cannot find my husband?’ Iselda demanded, her face wan from fatigue and worry.
Hana fussed at her queen’s coverlets before pressing a warm posset of milk curdled with ginger wine and honey into her mistress’s hands. ‘I’ve heard the king is on his way, your highness. Now I beg you to drink this without fuss. You need to regain your strength.’
In a rare show of anger Iselda hurled the cup across the room, its contents splashing in all directions. Piven sat back in what could only be described as amusement, while Hana flinched in astonishment. The cup shattered against the stone, the liquid soaking into the timber beneath the herbs that were strewn underfoot. Its heat instantly released the sweet smell of lavender mingling with mint and rosemary.
‘I shall take nothing, eat nothing, say not another word until my daughter is returned to me. Find her! Do you hear me?’ the queen yelled, coughing on the last word as she dissolved into tears. Piven returned to stroking his mother’s hair as though nothing had happened.
‘As does the entire palace, my love,’ Brennus said, finally arriving. Hana visibly relaxed at the sight of the tall, dark king whose beard had recently erupted new silver flecks, whose once broad shoulders now appeared to sag, and whose laughter, which had boomed around the walls of Brighthelm, was now only an echo.
‘Brennus!’ Iselda took his hands as he settled to sit beside her. Piven leapt onto his father’s lap. The queen accepted the soft kiss Brennus planted on her cheek, mindful of their audience, and pulled back to search his face. She found her answer in the set of his mouth, the grief in his eyes. She asked all the same. ‘Where is our daughter? Why the mourning knell?’
‘Iselda,’ Brennus began gently. The hurt in his voice was so raw it hit her like a blow and her eyes spilled, tears coursing down her cheeks and finding a path through the fingers she clamped to her mouth to prevent herself from shrieking her own grief. ‘Our baby died not long after her birth,’ Brennus finished. ‘In my arms.’
Iselda shook her head slowly, repeating the word ‘no’ over his soft words.
Brennus wiped away his own tears and over her denials he continued. ‘No daughter has ever survived. The Valisar line seems to have its own self-defence for the female line — but you already know that, my love.’ He took her hands, squeezing them, gently kissing them. ‘She didn’t suffer, my darling, I promise. She simply fell asleep as Father Briar blessed her with holy oil. She heard her name spoken and I’m sure she heard me tell her that we loved her with all our hearts.’
Iselda’s lips moved but no sound came. The death bell tolled mournfully through the difficult silence.
Brennus pressed on. ‘I knew this might occur and that is why I took her from you, my love. I needed her to be blessed before … before …’ He was unable to finish, his voice crumbling.
‘Before the devil stole her soul?’ Iselda asked, her voice suddenly hard, her cheeks wet. ‘Do you really believe that something so small and beautiful and pure would be ignored, cast aside by Lo? Is he really that cruel, this god we pray to and put all our faith in, to not only murder my baby but then refuse her soul passage into heaven?’ Her voice had changed into a hissing shriek at his apparent insensitivity. She was very well aware it was unseemly to unravel emotionally in front of the palace servants but she no longer cared. Three children were all Lo had given her to love; of those, one was a grotesque, and now her only daughter was already dead within hours of her birth. Precious Leonel, their hope, was likely as good as dead anyway.
‘Perhaps our little girl is the lucky one, taken by Lo peacefully. Where is Leo? Does he know?’ she begged, her voice softer now.
The king’s red-rimmed eyes closed briefly. ‘De Vis is with him now but will leave Gavriel with him.’
‘That’s good,’ she said, relieved, giving a watery smile to Piven. ‘Leo does love that family as if it’s his own,’ she added absently, before dissolving into quiet weeping.
The king cleared his throat, looking towards the queen’s overly attentive aide hovering nearby. Freath was a good man, only slightly older than himself and although not handsome in a traditional sense, there was an enigmatic quality to his dry, reserved manner that was appealing. ‘I think we’re fine here now, Freath. You can organise for us to be left alone.’
‘Yes, majesty,’ the man replied. ‘Er, Father Briar awaits.’
The king nodded, waiting for the servants to shuffle out at Freath’s murmured orders.
‘Why were these people allowed in my chamber? I can understand Physic Maser, but the others?’ Iselda asked through her tears as she counted almost eight others being herded out by Freath.
‘I must be honest with you, my love. I had no idea how you were going to react. I needed people here for various contingencies. But as always you surprise me with your courage.’ She watched him hug their vacant little boy close to his chest and inhale the scent of his freshly washed hair. She was glad Piven did not have the mental capacity to understand any of this.
‘I don’t feel very courageous, Brennus, and I am sure the real pain has not yet hit me. I feel too numb right now.’
Brennus nodded in shared pain. ‘There will be no shame if you prefer not to see her, but I have had our daughter brought up from the chapel. Father Briar is outside.’
‘He has her?’ Iselda asked, tears welling again.
‘I thought you might like to hold her, have some private time with her,’ Brennus said, choking as he spoke. ‘I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry I’m not being strong for you.’
‘I have always maintained that one of the reasons I have loved you, Brennus, 8th of the Valisars, is because you are capable of such emotion, and are not ashamed to suffer it. I’m surprised you’ve been so open with it in front of others, just now. But you don’t have to be outwardly strong for me, my king.’ Iselda reached out to stroke his beard. ‘Just be strong for our people. What’s ahead is …’ She shook her head. ‘Unthinkable,’ she finished. Then a hint of her private courage ghosted across her pale face as she stiffened her resolve. ‘I would like to hold her and kiss her again. Please ask Father Briar to come in.’
The king nodded, touched her hand and rose from her bed. ‘I’ll fetch him.’
* * *
Iselda’s heart began an urgent ache for the sister Leo would never have, for the daughter she would never fuss over gowns with, for the little girl Brennus would never know the special joy of being a father to, for the realm that would never have the glamour and excitement of the first living princess in centuries … but especially for the future. Because there wasn’t one. Without a royal line — and Leo would surely be put to the sword if Loethar found him — Penraven and the prosperous era of the Valisars was destroyed for ever.
She watched her husband usher in the priest, and trembled to see him lightly carrying a bundle draped with cream silks. Giving herself entirely over to her grief, Queen Iselda took the tiny corpse of her infant daughter and cradled her tightly against her breast, praying with all her heart that the long dark lashes would flutter open. Her prayer fell on deaf ears. The child’s eyes remained determindedly closed; her lips were now blueish in colour. Tufts of hair escaped the silken cap, their darkness making her dead daughter’s waxy skin look even paler, when only a couple of hours earlier she had been a dark pink with her efforts to be born. Iselda wanted to touch the fairy-like fingers and toes again that had looked so perfect, so tiny, earlier. She was unaware that she was sharing her thoughts aloud.
‘We wrapped her up in the silks you’d made,’ Brennus admitted, then shrugged awkwardly. ‘It seemed right to do so.’
Iselda watched with a broken heart as Piven gently curled the little girl’s dark hair around his small fingers and smiled at his mother before he bent and gave the corpse a loud wet kiss on her forehead. His father eased him back onto his lap to give the queen a chance to say her final farewell to her daughter.
Iselda stroked