Throne of Dragons

For a moment, Vars was certain that the servant had been mistaken, and that he was dead, yet no, it was clear that he still breathed. Vars stood over him, looking down, knowing that if he had only protected his sister better, this would not have happened. He looked out over the crowd and found Lenore there, standing with Erin’s support, their mother holding to them as she sobbed.

Vars stared out at the rest of them, seeing the eyes looking back, those of knight and noble alike. He knew what he had to do. Carefully, barely daring to do it, he moved back until he could seat himself on the throne.

“Take my father to his rooms,” he said. “Send for Physicker Jarran and have him tend to him. Queen Aethe will no doubt wish to attend on him, and Princess Lenore must be tended to as well, after all she has suffered.”

An honor guard of the Knights of the Spur came to carry his comatose father away. Servants led the queen and Lenore from the hall, too. To everyone watching, it must have seemed like an act of kindness, but Vars breathed a sigh of relief that all of those who might have challenged him in that moment were gone.

“Where are my brothers?” Vars asked. “Tell me what has happened.”

Commander Harr stepped forward. Vars had always disliked the way the man’s gaze seemed to see through him. “The news is dire, your highness. It seems that Prince Rodry died in the south. There has been no news of Prince Greave. Were he in Royalsport, I am sure he would be here.”

Vars could barely believe the idea that Rodry might be dead. He was too strong for that, too impossible to beat. Vars had been sure that no man alive could kill him. Now, just like that, he was gone.

“And the battle?” Vars said. “We beat them?”

The commander nodded. “With the bridge down, there is no more access for the southern armies.”

“It’s not that simple,” a voice called from the side. To Vars’s surprise, it was Erin who stepped forward, dressed in armor as if she’d been away playing at fighting. There was a man beside her who might have been a monk, save for the sword sheathed at his back.

“I’m sure the commander knows war better than you, sister,” Vars said.

“But he doesn’t know what my friend here knows,” Erin said, gesturing to the monk.

“And who are you?” Vars demanded of the man. He looked ragged, bloody, wounded. Hardly a man to listen to at all.

“My name… I’ve had several,” the man said. “I was known as Brother Odd for a while, of the Isle of Leveros. Before that, I was… Sir Oderick the Mad.”

Around him, the room erupted at the name. Vars could understand why. He’d heard the stories of Sir Oderick, of the slaughters, the chaos he caused. Around him, he could hear the men murmuring in fear.

“…has he returned?”

“…should have his head…”

He didn’t want to risk angering a man like that, though.

“What news do you have, Sir Oderick?” Vars asked.

“Leveros has fallen,” the other man said. “King Ravin has breached its neutrality, and is bringing his armies in from the east.”

Again, the room exploded in noise, everyone there seeming to have a demand, or a plan, or a worried exclamation all at once. Some seemed to be terrified that all their forces were to the kingdom’s south now, having been sent to the bridge. Others were disbelieving, or demanding to know what Vars would do…

It was too much. So many demands all at once were too much to think through. Perhaps his father or his brother might have stood up and shouted for silence, but Vars was terrified that no one would listen. Instead…

…instead, he did the only thing he could think of, and ran from the hall, back to an antechamber, leaning against the wall until he thought that he could breathe again.

No one followed. It helped that there were guards outside the room, but even so, he had expected the press of courtiers to be overwhelming. Vars stood there among the tapestries depicting heroes, among the finery that his house had won through strength, and he felt like a fraud.

When his half-sister’s husband-to-be walked into the room, he felt even worse. He felt sure that Finnal would have talked to Lenore and learned what Vars had done, that he would be angry. Instead, he moved over to a low marquetry table and poured himself a glass of wine from a decanter.

“Would you like one, your majesty?” Finnal asked, and offered Vars the glass. Vars took it and downed it smoothly. He had to remember that he had seen the other side of Finnal in the House of Sighs too, that he was more than just the pleasant young man his sister doted on.

“Why are you here?” Vars asked.

“To assure you of my family’s loyalty to our new king regent,” Finnal said. “My father would do it, but he has been called away to our estates.”

Vars paused for a moment, trying to make sense of it. What exactly was Finnal saying?

Finnal sighed. “King Vars, the truth is that you will need friends at a time like this. The kingdom has taken a great blow, and faces great dangers. Clearly you are the man to lead, but we must all rally around you. Especially when there are… questions about why you were not at the battle.”

“I…” Vars tried to think of something to say. Normally he was good at making up lies and excuses, but this was all too much.

“No doubt you were led in the wrong direction by Quiet Men,” Finnal said, “who knew that had you been there to protect Princess Lenore, you would have slaughtered them.”

“Yes,” Vars lied. “That’s it exactly.”

“Then this truth must be made known,” Finnal said. “For we both know how quickly vile rumors can spread. Thankfully, you have a friend in me, Vars. I will see to it that the right people hear you were a hero in this.”

“And why would you do that?” Vars asked.

Finnal smiled. “Because we’re about to be family. You are going to honor my upcoming marriage to Lenore, aren’t you? On the terms your father agreed to?”

“I…” Vars was about to protest that this wasn’t the moment to be thinking about a marriage, but the truth was that he needed the allies. Besides, what did Vars care who his half-sister was given to in marriage, or when? “Yes, of course.”

“And we’ll be married as quickly as possible?” Finnal said. “There is no sense in delaying. The kingdom needs this joining.”

“Yes,” Vars said. “Yes, you’re right.”

“That’s wonderful,” Finnal said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sure that we will be such good friends.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Lenore lay in bed, unable to rest, the world around her seeming bleak and empty and dark. She tried closing her eyes, but each time she did that, it felt as though the Quiet Men were waiting for her, ready to kidnap her again, and kill those around her. They were dead, or stranded across the other side of the Slate, but that made no difference, not to this.

Her rooms were as beautiful as they had ever been, gilded and painted, every corner decorated with flowers or with embroidery, in a space that any princess should have loved. Yet now, they felt as much a prison as the room at the inn had, because Lenore didn’t dare go out to face the rest of the court.

Even thinking about the inn made her shudder. She couldn’t think about it; she wouldn’t. What else did that leave to think about, though? Was she supposed to stare at the absences where her maidservants had been, thinking about all the things that had been done to them before they’d either been murdered or sent out in a cruel kind of message to the world? Was she supposed to think about Rodry, standing there in his last moments, dying so that Lenore could escape? Or was she supposed to think about her father, lying comatose in his rooms, unmoving while her mother and the physicker stood over him?

Any one of those things would have been enough to make Lenore break down in tears before. Now, the combination of them felt like enough to push her into a space beyond tears, where the pain turned into something else, and she could do nothing but lie there, staring at the walls.

She was still staring when Finnal entered the room. He looked as splendid as ever, the golden counterpart to her, fair-skinned and handsome, graceful as a dancer in every movement. He wore a silver-worked doublet and hose, but he outshone any costume he could wear.

“You came,” Lenore said, sitting up, grateful beyond words that he was there. Finnal’s presence would make everything better. He would hold her and chase away the nightmares that kept her from sleep, he would—

“Be quiet,” Finnal said, in a surprisingly cold voice. “Your role in this conversation is to listen, not to prattle as you have spent every other conversation prattling.”

“But Finnal—” Lenore began, and the look in his eyes held such contempt that she froze, unable to speak.

“While your father was around, I had to play the part of the loving suitor,” Finnal said. “I had to be your perfect prince, and for what? A girl whose value is now greatly diminished?”