Serpent's Crown (Snakesblood Saga Book 5) Page 2

  Her father had ruled for nearly three hundred years and had accomplished much in those thirty decades. Though his rule had been cut short, his was a tall shadow to escape.

  But if the people of Elenhiise didn't love her, at least they respected her. Their loyalty had been hard-won; she often forgot just how young her rule was. It was not uncommon for Ilmenhith's throne to be held seven or eight hundred years. Some still called her the Girl Queen.

  The island of Elenhiise was split into two kingdoms, but dominated by the Eldani. Like most with mage blood in them, Firal expected a long life. She hoped comfort in a leadership position would come with time.

  Her skirts swirled around her ankles as she made her way from her comfortable office to the less comfortable council meeting that awaited. Her council managed most things, though they still required oversight and permission to act. In that respect, it seemed a great deal of being a leader was merely keeping everything organized. Even as a mageling, Firal had excelled with organization. She'd had plenty of opportunities to practice in the temple, helping manage Nondar's office and classroom and volunteering in the temple library. Organizing people was little different from organizing things, it was simply less comfortable. Things didn't protest being managed.

  On the whole, her kingdom ran smoothly. There were always problems, but none so severe as the starvation and riots that had punctuated her first year on the throne. She hoped everything would remain trivial, when compared to those first days.

  Pausing outside the stuffy formal parlor where her council always met, Firal sighed and smoothed her dress. It wasn't often she attended council without Vahn by her side. Her husband claimed to have no mind for politics, but he was good with people, and his time as part of the guard—however brief it may have been—had taught him how to stand his ground. But he was overseeing a problem that couldn't be managed from the palace, which meant she had to put on her best queenly air and push into the parlor alone.

  The councilors at the table stood as she entered, and all of them bowed in respect. There were a few chairs empty, but she paid them little mind. She already knew Vahn and the harbormaster were out, tending matters she only hoped were going smoothly. Strange, though, that Ennil wasn't present. He never missed meetings.

  “Good morning.” Firal graced them with a smile as she strode toward the table in the center of the room.

  Despite their deference, Temar was the only one of the councilors who returned her smile. “Good morning, Majesty.” The white-robed woman glanced to the door as she spoke, as if she expected someone else to join them. As the leader of Firal's court mages, Temar had assisted in opening the Gate for Vahn's departure, so she couldn't have expected him. Was she looking for Ennil?

  Firal restrained a frown and drew a breath to address the council. A wash of energy struck her before she could speak. The sensation of power that came with Medreal's Call raced over her skin like a thousand jabbing needles, stealing her air, and the emotions hit her like an avalanche. Surprise. Panic. Fear.

  “Majesty?” Temar stepped forward, her brow knit with concern.

  Firal spun on her heel. “Something is wrong.” Nothing rattled Medreal. For the woman to be afraid...

  Fear clawed at her heart, and Firal gripped her skirts and ran.

  She didn't think to call for help, though she heard councilors and the pair of guards from the parlor running after her.

  The door to her quarters stood open a crack. She flung it open so forcefully that the door banged against the wall. “Medreal!”

  No reply.

  Opening her senses, she felt for the woman's Gift. It should have been a beacon, lighting the way. Instead, she felt nothing.

  “Brant's roots,” one of the guards murmured as he pushed past her.

  Firal followed his gaze and her stomach dropped.

  The nursery door stood halfway open. Silver dishes lay scattered across the floor behind it. Among them, a plain blue skirt was just visible through the doorway.

  “Summon the king at once. Send the other mages to retrieve him by Gate.” Temar's firm voice was a muted drone, all but drowned out by the sound of Firal's heartbeat in her ears.

  Step by step, Firal dragged herself toward the nursery. The other guard moved forward and slid into the nursery after his partner with his sword ready. Behind her, the voices of the councilors blended together into a sickening cocktail of speculation.

  Blood filled the plush carpet underfoot. The guardsmen's boots left tracks as they checked every corner of the room. Firal froze, staring at the body on the floor. Not even half an hour past, Medreal had filled her cup with tea. Now her stewardess—her friend—lay curled in death with tears still wet on her face.

  “Where is she?” Firal didn't recognize her own voice. It was calm, steady, strong—everything she wasn't.

  “There's no one—” one of the guards began.

  Firal spun on him. “Where is she?” she screamed.

  The guard shrank back.

  Tears filled her eyes until she couldn't see. “Shut down the palace, post guards at every door—”

  “Majesty,” Temar said before she could finish. “Do you feel that?”

  Firal glared at the court Master as the other councilors turned from the room to carry out her orders. She couldn't feel anything clearly. Already more guards clustered in the next room and serving staff peered in from the hallway, their presence clouding her senses. She tried to focus, squeezing her eyes closed, willing herself to feel what the other mage had found so easily.

  Something prickled nearby. A tingling remnant of energy left behind.

  “Whoever did this, they departed through a Gate,” Temar said. It took Firal a moment to realize the mage was speaking to the guards, not her. “They can't have come in through one. There's only one signature.”

  “Impossible. A group of mages entering the royal quarters would have drawn too much attention. To open a Gate without them, they'd have to be—” Firal stopped short.

  The stewardess had been strong, one of the most powerful mages Firal had ever known. For anyone to make it past her after that frantic Call could only mean one thing. Cold dread settled in her stomach.

  “Majesty,” a guard called from the other room.

  She turned, mindful not to look as a white-robed mage drew a sheet over her friend's body. Firal couldn't bear to look again. The vision of Medreal's tear-stained face was already burned into her mind.

  The guard met her at the door. “I spoke to the serving staff. They saw two people enter. One was a woman in white. The other...” His voice hitched as he met her eye. He drew a breath and went on. “They swear it was Lord Tanrys.”

  Firal couldn't keep her brows from rising. Ennil? Why would he have been there? “The woman, what did she look like?”

  The guard shook his head. “None of them got a clear look. She wore long robes and a cloak with the hood drawn. They did see white hair, my queen, but no one seems to recall her face.”

  Sniffing back tears she didn't have time for, Firal drew herself up. “Summon Archmage Kytenia immediately.” She clenched her fists at her sides to keep her hands from shaking. “And send the mages to retrieve Lord Tanrys from his estate the moment they return with Vahn.”

  A handful of guards peeled away with a mage to carry orders.

  “My queen,” Temar said, moving closer. “May we speak in private?”

  “Now is not the time, Temar.”

  The white-robed woman shifted uneasily, glancing at the crowd in the other room. She frowned and lowered her voice. “But I feel it is important, Your Majesty. Are there any mages familiar enough with your quarters to open a Gate to here from somewhere else?”

  “They wouldn't need to,” Firal said curtly. “If this had been normal mages, Medreal would have been able to handle it.”

  The Master mage pursed her lips. “I know she was a wild mage, but—”

  “If that's all you know, you know very little.” Firal swallowed against t
he lump in her throat and the icy queasiness in her stomach. Part of her wanted to fall to the floor and sob, but a greater part simmered with an anger and hurt so deep she thought she might burn up. Neither emotion could be given precedence. Her child was missing, kidnapped, but she was a queen. A ransom was most likely to follow, though who wanted it, she couldn't imagine.

  She strode on through her quarters. “If you are not assisting the mages or cleaning my quarters, remove yourself immediately. I want a handful of guards outside my door and no more than a pair inside. And I will speak to the Captain of the Guard. Fetch him at once!” Her voice was steel, though unshed tears stood in her eyes. She would weep for Medreal and scream for her daughter in time, but right now, she was a queen.

  Her quarters began to empty and Temar moved close behind her again.

  “Majesty, if you know something...” the woman started.

  “Don't pretend you don't know there are mages more powerful than us, Temar.” Firal watched the flow of people moving into the hallway, listened to the whispers that rose among them. There would be a thousand rumors by the end of the hour. The entire city would know Lulu had been taken. She couldn't decide if that was a problem or not. “One resided in the palace for many years.”

  Temar started to speak, then seemed to think better of it and returned to the nursery to assist the mages there.

  A new cluster of people moved up the hall, against the flow of people.

  “What's happened?” Vahn all but shoved aside the guards at the door. He panted for breath. Doubtlessly he'd run all the way from the Gating parlor. His blond hair was a disheveled mess and his cape hung lopsided over his blue finery.

  Firal moved to meet him. It would have been easy to throw herself in her husband's arms, but she made herself remain calm as she righted his clothing and smoothed his hair. “Treason,” she said. “Someone has taken our daughter. Her nursemaid is dead.” Despite the strength of her will, her voice cracked.

  Vahn gaped and looked past her to the nursery. “How? Where have they gone? How did they escape?”

  “Through a Gate opened in the nursery. I don't know how they opened it. There were only two.” She shook her head, frustrated. A Gate-stone would have allowed such an escape, but they were rare enough that even Ennil wouldn't have had access to one. But would the white-haired woman who had been seen with him?

  Vahn's expression grew dark. “And nobody stopped them in the palace?”

  Firal scoffed. “Why would they, when one of them was your father?”

  His mouth fell open and his brow furrowed as he worked to close it again. He didn't speak, but she saw the unspoken question in his blue eyes. Ennil Tanrys was father of the king-consort, and as far as the man knew, his family was set to inherit the throne. Why would he kidnap his own granddaughter?

  “I don't know,” Firal murmured, though she saw the shadow of concern that crept into his expression.

  “I passed Ordin on the way up,” Vahn said with a sigh. “I assume you called for him, but he was speaking to some of his men.”

  “They've already told him what's happened, no doubt,” Firal said. “He'll probably be a moment.” Ordin Straes was a capable man and as good a Captain of the Guard as she could have asked for, but Firal sometimes wished he were a little less proactive. He wouldn't believe the kidnappers had escaped through a Gate until he heard it from Temar or from Firal herself, which meant he'd have men stationed at every path out of the city before she had a chance to speak to him. It wasn't a bad thing, she had to admit; they had no way of knowing where the Gate led, and if the guards carried everything they'd heard to him, he'd already have men on their way to watch the Tanrys estate.

  “Do we wait for him here?” Vahn asked.

  Firal shook her head. “We will go to my office. Temar, dispense directions among the others and then attend us. Leave the other mages to their work and let them oversee the staff. Have someone send for the coroner.” Again, her throat felt thick. She swallowed hard and went on. “When Captain Straes and the Archmage arrive, send them to my office.”

  “And Lord Tanrys?” Temar asked.

  The order to put him in chains leaped to the tip of her tongue, but Firal hesitated. She couldn't have him arrested based on the word of servants she hadn't spoken to herself. It wasn't that she didn't trust them, but Ennil was her father-in-law and a member of her council. Rash decisions had hard consequences. “Bring him to me.”

  The Master mage bowed and turned to distribute orders as Firal swept out of the room.

  Vahn hurried to her side. He said nothing, though he reached for her hand. She took it gladly. His grip was strong, comforting and warm. She needed it.

  “It will be okay,” he murmured.

  She wished she had his confidence.

  The tea tray still sat on her office desk, just where Medreal had left it. Blood and earth, she should have asked her to stay!

  For what? a quiet voice asked in the back of her mind. Firal knew it wouldn't have changed anything. The stewardess was a free mage, and she'd faced the intruder and lost. Firal was skilled in her Gift, but she was not strong. She'd never even reached the rank of blue mageling. If she had been present, the only thing that would be different was that she would be dead, too.

  “Should I ask them to bring more chairs?” Vahn asked. There were only a few, one behind her desk and two before it.

  Firal shook her head. “There are enough for us and the Archmage. Anyone else can stand.” She let go of his hand and dropped into the chair behind her desk. Her head spun. Now that she had a moment to sit, she felt too dazed for tears. For a moment, she wasn't sure it was happening at all. Perhaps it was a dream. A nightmare. Perhaps she was still asleep.

  “Your Majesty?” A guard appeared at the open door.

  Perhaps not.

  Tired, she waved him in. Her fatigue vanished as soon as she saw the man behind him. She surged to her feet.

  “My queen,” Ennil began before she could speak. He lowered his hand from his head. Whatever curse had been ready on the tip of her tongue died when she saw the blood that streaked his face. He held a rag in one hand. He glanced down at it, grimaced, and put it back to his temple to stanch the blood flow. “I believe we have a problem.”

  His wife slipped in behind him, quietly scolding and reaching for his arm. Ennil obliged, bending so Vivenne could look at his injury.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Firal braced herself against her desk.

  “A handful of us went to the Tanrys estate to, ah, apprehend Lord Tanrys as you requested,” the guard with them said. He looked uncomfortable. “When we arrived, we found him like this.”

  “Resting in Vivenne's favorite flower bed,” Ennil said dryly. He scowled as Vivenne rearranged his grayed hair and put the rag to his temple again. He took it from her and strode closer. Aside from the gash at his temple and a split at the corner of his brow, the whole right half of his face appeared to have been skinned by stone. “Though it seems I traveled across the walkway, first.”

  “My people saw you in the palace,” Firal said. “Entering my quarters just before Lumia was taken.”

  Vahn laid a hand on her shoulder. Whether he was trying to calm her or offer support, she wasn't sure.

  “Yes,” Ennil sighed.

  She raised a brow. She'd expected him to deny it.

  “A curious situation arose this morning.” Ennil dropped into one of the chairs before her desk with a groan. “I found myself unexpectedly entertaining a woman I never thought I would see again. Vivenne was out. I sent the rest of my staff away, assuming their presence would put them at risk.”

  “The woman in white they saw you with?” Firal asked.

  He nodded, then winced and adjusted the rag at his temple. “One of my stablehands was to retrieve members of the guard. He was found dead in the alleyway behind my house just after they found me. I don't know who killed him or how, but I suppose it doesn't matter.”

  “We don't have ti
me for long-winded discussion, Father,” Vahn growled, his words uncharacteristically sharp.

  Again, Ennil nodded. “Of course, forgive me. The deposed Archmage, my queen. She wanted to know about your daughter.”

  Every inch of her went cold.

  “I assume it's because the girl is her grandchild. She wanted to know if the girl was Gifted. I had few choices but to be cooperative, my queen. I am just a man. Without a sword in my hands, I'm powerless. And even with one, what can I do against a mage that powerful?” The corners of Ennil's mouth twitched with the admission. He had been Captain of the Guard before Ordin Straes. Admitting weakness couldn't be easy. “After we spoke, she insisted we see the girl.”

  “And you took her?” Vahn almost snarled. He lurched forward, like a beast ready to strike.

  Firal laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “Letting her kill him wouldn't have stopped anything. If Envesi wanted into the palace, she would have found a way.”

  Ennil nodded. “I knew Lulu wouldn't be without protection, but I didn't expect...” He trailed off and released a frustrated sigh. “She has changed, Your Majesty. And I don't mean her personality.”

  The cold grip of fear squeezed her body tighter. It was all Firal could do to keep from shivering. “What has happened?” she asked quietly, though a part of her already knew.

  Vivenne rubbed his shoulders and Ennil reached to touch her hand. “Your Majesty,” he began slowly, as if testing his words. “What do you know of unbound mages?”

  “I am a temple-trained mage, Ennil.” Firal stifled a prickle of irritation. As if there was anything she could learn about magic from someone who couldn't even feel it. That he asked at all was an affront. “My education has been robust.” That wasn't entirely true, of course, but he didn't need to know that. If not for Rune, Firal wouldn't have known it was possible for mages to exist without the bonds of affinity. But he'd been different, special. A child without parents, birthed by magic itself. Until she'd learned of Medreal's Gift, she'd always thought he was alone.