Epilogue

EPILOGUE

ROLAND

The servant, Carlotta, was dead. Roland couldn't have her questioned, but that was only the first problem. Hestia and Leander had been secured, but the prince was so close to death he might slide the rest of the way at any second.

And Elodie had not awoken.

The knights, himself included, had felt the fires of the Aurum sweep through them, had been rendered senseless and helpless, as the light they had sworn to serve had roared through them, seeking something. He didn't know what, only that it had left everything he was bare before its gaze before it had moved on. When it retreated, he felt it like loss, like heartbreak. They all did.

It had to be a mistake, surely. Elodie slept as if dead, her chest barely moving. Sometimes her eyes moved beneath her eyelids. Sometimes she winced or frowned. But she didn't wake up, no matter what they did. Sister Maryn and the other maidens hovered around her, desperately trying to heal her, but to no avail.

‘I warned her,' said Maryn. ‘I told her not to channel the Aurum again so soon.'

‘She didn't have a choice,' Roland replied. ‘The Aurum has its own will. You know that as well as I. But you can heal her, surely? In time?' It was the one hope he was clinging to. He couldn't lose her yet again.

But Maryn gave him a worried look, her face pale and strained. ‘The Aurum is…' She stopped and chewed on her lower lip. ‘It isn't dead, but if it was sleeping before…I don't know how to explain it. There's barely a glow. It isn't in the chamber anymore, not entirely. I think it's locked inside her, inside Elodie. It overreached itself, it went too far. And now…' She trailed off. Maryn didn't have an answer either. None of them did.

‘Who might know how to heal her?' he snarled, aware his voice had the edge of an animal in pain. ‘Tell me what to do, Maryn. Any quest, any deed, and I will do it. There must be a way to help her.'

‘The College of Winter hold manuscripts that might guide us,' she replied, though she didn't sound convinced. ‘Perhaps they may know. And the maid was witchkind. Someone had placed her under a compulsion. Though whether that was before she came here or while she served…I just don't know. Perhaps the rebel witchkind…'

But he was only half listening. Roland paced back towards the bed where Elodie lay, unmoving, but before he reached her, a disturbance outside the door caught their attention. He heard Ylena's voice and his heart sank. Looking at Maryn, the feeling was mutual.

Olivier opened the door looking harried. Anselm still barred the way but the queen's aunt and Lady Lynette bristled behind him.

‘Grandmaster,' Olivier began, apologetically.

Roland waved his hand. Might as well get this out of the way because it was coming one way or the other. Ylena hated him, and always had done. She blamed him for Elodie's failed marriage, for her absence for so many years, for the recent fiasco with Sassone and now, in her eyes, he had failed to protect Elodie again.

‘Let them in, Olivier,' he replied.

It only took a second. Ylena was already in full flight. ‘Where's the girl, Roland? How have you lost her as well?'

Ah yes, he had known this was coming. Dreaded it. But he couldn't avoid it.

‘My lady Ylena,' he said with a bow. It was not an answer, but he didn't have an answer.

Ylena narrowed her eyes. They were slivers of ice as they fixed on him. Roland held his ground.

‘Mother, we do not have time for this,' Maryn said irritably. ‘I need to send word to the College of Winter and Roland?—'

‘ Time? Heal her or what use are you? And you —' She turned on Roland again. ‘You brought this upon us. You sheltered that treacherous whelp and let him take the princess. You let this happen, either by negligence or design. I name you traitor, Roland de Silvius.'

He was almost surprised to realise he had expected this too. She wasn't wrong. Not in principle, just the reasons she stated.

He had chosen Elodie, and Wren, over his duty to the crown and kingdom.

‘My lady,' Lynette began to protest. ‘Listen to Sister Maryn. We need to send word to the College of Winter and beg their help. They will have an answer. Surely the Grandmaster should be the one to?—'

‘I don't want to hear from you either. Your husband will take his place as Grandmaster. That's about as high as you could hope to climb, Lynette, so hold your tongue and be grateful. You two, knights, Paladins, whatever you are.' She waved her hands to Olivier and Anselm. ‘Escort de Silvius to the dungeon. Now.'

‘Mother, you can't do this,' Maryn argued in vain.

But she could. Of course she could. She was Lady Ylena, a princess of the blood royal. She was now the one and only regent and her queen was laid low, incapacitated by magic. Elodie was in her power. All she needed to rule Asteroth completely was Roland out of the way.

And now she had that too.

He could denounce her, but what good would that do? All she wanted, she would argue, was to protect her niece, to defend the crown.

And to place Wren on the throne.

The one thing that could not happen.

Suddenly sending her to safety with Finnian seemed more than inspired. He had to hope they would stay far away from Pelias.

He needed to warn them. He only hoped they were safe somewhere. Hestia wasn't talking. Leander couldn't. Yet.

He was sure that Ylena would get to that soon enough.

Anselm and Olivier were joined by Yvain, who had been curtly summoned and looked as deeply uncomfortable as they did. They didn't relieve Roland of his weapons. What good would that do anyway? He could fight his way out but then what? They were his friends, his men. He couldn't draw weapons on them.

Before they led him away, he returned to Elodie's bedside, bent down and kissed her forehead. No one stopped him. Not even Ylena.

‘I'll find a way to help you,' he whispered. ‘Hold on, my love. I will always find a way.'

They led him away in silence, embarrassed and lost for words, down through the dungeon to a small and simple cell. Yvain opened the door, failing to meet Roland's gaze.

‘This isn't your fault, Yvain,' Roland said softly, as he stepped inside. ‘And…she's not wrong. I failed Elodie. I failed everyone.'

His old friend shook his head. ‘This is wrong. You know it as well as I do. And without you, we're lost, Roland.'

‘Yvain.' Roland rested his hand on Yvain's shoulder. ‘You have to guard her now. The queen is more vulnerable than ever. All the knights need to look for a cure. Whatever the maidens say might help her. Our enemies knew they could not control her on the throne. So they took her out of their game. And now they'll look for Wren so they can play another.'

Though no one had asked for it – they had not poured that indignity on him at least – Roland unbuckled the sword belt and held out Nightbreaker. Yvain visibly paled and took a step back.

Roland thrust it towards him again. ‘You need it. If you're Grandmaster.'

‘We both know I'm not. No matter what they say.'

This was not good. He was a Paladin. Events may have shocked him, but he had taken vows when Roland had. He needed to be stronger than this.

Instead, Roland put the sword down between them and Yvain's gaze followed every movement. He still didn't bend to pick it up though.

‘Lynette says…' he began but his voice trailed off. ‘Roland, what do we do?'

What did they do? That was a question. ‘You keep to your vows. Serve the queen and the Aurum. Defend the light.'

What else could they do?

The cell door closed on him and he sat down, listening as Yvain's footsteps faded away. Nightbreaker stayed on the ground in front of him, abandoned by them both.

Defend the light? How was that possible, here, in the dark?

Roland tried to still his racing mind and focused on his breath and his heartbeat. If he concentrated, maybe he could reach out to Elodie where she slept. Maybe he could dream alongside her.

He had tried this every night since he had lost her all those years ago.

The fantasy of a boy who had lost far too much. For a moment he had dreamed he had her back, that everything would be all right again, that somehow it would work out. That he had his beloved by his side again, and a child who was a wonder to him. A treasure.

And it was gone. All gone.

The ache gnawed away inside his chest, emptying him of hope.

In the depths of the night, Roland heard a noise, something which, had he been honest with himself, he had been waiting for all along.

He had wondered if Ylena would send someone of her own before they got here. A knife in the dark, a garrotte or a noose and it would be over. But no. Apparently not.

The cell door opened and Anselm stood there with a shuttered lantern.

‘Grandmaster? You have to admit, this is somewhat ironic.' He tried to smile, an expression Roland didn't return.

He blinked in the light, suddenly exhausted. ‘This is a terrible idea. You both know that, don't you?'

‘We would have come earlier,' said Olivier. Of course he was there too. The two of them were inseparable. ‘But Ylena summoned every knight in the kingdom to the mustering point. She has everyone out looking for Wren and Finnian.'

Of course she did. She needed Wren to cement her control now. She had Elodie, but with Wren, there could be no doubt.

Roland frowned at Anselm who had the good grace to look marginally guilty. ‘You weren't included?'

‘It…it didn't seem my place. Who am I now? The son of a traitor. Convenient, as my father, like you, was the only other balance to her power.' Anselm had always had a political acumen that few rivalled. He had been born to this world, more so than Roland. He knew the way the tides of the royal court flowed.

‘I'm sorry I doubted you, son.'

Anselm tried that wavering smile again. ‘Well, he was a traitor. He planted his own flag, made his move and lost. And I'm still his son, for what little that's worth. We should leave, before we're missed.'

We. That was a word, one word, which carried more hope than he had a right to feel.

Roland pushed himself to his feet. He picked up Nightbreaker and slipped the sword belt back over his chest.

‘You don't need to come with me,' he told them. ‘You have lives here, and careers. We will be hunted.'

The two young knights glanced at each other and something unspoken passed between them. As always. They counted Finn and Wren as friends, they served their queen, and their careers were already on rocky ground. Mainly, Roland thought with regret, thanks to him.

‘We are with you, Grandmaster,' Anselm said. ‘To the end.'

He didn't deserve their loyalty. But he would take it.

‘Very well,' he said. ‘Let's ride.'

‘Where to?' asked Olivier.

‘North. To find some answers in the College of Winter.'