Firebrand

“They are as weary of me as I am of them.”

It appeared that the gloom that had so plagued him earlier in the day now plagued her.

“I am sorry,” he said, “that I cannot dine with you, but in reparation, would you be amenable to me reading you some poetry after I finish with the generals?”

There was hope alight once more in her face, then tempered as if she did not believe he’d actually return.

“I promise not to be overlong,” he said. “I’d rather be here with you than with those gruff old soldiers.”

She smiled tentatively. “I’d like it if you would. I’ve a new volume of Lady Amalya Whitewren.”

He bowed in a courtly manner. “It is settled then. I will return as soon as I can.” For good measure, he kissed her, and he was rewarded with a smile that was not at all tentative.

He ordered the dogs to stay with her and took the passage to his own rooms. His valet, Horston, greeted him.

“Shall I dress you for supper, sire?”

“Give me a few minutes.” Zachary moved to his desk and sat. His queen was lacking amusement, and he thought perhaps there was a way to make her happier during her confinement since he could not be with her every hour. The demands of his rule required him elsewhere so much of the time.

He pulled out his writing implements and penned two letters. The first was addressed to Lady Amalya Whitewren, requesting the poet come entertain the queen with a recitation of her verse, and the second to the dean of the school at Selium, requesting he send minstrels to entertain queen and court. Usually a number of them rotated through Sacor City and the castle, but the severe winter had curtailed their travel. Perhaps, he told the dean, it was time, as in the old days, to post a minstrel at the castle on a permanent basis. Traveling minstrels would still rotate through, but one should be available all the year round to represent Selium and perform as needed.

There had been minstrels in residence at the castle for centuries, except during the reign of Agates Sealender some two hundred years ago. Old Agates had barred them from the castle on pain of death, for the paranoid king believed them to be spies of his enemies. There was some truth to that. Zachary, himself, through Aaron Fiori, used them as his eyes and ears of the realm, though he feared the Golden Guardian may have gotten in too deep this time and that was why he was missing. He hoped Estral’s quest to find her father proved successful.

After the Clan Wars, when Zachary’s own clan took the crown, minstrels once again served in court until his grandmother, he recalled, in a fit of pique, expelled her court minstrel. He never learned the cause of her outrage, but since then, they’d been without a resident minstrel, and it was time for that to change.

He sat back in his chair considering the benefits. There would be entertainment for his wife, a music tutor for the castle children—not to mention for his own, and again, they’d be the eyes and ears of his court.

Satisfied, he dripped wax on each envelope and pressed it with the royal seal. With the improving weather, there should be no hindrance for Laren to send her Riders out.

“Horston,” he said.

The gentleman came forward and bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Please give these letters to a runner to take to Captain Mapstone. She is to send them out as she can.”

Horston accepted the letters. “Anything else, sire?”

Zachary stood. “I think I’ll go for some fresh air before supper. Then I’ll dress.”

Horston bowed again, and left with the letters. Zachary found his heavy greatcoat, a scarf, and gloves, and exited his rooms.

“Fetch your coat,” he told the Weapon Willis, who stood by the door. “I need air.”

• • •

The air atop the castle was indeed fresh, fresh and bracing. Arctic currents funneled across the castle rooftop. Guards huddled close to their braziers and stood out of the wind in warming huts. Fine snow whirled around his feet, reminding him, unsettlingly, of the ice creatures that had attacked the castle.

He moved into the lee of a crenel along the battlements to gaze at the stars. They pierced the cloudless sky with chill intensity. He picked out constellations until a green glow emerged, fingering across the sky. The northern lights. He smiled, pleased to glimpse the rare celestial show. The heavens always reminded him of how small a mortal he was, how petty much of the concerns of human beings were, and he made a point of coming out to gaze at the stars to remind him of his place in the universe. It helped that he was entranced by the natural beauty of the night sky.

The northern lights intensified, rolling in waves. A blast of wind howled around him and stole his breath. The leading edge of green reached down with long tendrils. Laren had mentioned that Rider’s vision to him about the fingers of a hand reaching down.

“Sire,” Willis said uncertainly, “I think—”

Zachary never heard what it was that Willis thought. An icy wind slammed into him with such force that the last thing he saw before everything went black was the northern lights descending on him like a gigantic claw.

Slee sent the One of Power to its domain. Slee had learned enough about him to transform itself and become him. The One of Power was called Zachary, and now Slee would assume that role, and become so very close to the Beautiful One. It would serve, for now. Slee feared that moving the Beautiful One to its domain, as it had the Zachary, could endanger the young because of the shock involved. It would wait until the young were birthed. The danger then would be less.