20. Irina

Chapter twenty

Irina

I smiled across the kitchen as Mother pulled fresh bread from the wood-burning stove. A yeasty aroma drifting through the house made my stomach growl as it had since I was a child. When Mother slathered salty butter across its golden crust, the simple loaf transformed from a household staple into a delicacy from my past.

Five years had been little enough time to grow used to life in the Palace. Melric was kind and gentle, growing to love me in ways I never knew possible. I hoped, in time, I would learn to love him in return. A year in the Palace had also opened my eyes to the lives of royals. We enjoyed extravagant wealth, ate food prepared by the finest chefs, and enjoyed the richest wines. I owned more gowns than there were days to wear them. And the jewelry . . . the moment I thought I had seen it all, Melric would place another necklace or ring in my hands.

In a way, I supposed I loved him. He was good and kind, forever seeking my opinion and counsel.

Was I in love with the King? Was that a thing of which I was even capable? I may never be sure.

One thing was certain: I was never alone.

Ten ladies awaited my pleasure. Ten. Who needed ten women to don a dress or face paint? Servants stood at every doorway waiting on the off chance the King or I might have a sudden need. I couldn't remember the last time I opened my own door.

Nobles were also ever present. They preened and fawned, like some strange flock of birds who could never impress others enough. They were necessary, I supposed. Without their support, the Crown would fall. Still, I was never sure whether to brace myself for mindless flattery or endless groveling when one approached.

Perhaps Melric's greatest surprise to date was the day he added me to his Privy Council. Asin had never been allowed to sit at their table. No Queen had. When I tried to protest, Melric lowered his voice and cupped my cheek. "I need the brightest minds in the Kingdom advising me, and the rest are candle flames next to the sun that is my Queen."

When my royal duties allowed, I still worked in the Medica. Melric had objected at first, but the way the people responded to their Queen laying hands on the ill was beyond anything we could have dreamed. I didn't Heal for fame or glory, but the sparkle of the Crown grew each time I worked by Master Rist's side.

Sparkles were funny things.

As I watched Mother fret about the kitchen, I realized something.

I miss these simple pleasures.

Who would have thought the Queen of the Spires would miss sitting in a simple kitchen baking bread with her mother? The idea almost made me laugh.

"Go get your father. Lunch is ready, Your Majesty ." Mother placed the loaf in a basket and covered it with a towel to keep it warm. She grinned down at me and made a shooing motion. "Go on, before this gets cold."

I hopped to my feet and offered a mocking bow. "Only because you addressed me properly, Queen-Mother."

I found my father snoring, nestled beneath two blankets in a rocking chair on the porch. His mouth was so wide open I worried flies might find a new home.

I kneeled beside him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Papa, wake up. There's fresh bread and beef stew."

He muttered something as his eyes fluttered open. His head was now covered with more silver than black, and his joints resisted quick movement. Had I been gone so long? How had age crept up on him so?

My heart twisted every time I came home to find another hint of erosion wearing away at my parents, especially my father. He seemed to be aging more rapidly than most. I knew it was part of the natural cycle, but it still pained me to think of their life-threads shortening. I moved stray hair from his forehead and reached under his elbow.

As I helped him to his feet, the sounds of footfalls on gravel made me turn.

Four figures in silky blue robes approached.

Mages had visited before, but they'd never obscured their identity. This time, each robed figure wore a simple white mask that tied around the back of their head. There were no markings or features, only two eye holes and a thin slit where their lips hid.

The tallest of the Mages stepped forward and spoke without preamble or greeting. "Irina, it has been five years. It is time for you to join us."

It wasn't a question this time.

I stepped in front of my father, crossed my arms, and squared my shoulders with the Mage. "I belong here, with these people, with my people. I do not need any of you."

The tall Mage cocked his head as if considering. "Perhaps you are right, but you do need our instruction. Today, you will learn the price for refusing our aid. I hope this will be the last time you need this particular education."

Before I could think or speak, the Mage raised a palm, and my father wailed in pain. I whirled to watch in horror as he clutched his chest and tumbled to the ground. His eyes were wide.

I threw myself to the ground and thrust my hands out above him. Light raged from my palms as I poured every drop of my energy into saving him.

But it was too late.

My father's heart had stilled.

I raised my head and released a primal scream as I gripped my father's shoulders, shaking him, begging him to live.

He stared through lifeless eyes and did not stir.

A clatter lifted my gaze, and I saw that only one Mage remained beside me. The other three were now inside the house— with my mother .

I shoved past the Mage and bolted through the door.

The Mage at the door wrapped me in his thick arms and held me tight against his chest, forcing me to watch what unfolded before me. My mother's eyes snapped up to meet mine as magic leaped from the hands of the other two Mages, engulfing her in writhing blue flame.

The stench of scorched flesh filled the cottage as Mother's cries ebbed and died.

The Mage restraining me released his grip and stepped back. With a wave of his hand, the flames vanished, leaving a charred, smoking husk where Mother once stood. Without a word, the robed figures nodded to one another and vanished.

I fell to my mother's side and sobbed.