Page 27

Mother is a stormfront as she strides toward me, arms wide, smile on her face.

Light catches the new dents in her breastplate, taken in our last skirmish, and though the armorer has clearly tried her best to smooth it out, I know my mother prefers to keep the evidence of her prowess on the battlefield if she can help it.

It might not be the glittering, decorative armor of the Overking’s guards, but the functional, lethal gear of a true warrior is far more terrifying. That’s the point, of course.

I rise to greet her. What else can I do? “Majesty,” I say, bowing to her.

“Daughter.” She embraces me, the clasps on my leather ringing against her metal chest. “You look well,” she whispers. “I hear there’s been trouble.” She lets me go, that heavy, dark smile of hers, likely meant to be reassuring, never landing its mark.

I’ve been terrified of that smile my entire life, and with very good reason.

I eye the Heald banners as they snap and crackle above our cavalry. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, know exactly what I’m looking at, though she never takes her dark gaze from me.

“Come, Remalla!” She has to be heard. There’s no other volume for Mother but loud, booming, at least in public.

She’s a spectacle, and no one will ever forget she’s passed this way.

The crowd parts before our riders like a tide retreating from the beach while Mother gestures for me to join her.

“Have you not a warm welcome for your mother, your queen?”

“You’ve had me followed,” I hiss at her. “Of course, majesty,” I say.

“Don’t be more trouble than you’re worth,” she says directly to me, for me.

“Heald! We will rest here a space, with our princess.” She surprises me, taking the seat that Zenthris left vacant, her greaves ringing when she crossed her muscular legs, looking around as though on a summer jaunt and not riding into destiny. Or what she thinks is destiny.

I’m going to have to disabuse her of that notion. Right before she tries to behead her only daughter.

This is not going to end well.

“Wine!” The queen wants what the queen wants, her voice cutting through the hushed silence. “And something substantial! I’ve been riding for days, and these Protorian roads are softer than a courtier’s breasts.”

A young server, trembling, approaches, clutching a tray. My mother’s eyes, keen and assessing, fix on him. The girl who served me cowers in the doorway and has sent her fellow instead, though she’d have been better off. Then again, knowing Mother, she’d make due regardless.

Her fist closes around the goblet of wine he offers, her gaze sweeping over his youthful face, his slight frame.

“How fresh,” she says, her voice dropping low, but with an unmistakably domineering edge.

“Don’t stray just yet, sweet thing.” Mother reaches out with her free hand, touches his hair, his cheek.

He’s staring at the ground, lips trembling, but he holds his place valiantly.

Mother takes a long, slow sip of the wine, her eyes never leaving him. “So many pretty things to play with here in the headland,” she says. He visibly shivers under her intense scrutiny. The server glances up once.

A mistake. She holds his eyes for long enough that when he finally drops his gaze, avoiding her unsettling stare, he’s shaking so much that I’m afraid he might collapse.

“Mother.” It’s a terrible thing to interrupt her when she’s playing with someone.

I know it, I’ve borne the brunt of her displeasure before.

But I will do so again, if need be. As her weighty anger shifts to me, I gesture to the young man to go.

He stumbles away and disappears through the doorway of the tavern.

“Still no fun,” she snaps. “Not even this place has changed you. A pity.” She’s capable of diplomacy.

I’ve seen her wield it. But the older she gets, the deeper into her reign, the less my mother seems to care what anyone thinks of her.

This Jhanette is a blunt instrument, wielded her power without apology.

Whatever her reason for this show of force on a common street, she has her purpose, though.

Word will spread. For the warrior queen of Heald, perhaps that is enough.

I will never claim to know my mother’s mind.

For now, she’s stripped back to pure belligerence, lacking pretense, asserting her dominance through sheer will and her terrifying presence fed by reputation but backed by the sheer force of who she is.

I could choose to admire her. Instead, I grit my teeth against the stunned, horrified expressions on the faces of the onlookers, the courtiers who had lingered after the princesses exited aghast.

My only saving grace dismounts and joins us, sweeping forward to embrace me.

Aunt Vivenne’s face is unreadable, as always, but her gaze meets mine, a flicker of commiseration passing between us.

She carries her own armor with the same effortless grace as my mother, but her presence is a steady anchor, not a disruptive force.

I’ve missed her far more than I’ve ever missed my mother.

“Enough with the hugging,” Mother snaps when we’ve barely had time to embrace.

“We’re not here to kiss one another’s cheeks and simper over pleasantries.

” She turns her gaze back to me, taking in my armor.

She doesn’t comment. That will come later, in private.

For now, she lets it go, draining her cup and demanding a refill.

It’s the girl who comes this time, though my aunt is the one to take the decanter, and it is she, too, who fills my mother’s glass.

The queen scowls at her sister but drinks without argument, finally slamming it down on the table, empty.

Mother rises as she sat, in one smooth and graceful motion, a mountain of litheness and dangerous with every step.

She can’t help but make a spectacle of herself at this point, striding to her horse and swinging into the saddle, no small feat in armor without help or hesitation.

“Come,” she says. “Show us to the Citadel, daughter.”

“She knows the way,” I mutter to my aunt.

“She’s worried about you,” the general whispers back.

I stumble, stare. Honestly, my mouth is agape. That word has never once crossed my mother’s mind connected to me. My aunt reaches out and closes it with a firm touch.

“So cynical,” she says. “Now, hurry before she decides to make another stop.”

I swing up behind my aunt, riding behind Mother, as if there’s anywhere else to position ourselves.

The queen’s broad, powerful shoulders sit above all of ours, her horse not needing to cut a path through the crowd, his hoof falls loud enough that even the slowest of folk have time to scramble out of his way.

I’ve always loved Mastodon, my mother’s stallion, though it’s soon time he’s put out to pasture and the niggling nervous thought that she might take Gorgon from me is an old fear I only linger over because she’s here.

My mother is here.

The gods help me.

“You’re well?” Aunt’s voice is low and unheard, but to my ears over the ring of steel-clad hooves on stone.

“Mostly,” I say. “I have much to tell you. You received my note?” I didn’t check to see if Lethes was with them.

“We did,” she says. “I was on the road when it was delivered, met up with your mother on my way here.” I nod.

I want to ask her what she was doing, where she’s riding from, but she’s already speaking again.

“Amber’s updates have left out more than your mother was willing to accept, and yours proved that.

” Interesting. “Has she served you well in your time here?”

The terrible idea that the ambassador could be my attempted murderer crosses my mind again, though I’m not willing to say so to my aunt. She might be more level than Mother, but she’ll still cut a traitor’s throat without stopping to check if they're guilty if it means the good of Heald.

Or her family.

“So far,” I say. “She understands the way of things here, while I do not. She’s been a guide, even if I’m not the best follower.” I grimace and exhale against my aunt’s broad back. “It’s complicated.”

She laughs low and soft. “That’s why I prefer battle, Remi,” she says. “Point me at an enemy, tell me to kill them. Orders, and order.” She nods, blonde hair gleaming in her wound, tight braids. “Save me from politics and the consequences of promises broken.”

She sounds sad, regretful. I reach around to squeeze her elbow in the crease of her armor.

“Agreed,” I say. “Though it seems, I’m not to have that option, am I?”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, choking a little.

And falls quiet as Mother urges Mastodon forward in a stately trot.

It’s a careful, extended strut, trained into our mounts, a measured and imposing pace meant to intimidate, and does a good job of it.

We’ve just entered the wide parade outside the doors of the Citadel in a grand, defiantly aggressive procession, and from the reaction of the armored knights standing there, their sudden scramble to attention immediately follows their stunned gaping.

It would be funny if it weren’t so very horrifying.

Mother doesn’t dismount just yet, nose high, staring down the artful arch of it at the stunned guards. I slide to the ground, circling away from the cavalry, giving her the space she requires to be a bully.

I’m already full up on her attitude. I understand it, yes. Especially after what Atlas told me. But this arrogant game my mother is playing, pushing her weight around, being so larger-than-life, so openly provocative… what end will it serve but to make more enemies of Heald?

I still don’t know why she’s come. I’d only meant to inform her, not summon her here. My aunt’s suggestion that Mother worries about me is utterly trash, just Aunt’s kindness, surely. Which means the queen of Heald rode all this way to ensure that her daughter marries the Overprince.

By the sword, if necessary.

“Announcing her Majesty,” my aunt cries out in her own battle-tested voice, “Jhanette, queen of Heald, Swordmaiden of the Seven Fires, Battlemistress of the Overking. Bow before her and weep your praise to her name.”

She swings down as the guards try to kneel, some bowing, others unsure what to do. They’re not prepared for the queen of Heald’s arrival, and it shows. Well, they were warned she was coming, and this isn’t the first time. Has her introduction changed? If so, she’s really pouring it on thick.

Like blood.

I’m not privy to Mother’s machinations and nor will I be, likely. She sweeps through them as if they are invisible, her boots echoing as she climbs the few steps into the doors hastily opened for her to pass through, the clang of her armored boot’s toes making me pity the polished marble.

Inside, she doesn’t slow her advance, though I note the Headservant does his best. He’s a gnat before a rolling tornado and falls away as she carries on, about to walk over him if necessary.

My aunt’s voice carries through the hushed halls as they go.

“Bow to the queen of Heald.” They do, one and all, even if in resentment, startled courtiers bending at the waist, dipping into curtsies.

Mother is picking up speed as she nears the doors to the throne room, and I follow, knowing what comes next.

The lovely man in white sees her approaching and, to my surprise, doesn’t wait for my aunt to speak. He’s already at it, opening the way as he cries, “Greetings and make welcome to the great queen of all Heald, long and glorious the reign of Jhanette.”

I’m shocked at his impish smile, at how Mother pauses to pinch his cheek and wink. They’ve met before, and now I know his attitude toward me is because of my mother.

And then she’s on the carpet, her gauntlets shed from her hands as she walks, cloak billowing out behind her. She’s left her soldiers behind, but my aunt is with her and, by default, so am I.

I hope that’s not a terrible choice, but she is my queen, and regardless of what I think of this show of force she’s decided on, I owe her my allegiance if not my agreement.

Chancellor Hallick steps up to the throne as the Overking watches my mother approach, bending to say something to Gyster.

He’s waved away, my mother’s only master greeting her with a nod and a faint smile pasted on his face.

“Welcome, Queen Jhanette,” he says. “We’re honored our sister monarch has joined us. ”

Mother’s frown doesn’t match his attempt at diplomacy. Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head and takes the Overking’s measure. Is she trying to start a war?

Would the idea really surprise me?

“Queen Jhanette.” Hallick oversteps himself by speaking. I know it, the Overking knows it. Everyone but the Chancellor, apparently. “Your unexpected journey has brought you before us as it brought your daughter.” He wrinkles his nose. “Fragrantly.”

Even Gyster scowls, though it’s Mother who replies.

She barely takes a moment to look at Hallick, from his perfectly coiffed hair to his expensive, polished shoes, as if he were a particularly irritating insect and not her Overking’s chosen advisor.

“Hallick,” she barks, her voice thick with disdain.

“Still clinging to your master’s robes like a desperate babe, are we?

Good to see some things never change.” She brushes him off, a minor, completely beneath her further notice, disregarding his position or his usual air of subtle power.

He must have known better. Then again, I still don’t know how my mother usually acts here in the headland. Could it be that this is new? That her bluster and bravado has taken them all by surprise?

I can only guess as much, and frankly, I’m rather delighted as Hallick’s face pales, his smile stiffening. Amber’s warning about making him an enemy surely doesn’t count for the queen of Heald?

“Let’s talk, Gyster.” Mother’s dispensed with all formalities. “Now.”

He’s tense but still unwilling to challenge her. “When court is done,” he says. “I will make myself available to you.”

She thinks it over. While the entire throne room pauses, every single soul holding their breath. Yes, me included.

When she finally nods, I inhale again. And only then do I acknowledge the dangerous position she’s put herself into.

“Don’t be long,” she says before heading back the way she came, whistling as she goes.