Throne of Dragons

Lenore didn’t know how to react to that. “I… I am a princess of this realm!”

“One who has been captured and abused by the south,” Finnal said. “Frankly, I’m astonished that my father wants us to continue with getting married. Still, at least the link to your title is a useful one.”

“What’s wrong?” Lenore asked, not able to believe what she was hearing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I saying what I think rather than simpering along like a courtier?” Finnal shot back. “Because your brother Vars is a much more practical man than your father. He will see you married to me without any foolish notions of love being involved.”

“But I thought—”

“You thought that because you were a princess, anyone they brought to you had to fall in love with you?” Finnal said. He laughed. “Stupid girl. I’ve spent more time in the House of Sighs since we met than with you.”

The rumors… Lenore had dismissed them, but now, she could see that it was all true.

“Do you… do you even like me?” Lenore asked.

“Enough to sire an heir,” Finnal said. “Enough to enjoy you, obviously. But there will be rules to our marriage. Let us be clear that your role is to provide a connection to royal blood, and that is it. You will provide me with heirs, and your presence will make me royal enough that people will listen. Beyond that, I will seek my enjoyment… elsewhere, and you will remember your place. You will be spending most of your time in our new estates, away from the world. You will not disobey me on any matter, or contradict my word. Do you understand?”

“And what happens if I refuse?” Lenore asked.

Finnal gave her a baleful look. “Your brother will give you to me in marriage regardless. Once I am your husband, I will be free to do with you as I wish. It would not be wise to anger me.”

Lenore felt a knot of fear building inside her. She had thought that she had suffered the worst the world had to offer. Now, it seemed that Finnal was worse still. He turned on his heel as if it didn’t matter what impact he’d just had on her, what damage he’d done, then left without another word.

***

Lenore wasn’t sure how much longer she lay there. She didn’t want to look at anyone, didn’t want to do anything, didn’t want to rise. She ignored food when one of the servants offered it, lay dry-eyed, wishing that she could find even tears in all this.

She was still lying there when the door opened, and a figure she had never thought to see walked in.

“Orianne?” she said.

Her former maidservant stood there, tall and elegant, her dark hair tied back. Her gown was simple now by noble standards, pale linen and lace rather than silk and velvet. She didn’t pause, but rushed over to Lenore’s side, hugging her tightly.

Lenore wept then, as she hadn’t been able to before. She wept all the tears that had been held back, for her brother, her father, her maids, herself. Orianne held onto her quietly, just there for her, until it seemed she had wept so much that she could have filled the Slate with her tears.

“How are you here?” Lenore asked. “I sent you away. I told the guards not to let you in.”

“None of that matters,” Orianne said. “I heard what happened to you, and a few guards weren’t going to keep me out.”

“But how?” Lenore asked.

Orianne shrugged. “Meredith at the House of Sighs called in some favors with those guards who had visited. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lenore thought about the way she’d reacted the time the House of Sighs’ mistress had been there. She winced at the thought.

“I… I was so horrible to you,” Lenore said. “I made you leave because you’d said the wrong thing about Finnal, but you were right about him all along.”

“I know,” Orianne said.

“He came to me a little while ago,” Lenore said. “He told me that our marriage would be a sham, that we would be married in name only, and that I would be shut away in comfort while he dealt with everything that mattered. How could I not see what he was?”

“You couldn’t see, because you were in love,” Orianne said. “Do you think I can’t forgive that?”

“I don’t know,” Lenore said. “Can you?” She thought for only another second before she said the next part, and she only thought about it because it seemed impossible that Orianne might accept. “Would you… would you consider coming back and being my maid again?”

She’d lost so much in the previous days that it seemed impossible to her that there could be any goodness coming out of it all like this.

“Of course,” Orianne said.

“Thank you,” Lenore said, hugging her again.

Orianne started to pull her to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Lenore asked.

“We’re going to get you up and make you look like a princess again,” Orianne said.

“That won’t… it won’t change anything.”

“No,” Orianne agreed, “it won’t. It won’t take away any of the hurt, or bring back the lost. But it will change the way people look at you.”

She picked out a mourning dress of dark velvet, laying it out for Lenore, then helping her into it. She brushed Lenore’s hair, helping her with her makeup and her jewels, until she stood in front of the mirror, and no trace of all the turmoil she felt inside shone through.

“You are strong,” Orianne said, “and we will show that to this would-be husband of yours.”

“He will be my husband,” Lenore said. “Vars is ruling in Father’s place, and he will give me away. It probably even suits him, having me where I can’t talk about him not being there for me.”

“Then you will be married,” Orianne said. “But there are always ways to change things, and to fight back. You will have my help at every step.”

“Thank you,” Lenore said.

“You can thank me by being the princess we all know you can be. For now though, how about we go for a walk around the castle walls? It will be good for you to be in the sunlight, and to be seen.”

Lenore wasn’t sure if she could do it, after all that had happened. Even so, Orianne’s presence seemed to lend her strength. She would do this, all of this, no matter where it led.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Devin stood over the forge, channeling magic, focusing. So many times now, that magic had flared and burst out, caught only by the wards that Master Grey had put in place. He had felt so close each time he tried to work with the star metal, yet each time he reached for the traces of the magic that sat within him, it seemed to slip and twist, too powerful to rein in.

“This time,” Devin said, breathing the words aloud to the steel, to the world, turning them into a kind of prayer, a chant. “This time.”

He focused himself, feeling the magic within, heating the forge. He pushed that magic into the star metal as he heated it, making it glow first red, then gold, then white. Devin took it from the forge, striking it as it cooled, each blow of the hammer against the anvil sending flares of power through it.

He was doing this, he was actually doing it!

Before, he had tried to force the metal to do what he wanted, but it didn’t work like that. He had to coax it and guide it, letting it flow into position under the weight of the magic. Devin kept going, kept working. He lifted the blade, quenched it, sharpened it. For a guard, he used a piece of what looked like bone, sitting on the bench, already cut for that purpose. He wrapped the grip in strips of leather, and set in place a pommel that held glass that looked like an eye staring out at the world.

By the time he was done, Devin was sweating, and not just from the heat of the forge. He could feel the effort the magic had taken now, leaving him weak. He stood there staring at the finished sword, the blade blue-black where most would have shone, the balance elegant. Devin cut it through the air, feeling the thrum of something more than muscle behind the blow.