Queen of Fire

“Too well guarded, my lord. I have a rope placed on the cliff, and a boat waiting on the river.”

“I . . .” Fornella gasped, coming to halt, features sagging in the scant moonlight. “I can’t.”

“It’s not far . . .”

“Leave me,” she groaned, doubling over and sinking to her knees, drawing air into her lungs in ragged heaves.

“My lord!” Jervia implored.

I leaned down, putting a hand around Fornella shoulders, frowning at the sight of her face, eyes alert with warning and free of fatigue. “It’s him,” she breathed. “The Messenger. I know his stink.”

I straightened, meeting Jervia’s gaze, seeing only a scared young woman forced to a courageous act. “A moment please,” I said. “She grows older by the day.

”

Jervia gave a reluctant nod, eyes darting about constantly for any sign of pursuit.

“Tell me,” I said. “What threats did the Empress make to coerce your testimony?”

Her face showed a pained grimace. “Father was arrested on charges of treason. It happened when word began to reach us of what had transpired in the Unified Realm.”

“She knew my return would be imminent, and prepared her trap accordingly.”

“I expect so.”

“And that ridiculous story about the sword?”

“Invented by Lord Velsus, at the Empress’s behest. I had no choice, my lord.”

“Of course.” I squeezed Fornella’s shoulder and moved away, keeping a distance from our rescuer. “I have known Lord Velsus for close to twenty years,” I said. “He’s an arrogant, self-regarding, judgemental bully. But he’s never been a liar, as I expect he lacks the imagination for deceit.”

She said nothing, but I saw how her eyes narrowed and her hand reached into the fold of her dress.

“You played your part very well,” I said, continuing to move away from Fornella, Jervia pivoting to match my every step, the muscles of her forearm bunching at she gripped something tight. “So reluctant and contrite, bound to win my trust when you came to open my cell door. When did it happen? Was it when the Red Hand took you?”

Her eyes flicked to Fornella, now groaning as her grey head lolled forward, then turning back to me with a different face. It was as if she had contrived some magician’s trick, switching the face of a sweet, brave maiden for something altogether older, its malice plain in every coarsened line and the twisted sneer of her lips. “When last we met you were not so courageous,” she said, Jervia’s well-spoken vowels moulded into something harsher, and familiar.