Mahleck had assumed ownership of the late King’s chamber upon his arrival at the palace. The purple and silver of the King’s colors and the hawk’s head motif of the royal house had already been stripped from the room and replaced by the red and gold of the Locust King. The golden locust adorned the bed linens and wall hangings now.
The Queen’s eyes took in all of these changes, but when she closed her them, she could smell the scent of her husband as though he was next to her.
Pytr.
Serving women from the Swarm’s camp surrounded her, faces shadowed by the sheer veils they wore to hide their eyes from view. They moved silently about the room. Queen Mila knew they were there to keep her from throwing herself from the balcony rather than attend to her needs.
Would Irinya end up like one of these shadows? Barely alive, not even human? Goddess, please... Let these choices I have made be the right choices. Let her life be spared, but not to become a shade like these poor women.
There was a delicate cough at her side. “Milady, if I may be of service?” whispered the servant, holding out her hand where only the Queen could see it. The shade held a small silver dagger. The Queen took it and hid the knife in the folds of her gown.
“Thank you, child,” whispered the Queen.
The shade bowed low and backed away until she joined the other servants.
These women may not be as weak as they appear. And now neither am I, thought the Queen.
Mila studied the faint lights of the city below her. She could see the courtyard of the Temple, illuminated from within by a large bonfire. A bonfire mirrored on the other side of the mountain by the funeral pyre. The flames stained the sky on either side of her. Somewhere in the Temple her daughter was hidden among the many daughters of the Goddess while another’s body was burnt to ash before the catacombs.
Irinya had lived a pampered life surrounded by servants and doting teachers, never experiencing hardship. But no one in this sheltered country had ever experienced anything that could be called true hardship. The land was (until now) protected from the outside world by its natural barriers. It was fruitful and easily coaxed to bring forth everything they needed, whether meat from the abundant game, the fish that swam in the mountain streams, flocks of sheep and goats, or fruit from the orchards and berry bushes. The Lady had done well in bringing this land from out of the desert sands to sustain Her descendants. But Her people had become soft and weak like coddled children.
When the Queen turned back to the room, her face was stained with tears. As she blinked them away, she realized she was alone. The veiled women of the Swarm had left the room.
Is this trickery? Do they think I will take the knife and end my misery? It would be easier if I threw myself from the tower. But I will not leave this life like a coward. I will stand and fight, even though our nation cannot. I shall. I will wait, and he shall die before I take my last breath.
She sat down on her husband’s bed. His scent enfolded her like an embrace. She lay down upon the pillows that once cradled his head and breathed deeply. In a moment, she was asleep.
“I trust you have regained your composure since last we saw each other, my lady.”
It was Mahleck. Her heart dropped. She sat up, keeping the dagger hidden in the folds of her gown. He stood in front of the window, the morning sun streaming in behind him.
“I had a conversation with the High Priest Baraz that might be of interest to you, my lady, if you would care to hear it. It may offer you some solace in your time of grief,” said Mahleck.
“What news have you, dear King?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“I have given orders that a bath be prepared from your country’s famous heated springs. You have had a very trying time, and you have been so very brave. I am prepared to forgive you for your earlier outburst.”
“What news?” she asked again.
“First, let us prepare for our bath, my lady,” he said. “I am very fond of bathing. Perhaps you would help me disrobe?”
Her stomach turned, but this was the opportunity she needed. She would sink the knife into his side. He would die. She watched him walk across the room to the entrance of the King’s bathing chamber. The way he moved reminded her of the desert cat her husband had brought to court as a gift from the Narim - Princess Lilua’s people - the thought of the young princess reduced to a cowering concubine of this evil man steeled her resolve. She followed him to the baths, her head meekly lowered in submission while she gripped the hilt of the knife hard enough it hurt.
Fragrant wood walls framed the windowless bathing chamber. A cistern carved from solid marble was set into the floor, fed by a small water pipe from the hot springs below the castle. Steam filled the room, obscuring the far wall. At the opposite end of the room from the bedroom entrance another carved wooden door cleverly designed with a wooden screen allowed no view from the other side. Servants of the castle used this small room as an entrance for preparing the bath without disturbing the King’s rest. But on this day, the sound of lute music wafted from behind the screen - the same song she had heard from the black tent.
Lilua.
“Help me disrobe, my lady. Or does the thought of seeing me frighten you?” asked Mahleck.
“I am not frightened. What news do you have for me, dear King?”
She hid the knife in her belt as she helped him remove the black leather jerkin, and then his boots. She unlaced his black linen shirt and pulled it over his head. His skin bore no scars. No war wounds. His skin was completely unblemished, as the skin of a minstrel or untrained squire.
“I had words with the High Priest Baraz after you fell asleep. He informed me it was not your princess that cremated last night,” Mahleck said in a calm voice. He leaned forward as she fumbled with the laces of his breeches with shaking hands, whispering in her ear, “The body’s hands were calloused with work. Her fingernails were broken and had the filth of a street child underneath them. And when her golden hair was pulled from her scalp and examined, the roots were found to be black.”
Terror gripped her. He knows. She reached for the dagger at her belt.
“Your daughter lives, my lady. Does this not please you?” She could feel his hot breath on her ear. His tone was mocking.
Her fingers curled around the handle of the knife, and she plunged it between his ribs, burying it to the hilt.