Page 109 of An Archer's Reckoning

Chapter 42

Danai

“Sit down, Thorn. All that pacing is giving me a headache.”

Bril was clearly in a foul mood.

There was no escaping the constant thrumming of the catapults. The siege would likely last weeks, yet activity within our massive encampment had multiplied since the artillery engaged.

Irina was everywhere—her voice permeated even the crash of the stones.

And nothing was good enough to suit her.

She cared little that we moved hundreds of thousands of men and arms over mountains and across the countryside in the dead of winter with little damage to equipment or personnel. That feat alone was worthy of song.

But that didn’t matter.

Her only desire was to begin the attack as quickly as possible.

To her men, she was Isabel, a grieving widow and mother, driven by rage and revenge, but the blasted woman had to understand that men could only be pushed so far before they broke. The same could be said of armies, too.

I knew Isabel was no more . . . that Irina lurked beneath her skin.

I knew her hatred and lust for vengeance had nothing to do with crimes of the present. She only had eyes for those of the distant past.

Murder and mayhem were her justice.

I turned and sat opposite Bril, leaning back in a folding chair and steepling my fingers. My scowl was so deep one might have thought me pondering some dead animal I wanted to dissect.

Bril glared, his disgust with me palpable. We had ever been at odds.

After a moment’s silence, I pulled an object out of my pocket and muttered a few words.

“I need to speak freely with you, Stephan. No games. No politics. I am going to do something I never do, even with Her Majesty. I am going totrustyou.”

Bril eyed me skeptically and chuckled. “Good to know you never gave me your trust before. Here I thought we wereso close.”

I managed a tight smile. “Stephan, I am serious. Can I trust you? With my life?”

Bril gaped.

This was unlike any conversation we had ever had, not in twenty years of joint service to the Crown.

“Go on,” was all the Minister said.

I sucked in a breath and shuffled my hands. “Something is wrong with the Queen-Regent.”

Bril coughed another laugh. “You’re just noticing? Something’sbeenwrong with that woman for years.” Then he added, “Don’t you dare quote me on that.”

“Never.” I raised my palms in submission as my lips pursed in a line. “I mean . . . something ismagicallywrong with her.”

That brought Bril’s reverie to an abrupt halt. Despite my protection to keep us from being overheard, he leaned forward and whispered, “What do you mean? Should we be speaking of this here? You of all people know she has earseverywhere.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “I have sealed this tent. No one can hear us, no matter how loudly we speak.”

I went on. “Stephan, I have been her closest advisor and confidante since Alfred took the throne. He never cared for spies or my methods, so he gave those responsibilities to her. I watched her grow into a woman and a queen. I am telling you, she is not the same Isabel I have known. She is different now. She has been since . . . since Cradle.”

I walked a thin line, shrouding my fears in half truths, but there was no way I could tell anyone how much I truly knew. None would accept my role—my thousand-year role—in bringing Irina back. No amount of penance could free me from scorn or the loathing of the people, should they ever learn what truly happened.

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