Briar stepped forward, bowing again. He glanced at Brennus, who nodded permission. ‘She was blessed, majesty. She died gently in the arms of our king — a little sigh and she drew her final soft breath. Lo has taken her, accepted her soul with love.’
The queen grimaced. ‘I wish he hadn’t, Father. I wish he’d given me even just a few more hours with her. I had barely moments before she was whisked away from me and now she’s dead. I can hardly remember how it felt to hold her while she breathed or fix a picture in my mind of how she looked when she was alive.’
Father Briar shifted uncomfortably. ‘Forgive me, highness. Perhaps it is Lo’s way.’
‘You mean our god deliberately steals her memory from my mind to make it easier on me when he steals her soul?’ Iselda asked, her expression hardening, lips thinning.
The priest looked between king and queen before awkwardly saying: ‘Yes, that’s a rather nice way to put it, your majesty. I may — if you’ll let me repeat that — use it in a sermon sometime.’
Brennus blinked and Iselda knew this to be a sign of frustration at the priest’s clumsiness. ‘Thank you, Father,’ the king said. He turned to her. ‘Enough?’
She shook her head, not even conscious of her tears. ‘I could never have enough of her.’
‘Just remember we have Leo to think about. He must be worried, confused as well. I don’t think he needs to see her but he will want to see you, know that you are safe.’
She sniffed, unable to tear her gaze away from the child. ‘You’re right. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. Bring him to me, Brennus. Let me smell the hair and kiss the pink skin of the living.’ She sounded resolute and Brennus thanked her with a squeeze to her hand.
‘Shall I take her?’
Iselda nodded, too frightened to speak, fearful that treacherous tears and fresh, uncontrollable emotion would threaten her fragile resolve. She bent and kissed the baby’s forehead. It felt like marble and her tears, which splashed onto the infant’s skin, rolled off, barely leaving a trace. No, there was no warmth, none of the porousness of life present — of that she was sure now and the tiny irrational flicker of hope guttered in her breast and died too. She gave her daughter a final squeeze, hating the stiffness of her tiny body and suddenly grateful to Brennus for having the child swaddled so tightly. She knew now that was his reason for doing so — so she would not have to feel rigour claiming her daughter.
And finally she handed the doll-like infant back to its father. ‘All this time I haven’t asked and you haven’t offered,’ she said sadly.
‘What, my love?’ he enquired, looking ashamed, she presumed because he genuinely didn’t know what she meant.
‘Share with me the name you gave our daughter.’
He found a sad smile and whispered it for her hearing alone.
‘Very beautiful,’ Iselda admitted. ‘A choice I certainly approve of. But I would now ask a favour of you, Brennus.’
‘Anything, my love.’
‘Send out an edict that no child of Penraven will ever bear that name from this day. It belongs only to her.’
He nodded. ‘It will be done, I promise.’
‘You’d best ask the funerary to prepare our tombs, including Leo’s. I can’t imagine we are long for this earth.’
‘Come now, Iselda. Rally, my queen, for the sake of your son. All is not lost. Loethar will have a tough time breaching our walls.’
‘How is that supposed to cheer me? Loethar has only to sit us out. Our supplies will dwindle soon enough.’
‘I promise you this: whatever happens, Leo will escape the tyrant’s touch.’
‘How can you know that? In the same way you knew that the barbarian could never succeed in taking the Set?’ It was a low blow but well deserved. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant to Loethar. The warlord had called his bluff. She wasn’t finished with him yet. ‘And your other son?’
‘The barbarian will not bother himself with the boy.’ Brennus took her hand.
She shrugged it off. ‘If you could keep that promise I could go to my death happy. But how can you be so sure?’
Brennus paused. She imagined he was weighing telling the truth against saying something to make her heart beat easier. ‘I have already taken steps for Leo’s escape. He doesn’t know it yet, of course, but should Loethar enter the palace, no matter what else occurs, Leo will be protected. In time he will carry the torch of the Valisars against the tyrant. We, my love, are expendable — as is Piven — and I intend to see that Loethar burns all his energies on enjoying my demise, while our healthy son slips his net.’
None of it sat easy in her heart, especially the betrayal of Piven. He was an invalid but he could still feel pain and fear. She was weary of grief. ‘Perhaps her death is for the best then,’ she said, as he opened the door to leave.
‘Why do you say that?’ he asked, glancing at the dead girl in his arms.
‘Because she would have been a complication to your plan. If she hadn’t have died, you might have had to have her killed … to be sure she would not be used as Loethar’s tool. I would offer Piven the same courtesy if I only had the courage.’
Brennus blanched, stared at her with such apology in his painful glance before he left wordlessly that in that heartstopping moment of his pause Iselda believed she had stumbled upon the real truth of her daughter’s demise. As the door closed on her chilling revelation the Queen of Penraven knew she had no further desire to live — the Valisar name and its sinister secret suddenly no longer mattered.
‘My sister’s dead,’ Leo said in the bald way that any twelve year old might comment.
Gavriel nodded. ‘I’m sorry for your family … for you, majesty.’
‘I was hoping for a brother — not like Piven, but one like you have.’
‘Girls are fun too,’ Gavriel replied, knowing the youngster probably wouldn’t catch on fully to his innuendo.
Leo screwed his nose up. ‘They’re not much good at fishing, archery, riding, fighting —’
‘Ha! Don’t you believe it, majesty,’ Gavriel said. ‘They’re pretty good at most things and very good at others.’
‘Like what?’
‘Er, well, like looking beautiful, smelling nice …’
The boy obviously thought about this for a few moments as Gavriel helped to hoist him up to balance perilously on his shoulders. ‘Get that one, your majesty,’ he said, pointing to a particularly fat, ripe-looking pear. The pear landed in Gavriel’s outstretched hand. ‘One more, over there.’
As he stretched to reach it, Leo continued, ‘Smelling good isn’t much help in a battle, though, is it?’
Gavriel liked the way Leo’s mind worked. He still had that direct, slightly unnerving manner of all children but the crown prince was a thinker and often amused Gavriel and Corbel with his opinionated insights. He was maturing fast, too. Gavriel was still young enough to recall how quickly one could turn from a youngster disinterested in anything but boyish pursuits into a young man whose every thought seemed to focus around women and enjoying them.
Gavriel could almost yearn for that carefree way of even five anni previous but it was lost to him. And not just because of the toll of years; Loethar was stealing the Set’s future, might well steal their lives if he was gauging the mood of his father and the king correctly. The palace was preparing for siege, and the word was already going out that, impossible though it seemed,