Tag: The Last Vhalgenn

In the shadows of war and under the weight of royal secrets, a single moment changes destiny. As the Queen of Qarth and Kellindahr lies in a fragile state, a simple request shatters the soft veneer of tranquility, leaving Raik caught in a web of loyalty and fear for what the future may hold.

From Chapter Two:

At midnight, I woke with a church bell chiming in the distance. I was sitting on a stone floor with Orix's head on my lap. Cyrus stooped beside me, a scarecrow in brocade, hair sticking out of his nightcap like straw spun of pure silver.

"Brought ye some hot cider." He pressed an earthen mug into my hand. While I drank, he wrapped my shoulders with a heavy cloak, a similar one already thrown over Orix. "Not so chilled now, eh?" His widely spaced teeth sparkled in a crooked smile. "Good. Now you go yonder and rest." He nodded toward a pallet by the door. "I'll sit with him."

He knew I wouldn't argue—it would wake Orix—and managed to slide a hand under our sovereign's head while I slid out from beneath him. I made use of the water closet hidden in the wall and then stretched out on the pallet. I fell deep into exhausted sleep.

One of Dahr's women shook me awake later and had to tell me twice that the queen had summoned me before I would believe it. Cyrus, asleep sitting up, did not see me leave. Feet dragging, knuckling my eyes, I followed the woman into the queen's bedchamber.

Dahr lay flat, legs raised with a pile of pillows. Her ashen face was bleak. Grim exhaustion tugged at the corners of her mouth. Dahr's Lady in Waiting touched the queen's hand and Dahr's eyes fluttered open. After a struggle, she focused on me.

Recognition replaced the glazed dazzle of sleep and she arched her brows at her Lady. The woman dropped a polite curtsey and left, shooing out several other women in the room. Kellindahrii, judging by their clothes.

"Please." Dahr whispered. "Sit."

I sat on a stool next to the bed, wincing at its hardness on my still-sore rear. A yawn fought for possession of my mouth.

She touched my arm. "How's Orix?"

"Worried. He's sleeping outside. Shall I get him?"

"No!" She clutched my rough hand with her dainty one; eyes squeezed shut, tears darkening her lashes.

"Are you in pain? Shall I call the doctors?"

She rocked her head back and forth, lips bitten together.

I patted her hand, smarting with my own uselessness. A soldier can dress an honest battle wound and dress it with herbs, grease, and bandages. But to watch a frail woman suffer, bleeding senselessly, dying a tiny piece at a time... How could I even offer comfort? If she died... I refused to think of that. Or of where Orix would look for consolation.

She tightened her grip on my hand, slim fingers digging into my skin. "Promise me."

I leaned closer, straining to hear, afraid of what she was about to say. I sensed she was waiting for me to speak. "Promise what, Your Majesty?"

"Promise me. First."

The soldier in me prompted obedience, but the part of me schooled to love Orix screamed warnings. I compromised. "So long as it violates no law, nor any oath I've sworn to Qarth or Kellindahr, I'll swear it."

She let out a long sigh, and relaxed her grip. For a moment I thought she slept.

"Take him," she whispered. "Take him home."

"Who? You mean Orix?" I went down on one knee, my ear close to her mouth, but I missed her next words. "I don't understand. Are you..."

"Him." Her voice was as weak as a third echo. "Him. Take him home." She moved her other hand, revealing a bundled babe hidden beside her.

I know my mouth dropped open. I heard my own choked gasp as I staggered to my feet.

The Queen of Qarth and Kellindahr had given birth and no one had called the King? As if she heard my thoughts, she clutched my robe.

"Don't tell him, Raik! Please don't! Don't call Orix in here!"

Her desperation triggered something deep within me, instinct perhaps. It rose up like panic or dread, cutting off my ability to speak. There could only be one reason—something amiss with the babe.