A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

The young Queen of Inys rode among her people again. Tunuva watched from the steps of Hyll Sanctuary as Glorian Berethnet offered them comfort, nodding to her guards to give them bread or coin.

She claimed descent from Cleolind, but that could not be. Yet there must have been a Queen Cleolind of Inys – someone who was not the Mother, but had stolen her identity. Tunuva might never know who it had been, for that woman was long dead.

Glorian disappeared into the throng. Tunuva looked up once more at Hyll Sanctuary, which now served as the main entrance to a siege tunnel. Galian Berethnet gazed down from its walls, holding Ascalun. No sign of his queen consort.

Canthe had been away for days, seeking news of Wulfert Glenn. Fortunate, since Tunuva had wanted time to herself. She had never learned embarrassment or shame, but she did know remorse, and it filled every day.

She made her way back to the cramped room, where she poured herself a measure of sour Inysh wine, more than she would usually drink. Every day Canthe was gone was another day her sisters needed her spear.

Mother, she prayed, let me see him, just once. Let it be enough.

At midnight, Canthe finally returned. ‘How was your journey?’ Tunuva asked her.

‘Hard. I am sorry for the wait, Tuva. Many roads are closed to hinder the plague.’ Canthe lowered her hood. ‘I was able to speak to a servant from Langarth. Wulfert Glenn has returned to Hróth.’

‘Hróth?’

‘It seems he was a retainer to the Hammer himself. Now he is pledged to the new king.’

‘When did he leave?’

‘Not long ago. If our luck holds, he will not have gone any farther than Eldyng. It’s not far to sail, if we can find a ship.’ She sat beside Tunuva, keeping a respectful distance. ‘Tell me, Tuva. Will we go?’

Tunuva finished her drink. In this cold place, she found it warmed her.

‘We have come this far,’ she said. ‘I suppose the North is but a little farther, Canthe.’

****

Glorian walked through Arondine Castle as if to her own execution. Her guards followed. For the first time since his arrival, Prince Guma had asked to join her in the royal bedchamber.

A fresh ripple of nausea made her swallow. She had the letters – they were sealed in a strongbox, hidden at Offsay Sanctuary – but her nerve could not fail. She could not show fear.

Prince Guma waited for her. He wore a quilted bedgown, the crimson and gold of his crest.

‘Your Grace,’ he said, with a polite dip of his head. ‘Thank you for joining me.’

‘Your Highness.’

The fire snapped as their eyes met. To freeze is an instinct shared by all living things. Think of how a deer stills when it scents a threat, her father reminded her. There is no shame in it, Glorian.

‘Do your guards know Yscali?’ he asked in that tongue. Glorian shook her head. ‘I presume you do.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then we may speak in private.’ His voice softened a little. ‘You need not be afraid, Queen Glorian. I do not expect this marriage to be consummated, now or ever. It represents a new era of fellowship for Yscalin and Inys, but be assured, it will be chaste.’

Glorian nodded without speaking. A queen should learn the ways of watching. She remained as still and poised as her mother always had. Like a falcon, she waits for her moment to strike.

‘Your Regency Council must be pressing you for an heir,’ he said, reaching for a goblet. He spoke with a distinct northern inflection. ‘I pity you that burden. This is no time to bear a child.’

‘It is a sacred burden, which I carry with joy,’ Glorian said in the dialect she had learned since childhood, for use at the court at Kárkaro. ‘It is what the Saint expects of me.’

‘Yes, the Saint expects a great deal of his descendants. A great deal.’ He drank. ‘Those expectations are why I will sleep here tonight, so we may say the marriage has been consummated.’

He did not believe in the Knight of Fellowship. She wondered what the faith of trees said about marriage.

‘Choose whomever you please to get you with child, if that is what you desire,’ Prince Guma said. ‘I only ask that you are discreet, Glorian. I will respect your dignity; I ask that you also respect mine.’

‘I would not risk my heir being known as a bastard.’

‘Good. In return, I will be a loving father to that heir. A father in all ways but blood.’

I see what you are doing, she wanted to tell him. I see you trying to twine your roots around my unborn child.

‘Hart Grove is your home,’ she said instead, walking towards the fire. ‘A beautiful name for a castle. I suppose there are many trees in its grounds.’

Prince Guma looked at her with fresh interest. ‘There were far more before my ancestors began to mine the mountains,’ he said, ‘but yes. Your own ancestor, Glorian Hartbane, was courted there by King Isalarico. They carved their names into an oak, which can still be seen today.’

‘Yscalin gave much for that marriage. Now it gives much for ours.’ Glorian formed what she hoped was a tentative smile, the smile of one who could be led. ‘I am grateful.’

Her companion nodded. ‘You will have to forgive me. It would be courteous of me to offer to sleep on the floor,’ he said drily, ‘but I fear these bones could not withstand it.’

‘Fear not. Mine are made of iron,’ Glorian said. ‘Even queens sleep on floors in the halls of Hróth.’

Prince Guma passed her some of the bedding and waited for her to arrange it before he blew out the candles, leaving the fire to burn. Once more, Glorian Hraustr Berethnet fell asleep in furs on her own floor, warmed by the same hearth that had smouldered as she lay with Wulf.

And the secret in her womb seemed to whisper: I am here, too. I am here.