Fyrian's Fire Read online

  “My pleasure.” Nory clapped Prince Linden’s back. “Rette and I have got all the papers ready, fearless leader.”

  “Oh, have you been arranging papers, Your Highness?” The words left Tess’s mouth before she could restrain herself. “Was that what called you away this evening?”

  The prince traced the circlet in his hair with nervous fingers. “My lady, I regret to have neglected you this evening, but there were serious matters to attend to. Masters Nory and Rette have been aiding me over the past months in an . . . endeavor.”

  “I doubt the lady is the slightest bit interested, Your Highness,” Nory said. “Enjoy the remainder of the festivities, Lady Tessamine.” Something about his tone made Tess nervous. He took another goblet from a servant’s tray and wandered into the crowd.

  Relieved to be rid of Prince Linden’s friend, Tess checked her hairline. “Your Highness, would you care to join me for a dance?”

  “I apologize for Master Rootpine’s behavior,” the prince said. He avoided her eyes. “We have been under some stress lately.”

  Tess looked pleadingly at the prince. She felt desperation creep into her voice. “Might I know what all this is about?”

  The folk song was nearly finished, and Tess could hardly ignore the eyes of hundreds of citizens on her—no, on Prince Linden—waiting to see what he would do, waiting for his hand to touch hers. Would he show any affection for her? But the prince stood awkwardly beside her, apparently at a loss for words. Tess twisted her pearls around her finger. She glanced at Ryon, who seemed to be studying the prince’s face.

  “Citizens of Glademont,” the conductor boomed from his stand. “Welcome to the first feast of the wedding festival.” The citizens cheered, and the younger set glowed in Prince Linden’s direction. Tess looked for Belle and her mother, but the crowd was too large.

  “You have traveled far and wide to honor your prince, and to celebrate his happy union with an enchanting young noblewoman from right here on Zere Mountain,” the conductor continued.

  Polite applause.

  “Let us hear from the bridegroom himself, who will offer a few words to open our celebration.”

  Prince Linden left Tess’s side to replace the conductor. Enthusiastic applause, whistles, and squeals from the academy girls erupted. He looked as if he wanted to tug at his collar, but he resisted.

  “Seeing such warmth and brotherhood grace this hall,” the prince began, “is a blessing I do not take for granted. Glademont is a dione of kindness, beauty, hardworking creatures, and, of course, celebrations.”

  At this, the banquet hall erupted into the age-old cheers: “Glademont evermore!” and “Home of the heart!”

  The prince nodded. “I do not relish speeches; they have fallen to the queen for so long.” A note of sadness crept into the prince’s voice, and Tess took Ryon’s hand.

  “But, the constellations have shifted in ways I could never have foreseen. And more changes are fast approaching.” He wrapped his long fingers around each side of the conductor’s music stand. The knuckles went white. “I regret to say the wedding festival must be postponed. Indefinitely.”

  A sudden humming rang in Tess’s ears. She barely registered the hundreds of faces fixed on her, their jaws slack.

  Until that moment, a small part of Tess had clung to the possibility that Prince Linden’s indifference was imagined. But now there could be no doubt. He was spurning her in front of the entire dione. Tess envisioned herself floating away, dissipating into a freckled mist. The next moment, she felt she had gotten her wish but realized the blood had merely drained from her face.

  Ryon’s arm slipped around Tess and steadied her.

  “The kingdom of Atheos conspires against us. Against the queen,” the prince said. The hall filled with gasps, then nervous chatter. Sir Brock and Lady Matilde pushed through the crowd toward Tess.

  “My sources report an assassin has crossed our borders.” Prince Linden paused and wiped a damp caramel lock from his forehead.

  One of the academy girls shrieked. Dahly shed her drum and rushed to her mother, who looked pale. The salty heat of anxiety masked the smell of foodstuffs and perfumes in the room.

  Vermin and vinegar.

  “I hope you now understand why I must postpone the festival,” the prince continued. “Our dione may face its first crisis of this magnitude in centuries, and it is my duty as a son and a prince to ready our defenses. I will force no man to fight, but I ask for volunteers to enlist for training in an emergency militia.” The prince pulled at his gold-embroidered lapel, then opened a palm to his left, where Nory and Rette stood behind a simple table. Papers, quills, and ink sat in tidy rows before them.

  The crowd stood still. For a moment, nothing sounded but the scratching of silks and the clanging of bronze tableware. Then a man in velvet tails raised a wrinkled index finger.

  “Your Highness, may I speak?”

  Prince Linden pulled a satin handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the back of his neck. “Judge Glasmilk, as you wish.”

  “I have served Her Majesty the queen for twenty-three years as judge of Redfoot, and your grandmother for twelve years before that,” he said in a scratchy bass tone. “You know well how loyal I am to the Crown. But this decision is serious. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that our dione bears no weapons. It is the pure heart of our queen that protects us. And the Zere Mountain protects her, in turn. To take up arms would be to defy the constellations and betray the Crown.”

  Those who agreed shouted their affirmations. Tess thought of all the history classes at the academy, where her professors had lauded Glademont as the sole country on the continent that had successfully maintained its sovereignty without sword, shield, or arrow for two hundred years. She thought of Ryon’s sling and wondered why the prince was so intent on destroying that peace. Was it even true that Atheos had sent an assassin? She leaned against Ryon’s side, her arms shaking.

  “Will there not be a council to weigh this decision?” the judge said.

  “The decision has been made, Glasmilk.” Prince Linden’s voice cracked. “The queen’s safety hangs between earth and sky, and I suspect this to be a plot to weaken our dione before an outright attack. It would not be the first time Atheos has assailed us.”

  “Your Highness, forgive me,” Sir Brock called. “No soul in the whole of the dione does not mourn the loss of King Antony. But his death was not the result of any malicious scheme. As an advisor to the queen, I beg you to reconsider a council.”

  “Respectfully, Sir Brock, I decline.”

  A scholar called for the prince’s attention. The black silk piping on her robes glinted in the candlelight. “Where is Her Majesty? We wish to see Queen Aideen.”

  Around her, a confident throng of scholars and noblemen chanted for the appearance of their monarch. Prince Linden’s brow stiffened. He motioned for silence.

  “If you wish to serve your queen and defend your families from whatever plot this assassin heralds, sign your name with Masters Rootpine and Cherrywater and remain in the banquet hall to begin your training immediately. We will need able bodies in combat as well as healers, builders—offer a skill and we will find a use for it. Any citizens wishing to exclude themselves from the militia, may the stars bless you. You are free to return to your homes and protect yourselves as you see fit.”

  A dazed, chaotic shuffle followed. While dozens of young men and women filed behind the sparse table to sign their names, the elders congregated in circles and spoke in low whispers. Mothers and governors shepherded children away from the commotion, clicking their tongues. Several fights broke out as baffled fathers attempted to restrain their sons from joining the prince’s militia.

  Tess felt Ryon’s arm leave her waist as he started for the enlisting table. Sir Brock barred him with a firm hand. Ryon, too? What was happening to everyone? All this excitement and co
ntroversy, and yet no one had made the prince answerable for his promise to her?

  As though her anger had summoned him, Prince Linden appeared at her side. He issued a dry kiss on her knuckles.

  “My lady,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “How . . .” She pulled away from him. A dozen searing retorts came to mind, but she remembered her father’s words in the carriage, and the intensity with which he said them. She must be patient and remember her duty. Perhaps she was further from a coronation than she thought, but she could still prove to this coldhearted boy she was made of the right stuff.

  “Your Royal Highness.” She inclined her head. “Certainly the queen should have been present for this . . . this interruption.”

  Prince Linden stared, then took a step forward. “Some dark magic has infected her.”

  Tess opened her mouth, but nothing came. Goose bumps materialized on her arms. The prince’s eyes scanned the dozens of guests who were still watching him, then turned back to her.

  “I understand you may have questions for me,” he said, his mouth inches from her forehead. “Will you follow me to a more private setting?”

  The humming in Tess’s ears increased, and she was horribly aware of her own perspiration. She tried to curtsy, but her knees disobeyed.

  “Certainly,” she whispered, and the prince led her away.

  Chapter 3

  Tess hurried to match Prince Linden’s long, stiff stride down the northward hallway of the west wing. He stopped at an elaborate set of blue- and silver-painted doors. One servant stood at either side, both holding tall iron candlesnuffers like lances.

  The prince glanced at Tess. “I must ask you to wait a moment. Guards, I will summon her ladyship presently.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” said the servant on the right. But in his enthusiasm, he dropped his candlesnuffer. Prince Linden winced and disappeared behind the doors.

  “Vermin and vinegar.” Tess indulged in a soft growl.

  Minutes passed while she paced outside. Occasionally, if she caught him staring, one of the “guards” would pretend to examine the ceiling. The sounds from the banquet hall were faint but distinguishable. Mostly young men and boys could be heard, buzzing with nervous laughter.

  The doors opened.

  “My lady.”

  Tess almost didn’t recognize the prince. His circlet, sash, and formal coat were gone, revealing a high-collared shirt under a silver-threaded vest. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. After inviting Tess in, he paced inside the elegant room, glaring at every vase and ornamental bowl as though ready to hurl it.

  The carpet under Tess’s damp slippers served as a welcome relief. Stern ancestral queens in oil paints and elaborate frames covered the walls of the sizable room. A glistening harp towered in one corner behind a green velvet chaise, where the queen of Glademont reclined under a blanket. Worrisome shadows marred her cheeks above her high lace collar. General Frost Bud snuffled regally at the legs of the chaise, making his presence known.

  “Lady Tessamine”—Prince Linden forced the words through clenched teeth—“I believe you know my mother.”

  Tess tipped her head and extended her arms in a formal curtsy she knew only a few women could do well. Queen Aideen smiled under hooded eyelids.

  “Forgive the prince, dear one.” The queen extended her arm. “He and I have had a disagreement.”

  Tess approached to kiss the queen’s icy knuckles. “Good evening, Your Majesty.” She hoped she didn’t look as thunderstruck as she felt.

  “So, Linden has postponed the wedding,” Queen Aideen said. Tess glanced at the harp and suppressed the urge to shove her own head through the strings.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said.

  “I was surprised to hear it. And I do not approve of his decision to organize a militia.” Linden shifted to Tess’s left and sat on a life-size sculpture of a sight hound, between the haunches and the neck. “But I am also dying. There is little time for debate,” Aideen said.

  Tess rose from her curtsy. “Your Majesty? Is it true? Prince Linden spoke of assassins and magic. . . .”

  Aideen raised a palm. “As the future queen, you deserve to know the truth.”

  Linden and Tess exchanged tense looks. It was unclear whether he agreed as to the identity of Glademont’s future queen.

  “Three months ago, while journeying, I was ambushed by a counselor of the Atheonian court. He . . . he poisoned me with a dark spell. An ash spell, I think. And though I got away with my life, there are rumors this conspirer has crossed the Glademontian border to complete his mission.” She calmly peered at Linden, who was still sitting on the sight hound and rubbing his face. “The prince feels he can protect me from this enemy. I do not share his confidence.”

  “My queen, I have stationed traders on the wall. They have all traveled to Atheos and can easily spot a foreigner. I assure you—”

  “It was no mere man who wanted me dead, Linden.” Wheezing, she held the blanket to her mouth as General Bud paced around the chaise, calling for a hot cloth from the servants. “Be still, General,” she said, recovering her breath.

  “Your Majesty, I do not understand.” Linden stared hard at his mother.

  “He is a master of red magic. A magician.”

  Tess wished someone would invite her to sit.

  “Neither of you are familiar with magic.” The corners of Aideen’s mouth tilted, and a pleasant crease under her lower lip appeared. It reminded Tess of little Belle, the cliffdweller. Their dance together seemed ages ago. “That was how it was supposed to be, until Tess was princess. If you had just waited a few more days, Linden . . .”

  “Mother, explain.” Linden stood and waved the servants away, closing the inner door behind them. “This assassin—magician—could be at the castle doors right now, and I need to know how to defeat him.”

  General Bud barked a warning. “Your Highness will address the queen with respect, or not at all. Your Majesty, I must insist—” The queen rested a gentle wrist on the general’s back.

  “You cannot defeat him, Linden,” she said. “Only Lady Tessamine can do that.”

  “What?” Tess and the prince said at the same time. Tess teetered on her feet a moment, and steadied herself against a standing glass globe. Aideen’s hollow breath tore Tess’s gaze from the carpet.

  “Glademont does not maintain its peace without diligence. The queens of this realm have protected it, guarding it in secret. I have done so, as the mother of my husband did before me. We are a dione and not a kingdom, because kings cannot protect our people from enemies such as this. Our people believe there is something purer about a ruling queen—a queen who is not burdened with royal blood, which could make her arrogant. That is partly true. But the matter is more complicated than that. The truth is, a queen is needed to defend the dione from red magic.”

  “But how?” Linden demanded. General Bud growled. Linden rephrased. “Your Majesty, how have our queens protected us?”

  “With this.” Aideen reached behind her head and unwound something from an elaborate knot in her pewter hair. Her fingers trembled as she reached for Tess’s wrist. “And now it’s yours.” A trinket dropped into Tess’s hand.

  Tess flattened her shaking palm and examined the object. It was not much: a long, thin leather strap, adorned on each end with a smooth copper ball the size of a large marble. The prince stooped for a closer look, and his soft hair brushed against Tess’s arm. Despite her vexations, Tess found she could picture Linden as an attentive father, admiring some cherished object a child had found while playing.

  The spheres ignited with a soft light, creating a warm buzz against Tess’s skin.

  “Thank the skies.” Aideen leaned her head against the back of the chaise. “Fyrian’s riddles have not evaded me. I’ve done the right thing.”

  “Your Majesty, what
is it?” Tess felt a soft tingling spread from her fingertips to her collarbone.

  “It is much older than Glademont,” Aideen said. “We call it the shenìl after the ancient forest tongue, meaning breath.”

  “How shall I use it?” Tess whispered.

  “You won’t.” Aideen grasped her neck and winced in pain.

  “Your Majesty,” General Bud pleaded.

  “Another minute.” The way the queen’s brow bunched into determined wrinkles, she looked just like Linden the day he proposed. “I was going to begin your training after the wedding, but the constellations had other designs. No, dear one, for now your job is to hide the shenìl.”

  “Hide it?” The tingling faded.

  “Yes. Until the danger passes and it is safe to travel to the Thane’s Hold, where you can be trained properly.”

  “Mother”—General Bud snorted through a wiry beard at Linden—“Your Majesty, what if the danger doesn’t pass? What if the magician reaches you before the militia is ready? If you’re the only one who can use this, it seems foolish that you should give it away.” Linden glanced at Tess out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t trust her. She bent her left thumb to touch the engagement pearls. Why didn’t he trust her?

  “The shenìl has hardly responded to me for some months now,” Aideen said, still massaging her neck. “And it must be kept from Pider at all costs. He could never wield it, of course, but if he were able to destroy it, Glademont would be lost. The entire continent of Diatonica would be lost.”

  “Pider?” Tess said weakly.

  “The Atheonian. The magician. He knows about the shenìl. He knows its power, and he knows it resides in Glademont.”

  “This little object has been protecting our entire continent?” Tess said.

  “Your Majesty”—Linden gave Tess another sidelong glance—“why can’t the magician use the shenìl?” They all knew what Linden was really asking: Why couldn’t the prince use the shenìl?

  “It chooses its thane,” she answered softly. “And the thanes have been Glademont’s queens throughout the centuries. That is why Lady Tessamine must be your bride. That is why I insisted this wedding happen so quickly. No man can touch the shenìl. Its power stems from the dryads, and only a feminine spirit can move with its promptings. For our own protection, the shenìl will blind any man who wrongfully grasps it.”