“This takes us up to some thirty thousand new mouths to feed, does it not, brother?” she asked her Lord of the Queen’s Purse.
“Thirty-one thousand, six hundred and twenty,” the brother replied with customary alacrity. “Thank the Departed for Lord Al Bera, or they’d all be starving.”
“Quite.” Lyrna decided not to add that, but for her newly acquired subjects, her army would have been on the march by now. Instead they were obliged to loiter in this ruin, ensuring the people were fed and training new recruits, fierce in their desire to get at the Volarians but lacking the strength to march more than a mile. The pickings provided by the Meldenean fleet had been less copious than she had hoped for, barely a ton of grain so far, though the pirates who came and went from the harbour seemed fairly well attired in silks and jewellery. The Shield had yet to make an appearance, though Ship Lord Ell-Nurin had arrived the previous day, the deck of the Red Falcon laden with captured arrows once destined for Varinshold.
There was a loud rap on the door and Orena went to open it, revealing Benten lowered to one knee. “Lord Al Sorna and Lady Al Myrna, my queen.”
She nodded, smiling again at Brother Hollun. “I look forward to tomorrow’s report, brother.”
He bowed and moved to the door, standing aside as Vaelin and the Lady Dahrena entered. “I would talk to the lord and lady in private,” Lyrna told her court, who duly bowed and withdrew, Iltis with obvious reluctance as he rarely let her out of his sight these days, but knowing better than to argue the point. Lyrna watched Vaelin and Dahrena rise in unison, their movements almost as synchronised as those empty-headed Nilsaelin twins. Looking at their matched, neutral expressions she wondered if they were aware of it, of how unnerving it was to see, or how painful.
A queen is above jealousy, she reminded herself. Though after today, they may be forgiven for thinking otherwise.
“Lady Dahrena,” she said, keeping her tone as light and brisk as she could. “I have been pondering your report on the rich gold deposits to be found in the Reaches. From what I can surmise from Brother Hollun’s estimates, the mines hold enough gold to pay our current and future debts to the Meldenean merchant class several times over.”
Dahrena gave a short nod. “I believe so, Highness.”
“Strange that I can recall no instance when King Malcius expressed an awareness of such riches within his Realm.”
The lady’s answer was swift and, Lyrna judged, well rehearsed. “The full survey of the deposits was not yet complete at the time of the King’s tragic demise, Highness. In truth, I suspect there are more seams yet to be found.”
“I am glad, my lady. Such wealth may well serve as the saviour of this Realm in years to come, for we have much work still to do. And yet, it is of scant use to us lying in the ground, hundreds of miles away, whilst the men with the skill to mine it are here, along with one best placed to organise their efforts.”
She saw them stiffen, once again with the same unnerving uniformity. “My queen?” Vaelin asked in a hard voice.
Lyrna took a breath, summoning her regretful smile. She had spent a while at the mirror practising this morning, for it had never been one of her best. “Lady Dahrena, it is my hard duty to order your immediate return to the Northern Reaches where you will exercise the Queen’s Word until such time as Lord Vaelin can resume his duties. Ship Lord Ell-Nurin’s vessel waits in the harbour to carry you there. With kindly weather you should reach the North Tower in three weeks, his ship being so uncommonly swift. I will also order sufficient vessels gathered to transport Captain Ultin’s miners home as soon as possible.”
“They want to fight,” Vaelin stated, Dahrena standing expressionless at his side. “Sending them away will cause trouble . . .”
“I’ll speak to them,” Lyrna told him. “Explain that every swing of a pick is worth a hundred strokes of a sword. Besides, they’ve done enough fighting to justify any claim to honour, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would, Highness,” Dahrena said before Vaelin could speak. “I . . . regret the necessity of your order.” She glanced briefly at Vaelin before lowering her gaze. “However, I can find no argument against it.”
How fortunate, since I will hear no argument from you. Lyrna chained the words behind another smile, rising and coming forward to clasp the small woman’s hands. “Your service in this war has been great and wondrous. It will never be forgotten, nor is it over. Bring me riches, my lady, so that I might buy justice.”
She released Dahrena’s hands and stepped back, forcing herself to meet Vaelin’s gaze, the glint in his narrow gaze hard to bear. This is not jealousy, she wanted to say. You know me better than that.
“You will wish to say your farewells,” she told them. “I have business with our new arrivals.”
• • •
The newcomers were unusual in that, unlike most of the other groups to make their way to Warnsclave over the past week, they were rich in children. One of the most frequent and difficult sights on the march had been the plethora of small corpses, often herded into houses and burnt to tiny remnants, others just slaughtered like unwanted livestock and left to rot in the open. Seeing so many still living gave a lift to Lyrna’s spirits, though they were mostly gaunt and silent, staring at her as she moved among their mean accommodations.
“Brother Innis,” Brother Hollun introduced a thin man in a grey robe. “Master of the Orphanage at Rhansmill. He hid his charges in the woods for weeks.”
“Brother.” Lyrna returned the man’s bow with grave respect. “I thank you, with all my heart. Your deeds credit the Faith.”
Brother Innis, clearly unused to royalty and ill from lack of food, staggered a little but managed to remain upright. The children clustered around him, clutching at his robe, some glaring at Lyrna as if she had done him harm. “I had a great deal of help, Highness,” the brother said, gesturing at the comparatively few adults in the group. “These people starved so the children could eat, led the Volarians away so that they might remain undiscovered. Some paid dearly for their courage.”
“They will receive full justice for their sacrifice,” she assured him. “If you require anything, speak to Brother Hollun and it will be provided.”
He gave another unsteady bow. “Thank you, Highness.”
“Now. I seek a woman named Trella Al Oren.”
Innis blanched at the name, shooting a guarded glance at a shelter nearby, a roof of thin planking over what had been a woodshed. “She . . . gave much to keep these children warm,” he stammered. “Forgive me, Highness. But I beg that no punishment be visited upon her.”
“Punishment?” Lyrna asked.
“How may I serve, Highness?”
Lyrna turned to find a tall woman standing outside the shelter, arms crossed. She was somewhere past her fiftieth year, handsome features set in a wary frown and white streaking her black hair. “My lady”—Lyrna bowed to her—“I bring news of your son.”
Lady Al Oren had contrived to preserve a china tea-set throughout her ordeal, two small cups and a spherical pot, finely decorated with an orchid motif inlaid with gold. “Alpiran,” she said, pouring the tea as they sat outside her shelter. “A gift from my aunt on the occasion of my wedding.”
Lyrna sipped her tea, finding the taste surprisingly rich. “My lady is resourceful,” she offered, hoping to ease the woman’s obvious tension. “To keep such treasures safe, and procure tea of such quality.”
“We found a merchant’s cart a few weeks ago. The owner killed, of course. They took everything but the tea, though a single sack of grain would have been more welcome.” She sipped her own tea and sighed, steeling herself to ask the obvious question. “How did he die?”
“Saving my life, and the lives of those who now make up my court.”
“But not his own.”
“My lady, if there had been any way . . .”
Lady Trella shook her head, eyes closed and face downcast. “I kept hold of my hopes, throughout it all, during the flight from Varinshold, the long days on the road, finding Brother Innis and the children . . . I held to my hope. Fermin was always so clever, if never wise. If there was a way to survive the city’s fall and escape the dungeons, he would have found it.”
Lyrna thought of the shark and the battle, wondering if she should share her suspicions, her belief that Fermin had found at least some form of escape, and vengeance. But the words were beyond her, the enigma of it all so great. Was he a man living in a shark? Or a shark with a memory of once being a man? In either case, she felt sure this brave woman had no need to be burdened by further mystery.
“It is my wish,” she said, “to make Fermin a posthumous Sword of the Realm. In honour of his sacrifice.”
Lady Trella’s lips formed the faintest smile. “Thank you. I think he would have found the notion . . . amusing.”
Lyrna glanced around at the onlooking people, the adults busying themselves with the chores of cooking or building, but Brother Innis and his clutch of children continuing to view their meeting with deep concern. “Brother Innis said you kept them warm,” she said.
