Sword of Flames

5 Words of Warning

“Majesty, do you not think you’ve wasted enough time on these groundling Wizards?” Elster winced and inwardly cursed her own temerity as the Queen’s dark eyes kindled with a flash of anger. I would have to go and open my mouth, she thought.

“How dare you even suggest such a thing, after all that Aurian and Anvar have done for us?” Raven leapt up from her seat and began to pace up and down the richly appointed chamber, the sound of her footsteps tapping an impatient rhythm on the marble, and the swirl of her robes as she turned casting a shadowed reflection in the gleaming surface of the stone. Her expression darkened with a furious scowl. “You may be old enough to be my grandmother, Elster, and you may have saved my life, but that does not give you the right to tell me how to run my kingdom!”

Elster hesitated—then decided that she had already gone so far, she might as well go all the way. “If I do not, then who will?” she countered. “You are right, Majesty, I know little of ruling, but I have spent many years in the world. Because I am a physician, folk confide in me, and I know how to keep my eyes and ears open besides. You are young, and for all your mother’s training, you have little more experience than I. Because of the royal isolation in which you were reared, you have few or no friends within the palace. Queen Flamewing’s counselors all perished in Blacktalon’s reign, and you have not appointed any of your own. That is only one of the many essential tasks you have put off while the groundlings have taken up all your attention and time. Why, you aren’t even officially crowned yet, and will not be until a new High Priest is appointed: another task you have neglected. But be warned; if you don’t take a hand in the selection, then the Priesthood will do it for you—and their choice may not be the same as your own, nor necessarily to your good.”

“Give me a chance, for Yinze’s sake!” the Queen snapped.

“I may—but you have enemies in Aerillia who will not.” Seeing storm clouds gathering on Raven’s face, the winged physician tempered her reproof with a smile. “Will you not listen, at least, to one who would be your friend? I am only offering information and advice. You could use the information, you know, even if you decide to discard the advice.”

“Information?” Raven’s pacing stopped abruptly. “What information? And what do you mean by enemies? Who dares to oppose me?”

The healer, relieved that the girl seemed to be coming to her senses at last, settled herself more comfortably on her spindly chair with a rustle of her black-and-white wings. She glanced around Raven’s comfortable, lamplit room with its gold-stitched hangings on the wall, and longed for the peace and anonymity of her own cramped, drafty quarters on the lower spur of the pinnacle. But it was no good wishing—the little hanging turret had been smashed to rubble, along with that entire area of Aerillia, in the fall of Blacktalon’s tower. The Queen, in gratitude for Elster’s having saved her life, had given her the title of Royal Physician and moved her into the palace—much to the healer’s dismay. Her quarters were far more sumptuous and comfortable now, but it sat ill with her that Raven should have a hold over her comings and goings and a monopoly on her skills; in her experience such close proximity to a reigning monarch was neither comfortable, peaceful, nor safe.

“Well?” Raven’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. “You seem very slow with your answers, for one who only a moment ago was so full of advice. Or were you just trying to frighten me?”

Elster sighed. “I only wish I did know the names of your foes,” she admitted, “but I would advise vigilance, Majesty. Blacktalon left many secret supporters in this city. Be wary of those in whom you place your trust.”

“You have told me nothing, you useless crone! If the identity of Blacktalon’s supporters is such a secret, then who in Yinze’s name should I decide to trust?” Raven replied sulkily.

Elster took a deep breath and reminded herself that in spite of all her trappings of power, the Queen was still little more than a child. “Usually—if I do say so myself—” she answered wryly, “you can trust those who are prepared to risk your wrath by telling you the painful truth.”

“How very convenient. In that case, I suppose I should make you my chief counselor,” the winged girl sneered.

“You could do worse. At least I am not saying that it was Blacktalon who ended the winter, and not the Magefolk. Nor am I spreading rumors that, for any number of reasons, you are unfit to rule.”

Raven’s mouth fell open. “What reasons?” she managed to say, in a small, choked voice.

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Elster felt she had the Queen’s complete attention. She began to count off the points she made on her fingers:

“For one thing, they are saying that Aurian’s healing spells are a trick, and that the injuries to your wings will come back as soon as she leaves, leaving you crippled once more.”

“Preposterous!” Raven snapped. “That will be revealed as a falsehood the minute the Mages depart.”

“True—but to guard their falsehoods, they are also saying that you are in league with the natural enemies of the Winged Folk: Wizards, Xandim, and the great cats. Because of what happened with the Khazalim Prince who was Blacktalon’s ally…” Elster nodded her head in mute apology at the sight of Raven’s stricken face. “I am sorry, Majesty, to distress you, but somehow word of that regrettable business has got out, and it were best you know. The talk is that you have been duped again by Outlanders, and that you will betray us to our foes. The Queen, they say, is too young and inexperienced to rule the Skyfolk.”

“Yinze blast them—how can they spread such lies!” Raven struck the wall with her fist, but the force of her blow was smothered by the heavy tapestries. “It’s not true—none of it!”

The healer felt a desperate urge to comfort the beleaguered girl, but cosseting the Queen would not solve anything. It was hard, but she would have to learn to deal with crises such as these—and fast. “Then what are you going to do about it?” Elster asked levelly.

“I don’t know,” Raven wailed. “I would have them arrested as traitors, but we don’t know who they are. And how can I counter their vile calumnies? If I make any public protest, it will just add fuel to the rumors and make matters worse.” She twisted her hands together. “I never realized that being Queen would prove so difficult…”

“It isn’t, necessarily,” Elster told her wryly. “All you need is the backing of the military and the Priesthood—and, as a secondary consideration, the rest of the populace.” She smiled at the distraught girl and patted the seat beside her. “Here, child—sit down and stop panicking. Have some wine. Now, let’s think this through together, shall we?”

Meekly, Raven sat, and accepted the goblet that the other thrust into her hands. Elster let her take a long draft before saying: “First, I suggest you employ a taster. As a physician, I have an extensive knowledge of poisons…”

The color drained from the Queen’s face. She began to choke.

“It’s all right. I haven’t done anything of the kind,” Elster shouted over her splutters, hoping that the lesson had hit home. “But I very easily might have.”

Raven’s face went from chalk to crimson in an instant. “Hag! Harpy!” she shrieked, launching herself at the physician with her taloned claws extended. Elster’s old bones rediscovered a nimbleness they had lacked for years as she grabbed the girl’s wrists in her strong, gnarled hands and hung on grimly until Raven’s struggles ceased.

“Enough!” the physician panted. “Forgive me, Majesty—but it was a lesson that you had to learn.”

Raven glared at her, speechless with rage—then, after a long moment, she found her voice. “If you ever do that to me again,” she growled, “you’d best make sure you poison me in truth—for otherwise I will have your head!”

“If you give me a chance to do that again,” Elster countered bluntly, “then I suggest you tell the guards to take your own head. It will save time in the end.”

The Queen bit her lip, as if to hold back an angry retort; then she shook her head and suddenly burst out laughing. “Do you know, Elster, sometimes you remind me of the Lady Aurian? She is as plainspoken and impatient with fools as yourself.” Her face suddenly sobered. “And I have been a fool, have I not? Bearing in mind my mother’s fate, I should be more wary…” She frowned. “But tell me: who would undertake the perilous position of Queen’s taster? How can I condemn a friend to constant danger? Yet how could I trust an enemy? Who would I choose for such a task?”

“Cygnus.” The name was out of her mouth before Elster knew it.

Raven’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “But why? You trained him yourself. He helped you to save me. Cygnus is a friend—is he not?”

How can I tell her? Elster thought. The Queen has no idea that Cygnus was responsible for the poison that killed her mother. And, besides, he has repented and reformed—or has he? It was no good. The physician could call herself a foolish old woman and chide herself for being overly suspicious, but she could not shake off a lingering feeling or mistrust. Whoever had spread those rumors knew entirely too much—and who knew more than herself and Cygnus? Yet she could scarcely accuse him with no proof. No; probably the best place to keep the young healer from further mischief would be at the Queen’s side—where I can keep my eye on him, Elster thought. And I’ll be watching him like a hawk.

“You must be patient with the Queen, my friends, for she is little more than a child as yet.” Cygnus looked from one to the other of the three figures seated with him at the table. Aguila, Captain of the Royal Guard, would be the hardest to sway. The young physician would have to handle him very carefully, for his sworn duty was to protect the Queen. The other two posed less of a problem. Skua, Acting High Priest following Blacktalon’s demise, was also the head of the Temple Guard, and would do anything to have his temporary position officially confirmed. As for the leader of the Syntagma, Aerillia’s warrior elite—well, Sunfeather had been Cygnus’s closest friend ever since the two had been fledglings. After the accident that had almost claimed the life of the handsome, brilliant young warrior and led to Cygnus’s eschewing the Way of the Sword for the Way of Healing, Sunfeather’s rise through the ranks of the Syntagma had been meteoric. The healer often reflected that his friend’s close brush with death had led him to seize upon everything that life could offer with greedy hands. When the existing Wingmarshal had met with a mysterious but fatal accident after crossing Blacktalon, Sunfeather had been all too ready to step into the role.

It was good, Cygnus mused, to have friends in high places. After his first attempt to get rid of Aurian and Anvar—and to claim the Harp of Winds from the fallen tunnels below the temple—had failed, he had been racking his brains for an alternative. Though no plan had suggested itself as yet, he had decided that the first step lay in driving a wedge between Queen Raven and the Mages. Divide and conquer, as his old military tutor always used to say. Cygnus had convinced himself that it should not be too difficult to turn these three powerful men against the Queen’s alliance with Aurian, though there was a hard look in Aguila’s eyes that caused him some qualms.

Clearing his throat and fighting down the hollow feeling of nervousness in his stomach, the physician addressed his fellows: “I have called this gathering so that we four may consider what must be done for the good of our people—and the good of the Queen, of course,” he added hastily, with a sidelong glance at Aguila.

The weather-beaten, tawny-haired captain looked unimpressed. “I hope so,” he said bluntly. “Queen Flamewing’s tragic fate is a disgrace from which the Royal Guard will not easily recover, and I have sworn a solemn oath that it won’t happen to her successor. Your clandestine meeting stinks of treason, Cygnus—and for your sake, you’d better convince me otherwise.”

Cygnus cursed inwardly. When Blacktalon had perished, many fortunes had been reversed overnight, and the leadership of all Aerillia’s military forces had undergone a rapid change. Trust this loyal, conscientious lowborn bonehead to have wrested control of the Royal Guard. It would take some quick thinking now to keep control of the situation]

“You wrong me, Captain,” the physician said in injured tones. “You should know that I, of all people, am loyal to the Queen. Why, did I not labor with Elster to save her life after the High Priest’s reprehensible attack upon her person? Did Blacktalon not intend to take my life, too? Each day I thank Yinze that Her Majesty is safe now, and upon her rightful throne at last.” He looked at the faces of his companions to judge the effect of his words and, encouraged, continued:

“I merely speak now for the good of both the Queen and her subjects. Can it truly benefit Aerillia when its ruler has become enamored of foreign groundling Wizards? Have you all forgotten the bitter lessons of the Cataclysm?”

“I don’t know about that, but it seems that you have conveniently forgotten a fact or two,” Aguila growled. “For one thing, we have the foreigners to thank for ridding us of Blacktalon and putting the Queen on her throne. They have labored long and hard since they came here to get our crops growing again, to save Aerillia from starvation.” He leaned over the table and fixed the bristling Cygnus with his gaze. “And also,” he went on, “if my memory does not deceive me, it was Incondor, one of the Winged Folk, who set in train the catastrophe of the Cataclysm. He was every bit as much to blame as the groundling Wizard Chiannala.”

“Come, come, friend Aguila,” Sunfeather put in smoothly. “No one would dispute your words, but I think you misunderstand our companion. He has only the best interests of everyone at heart. The groundlings have played their part, true—but what will be the price of their aid? Now they are causing Her Majesty to neglect her most essential duties. She talks of depleting our forces at a time when we can least afford it, to send our people off to fight in some foreign war of magic.”

“Exactly,” Skua interrupted. “Are we now to forget what befell us in the Cataclysm? After we lost our magic, the Winged Folk swore never again to consort with Wizards.” Laying his palms flat upon the table, he looked gravely at them all. “My friends, I believe that Cygnus is right. The Queen is but a young girl, vulnerable and gravely in need of guidance. It is our duty and responsibility to advise her—and we must start by wooing her away from her groundling friends and purging our land of this foreign infection.”

“I agree.” Sunfeather nodded. “Aguila, you are needlessly suspicious. Blacktalon no longer reigns here, and—”

“There may be some who still miss him.”

At the captain’s words Sunfeather half raised his coppery wings and put his hand upon his sword. “I suggest that you explain yourself and apologize,” he hissed, “or prepare to defend your vile slanders in the arena of the skies!”

Aguila looked unperturbed, but his hand had also gone to his weapon. “It occurs to me,” he answered with deceptive mildness, “that the High Priest was responsible for your rise to your present exalted position. I would simply like to establish, once and for all, the extent of your loyalty to the Queen.”

Cygnus, realizing all too late that control of the meeting had slipped from his grasp, tried to dissipate the tension. “Please, my friends, there is no need for such suspicion between us. Aguila, you have misjudged the Wingmarshal. As you all know, Sunfeather was my childhood companion, and we have remained close over the years. I know his reasons for accepting his position from the hand of Blacktalon, for he confided in me at the outset. It was I who advised him to take the promotion—for at least then he would have sufficient authority to help our people clandestinely and to counteract the worst of the High Priest’s depredations. He acted from the best of intentions—as do we all.”

“I see. Well, if that is truly the case, then I beg his pardon,” Aguila answered, though Cygnus suspected that he spoke more from caution than from true conviction. “You must understand that as guardian of the Queen’s person, it is my duty to ask these questions. I admit, however, that there may be sense in what you say. I see no gain in sending our warriors off to some foreign war when we should be consolidating our position here in Aerillia, and I will join with you in advising Queen Raven to that effect.”

It was only through rigid control that Cygnus managed to suppress his sigh of relief.

“Good,” he answered. “I am grateful to you all for your cooperation. I suggest that we present our case to the Queen on the morrow.”

It couldn’t possibly last, thought Raven—but by Yinze, while it did, it was a marvel to behold! The winged girl, now Queen of the Skyfolk, dropped out of the thermal in which she’d been circling and swooped down toward the lower slopes of Aerillia Peak. Let them say what they like, she thought. At least I’ve already achieved a miracle in my short reign.

There, on the hand-hewn terraces below the Citadel of the Winged Folk, a great work of cultivation was in progress—and everyone capable of such labor, from ragged-plumed elders down to the smallest of fledglings, had been mobilized to assist. Raven looked down with pride upon her people, all engaged in the work of clearing, tilling, and planting, and felt her raptor’s vision blur with tears of gratitude and relief. I have the Mages to thank for this, she thought. Aurian and Anvar. Even though I betrayed them, they have still come to my aid in this great-hearted way.

Raven cringed inwardly at the memory of her recent folly. How close she had come to bringing ruin upon them all! How could I have let myself be duped by Aurian’s enemies, and my own? she wondered. How gullible I was. Aurian might have forgiven her, but the young Queen of the Skyfolk would never be able to forgive herself—and that made her feel even more guilty about the news that she must now impart to the Mages.

“Ho, Raven!”

The winged girl banked sharply in the direction of the cry from below. Aurian, with Anvar at her side, was waving from a bank of earth at the end of a row of grapevines. Raven bit her lip as her stomach clenched in trepidation. They weren’t going to be at all happy with the word she brought them, but she would have to get it over with. Furling her wings, she landed beside the Magefolk, apologizing hastily as her final backsweep whirled a cloud of dust into their faces.

Aurian coughed grit from her throat and wiped her streaming eyes on her sleeve. “I see your whirlwind landings haven’t altered,” she said dryly.

“You’re right,” Raven acknowledged. “My mother always used to say…” Her features twisted in a grimace of pain.

“Don’t dwell on it.” Aurian laid her hands on the winged girl’s shoulders. “Raven, you can’t change the past. You’ve repented, and what’s more, you’ve learned from your mistakes. Now you’re doing your best to set matters to rights. You have promised to help us in our fight, and your winged warriors will make all the difference—though I know how difficult it is for you to spare them just now, when you have so much to do here in your own kingdom.”

Raven could not meet the Mage’s eyes. “That’s just it,” she muttered. “I…” There was no way that she could break this news gently. “Aurian, they won’t come,” she blurted. “I spent the morning closeted with what remains of the Temple Guard and the officers of both the Royal Guard and our fighting force, the Syntagma. They all say the same thing: that it’s insane to leave our land unprotected when we are at our most vulnerable, and that since the time of the Cataclysm, the groundling Wizards have earned nothing but our enmity.”

“They said what?” Anvar shouted, his blue eyes icy with anger. His hand swept out to embrace the verdant terraces on the mountainside. “They call this nothing? All the work that Aurian has done to keep the ungrateful bastards from starvation? And what about Blacktalon? If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a bloody kingdom—”

“And without the backing of the warriors, I will not have one much longer!” Raven cried. “They have already made that perfectly clear,” she added in a smaller voice, into the shocked silence that followed. “It was Elster who warned me. Despite his cruelty, Blacktalon had many followers, especially among the military, because they believed that he was trying to restore the ancient self-respect and supremacy of the Winged Folk. How else do you think he could have succeeded as he did?” Her voice took on a brittle edge of bitterness. “His only mistake was murdering my mother. Even for those who were loyal to him, that was going too far—and yet even now there are those in Aerillia who are saying that the coming of spring had naught to do with Anvar. That it was Blacktalon who ended the winter as he had promised—at the cost of his own life.”

“But that’s outrageous!” Aurian was scowling. “You know, I thought I could sense hostility from some folk while I was working on the terraces. I simply put it down to suspicion of an Outland Wizard. But who started these ridiculous rumors? How can people believe them?”

“I wish I knew who was responsible,” Raven sighed. “Because of what happened with Harihn, my rule over the Skyfolk is tenuous at best, and to have a secret enemy spreading such poison behind my back makes me very uneasy. Your selfless work upon our crops has strengthened my position, but…”

“It’s not enough.” There was grim finality in Aurian’s words.

Raven nodded. “Not only that, but…” She looked up at Anvar, tacitly pleading for his understanding. “The finding of the Harp has caused a good deal of resentment. People believe that Anvar had no right to claim it. Only today, Sunfeather, the Wingmarshal of the Syntagma, was saying that it should be returned to its rightful keepers: the Winged Folk. The hope of regaining our long-lost powers of magic is a powerful and dangerous lure. With the resentment that is building, it may no longer be safe for you to stay here—”

“Damn it, Raven—the only reason we did stay so long was to help your people,” Anvar began hotly, but Aurian silenced him with a shake of her head.

“It’s time we were leaving anyway,” she said calmly. Only the cold gray glint in her eye betrayed her true feelings. “Far from helping you establish your authority, Raven, I think our presence is making matters worse—and, besides, it’s time we were heading back north. Can you still arrange to have us transported to the Xandim Fastness?”

“I owe you that—and so much more.” Raven’s vision blurred with tears. “You gave me back the gift of flight…” She took a deep breath, fighting to control her emotion. “My people have shamed me, Aurian, but I will make amends for betraying you, I promise. I’ll do whatever I can to put things right. There are some still loyal to me, who will act as bearers and couriers for you until you cross the ocean and return north. I will make the arrangements at once.” Too ashamed to say more, she took wing again, heading back toward the sunlit spires of the Citadel.

Anvar’s eyes were bleak and cold as he watched Raven fly off. The anger in his guts was too great to be contained any longer. Aurian, catching his expression, raised a questioning brow. “Does she still trouble you so much? After all, you can hardly blame her for this situation.”

Anvar took a deep breath. “I never understood how you could forgive her.” His tone was flat and uncompromising. “After what she did to us—after what became of Wolf—how can you just act as though nothing has happened? How can you be so calm about it?” The Harp of Winds, strapped, as always, to his back, began to thrum discordantly in tune with his anger, and Anvar silenced it hastily—though not without effort. Like Aurian in the early days of her stewardship of the Staff of Earth, he had not yet perfected his control of the powerful Artifact.

Aurian, who had been leaning, chin in hands, with her elbows resting on the crumbling drystone wall of a terrace, turned to look at him. “Anvar, don’t be too quick to judge. At least Raven didn’t kill anyone. Oh, she precipitated situations in which there were deaths, but that was because she was manipulated. Her chief crime lay in being too young and untried—and trusting in the wrong people.”

Anvar shook his head in denial. “So she was deceived. That doesn’t alter the fact that she betrayed us!”

“True.” Aurian looked away from him. “But I remember, not so long ago, a young girl who trusted in the Archmage, and—”

“Aurian, that’s not the same!”

“Oh—isn’t it?” Aurian’s mouth had thinned to a tight line. “Seeing the way he despised the Mortals of Nexis, should I not have realized what he was like? After the way he treated you, should I not have known that he was evil? When he tried to have his way with me, should I not have faced the truth?”

Anvar, in his mind, added the words she had left unsaid: “And if I had, then Forral need not have died. …”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he told her stubbornly.

“Exactly!” Aurian’s voice rang with triumph. “It took you to teach me that—and there’s little difference between Raven’s situation and mine—not to mention your own.”

“What?” Anvar gasped.

Aurian took his hand. “Think back, my love. Back to the young man who once loved a girl so much that he would sacrifice anything for her—though she plotted his death and abandoned him to marry, first a rich merchant, then a powerful king.”

Anvar recoiled as though she had slapped him. The blind folly of his love for Sara was not a subject he cared to dwell on. “I…” he began to protest, but there was no answer to Aurian’s charge. Anvar felt his face turn hot. She was right—much as it pained him to admit it. Suddenly, he began to see the winged girl in a new light.

Aurian squeezed his hand apologetically. “Raven changed,” she said softly. “She grew up—just as we did. She knows better now. She learned the hard way, as did you and I. Does she not deserve a chance to redeem herself?”

Anvar sighed. “I take your point, but—Aurian—can you trust her? How can you be sure that she didn’t start these rumors herself, to get rid of us? Have you ever wondered if she wants the Harp?”

Aurian shrugged. “I don’t trust her entirely—I’d be foolish if I did. But for now I’m prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. If the situation is as precarious as she claims, then Raven has more than enough troubles of her own.”

Anvar dug the toe of his boot into the new-turned earth. “Well, she’s welcome to them. As far as I’m concerned, the Skyfolk have proved themselves to be as arrogant, ungrateful, and untrustworthy as all the legends claim. They can stay up here and squabble among themselves until the sun turns cold, for all I care. But”—his eyes flashed fire—“if any of them try to take the Harp from me, they’ll be sorry they were ever born!”

Aurian hugged him. “If they are stupid enough to try that, they’ll have both of us to reckon with!” Frowning, she dismissed the Winged Folk with a shrug. “We’ve done all we can for the citizens of Aerillia. It’s time we turned our thoughts toward heading northward once more. Our allies must be nearing the Xandim Fastness by now.”

Raven, reveling in the strong beats of her newly healed wings, approached her pinnacle-palace and looked down upon the shimmering forest of towers, domes, and spires with mingled pride and sorrow. She was Queen now—all of this was hers (as were the burdens and responsibilities that went with it, she reminded herself sharply, feeling another stab of shame for the behavior of her people). The evil reign of Blacktalon was ended, and the fell winter that had slain so many of her folk had been banished—but at what cost? Sadly, she looked up at the shattered shell of Yinze’s Temple—a hideous structure it had been, but how much irreplaceable knowledge had been lost beneath that mound of fallen stone?

The winged girl turned her eyes downward, toward the great scar on the mountainside where the High Priest’s tower had crashed down in ruin, taking so many lesser dwellings, and lives, down into darkness with it. She looked across at the Queen’s tower, her destination—and the place where her mother had died in agony and torment. The legacy of Blacktalon still lingered, and it would be long, indeed—if ever—before his evil influence could be eradicated. Raven sighed, then, taking her example from the dauntless Aurian, lifted her chin proudly. Well, so be it. Nothing could undo those sacrifices—and Flamewing, her mother, had often told her that any sacrifice would not be in vain if the good of the people had ultimately been served. As Queen, Raven knew that it was her responsibility, and hers alone, to make sure that it was so. And, by Yinze, she meant to do it.

“Your Majesty. Your Majesty! Please…”

The shrill, piping voice that had startled the Queen of the Winged Folk from her royal thoughts ended in a squeak of fright—and the enraged bellow of a guard. Raven stalled, spilling wind from her wings, and sideslipped to turn and look for the cause of the commotion. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the balcony of a nearby tower and the sight of the slight, brown-winged child held firmly in the grasp of the scowling guard. The fledgling was struggling and swearing, shrieking out curses that no child should know. Raven’s lips twitched in an involuntary smile at the recollection of her own rebellious childhood. Putting her own troubles aside for the moment and composing her face into a semblance of royal dignity, she flew across to question the small intruder.

“Let me go! You filthy carrion-scavenger, fit for nothing but to pick flesh off a rotting corpse! Let me—” The words were cut off in a wail as the guard cuffed his captive.

“Gracious, who taught you such language?” Raven thought it best to interrupt at that point, before matters could deteriorate further.

The child, who had been too busy yelling to notice the Queen’s approach, turned her head sharply, her mouth dropping open in an O of surprise that changed swiftly to horror. “Your Majesty!” she gasped, and writhed in her captor’s grasp in a desperate attempt to dip her wings in obeisance.

Raven fought off the tender urge to straighten the girl’s tousled brown curls, and said sternly: “How comes this? Why are you trespassing in the precincts of the palace?”

“I caught her earlier, Your Majesty,” the guard interrupted. “The little wretch was trying to sneak into the throne room. Tried to give me a lot of nonsense about an urgent message for you. I sent her off then, but she must have sneaked back—”

“Be quiet!” Raven told him. “Are we still in the hands of a tyrant, that you must bully children? And let the child go, for Yinze’s sake. If she has a message for me, she’s hardly likely to go flitting off.” She turned back to the fledgling. “Now, little one, what is your name? And what word do you bring for your Queen?”

The child, released from the grip of the scowling guard, straightened her tunic in a pathetic attempt at dignity and dipped her wings once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she piped. “If you please, my name is Linnet. And I do have a message—an important one—from the cat Hreeza.”

“So you are the brave child who rescued her!” Raven said. She had been astonished when Aurian had brought her word that one of her folk—and a fledgling at that—could accomplish the mindspeech of the great cats. She had been meaning to look into the matter further, but… Raven put her thoughts aside with an impatient shrug. The child was here now, at least. “And what was your message?” she asked.

Linnet looked blackly at the guard. “She said it was private. ”

The Queen laughed. “Come, then, little one. We will adjourn to my chambers and see if we can find any refreshment there that is fit for a messenger.”

“She said what?”

Linnet flinched from the forcefulness of the Queen’s tone. Had that dratted cat got her into trouble again? Was she to be thrown out of these cozy royal chambers in disgrace? I told Hreeza that this idea was crazy, she thought resentfully. Linnet took an enormous bite out of the sweet cake in her hand—it tasted so good, and if she was to be thrown out, she might as well—and that was as far as she got for, not unnaturally, it went down the wrong way.

By the time the Queen had finished thumping her on the back and giving her a drink of water, Linnet had forgotten the original question. She flushed with embarrassment as Queen Raven repeated: “Now, then, tell me again, Linnet, exactly what Hreeza said.”

“She said that she had an urgent request.” Linnet scowled in concentration, doing her best to remember the exact wording. “She asks if you will wait until the others leave—the Mages and the cats—and then provide bearers to return her to the lands of her people.”

“But in Yinze’s name, why?” The Queen was frowning. In her consternation she seemed to have forgotten that she was speaking to a child. “Shia said that she and her friend were outlawed in their own lands, and could not return on pain of death.”

“That’s why it has to be a secret,” Linnet told her. “Because if the others find out, they’ll worry, and they won’t let her go. Hreeza says that her Queen is bad—not like you,” the child added hastily, blushing for the slip, “and if she isn’t dealt with, she will always be an enemy at Aurian’s back. But Hreeza has a plan—a wonderful plan—and if she can just get back quickly—”

“Wait, wait!” Frowning, the Queen held up her hand for silence. “Linnet, you had better come with me and talk to Hreeza. If you can translate, I would hear this plan for myself. What the Mages would say, if they knew of this…”

Linnet felt a weight of responsibility lift from her shoulders. Forgetting, in her relief, the exalted rank of her companion, she darted round the table and took hold of Raven’s hand. “Let’s go now,” she said excitedly. “I didn’t understand it myself, but you will. And Hreeza is very wise, so it’s sure to be a very good plan…”

As the excited child pulled her from the room, Raven lifted her eyes heavenward. “It had better be,” she muttered to herself, “or Aurian and Shia will have my hide.”