Page 27 of Among the Burning Flowers
King Sigoso looked at her, and his eyes were that of a wolf, a hunter.
‘Tell me, Your Grace,’ he said, ‘do you imagine the death of your sovereign?’
She turned pale as a cloud. King Sigoso rose from his chair, watched by the terrified nobles. Marosa wondered if he would refuse to go. If he would stay inside his fort, choosing his own life over the rest.
‘I will not be called a coward by a wyrm,’ he said. ‘The Saint shall protect me, as he protected Glorian Shieldheart.’
Marosa watched him stand, and their eyes met. If he did not return, she would be queen by morning.
Do I say goodbye, or let him go with nothing more of me?
In the end, she decided not to speak. After all, he had ordered her to be silent. His gaze sharpened, and she knew that he, her own father, was wishing he could send her in his stead. And when he left to face his end, the trepidation in her chest warred against a sense of grim triumph.
Now it is your turn to disappear.
****
All night, the Privy Council watched and waited. All night, the flowers burned. Every minute stretched into an agonising hour.
More choking smoke blew up to Cárscaro, forcing its people to keep to their homes, even as they prayed for their king. Those who had fled earlier from the earthquake began to return through the Gate of Niunda, coughing and wheezing, only to find their city invaded. The wyverns let them pass unscathed, watching them in unnerving silence from the rooftops.
‘I cannot stand this,’ a noble said. ‘What are they doing?’
‘Waiting for orders, perhaps.’
‘From the High Western?’
Bartian said nothing. He was sitting on the floor, staring vacantly at the wall.
At three of the clock, a guard descended to speak to the city watch. They reported that most of those who had left had succumbed to burns, or perished from breathing in too much smoke.
Marosa sat at the end of the table, watched by the nobles. There was little change in the light outside; the reeking smoke had benighted the city. It could have been midnight or dawn.
At last, the Captain General came to the doors, looking shaken.
‘His Majesty has returned,’ he rasped. ‘He lives.’
The Principal Sanctarian made the sign of the sword, while the Counsellor of Finance slid to the floor in a faint. Marosa left the Council Chamber and rushed down the winding steps.
‘Fetch the Royal Physician,’ she called to the nearest servants.
Most of the Privy Council followed her. Only a few remained behind, rooted in place.
The whole palace had long since woken. Marosa soon reached the lower floors, where the corridors were high and wide, with balconies where one could look between several levels at once. Here, she saw more and more courtiers and servants, staring at her with surprise and dread. Only when she reached the entrance hall did she stop, her skin filmed with sweat. Lord Gastaldo and the others soon caught up with her.
‘Be calm,’ Lord Gastaldo ordered the nearest courtiers. ‘The Saint is with us.’
Marosa swallowed. She ought to have been the one to say it, but her voice had deserted her.
The ebony doors, banded with iron, were almost twenty feet in height. When they swung open, a familiar man entered, stooped and alone. Marosa started towards him.
‘Stay back.’ Her father thrust out a hand. ‘Marosa. Stay back.’
Marosa stopped. In her stead, several of the guards surrounded their sovereign.
‘Father,’ she said faintly. ‘What happened?’
Even from several feet away, she could smell his clothes. He reeked of iron and smoke.
