywhere.
“Auntie, what are you doing?” Annise asked.
“Learning to cook,” she said.
Annise caught a few worried looks from the kitchen workers, their eyes flicking to the sharp blade held in Zelda’s firm grip.
“Since when?”
“I’m bored. If you don’t plan on starting a war sometime soon, I need to have hobbies to keep me occupied.”
Annise caught the plurality of what she’d said. “What else besides cooking?”
“Pranks, mostly.”
“Pranks?”
Zelda turned back to her chopping, sniffing the air, which was growing quite strong with the pungent scent of freshly chopped onions. Annise’s eyes began to water. “Aye. You know, like dirtying Sir Metz’s armor, leaving tufts of bear fur beneath your sheets, that sort of thing.”
Tarin exchanged a look with Annise. “What about training the next generation of mamoothen?”
Zelda’s blade stopped for a moment, but then went back to chopping. “What about it?”
“Will you do it for me?”
The rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk of the knife meeting wood continued for a few moments. Tarin wandered
off to prepare some food. “Auntie?” Annise said, taking a step toward Zelda.
Zelda turned toward her, and Annise was surprised to find tears in her eyes. “I would love that,” she said.
“Auntie, you’re crying,” Annise said.
“’Tis just the onions,” Zelda muttered, using the back of her sleeve to wipe her cheeks.
Annise was walking in the cemetery when he showed up.
Like all those days ago, high up in the tower, Bane appeared as if created from the air itself, which darkened, forming the edges of a black cloak, legs, arms, body and head.
For some reason, she wasn’t surprised to see him. “Brother,” she said, trying out the word that had always come naturally when she’d used it to refer to Archer. It sounded strange on her lips now. Strange, but not wrong.
She couldn’t see his eyes, which were hidden in the shadows created by his hood.
“I killed our father,” Bane said.
It was the last thing Annise expected him to say. “You get straight to the point.”
“Truth shouldn’t be difficult to speak.”
“It’s not the truth that’s challenging to hear. It’s the actions that create it. Let me see your face.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my brother.”
“Am I?” Despite the question, he pulled back his hood to reveal a scalp that was no longer completely bald, a thin layer of black hair covering his skin. His face seemed to have more color now too, his cheeks almost rosy in the cool spring weather. The combination almost gave him a boyish look, though his dark eyes were filled with the troubles of one who had seen too much.
With these changes, he looked even more like a younger version of Archer than he had the first time she’d seen him.
He looked away, his gaze traveling to the large stone Annise had been making for. “Our mother?” Bane asked.
“Aye. And father. And brother, Archer.” Annise’s voice quivered on the last word and she dug her fingernails into her palms to chase off the pain in her chest.
Bane nodded, still looking away. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”
Annise couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from her lips. “Now that’s an apology I’ve never heard before.”
When Bane turned back to look at her, she felt bad for making light of his apology, such was the seriousness in his expression. “I wish everything could’ve been different,” he said.
Annise took a step toward him, though she wasn’t certain why. “I don’t,” she said. “Because then we might not be here now, together. I might not have had a chance to meet my youngest brother. The world is a harsh, ugly place at times, but that only makes it easier to see the beauty in it.”
Bane frowned, a hand moving almost subconsciously to his head, rubbing at the new hair growth. “What beauty is there in one marked by death?”
“You were never marked by death—not truly. You were marked with the power to save us all. And that’s what you did.”
His frown only deepened, an expression formed of seeing too much death in too short a time. “I killed our father,” he said again, the conversation coming full circle. “You would forgive me for that?”
“I would have to take off my boots to count the number of times I wanted to kill him myself,” Annise said. “You did the world a favor. Father was a bastard who deserved to die. Even Mother and Aunt Zelda were plotting his demise.”
“They were?” Bane’s eyebrows finally lifted.
“Frozen hell, you’ve got a lot to learn,” Annise said.
“Will you teach me?”
Annise found herself nodding. “What do you want to know?”
Bane hesitated, but then pointed at their mother’s tombstone. Annise had memorized the inscription, because it was she who had written it.
Sabria Loren Gäric
Mother. Wife. Queen.
She Who Stood for the North,
When She Stood for Her Children.
“Tell me about her,” Bane said.
Annise smiled and nodded. “Our mother was the bravest woman I’ve ever known…”
They sat down beside each other, passing the time discussing a woman neither of them had really known, a woman whom they had both seen in their dreams just the same.
One-Hundred-and-Ten
The Eastern Kingdom, Ferria
Gareth Ironclad
In the early morning light, the iron trees of the forest were bathed with sunglow, taking on the appearance of pillars of fire.
Gareth’s legs dangled from a tree branch, and he felt a thrill in his chest at the thought of the freefall beneath him. Not that he would ever reach the ground if he jumped. The trees around him were filled with Orian channelers prepared to catch him if he fell. Hell, they would probably shoot armor from their fingertips if an acorn dared to assault him from above. Human legionnaires rounded out his protection from the ground, scanning the forest for any signs of danger.
Gareth thought the whole setup was absurd, but then again this was the Four Kingdoms, a place where war was but a part of a daily life.
Not anymore, he thought, wishing the thought would bring him comfort. He surreptitiously slipped a flask from his hip pocket and took a swig. The warmth traveled down his throat, coating the inside of his belly.
Just then, a shadow swooped down from above and he fumbled the flask, watching it slip from his fingers and tumble to the forest floor far below. Arrows were strung and shot from the trees at the attacker, who spun through the air with all the grace of an ore hawk in flight.
She—for Gareth knew it was, in fact, a she—snatched two of the arrows from the air, performing a somersault and landing on the branch beside him.
Swords were drawn and more arrows strung, though this time no one attacked because the woman was too close to their king and they couldn’t risk hitting him.
“Hello Gwendolyn,” Gareth said. “Nice entrance—you’re like an ore monkey. You made me drop my flask.”
She grinned, tossing the arrows aside. “Serves you right for drinking at daybreak.”
“Your Highness,” one of the Orians called from the trees. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, thank you. At ease. This is a friend.” Turning to Gwen, he said, “Next time you might want to make an appointment or you’re going to give one of my guards a heart attack.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Gareth studied her face, which was as beautiful as he remembered, though not quite as youthful as before. Was she finally beginning to show her age? No, he thought. There were no lines in her skin, which was perfectly smooth. And yet there was something older about her, a sense of experience clustered around her eyes and lips.
When Gareth didn’t answer, she asked, “How are you?”
“Fantastic,” Gareth said. “Except for feeling like I have no legs and I’m learning to walk again.”
“You too, huh?” Gwen said, patting his thigh. “I wonder how many other lovers Roan left brokenhearted in his wake.”
“You think there were others?” Gareth said, raising an eyebrow.
“He probably didn’t even know he was doing it. There was that scholar girl. You know, Yela? She could scarcely pry her eyes from him when they were in the same room together.”
“Do you think they…”
“Kissed?” Gwen laughed. “I doubt it. Roan was too smitten by you to seek the affections of another.”
“He sought your affections,” Gareth reminded her.
“Aye, only because he thought you’d rejected him.”
The thought filled Gareth with even more warmth than the ale had. The warmth swiftly gave way to the cold of loss, that icy feeling of dread pressing in from all sides. “I…I miss him.”
“I do too. I feel…responsible.”
Gareth shook his head. “He didn’t just save your life, you know. There were hundreds of others. He took all their pain and suffering on himself. It was too much for him, for his lifemark
. It broke him.”
“I know. But still.”
“But still.” Gareth understood how she was feeling all too well. Often he wondered how things might’ve been different if they’d ridden harder that day, if they’d arrived earlier to the battle. If there had been fewer injured for Roan to heal, would he have survived? “How do we go on?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
“We start with one second,” Gwen said. “There. We’ve made it. Now let’s try another. Good. Once the seconds become easier, we take things one minute at a time. Then by the hour. When the hours are bearable, we focus on each day. We make life better for our people. We carry on the great work Roan started. Soon the days will become weeks will become months will become years. And he will be proud of us.”
Gareth wasn’t certain when the tears started, but he wasn’t ashamed of them because Gwen was crying too. “Will you stay with me for a while?” He held out his hand, palm up.
“Yes,” she said, pressing her hand against his. “For a time, though I cannot linger for long.”
“Why not? Where will you go?”
“There’s someone I have to find.”
Gareth nodded, unstanding. The selfish part of him wanted to command her to stay, to never leave. But she was his friend and he wanted what was best for her. “Go,” he said. “Go and find your soul.”
She closed her brilliant yellow eyes. Opened them. Leaned closer and kissed his cheek. “I will return one day,” she said.
“You better,” Gareth said.
And then she was gone as quickly as she’d arrived, springing from the tree branch and launching herself through the forest.
Gareth watched the sunrise, searching for Roan’s face in the colors of the new sky.
One-Hundred-and-Eleven
The Western Kingdom, the Tangle
Gwendolyn Storm
It had taken Gwen three days running at full sprint to reach the Tangle.