Page 43 of Court of Bone and Amethyst

“I am Owyn Saorsen, and this is my apprentice Merla Effani,” Owyn says. He looks to me as if he will announce me, but Zyren’s voice cuts in.

“This,” he says, pointing to me, his voice thunder and flame, “Is Sarielle Otreyas, Queen of Valaron. Wielder of nightmares and Lady of the Court of Bone. You owe her your fealty.”

The baron’s gaze rests on me briefly without interest before shifting to Zyren. “And you? What is your name?”

Zyren’s expression is that of a brewing storm about to break loose. “I have not visited the Court of Memory in many years, but I am known here, and across all of Valaron, as Shadow Storm of the Order of Guardians.”

“You have traveled a very long way, guardian,” Baron Ethanas says. I can’t quite read his tone, but the look in his eyes is as cold as the ice beneath our feet. “Follow me.”

We urge the horses forward, and my gaze moves across the massive compound as we walk. The perimeter walls form a huge square, the space within many acres in size. A small village sits inside the walls, and I catch sight of a blacksmith, a leathery, and several other shops as we follow the road through the center of it. The castle looms over it all, built with four huge corner towers, and several taller towers within which spike toward the blue sky. The black house flag flies from each.

I feel the weight of many eyes upon us as we ride through the space. People stop and whisper into each other’s ears as we pass. Their countenance is as cold as the baron’s. These are a people not fond of visitors, or at least, not fond of us. An odd prickle moves across my skin as I realize that I am queen toallof these people. From the far stretches of the north to the deserts of the south, the Forever Mountains and the eastern seas. It’s hard to think about it even when we’re riding alone through thewilderness, but here, now, being presented as queen to these people, as their ruler, my heart climbs into my throat.

But I cannot save Valaron unless I step into my fate. I did not ask for this, but I will carry the burden.

We stop just before the castle doors, two huge oaken slabs which are opened outward. Baron Ethanas looks over at us. “Our servants will take care of your horses. Leave them here and follow me.”

We dismount and hand our reins to several servants wearing full livery, and then we follow the baron through the doors of the castle, an entourage of warriors at our backs. Zyren walks so close to my side I can feel the heat from his body, and he casts a dark look over his shoulder at those behind, a warning to any who stray too close.

The room we enter is massive, stretching far into the distance. The high, arched ceiling rises into two domes of glass that glitter with freshly fallen snow. Ornate fluted stone columns stand every few feet, and between each is a set of guards. At the far end of the room, so far it looks tiny from here, I can see the thrones, made of some sort of white stone.

“Your weapons,” Baron Ethanas says, pausing us before we go farther into the room.

Owyn and Merla each hand over a couple daggers, and Zyren looks outright tumultuous as he hands over his sword and six of his own daggers. When I pull two from my own boots, the baron arches both brows. “A queen who wields daggers?”

“I wield a great many things,” I say, the words slipping off my tongue before I can decide if they are prudent or not.

The baron hides a smirk and turns to lead us down the long hall. A long green velvet carpet runs the length of the space, and my boots feel funny against it after so long traveling on the hard ice-packed ground. I am painfully aware of how unqueenly I must look, wearing dirty clothes and a cloak that has becometattered from our weeks on the road. I don’t even want to know what my face looks like, no doubt spattered with dirt and possibly blood.

As we draw close enough to the thrones to make out details, I can see they’re made of white marble veined with gold, rising a dozen feet high, straight and narrow. And in the thrones sit the lord and lady. They appear fairly young still, with just a touch of gray in their reddish-gold hair. They look so alike they could be brother and sister, both pale of skin with eyes that burn a deep violet. Beautiful and cunning of gaze, like all the fae royalty, it seems. Their black cloaks are lined with white fur at the ruff, and they both wear fine blue satin beneath.

The baron stops at the foot of the dais the thrones sit atop, and he drops to one knee. “My lord, my lady. I present to you Sarielle Otreyas, proclaimed Queen of Valaron, Shadow Storm of the Order of Guardians, and their companions.”

I do not miss the sour tone that rings around the wordproclaimed. The queen of the north gazes down serenely, seeming unsurprised by this news, but her husband’s eyes flare slightly in surprise. Or perhaps she is just better at hiding her thoughts.

“Sarielle Otreyas,” the lady says, her purple eyes lighting on mine. “We were told your entire family perished two decades ago. What a great surprise to find you at our doorstep, very much alive.”

Zyren locks gazes with the woman sitting on the white throne. “Her family did perish, but she was hidden away until she came of proper age to marry the king and perform the spell that keeps Valaron safe from the nightmares. The king kept this information secret, for reasons you can no doubt understand.”

The northern king leans forward, his cheeks flushed and his breath coming in rasps. “So, you bring some girl forward, andyou claim she is queen of all the realm? Where, might I ask, is her king?”

Her king. As if a queen requires one. Rage spikes through my veins, and I press my fingernails into my palms, hard enough to cut into my skin.

“News must be slow to reach the north,” I say through clenched teeth. “The king was murdered in Selaye by Avonia and her army of traitors.”

I say nothing of Zyren’s role. He’d made it clear when he introduced himself to the baron that he had no intention of letting anyone know that he is now king. My words are not untrue, the king was murdered. But it’s a stretch, and I don’t know how long Zyren will be able to escape his title, or if he somehow intends to hide from it forever.

Though it’s doubtful we have forever, if we cannot convince these northerners to ally with us.

“That is grave news indeed,” the queen says, resting a hand to her heart, but it does not strike me as sincere. I wonder at what point they named themselves rulers of the north, and if the king’s murder had any bearing on the timing of that. Or perhaps, since no one sane would travel here, they just thought they could get away with it.

“The spell was performed to banish the nightmares back behind their border once again, and we barely escaped alive,” Zyren says. “We’ve been on the run ever since, as Avonia has taken over Selaye and proven herself a traitor to the crown.”

“So, you have come here seeking an alliance,” the queen says, her amethyst eyes sparkling in the dim light of the throne room.

“We came here seeking fealty,” Zyren says, his voice a low growl.

I take another step toward the throne, my hand brushing Zyren’s lightly to calm him. “I am sure, if we work together, we can find much mutual benefit.”

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