9. Isabel

Chapter 9

Isabel

“ T ossing fire at the Royal Guard was a delicate touch. I don’t think you’ll have any more talk of treason from the Council,” Danai said as he poured himself a glass of wine.

I snorted. “Too many of those men served Alfred for decades. We will have to look for opportunities to replace them, to help them retire. I do not care which . . . just get rid of them.”

Danai sat on the edge of my bed, sipping his wine.

I detested the cramped chamber the inn offered but had resigned myself to uncomfortable conditions until the war was won.

He lowered his glass. “Let me think on that. The people aren’t with you at the moment. Rumors are spreading about the death of your husband and son. We need to turn the tide of their opinions before the war effort can move forward.”

“Do you think I care what commoners think?” I spat, shocked he would even raise the issue. “They can burn just as easily as Wilfred did.”

“Please, Your Majesty, we dare not go that route unless there’s no other choice. We need the people to feed and clothe your armies. We need the armies to be impassioned for your cause. Fear will compel men only so far, and it will lose as many as it gains.”

There was a moment of silence as I eyed the Chancellor.

I knew he was right, but a roiling anger within craved the fire, the pain. At that thought, Irina’s spirit churned deep within, prodding and testing, searching for ways to be free of her earthly shell.

I shivered. It felt like someone was trying to pull apart my very marrow.

When I was able to suppress the sensation, I asked, “I assume you have something in mind to win the people’s hearts?”

“Oh, yes, I do.” He gave me a smarmy grin. “We will have massive pyres built in the center of the encampment. We will place Alfred and Justin at their peaks, and you offer a wife’s— a grieving mother’s —tears publicly. You will tell the people the Triad killed them, kidnapped Jess, and tried to kill you. The people already believe Jess was kidnapped by their hand. Why not fuel their anger, give them more reason to crave revenge? You could even tell them the High Sheriff was involved. Some on the Council might speak against that tale, but who will the people believe? A bitter old man or a grieving Queen?”

I was rarely surprised, but my jaw dropped as I rose from my chair and paced, fingers strumming against my lips as I imagined the scene. I started to list the dozen reasons Danai’s plan was terrible but stopped.

Irina’s spirit felt pleased with his idea.

That meant I was pleased with it, too.

I stopped pacing and locked eyes with the Chancellor. “Danai, you are a little weasel, but you’re a brilliant one.”

The next day, mournful bugles signaled assembly throughout the military encampment. Citizens of the town were allowed to enter to witness the passing of an era. Danai, working his unprecedented public relations magic, spread word of what would occur this day through every courier, spy, and innkeeper within a hundred leagues. Within the week, the entire Kingdom would know the words spoken by their Regent as she mourned the loss of her husband-King and son. He even had a stage built near the pyres. Stairs led up the side, lifting me more than six feet off the ground. No one in the crowd could miss me.

As I ascended the stairs, clad in black and flanked by a dozen Royal Guardsmen, thousands of soldiers and citizens stilled. The only sound to be heard were my shoes clapping against the wooden planks and the brisk winter wind whistling as it passed through the neatly stacked logs of the King’s massive pyre. I wore a mournful expression, complete with streaked makeup that Danai had hailed as his “crowning touch.”

“Citizens of the Spires.” My voice was magically amplified by an amulet Danai insisted I wear. Anyone within a mile would hear me clearly. I gave a slight tremble as I spoke. “We come today to say farewell to one of our greatest kings, Alfred of House Vester, First of his Name, Lord of the Spires and Protector of the Realm.”

I paused, peering down at the assembled crowd, making eye contact with one person before moving to the next. My Gift felt deep, genuine grief mingled with anger and something else . . . confusion? The people hadn’t made their minds up. My appearance sowed seeds of doubt regarding the rumors of the King’s murder at my hand.

I drew a deep breath.

“We lost our King, but we also lost our Prince, Justin, a boy not yet grown into manhood. What mother could bear to lose her son?” I paused. My voice caught as images of Justin consumed my mind’s eye.

“Yet I have, and I am . . . broken.”

A tear fell unbidden down my cheek.

A woman in the front row began to sob.

“I stand before you a humble widow, for I lost so much more than my King. I lost my husband, my heart, my best friend—and the father of my children. We came here as a family to find our daughter. We came here, desperate and afraid, yet hopeful.

“Mothers, who among you has lost a child? Who among you understands the fear and pain at hearing your baby was taken? Or worse—killed?”

I covered my mouth and looked down at the planks of the stage.

“And now I’ve lost two . . .” My voice broke again.

The crowd’s emotions shifted so quickly I grew dizzy.

I felt burly men in uniform ache to reach out, to offer support.

Women cried quietly, some openly.

The last embers of doubt and animosity winked out.

I looked up, another tear following the course set by my ruined makeup.

“Yet even as my Alfred feared for our daughter, he traveled hundreds of miles to be with you , to comfort you . He insisted on bringing his wife and son to offer you support, to show that your royal family stands shoulder to shoulder with you in this troubling time. Those of you who knew my Alfred knew a man who loved his family above all else—except, perhaps, his people.”

The crowd stood in rapt attention, every eye now turned my way.

“King Alfred loved you above all else. He long ago swore his life to your service—and in the end, he gave that life, freely, for you . We came here hoping to find our daughter, but Alfred also came to show his loyal citizens and troops how much their King stands with them.”

I waved my hand around the encampment.

“None of what you see here was meant for war. We have held faith with our neighbors for a thousand years and would for another thousand. Alfred believed in keeping his men sharp, well trained, and prepared for anything that might threaten our great nation and people. The war games scheduled in the fields near the mountains were designed for just that purpose. He would never attack our neighbor.”

Soldiers nearest the stage turned toward each other, questioning.

It was time to twist the knife.

I replaced my mask of mourning with a perplexed look, then shifted to one of anger and resolve.

“My baby girl—forgive me— your Princess, now Queen, was stolen from us a second time. Even now, she remains captive to Melucian agents racing toward the border. Melucians , on orders of the Triad, took Queen Jessia. Melucians , on orders from the Triad, killed Prince Justin. Melucians , on orders from the Triad, KILLED YOUR KING!” As I yelled the last phrase, many in the crowd picked up the rhythm, murmuring “on orders from the Triad,” to those standing around. Eyes widened at the gall of their so-called peaceful neighbor.

“We live in unprecedented times, without a king, an heir, or a prince. Queen Jessia is missing, and my son Kendall is too young to rule, so I stand before you bearing a burden beyond any mother’s worse nightmare, a burden of grief and pain, but also of duty.”

Soldiers looked up, intrigued by the invocation of one of their sacred principles.

“I was never meant to lead, but the Spirits call us each in their own time. Today, they have called me to become the mother of more than your heir, to become the mother to us all. My counselors were reluctant to place this burden on my shoulders given our family’s grievous wounds, and I was even more reluctant to accept it, but my Alfred—no, our Alfred—would expect no less. He would demand no less than for each of us to rise above our own shared grief in duty to our Kingdom and our people.

“And so, with the heaviest of hearts, I have accepted the role of Regent until either my daughter is saved or my son comes of age. I swear to you today . . .” I paused and wiped a tear. “I swear today to rule as Alfred would have wanted. I swear to bring honor and pride to the Spires. I swear to see our Queen home and justice done to those who stole the lives of our beloved King and Prince!”

The crowd erupted. Some called my name. Others cried out for Queen Jessia or King Alfred, or even Justin.

I let them go on for long moments before raising my palm for quiet.

“My people, the Spirits have granted me power to see justice done. Let us honor Alfred and Justin and witness the birth of a new Kingdom of Spires!”

A ball of fire burst from my palm. I flicked my wrist, and it streaked forward and ignited the pyre, sending massive plumes of heat and flame high into the air. The people gasped and shuffled back. Even Danai, standing safely by the stage, took an instinctive step back.

I stood and watched as Alfred’s body was consumed. A silky, unnerving voice purred in my mind, as Irina’s thoughts intruded on my own. “Well done, Vessel. Now they are mine.”