The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [225]
Three days. So that was how long it had been since the Rune Gate had opened. Just three days. It seemed like a lifetime.
Grace gazed past Aryn. “Where is she? Where's Tira?”
“She's gone,” Teravian said, finally speaking. “She was riding in the saddle in front of me. Then, when we started up the valley, I looked down and she was . . . gone.”
Grace turned her face up to the sky, certain if the clouds were gone she would see it there, shining in the south: a red star.
“The enemy will approach the wall soon,” Paladus said. “What are your orders, Your Majesty?”
The men looked at her, their faces expectant. What did she do? She needed to know more before she could decide.
Aryn, she said, spinning a quick thread across the Weirding. I have to know—I have know everything that happened. And there's no time for words.
The young woman's voice came back, clear and strong. I understand, Grace.
Her sapphire life thread drew close, entwining with Grace's strand. There was a flash as the two threads contacted, then, in an instant, Grace understood everything. She saw—no, she lived—all of it. Ivalaine's descent into madness. The scheming of Liendra and the Witches. The treachery on the battlefield, pitting father against son.
It was too much. Grace tried to stop the river of knowledge rushing into her, but the force of it overpowered her. Liendra was dead. Ivalaine was dead. Boreas was dead. All should have been lost, but somehow Teravian and Aryn had joined together, and they had wounded the Necromancer Shemal, driving her away. Then, from the sky, a tiny figure descended—a girl with red hair.
Despair filled Grace, and horror. The Warriors had come, but at what cost?
He loved you, Grace. Aryn's voice was gentle, soothing the fresh wounds in her mind, in her heart. King Boreas. He would have made you his queen, if he could have. Only he knew it was never to be.
How, Aryn? she managed to spin across the Weirding. Boreas was the one who called the Warriors of Vathris to war. He was the one they followed, and he's gone. I know Teravian did what he did to try to stop the Witches, but the men wouldn't have known that. How did you convince them to follow him?
She didn't, spoke another voice in her mind, and while it was wiser than she remembered it, the sardonic edge had not entirely left it.
Teravian?
Yes, Your Majesty, it's me. And to answer your question, it wasn't me who the Warriors followed north.
Grace saw it as Teravian brought his silvery thread closer: He and Aryn standing in the middle of the battlefield as a priest of Vathris placed her hand in his.
Yes, it was the only way. The Witches had created a rift between father and son. With the father dead, there was only one way to heal it—for the one who had remained true to the king to accept the one who had betrayed him.
You're married, Grace said, spinning the words out to both of them. You didn't wait for the Feast of Quickening.
We had no choice, Teravian spun back. I'm King Boreas's heir, but after what I did, the men would never have followed me. And while they loved Aryn for her loyalty to Boreas, they couldn't follow her north, not unless—
Not unless she was the queen of Calavan, Grace finished. So you're a queen, Aryn, just as in the vision you saw. And they followed you. The Warriors of Vathris followed you here.
“Your Majesty?” Paladus said.
Grace opened her eyes. In all, the exchange across the Weirding had taken no more than a minute, but it had changed her forever.
The commander gazed at her, concern on his face. “You must give us your orders.”
Boreas had been so strong, but he was gone. It was up to Grace, and Aryn, and Teravian to be the strong ones now. She set fear and uncertainty aside. When she spoke, it was with the authority of a queen.
“I need you to see to the wall, Commander Paladus. Keep watch on the movements of the enemy. Sir Vedarr, I want you to make preparations