Ice-cold rain poured down in sheets. It had penetrated through Quilla’s heavy cloak and everything beneath. Her clothes clung to her shivering body, her hood to her hair, and her hair to the side of her face. Freezing water ran between her eyes and over her nose. It was horrible and she felt she might freeze to death at any moment. It was also somehow enjoyable.

It was like a mirror to her mood and that was appropriate.

People usually associated rage with heat, but really, cold was a better fit. Heat slowed a person down. Cold made them more alert and ready to move. Quilla was ready to tear the gate open if she needed to, both out of rage and a desire to get out of the cold.

Cold also fit being miserable, which was pretty much her eternal mood these days.

But she enjoyed the idea that the weather was just as miserable as she was, along with the possibility the man on the other side of the gate was even more miserable. If he wasn’t, she’d make sure he became more miserable by the time she was done with him.

She’d been through this gate many times in the past, but Garet had always been with her, and the gate might as well have opened of its own accord for him. The guards always moved fast to let him pass. On her own, the gate remained stubbornly closed, the guards making no move at all, nor this blasted courtier.

Maybe if she was lucky, the rain and sleet would strip the gold from the bars, to spite the family living on the other side. There was nothing Quilla would love more than to see their precious wealth gone—visibly gone, that is, so a dull grey gate would fit that desire perfectly.

“Name?” the courtier said.

Was he an idiot? “I told you my name. Quilla Steranovist, Prince Garet’s fiancée. I have an important message for the King. You must let me in to speak to him.”

“The King is a busy man, miss, and can’t meet with just anyone with no notice. If you’d like to petition for a formal audience—”

“I’m Prince Garet’s fiancée! The King will want to see me. I bear important news.”

“Can you prove your identity?”

Quilla steadied the quivering of her lips and spoke slowly. “The King knows me. He will recognise me when he sees me. Now, will you let me in?”

“I will deliver your request to his Majesty,” the courtier said.

Zandrue leaned over Quilla’s shoulder. “We’re all known to his Majesty. We can also confirm Quilla’s identity.”

Quilla waved her hand at Zandrue. “I can manage on my own, thank you.”

Zandrue backed off. “Sorry, just trying to help.”

The courtier had turned away and was mounting a waiting horse. He soon galloped off.

Quilla bit her lip and turned to Zandrue. “Sorry,” she spat—more harshly than she meant.

Zandrue raised her hands and backed off some more. “Think nothing of it.”

Quilla closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. She used to be so much calmer. When Garet had still been around. He’d always had a way of sucking her nervous energy into himself. She’d felt at such peace in his presence. When he wasn’t around, she reverted to impatience with everything. Now he was never around. Now he was… Gods, she could barely even think the word. Dead. That was the fucking word. Dead. Now he was dead, it was like she’d taken all his impatience into herself as well as her own. She wasn’t sure she liked herself like this.

Head hanging low, she walked back over to the small gazebo petitioners used while they waited. Rudiger huddled there, looking over the horses, which were tied up just outside the gazebo. Quilla began to pace, but there wasn’t much room, especially after Zandrue joined them, so she contented herself with giving one of the many bear carvings on one of the posts holding the gazebo up a solid kick. She wasn’t nearly strong enough to knock the gazebo over, but she could imagine she was. It wasn’t that she wanted to harm herself, Zandrue, and Rudiger by bringing the gazebo down on top of them. Just the idea of wanton destruction of royal property was comforting.

“They’ll let us in,” Rudiger said. “The Queen’s probably delaying things to annoy you.”

“It’s working.” She kicked another bear carving.

An eternity passed.

The wind picked up, blowing rain into the gazebo so there was no longer any way of keeping dry. Typical. The gods were deliberately making her life worse. It was the only explanation.

At last, the courtier returned on a different horse. He dismounted and approached the gate.

Quilla nudged Zandrue. “I actually wouldn’t mind support.” They approached the gate together.

The courtier was a tall, skinny Folith dressed in a soggy, heavy coat with the bear sigil of Arnor. At least he looked as affected by the weather as she was. Quilla had seen those coats dry and they looked a lot better than the one that now drooped and clung to his soaked body. She was also fairly certain she had seen him on previous occasions in the Royal Palace, though she wasn’t sure. He hadn’t even bothered to give her his name on this occasion.

He spoke as she and Zandrue reached the gate. “Their Majesties, the King and Queen have declared that you may not enter unless Prince Garet himself is here to verify your identity.”

Quilla grabbed the bars, ignoring how cold the metal was. “You know he’s not here! I’ve told you that! I have a message for the King about the Prince!”

Two guards moved to either side of the gate, hands on the hilts of their swords. Quilla removed her hands and stepped back. The guards let go of their swords and returned to their posts.

“They have also authorised me to carry any written messages Prince Garet may have sent with you,” the courtier said. “You may pass any such messages through the bars to me and I promise you, they will reach the King’s eyes.”

“There is no written message because...aargh!” She kicked the ground. Zandrue tried to grab her hand, but Quilla pushed aside and turned away from the gate.

“Look,” Zandrue said, “you said we could petition for an audience. Is that still possible?”

“It is,” the courtier replied.

“How long will that take?”

“It depends on the King’s schedule, but generally no more than a week or two.”

It was that bitch Queen. She was responsible. There was no doubt.

“Is there any way to expedite that?” Zandrue asked.

Quilla spun round and lunged at the gate. The guards be damned! “He’s dead, all right? He’s fucking dead! And if the King wants to know what happened to his son, then he’ll damn well see me because I’m not going to say another fucking word about it until he does! Got that?”

The courtier took a step back from the gate, shaking. Even the guards paused in their advance.

“D-dead?” the courtier stammered.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Zandrue nodded. “I’m afraid it’s true. You’d better go tell the King, and be quick about it.”

The courtier stumbled back to his horse, mounted, and took off.

Quilla screamed, fell to her knees, and pounded the ground. A hand—Zandrue’s—touched her back. Her first instinct was to push Zandrue away again, but she stopped herself. Instead, she stopped hitting the ground and put her arms around Zandrue, gripped her tightly, and wailed.

As best she could remember, there hadn’t been a day since leaving Getavin she hadn’t cried in Zandrue’s arms at some point. She’d held back the tears from Ninifin to Getavin, just long enough for Felitïa to be gone. She hadn’t been about to give Felitïa the satisfaction. But after that…

“This is all Felitïa’s fault.”

Felitïa had said to blame it on her, but Quilla doubted she’d meant it so literally, because as far as Quilla was concerned, Felitïa really was responsible. Not for Garet’s death—though she might as well have been—but for everything else. If she had come with them, they probably would have gotten in to see the King right away.

Or perhaps not. Felitïa had been banished, after all. But worst case scenario, she could have used her spells to get them in.

Quilla had trusted Felitïa. Trusted her completely. Considered her a friend. But then she’d not only refused to come to Garet, her own brother’s funeral, she’d also taken off with Quilla’s son. Quilla knew Corvinian hadn’t accepted her as his mother yet, but how was he supposed to get used to her if she couldn’t even see him? If he was on the other side of the fucking continent?

Zandrue had defended Felitïa’s actions, too. Every time Quilla remembered that, she did what she did now: pushed Zandrue away from her, wiped her tears—not an easy task in the driving rain—and turned away. She stormed back to the gazebo. “You might want to be ready to fight, Rudiger, because I’m about ready to start caving in a few faces, and when I do, the guards will come en masse.”

Rudiger glanced up at her and looked about to say something, but then laughed. Did he think this was a joke? “Borisin says he doubts it’ll be very effective, but he’s ready to help if you need him.”

Quilla looked at the big roan horse, who stared back at her for a moment. Then he shook his head, splashing water from his soaked mane all about, though it was barely noticeable amidst all the other rain. He snorted, and for a brief moment, Quilla felt like laughing. It had been an eternity since she’d last felt anything similar.

Then she remembered why she was here, and that she couldn’t tell the King his son was dead because of stupid politics and prejudices, and the feeling was gone.

Another eternity passed.

Quilla spent the entire time staring at puddles on the gazebo floor, and watching the rain hit them.

“Someone’s coming,” Zandrue said.

Quilla jumped to her feet and ran to the gate. Sure enough, a rider on horseback was approaching, though as the person got closer, it was clearly not the same courtier as before. The rider was inexperienced and had difficulty stopping the horse, and then needed help from the guards to dismount.

The rider was wearing drenched furs that clung to her tall, slender frame. Her normally curled blonde hair clung to the sides of her face and neck in thick, wet clumps, a pair of bright red ribbons threatening to slide out. Her wide, blue eyes were red and she sniffled as she approached.

“Hi Quilla,” Princess Sinitïa said. “Is it true?”

Quilla nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Mother’s really angry at you. She was yelling and saying she wants you banished like Felitïa. She says it’s all yours and Felitïa’s fault. And Father…” Sinitïa scrunched her face and squinted her eyes. “Father started to cry. I’ve never seen him cry before.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “And I cried, too, but I cry all the time, so that’s not really a big deal. But I can’t stop crying!”

Tears were forming in Quilla’s eyes again, and she sniffled in time with Sinitïa.

“Is Meleng here?” Sinitïa asked.

Quilla shook her head. “He was banished, remember? He couldn’t come.”

Sinitïa sniffled again and wiped her nose. “I know. I just thought maybe… It was silly.”

“I have a message for you from him, though.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

“It’s packed, but I’ll get it to you as soon as I have a chance to get out of the rain and go through my things. If they ever let us in.”

“I’ll let you in!” Sinitïa stepped back from the gate and called out, “Open the gate!”

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” one of the guards answered. “We need authorisation.”

“I’m giving you authorisation. They’re my friends. Let them in.”

“I’m sorry, your Highness. We have very specific orders that you cannot override. The gate stays closed until we have the proper authorisation.”

“But that’s not fair! They’re my friends. Annai gets to bring her friends in. So does Cerus and Gabriella and Malef and Pastrin and Thilin and everyone.”

“Sorry, your Highness. There’s nothing we can do.”

Sinitïa scowled.

“There’s someone else coming,” Zandrue said. “I think it’s our friend from earlier.”

Sure enough, another rider was approaching the gate.

“He’s sure as hell not my friend,” Quilla said.

“You weren’t supposed to come up here, were you?” Zandrue said.

Sinitïa looked at the ground and shook her head.

The courtier dismounted. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t be here. The Queen is worried sick. You’ll have to come back with us.” He went over to one of the guards, taking out a sealed piece of parchment from inside his heavy coat. He handed it to the guard.

The guard looked at it, broke the seal, and read the contents before the rain made the ink unreadable. “Open the gate! King’s order! Open the gate!”

Two guards on the inside ran up to the gate, one with a key he slid into the lock. Sinitïa and the courtier backed up far enough for the guards to pull the gate open. Rudiger began gathering the reins of the horses as Quilla walked straight into the Palace grounds. She walked straight up to the courtier.

“You will follow me,” the courtier said. “Do not—”

Quilla slapped him with every ounce of strength she had. He reeled back several steps.

Sinitïa gasped.

The nearest guard put his hand on his sword and moved towards Quilla. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed at him.

The guard didn’t stop moving. His hand gripped the sword hilt, and he started to unsheath it just as Zandrue stepped between him and Quilla, a hand on her own sword. “You heard her.”

The courtier came forwards again, hands raised, palms outwards. “It’s all right. Leave her be.”

The guard backed off.

The courtier turned back to his horse. “Please mount your horses and follow me.”

Rudiger led Tepin and Lucinda over. He handed Tepin’s reins to Quilla and Lucinda’s to Zandrue.

“That horse looks familiar,” Zandrue said, indicating the horse Sinitïa had ridden up on.

“It’s Livia,” Sinitïa said. “Felitïa’s horse. She won’t mind, will she?”

Zandrue smiled. “I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.”

Quilla mounted Tepin and rode straight out, past the courtier.

“Miss, please follow—”

Quilla ignored him. She knew the way and she wasn’t about to waste any more time on that ass.

She used to enjoy the Palace grounds and gardens, but now they were just reminders of a life now gone. For the entire mile to the Palace, she paid her surroundings no more attention than was necessary to keep Tepin on the path. She didn’t even look back to see if the others were still there, though she did catch sight of Rudiger and Borisin as she circled around the Great Bear Fountain. They weren’t far behind—probably holding back a bit to give her space. Wise move.

A crowd of servants was waiting in the courtyard when she arrived. Several of them rushed over to her, one offering his hand to help her dismount. Quilla ignored him. As soon as she was on the ground, the others took Tepin and led him away.

Quilla headed straight for the line of soldiers on the Palace steps. Behind her, Borisin made protesting whinnies as servants tried to take him, but she still didn’t look back. She walked straight past the soldiers to a pair of men at the top. The elderly, mostly bald man she recognised: Ardon, Patriarch of the Universal Church. She recognised the other man too, though she wasn’t sure of his name. A high-ranking member of the Kingsguard, he stood tall with brown hair and a trimmed moustache. If Quilla remembered correctly, he had helped bring Felitïa to Arnor City what seemed an aeon ago.

The Kingsguard snapped to attention as she approached. “My Lady, his Majesty the King awaits you. Please follow me.”

She let him lead. Although she knew her way around the Palace well, it was a big place and there was no telling where the King would be right now.

Ardon fell in beside her. “My condolences,” he whispered.

Quilla bit her lip to stop from saying something nasty, which was all she could think of to say to anyone right now, and Ardon didn’t deserve it. She’d save her bile for the Queen.

The King was waiting for her in the audience chamber. Typical. They were going to do an extremely personal thing in a place of formalities. The Queen’s hand was behind this, Quilla was sure.

The King slouched in the Bear Throne, his face and eyes red. Queen Annai sat beside him, the permanent scowl on her face deeper than ever. She had one hand on the King’s, while her other scratched and prodded at her neck and chin.

Several of the King’s children stood in the room in front of the thrones. Princes Malef, Pastrin, and Thilin stood side-by-side. Quilla had never really gotten to know those three—they spent most of their time hunting—though Thilin had always got on well with Garet, so she knew him a little better than the other two.

Standing apart from the three princes was Princess Annai. She was wearing a purple mourning veil at odds with the low-cut flowery gown she was wearing. The mismatch was likely because she hadn’t had time to change since learning the news and had simply thrown the veil on, though Quilla found it disgustingly disrespectful.

She wondered where Cerus was. He was good at de-escalating situations, and she suspected his skills would be needed soon.

Gabriella was missing too, though she was often away. A shame. Quilla liked her.

Armed and armoured guards were spaced along the perimeter of the hall, ready to rush to the King and Queen’s defence if necessary. Quilla paid them little mind. She strode across the hall and knelt at the foot of the steps to the thrones, near the feet of Prince Pastrin. She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “Your Majesties, thank you for agreeing to see me.”

The Queen scowled down at her. “We have agreed to see you because of the nature of the news you claim to bring. This had better not be a trick.”

Quilla bit her bottom lip. “A trick? Why would I lie about something like this?”

“How should I know? Perhaps just a desperate ploy to get in here when Garet’s not with you. Did he discard you finally? Are you here trying to cling to something you can never have? No one here ever expected your marriage to happen. Garet was bound to bore of you eventually.”

Quilla could only stare at her.

“Assuming what you say is true, where is his body? The King would like to see it.”

“I—”

“Captain DeSeloön, what of the body?”

Quilla glared at the Queen, and held back an outburst.

The Kingsguard who had led her here stepped forwards. “They do not have a body with them.”

The Queen leaned forward and looked back down at Quilla. “No body?”

“There was no—”

“You have the gall not to bring the body back here for a proper burial in his family mausoleum? What did you do with it? Leave it on the road somewhere to rot?”

That was it. “Oh shut the fuck up, you stupid, pathetic woman.”

Princess Annai gasped.

“How dare you—” the Queen began.

Quilla jumped to her feet. “How dare I? How dare you? If you’d give me half a chance to explain what happened, you might get some answers. Instead, all you can be bothered with is your own personal grudge against me. You’re sad and pathetic, so shut up and let the grown-ups talk.”

“I will not tolerate—”

“Yes, you will. Banish me if you must when I’m done, but you are going to listen to every word I have to say first, or I will hound you for the rest of my days.”

The Queen sprang to her feet. “No. I will decide when you speak and when you do not. You have no authority here. Just because you managed to charm yourself into Garet’s bed does not give you access to his birthright. Captain DeSeloön, arrest this whore. I want her out of my sight.”

“Don’t you ever call me that again.”

“What, whore? Yes, Garet and Felitïa both said something similar and where did that get them? Dead or banished.”

Quilla moved towards the Queen, but Captain DeSeloön grabbed her arm. “My Lady, don’t make this harder on yourself.”

Malef, Pastrin, and Thilin stepped closer to each other to block the way to the Queen. Thilin gave Quilla a sad smile.

She pulled herself free of DeSeloön’s grasp, though she didn’t continue towards the Queen. Zandrue, Rudiger, and Sinitïa stood just inside the doors of the room now. She didn’t want to get them in trouble too, so for the moment, she let her anger stew.

“Perhaps I might intercede for a moment.” Patriarch Ardon stepped in front of Quilla.

The Queen rolled her eyes. “You always do.”

“There has been a terrible tragedy and we are all naturally distraught and on edge. Perhaps we should first take a moment to learn what has happened. That way, we may know where to direct our grief.” He looked to King Wavon. “Your Majesty, what is your verdict in this regard?”

The King shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he stood up and motioned the Princes and Patriarch Ardon aside. The Queen watched him, her upper lip trembling, as he descended the steps to Quilla. He spread his arms. “May I?”

Quilla bit her lip again. She hadn’t expected this. She almost shook her head no. How could she let him touch her after this charade of an audience. But he’d always been good to her in the past—provided she ignored how much he let the Queen get away with. So she nodded.

The King embraced her in a tight bear hug. Just as she thought she might lose all sensation in her upper arms, he let go and kissed her forehead. Then he returned to the Bear Throne, slumping back again as soon as he’d sat down.

“Your Majesty,” Quilla began, but the King held up his hand.

“You will have a chance to speak.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I know that, of all people here, you have lost the most, more even than I have, and at the moment, I find it hard to imagine loss greater than mine.” He leaned forward and took the Queen’s hand. “Annai, as Ardon said, we are all distraught with grief. Can we not find compassion and lenience at this time?”

The Queen looked at him, her lip still trembling. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped as tears began to flow down her face. She nodded once, then turned away, shifting in her seat and turning her head so that very little of her face was visible to the rest of the room.

Quilla resisted the urge to spit at the woman. Was she really going to play for sympathy?

“Captain DeSeloön,” the King said, “you may disregard the order to arrest Miss Steranovist.”

Captain DeSeloön bowed.

“Now then, Quilla, I would like…” The King paused as his voice cracked some more. He wiped a tear from his eye. “I would like to hear what happened to my son.”

Quilla bowed. Now that the moment had arrived, she wasn’t sure where to start. Her lips had gone dry and felt like they would crack with any movement. She tried to wet them, but couldn’t produce any saliva. Her whole mouth had gone dry. No matter. Best to get on with it.

So she told them what had happened in Ninifin.

* * * * *

The rain had stopped, but it was still grey and gloomy out. Like Quilla still felt. It was appropriate. She didn’t want the sun to come out. She didn’t want the world to look happy while she was so miserable.

Standing on Garet’s balcony in the chill air made her shiver, but being in the cold was preferable right now to being inside by the fire. She was more isolated here. Anybody who wanted her had to travel just a little bit farther to reach her.

She had stood on this balcony with Garet many times before: in the morning after waking up, in the evening before going to bed, before and after making love, or any other time the random mood hit them. That was one of the things she’d loved most about Garet: his ability to decide to do something out of the blue. He’d grab her hand and suggest going for a walk, or into Arnor City to watch a concert, or to a tavern for a few drinks. Sometimes, it was to go onto the balcony and watch the sunset. Garet hadn’t been one for planning his life in much detail. He simply made it up as he went along. It drove the rest of his family mad, but she loved it. It had made her feel alive.

And now he was gone, she felt so lifeless.

“Would you like some refreshments, my Lady?”

Quilla didn’t look back at the girl, just continued to stare off the balcony towards where the setting sun would be if it wasn’t so overcast and was about five hours in the future. “No, that’s all right, Marna. Thank you.”

“As you wish, I’ll just be inside.”

“I know. Thank you.”

The King had assigned the girl to her after consultation with Ardon. Marna had been Felitïa’s handmaid on Scovese. The King and Ardon must have thought Quilla would appreciate the gesture, but they didn’t know she wasn’t very happy with Felitïa right now, and having Felitïa’s servant working for her only reminded her of times gone by.

Everything here reminded her of times gone by, or a life now gone. Coming here had been necessary, and staying here awhile longer until Garet’s funeral was also necessary, but a part of her understood Felitïa’s reluctance to come. Part of her wanted to leave and run far away. But a reluctance to be here was not the same thing as actually not being here, and she couldn’t forgive Felitïa for that.

A gust of cold wind blew over her. With another shiver, she decided she should go back inside. Back to the sitting room where Marna had set up a wine tray in the corner and where Garet used to pace back and forth for ages. The sitting room which contained doors to Garet’s dressing room, study, lounge, the closet upstairs, and the bedroom. The bedroom with the bed they’d shared, the bed she’d loved and now couldn’t bear to look at.

No. She should go back inside, but there were too many memories there. She couldn’t do it.

But she’d freeze out here.

She shivered a few moments longer. She needed a distraction.

Meleng’s letter for Sinitïa.

She strode into the sitting room, past Marna, and over to where her supplies lay in a lump by the door. She had just tossed them there and hadn’t done anything with them yet. She’d also told Marna not to touch them. She found the bag she was reasonably certain she’d put the letter in. Meleng had given it to her in a rush as they were getting off the ship at the docks, and she’d just stuffed it away.

“My Lady?” Marna said. “Do you need assistance?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you, Marna.” Quilla carried the bag over to the wine table and placed it beside the pitcher and goblets there. As she ruffled through the contents, she knock a couple goblets onto the floor, but she really didn’t care about them right now. The letter was a bit crumpled, but it had stayed dry, and that was the main thing.

“I’m going out, Marna. I have an errand to run. I’ll be back...when I’m back.”

Marna curtsied. “Of course, my Lady.”

It wasn’t hard getting in to see Sinitïa. The Princess eagerly let her in despite protestations from her bodyguards.

“Mother said I couldn’t go see her, not that she couldn’t come to me,” Sinitïa told one of the guards. “You can stand by the door and watch if you want, but she gets to come in.”

As Sinitïa led her farther into the sitting room, Quilla leaned in close and whispered, “You know, he’s just going to tell your mother and then I really won’t be allowed in.”

Sinitïa shrugged. “That’ll happen anyway. I get to see you once. I want to see you now.”

Quilla smiled briefly. Even amid the greatest misery, Sinitïa could draw out a sliver of happiness.

Sinitïa’s apartments had the same basic layout as Garet’s, but the sitting room couldn’t have been more different. Garet had never been one for much decoration, so his apartments had been fairly spartan until Quilla had arrived. Quilla had added a bit of decoration: a few plants here and there, and a couple of additional paintings for the walls.

Sinitïa’s sitting room, on the other hand was full of clutter. There was an actual seating area pushed against one wall with a couple of paint-splattered chairs. Throughout the rest of the room stood several easels, each with partially finished paintings on them. Stacks of canvas, jars of brushes, and buckets of paint lay in various places. Paintings covered the walls and scores more sat in stacks on the floor or leaning against the walls. Many of the hanging paintings were portraits of the King and other family members, but there were also numerous landscape scenes—mostly of the Palace gardens—and several paintings of dogs, cats, and other animals.

Sinitïa herself was wearing a paint-splattered apron over an equally paint-splattered kirtle. Her fingers were smudged with paint and her cheeks bore a couple of streaks presumably caused by tears running through paint specks.

Sinitïa took Quilla’s hand, her fingers sticky. She led Quilla to a table containing an artist’s palette, several jars of paint, and a dozen or more brushes. “I’m going to paint a portrait of Garet for his funeral. I have several others, but they’re not very good because he would never sit still. But I thought if I use those as references, I can paint him from memory and do a better job. I hope. What do you think of these shades?” She indicated several blobs of brown paint on the palette.

Quilla stared at the paint. Some were a little darker; others a little brighter.. For the most part, she couldn’t tell much difference. She should probably say something, though. “Are they for his hair?”

“His hair, his eyes. It depends.” Sinitïa pointed to the different blobs. “These ones might work for his hair depending on how I set up the lighting. This one here with the extra yellow might work for his eyes if they’re reflecting the light just right. I’m just experimenting with possibilities for the moment before I start the actual painting. Is that Meleng’s letter?”

Quilla smirked and held up the letter. “It is.”

Sinitïa beamed.

Quilla motioned to the chairs against the other wall. “Let’s sit down, shall we?”

“Della!” Sinitïa called out. “Wine please!”

As Quilla took a seat, one of Sinitïa’s handmaids approached with a tray of goblets. Quilla hadn’t noticed Sinitïa’s handmaids at first, but several were emerging from behind canvas stacks and easels.

Quilla took a goblet as three other handmaids surrounded Sinitïa. The Princess raised her arms as one lifted the apron off her. A second dabbed at Sinitïa’s cheeks with a cloth, wiping away the paint-tear streaks, while the third wiped one hand and then the other. They did it with practised precision. Sinitïa didn’t even stop walking towards the chairs as the handmaids did their work.

When she reached the chairs, the three handmaids backed away while Della offered the tray to her. She shook her head, and Della backed away. Sinitïa sat down and looked expectantly at Quilla.

Quilla sipped the wine. It was sweeter than the variety Garet had usually kept his apartments stocked with. She liked it. She should send Marna to get some of the same kind. “Not having any?”

Sinitïa shrugged. “I don’t really like wine that much. Besides, I’m too excited to drink anything right now.” Her gaze moved to the letter now in Quilla’s lap.

Quilla took another sip, then handed the letter to Sinitïa. “Before you open it, you should know…” She looked over to Della, then back at Sinitïa.

Sinitïa stared at her waiting.

Quilla nodded back towards Della again.

Sinitïa’s gaze moved to Della then back to Quilla. “What’s the matter? Do you want more? Della, bring her more wine.”

Quilla shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I’ve got loads. I just…” She nodded once more towards Della, who was backing away after having just started to come forward.

Sinitïa shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

Quilla sighed and leaned towards Sinitïa. “I need to tell you something privately.”

Sinitïa’s eyes widened and she smiled. “Oh! You should have just said.” She waved Della away. “You and the others wait in your chambers.”

Della curtsied, and she and the other handmaids withdrew.

“What did you want to tell me?” Sinitïa asked.

“Just that Meleng’s in Arnor City.”

Sinitïa’s eyes widened even more. “He is?”

Quilla put a finger to her lips. “Only for a short time, but no one can know because he’s banished, remember? He’s not supposed to be in the city, so don’t tell anyone, especially Annai or your mother.”

Sinitïa nodded multiple times. “What’s he doing?”

“He probably tells you in the letter.” Quilla took another sip of wine. Her goblet was getting low and she realised her sips had been somewhat larger and longer. She should have asked Della to leave the wine tray.

Sinitïa broke the seal on the letter and leafed through the pages. “It’s so long.”

“Well, you know Meleng and his books.”

Sinitïa stopped leafing and stared at the first page.

Quilla took another sip of wine.

“I’m not a very good reader.” Sinitïa held the page closer to her face and squinted. “His writing’s really neat though. I like when writing is neat, ’cause then I can read it. Father’s writing is messy. I can’t read it at all.”

Sinitïa continued to stare at the letter for a while. Eventually she made a small squeal. “He says Nin-Akna wants me to know she’s taken good care of him and…” She squinted at the page again. “‘She...has...not...let...me...go...far… be...be…’ I’m not sure what the next word is. ‘Be..ya...yond. Beyond!’ That’s it! ‘She has not let me go far beyond her sight.’ Isn’t that nice?”

“Mm.” Quilla took another sip and finished the goblet as Sinitïa sounded out more words. A few minutes passed and Sinitïa was still on the first page. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

“Would you?”

Quilla placed her empty goblet on the small table beside her chair. It was unlike her to finish a drink so quickly. Garet could be a big drinker, but she could usually nurse a single cup of wine for hours. She held out her hand.

Sinitïa held the letter out to her, and Quilla scanned it quickly for where Sinitïa had left off. The Princess was right; Meleng’s writing was very neat. For some reason, Quilla had expected Meleng to be a messy writer. Maybe it was just an expectation she had of scholarly people.

She was about to start reading when it occurred to her there might be something private in the letter. No, Meleng was the type who would be too embarrassed to write about private things, especially if it was to express attraction or love. Besides, Meleng insisted he wasn’t interested in those sorts of things, though Quilla doubted that. She was sure he only said that to hide his embarrassment, though Felitïa believed it and Felitïa could read minds. Damn Felitïa.

Garet had once written the most wonderful letter when he’d gone away for a few days. He had never been afraid to say what he felt, and there had been some raunchy bits to the letter.

“There are some big words in it,” Sinitïa said. “Meleng’s really smart.”

Quilla wiped away a fresh tear. “Yes, some big words. I’ve got it now though.”

She began to read. It was mostly an abbreviated account of what had happened in Ninifin and then a description of what Meleng and Jorvan would be doing in Isyaria.

“I wish I could go to Isyaria,” Sinitïa said. “It must be so beautiful there and so much to paint.”

Quilla looked longingly at her empty goblet. Reading aloud had dried her mouth again. “It’ll be a while before they get a ship. Maybe if you went into the city to find them, they’d take you along.”

“You think so?”

Quilla grimaced. That hadn’t been a wise thing to say. She had never been able to handle large amounts of drink. It had only been one goblet, but she’d drunk it so much faster than she was used to.

She shook her head. “They might, but as I think about it, it would be hard to find them. Arnor City is a big place, and they might have already found a ship anyway. Sorry.”

Sinitïa frowned. “That’s okay. Mother would never let me go anyway.” She sighed. “I do wish I could see him though. I’ve got a new painting I want to give him. It’s over here.” She leapt to her feet and rushed over to one of the many stacks in the room. “Now where did I put it?”

“Sinitïa, can I ask you a personal question?” Quilla asked.

“If you want, sure. Here it is!” She held up a painting and turned it towards Quilla. It was a painting of Meleng and Felitïa. “I had to do it from memory.”

The angle and distance wasn’t very good, so it was hard to take a good look at it, but it looked good enough to Quilla’s untrained and slightly tipsy eyes. “It looks fine.”

Sinitïa beamed and hugged the painting against her chest as she skipped back over to the chairs. “You wanted to ask a question?”

Quilla hesitated. Was it right to probe this way?

Sinitïa looked on, still clutching the painting to her chest.

“Do you love Meleng?”

Sinitïa scrunched her nose and her smile drooped a little. “Yes, of course I do.”

Quilla nodded. She’d thought so.

“He’s my friend, but that’s not what you mean, is it?”

Quilla grimaced.

“You mean in the mushy, get married way. Mother says I have to get married one day, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to have children either. Annai does, and she says I should too. She says Meleng’s only nice to me because he wants to sleep with me, and when she says sleep, she doesn’t mean sleep. She means sex. But I know she’s wrong. Meleng’s my friend, and I love him. But I don’t want to have sex with him and he doesn’t want to have sex with me, and I like that.” She smiled. “Okay?”

Quilla sighed. “Sorry to pry.” Damn Felitïa! She’d been right there, too. It was a silly thing to be bothered by. It had been one brief moment on Scovese and Quilla had mostly forgotten about it until now. But she needed Felitïa to be wrong about something. Just one thing.

Sinitïa held up the painting and turned it so she could look at it herself. “That’s okay. I just don’t like how everyone thinks Meleng isn’t honest. Even Father thinks Meleng wants to court me. He’s hardly even met Meleng.”

Quilla nodded, then looked away from Sinitïa. She hated herself for adding more to what Sinitïa’s family was already doing to her.

Sinitïa held the picture out to her. “You can have it if you want. No, wait. I’ve got a better one for you.” She spun around and rushed across the room. She put the painting on top of a stack of paintings, then started going through another stack. A short while later, she grabbed another painting and rushed back to Quilla, holding it up.

It was a painting of Garet. Just his face. He was grinning in the way he did when he was excited about something. Quilla wiped a tear from her eye.

“It’s not the best, but you can have it. You can have the new one, too, when it’s finished.”

The likeness was very good. She’d even gotten the small scar over his left eyebrow that almost no one noticed. If this was what she considered “not the best”, Quilla had to wonder what she considered the best.

Quilla wiped away more tears and took the painting. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

Sinitïa hugged her. “Thank you for bringing me Meleng’s letter.”

* * * * *

Quilla stumbled into Garet’s apartments sometime later. She had taken a circuitous route in order to find out the kind of wine Sinitïa had—it only occurred to her after she left Sinitïa’s that she should have just asked Sinitïa’s handmaids. Luckily, most locations in the Palace had servants with wine trays on hand at all hours, so she was able to find out the name of the wine. None of them had that particular kind with them, but she could send Marna to fetch it.

She had drunk another goblet of what they had on her way back though. Or maybe it was two. Very unlike her, but comforting.

“Marna, I’d like you—”

“Apologies for interrupting, my Lady,” Marna said, “but his Grace, the Patriarch is here to see you.” Marna nodded to the seats in the centre of the room.

Ardon lounged in a chair, holding a wine goblet. A small stack of papers sat on the low table in front of him. He didn’t look over, though it seemed clear he was listening. He took a sip of his wine.

Quilla handed her empty goblet to Marna and hurriedly adjusted her kirtle. “Thank you, Marna.” She did her best to stand tall and straight, then strode towards the Patriarch. “Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. “That’s quite all right. I gave no notice.”

Quilla sat in the chaise longue across from him. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

He gave her a smile and held up his wine goblet. “Your handmaid has kept me comfortable.” He took another sip, then motioned to Marna. “Some for your Lady as well.”

“Oh that’s…” Quilla hesitated. What the hell. One more cup. “Yes, wine please, Marna.”

Marna curtsied and hurried to the wine table, where she filled the goblet Quilla had handed her, then brought it over.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Ardon said, “but there are a few time-sensitive things we should discuss.”

“Of course, your Grace. What do you wish to discuss?”

He took a sip of wine, then placed the goblet on the table and picked up some of the papers. “First, there’s the matter of the funeral. I wanted to know if you have any specific desires or requests, or if Garet made any requests himself before his death. It would be good to know these things before the Queen plans the whole thing.” He motioned to Marna, who brought him a pen and ink jar.

Quilla hadn’t thought about the funeral. She’d been so focused on getting here so there could be a funeral that she hadn’t stopped to think about what the funeral would be like. She thought a moment. “Since we don’t have his body, there should be some sort of physical memorial there. I’m not sure what exactly. It doesn’t have to be fancy. I’d actually prefer it wasn’t fancy. He wasn’t a fancy person.”

Ardon jotted down a couple notes. “Very well. Anything else?”

“Not really. Do whatever you’d normally do for a dead prince.”

Ardon half-shrugged and jotted down another note. “A dead prince is hardly a normal event, but I take your meaning. Now then, as regards the circumstances of Prince Garet’s death, I get the impression you didn’t tell his family everything. I’d like to know what you left out.”

Quilla forced a smile, then took a sip of wine. She had left things out, choosing to focus on only the most pertinent details. Garet’s parents and sibling didn’t need to know about Felitïa’s Will-Breaker stuff or Corvinian’s unusual powers. She’d just said the Volgs had kidnapped her son and Garet went to Ninifin with Felitïa to rescue him.

The Queen had not been happy to learn of Felitïa’s involvement, although she claimed to have suspected it. Quilla had let her declare Garet’s death Felitïa’s fault just like Felitïa had said to do. Quilla even embellished on it a little.

“Was this Felitïa’s idea?” the Queen had asked.

“Mostly,” Quilla replied. “Felitïa came to Garet asking for his help, but Garet was eager to help. It was my son they were looking for, after all. He didn’t need any convincing. He would have done anything to get my son back for me.”

“Stop trying to diminish Felitïa’s role,” the Queen snapped. “She was always a master of manipulating people as a child, and she seems no different now. What was it the Volgs called her? Will-Wrecker? Something like that.”

“I don’t know anything about that, your Majesty. However, Felitïa was always very secretive, and she liked to be in control and make all the decisions. She and Garet clashed a few times. Now I think about it, she might have used magic to win those battles.”

It shocked Quilla now just how easily she had made up parts of the story to make Felitïa look bad and how readily the Queen had believed it. She would have to tell Ardon the truth now, though.

“This could take awhile,” she said.

Ardon dipped his pen in the ink jar. “I have time.”

Quilla stared at her wine. How many cups had she had now? This was the first one here, right? She sighed and motioned Marna over to her. If she was going to go through all this again, she was going to go full Garet. She downed the remaining contents of the goblet and held it out for Marna to refill. “Stay with me.” Marna curtsied and stood beside her as she began to tell the tale in full.

* * * * *

Sometime later, Ardon was gone and Quilla was stretched out on the chaise longue. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed or when Ardon had left. It was all a little hazy.

She remembered sending Marna to acquire some of that wine Sinitïa had, the name of which had slipped her mind. She was fairly sure she had remembered it when sending Marna though, and that was the main thing. Even if she hadn’t, Marna was a smart girl and could probably find the right one.

She was also reasonably certain she hadn’t left anything out of her story for Ardon, though she couldn’t quite remember telling all of it. She did remember...oh dear. She’d said some nasty things about Felitïa.

Ardon had started it. Well, not really, but he had asked questions about Felitïa. Quilla couldn’t quite remember the specifics right now, but at one point, she had gotten fed up of all the attention to Felitïa. “You know what? Fuck Felitïa. I’m sick and tired of talking about her. It’s always Felitïa this or Felitïa that. Some people love her and others hate her, but everybody always wants to talk about her. Zandrue always talks about her. The Queen always talks about her. Hell, even Garet spent a lot of time talking about her towards the end. So did I. And my son chose to go with her instead of his mother. He specifically requested it. So fuck her. Fuck the Will-Breaker. Fuck everything about her.”

She couldn’t remember Ardon’s reaction, but he liked Felitïa, didn’t he? He used to be her teacher once, didn’t he? What if he told Felitïa what she’d said. Quilla didn’t hate Felitïa. Not really. Not deep down. She just hated her for the moment. It would pass eventually. Probably. Maybe.

She placed her feet on the floor and sat up. The room spun around her, so she lay back down again. This was probably Felitïa’s fault, too. Even if it wasn’t, she was sure she could spin it as Felitïa’s fault. The Queen would believe it. Quilla snickered.

The doors opened, but Quilla paid little mind. It would be Marna returning with the wine.

“Why yes, your Majesty, didn’t you know that Felitïa invented wine? She put the fucking alcohol in it specifically to get me and other people drunk. What a horrible person she is. You should have her arrested on charges of...of...what should the charges be? Treason?” She giggled.

Gods, she complained about Ardon focusing too much on Felitïa, and here she was, thinking about Felitïa. She thought about Felitïa a lot.

“Marna, bring me some of that wine.”

She looked over towards the door, but it wasn’t Marna there.

The man who stood there was a short Eloorin with tawny brown skin and dark blonde hair, the bangs combed over his forehead to just above his eyebrows. A long scar ran down the right side of his face from the corner of his cold blue eye to his chin. He hadn’t had that the last time she’d seen him, but everything else about him was exactly as she remembered. He didn’t even look any older.

“No. Please no.” This was the last thing she needed. A reminder of another life now gone, but one she never wanted to return to.

Why did Garet have to die?

“Hello, Quilla,” Dyle said. “It’s been a long time.”