'Yes, mother.'
'No!' Shezira threw off her blankets and got up. 'No, Nastria would never do such a thing. Not without my order.'
'Yes, mother. They say that too.'
'Servants!' Shezira peered at her. 'I ordered no such thing. You look frightened, daughter. Why?'
'Because…'
The sword is lifted up…
Because I am. Because I'm terrified. Petrified. Paralysed. But she could never say that. Not to her mother. Shezira couldn't begin to understand. She wouldn't even try.
'Because the Adamantine Guard have seized our tower, mother. Valgar's riders are either dead or taken. They dragged my husband out of his bed.'… but never comes down. The feet march away and take him with them and she is alone in the dark, still silent and unbreathing. 'When he fought, they beat him like a common criminal. I hid under the bed. I heard them talking. They didn't see me in the dark.'
Servants were coming in now, sluggishly, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Shezira scowled at them. 'Dress me,' she snapped. 'Awake my riders. Awake everyone. Daughter, you're not making much sense. Why would Hyram's guards do such a thing?'
Almiri sat on the bed and held her head in her hands. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep it all clenched up inside her for much longer. 'They're Zafir's Guard now, mother. Your knight-marshal tried to kill her. They saw her. She fled, and they saw her come to our tower. But she's not there, mother. When they don't find her, they'll come here.'
'I'm quite sure you're right, especially if they saw you come here too.'
'What was I supposed to do, mother? It was dark. I wasn't asleep. I saw them take Valgar and so I ran. They killed our riders!'
Shezira held out her arms to be dressed. 'Yes, so you said.'
'Where is Lady Nastria, mother?'
'Missing.'
What's that, mother? A touch of fear? It is, isn't it? So you do remember what it feels like from all those years ago.
'Missing,' Shezira said again. She frowned.
'Would she-'
'No, daughter, she would not. She would never be so mindlessly stupid.'
Someone ran into the room and grovelled at Shezira's feet.
'Your Holiness-'
'What?'
'The speaker's soldiers are hammering on the door, Your Holiness. They demand-'
Shezira waved him away. 'Tell them that I am dressing and that when I am ready they may enter. Tell them that the person they're looking for is not here, but I shall be happy to allow them to see that for themselves. Tell them that my riders shall not be the first to bare their swords. And remind them that I have a good few more than King Valgar did.'
Another servant approached. 'Your armour, Holiness?'
'Are we at war? Don't be foolish.' She waved that one away too.
'Mother-'
'Enough, Almiri. The Guard may take their orders from Queen Zafir today, but for the last ten years they've answered to Hyram, and old habits are not so easily forgotten. Does he think I plan to go to war with them? That would be absurd. I will speak to Hyram in person, and if he intends to imprison everyone who disagrees with his foolishness then he can do it himself. No, daughter, something else is afoot here. Hyram will release King Valgar and Zafir will pay compensation to the families of his dead riders. I will see to it.' Finally she was dressed. She shooed all her servants away and marched out and down into the body of the Tower of Dusk. She swept down the stairs into the great hall with Almiri on her heels. A dozen riders were already there, some of them armoured, some of them still in their nightclothes, but all armed. Most of them were pressed against the doors to the outside. A heavy bar was braced across both doors, and the riders were shouting at the soldiers outside, such a cacophony of cursing that Almiri couldn't make out a single word. When the queen reached the bottom of the stairs, she snatched a spear and banged it on the floor. 'Open the doors,' she shouted. 'Let them in.'
'Mother, don't go outside.' Almiri almost snatched at Shezira's sleeve, but that would have earned her nothing but contempt.
The riders fell silent. Shezira glared at them. 'What are you waiting for?' She pointed at the nearest two knights, who'd managed to scramble into their armour. 'You come with me. The rest of you-'
'Mother!' Almiri almost screamed. It was a mistake to shout at a queen, but she couldn't help herself any more.
Shezira rounded on her. 'Queen Almiri is our guest,' she said very clearly. 'See to it that the Adamantine Guardsmen understand that. And we are not King Valgar, but the Queen of the North, the Queen of Sand and Stone, with twelve score dragons at our beck and call. See they understand that too.' She swept her cloak around her and marched towards the door. 'Why is this door still closed? Must I open it myself?'
She would have lilted the bar with her own hands if some of her riders hadn't hastily removed it. The doors swung open. Outside, dozens of Adamantine men stood waiting, fully armoured and with bared steel in their hands. They paused and then parted as Shezira strode towards them, and after all the shouting an eerie silence fell. Almiri watched her go into the gloom of the night. Tears stung her eyes.
You're wrong. Mother, this time you're wrong.
She kept her thoughts to herself, though, and as Shezira vanished into the darkness, she quietly slipped away.
66
Jostan
For a time that felt like forever, the smoke was unbearable. In the caverns Jaslyn sat by the river, a wet cloth wrapped across her mouth, and tried not to cough herself to death. Not coughing was almost impossible, and whenever she succumbed, she inevitably took in lungfuls of hot smoke and that made it a hundred times worse. Jostan sat beside her. The first time she fell to coughing, he had wrapped his arms around her ribs and then pressed his lips to hers. She tried to fight, pushing him away, thinking he'd lost his mind, but he wasn't trying to kiss her. He blew air out of his lungs and into hers and then drew away. His air still reeked with smoke, but at least it was cool and moist, not bitter and dry. When she'd regained her composure, he had knelt at her feet.
'Forgive me,' he whispered.
'I should have your head,' she rasped. But the coughing fit had gone, and anyway the only person who could have defended her honour was Semian, and he was gone too.
The second time she began to cough, he did it again, and she realised that a part of her liked the closeness of it. Instead of fighting him off, she found herself wanting to pull him to her, to have someone to hold on to at last, if only for the last hours of her life. Eventually she pushed him away, firmly but gently this time. After that she made sure that she didn't cough any more. In the end she lay beside the river, eyes closed, listlessly splashing her face whenever they started to sting again. The water tasted delicious. She tried to pretend that Jostan wasn't there and think only about that.
'Princess! There is a breeze,' he said at last. 'Do you feel it?'
She lifted her head. He was right. A gentle wind whispered along the river from the depths of the caves.
'What does it mean?' she asked.
'It means that the fires are drawing air out of the caves. It means the dragons are no longer tending them, Your Highness.' He could barely contain himself. 'The Embers have won!'
Jaslyn wanted to cry. Coming down here had been stupidity. Her stupidity. 'I'm sorry, Jostan. I know we should have stayed with the alchemists.' The Embers were dead. She hadn't seen it with her own eyes, but the shouts
