chart and read this prophecy for the reign of Celedrix. We share it in cheerful celebration:
When the saints are singing and the restless are reclaimed, the dragon will burn, the lion will break, and the wolf will choose the end.”
A hush swept across the tournament in the wake of his strange words, followed by a long, even gust of wind.
When the wind died, Prince Hal had moved to Hotspur’s side. Celedrix spoke to Mared Lear, thanking him and his queenly aunt for such a stirring welcome to the throne. She invited him to be her guests at the evening’s banquet.
But Hotspur heard none of that, because Hal leaned closer, her lips near enough to Hotspur’s ear that the words brushed against her skin like a caress.
“Wolf of Aremoria,” the prince murmured. “The end of what?”
PRINCE HAL
Tenne-Tiras, midsummer
CELEDRIX SENT HER daughter out of Lionis.
The retinue—consisting of Prince Hal, Banna Mora of the March, Lady Hotspur Perseria, and half a dozen retainers and aides—traveled south along the Whiteglass River to the holdings at Tenne-Tiras, in order for Mora to offer the titles personally into Hal’s hand. Tenne-Tiras was traditionally the keep of the heir to the throne, and so while it had been Mora’s for nearly a decade, it now belonged to Hal.
Less than a day’s ride from the city, Tenne-Tiras took its name from the small castle that guarded the bend of the river spilling into this valley. It had been a lookout post for the lords of Lionis in more brutal times and was settled against a rocky slope above the village, with a few outbuildings for horses and retainers. The villagers took pride in their association with princes, especially when such princes had reputations like that of Banna Mora, who had been a serious and considerate prince. Prince Hal the villagers were less sure of, as Lady Hal Bolinbroke had been a troublemaker when she’d visited before, at Mora’s side. She’d led more than one slightly drunken quest into the forest hunting for the fairy tree, or blowing her horn in the middle of the night, waking the village as she and her friends charged down deer trails like she rode at the head of an earth saint’s wild hunt. Once Hal had successfully brought down a poor cow on their night ride, and compensated the farmer with twice its price; once she seduced the daughter of the local reeve, for which there was, naturally, no compensation. It was difficult to imagine Hal with the authority of a prince would be less riotous.
She was trying, though.
For weeks Hal had struggled at her mother’s side, attended meetings and cajoled cityfolk who knew her but not the once-banished Celedrix; Hal did not drink overmuch, nor did she swear unless vivid language was truly called for; she wore what she was told and did not leave the palace to search for Lady Ianta as she desperately wished to.
Hal had sent for Ianta three times, worried about the old knight, especially after Celedrix refused to ratify a new order of Lady Knights. The group had been commissioned under Rovassos and trained to be loyal to Banna Mora, and so apparently were too dangerous when Hal could neither take them in hand herself nor even find their founder. Hotspur insisted Hal didn’t need Lady Knights, if she was allowed to make knights who were also ladies—perhaps it was better to have them integrated into her retainers and palace guard, rather than separated out. But Hal couldn’t help linking her inability to rally Ianta with her difficulties at the rest. If she couldn’t convince an old friend and mentor, how could she convince nobles openly suspicious of her mother?
The queen insisted Hal was not being sent away in punishment. “Think of this as a respite, daughter,” Celeda had said. “You were thrust into this with no preparation whatsoever—a letter from your mother you’d not seen in ten years, and two weeks later you’d been through battle and suddenly found yourself a prince. This is a moment for you to breathe, and to shore up your friendship with Banna Mora, as well as remove her from immediate danger. There are some still loyal to Rovassos who would use her, and so she must either disappear—or be imprisoned—or dead.”
Hal pictured a sword arcing across her vision, slamming hard into Mora’s neck.
Celeda took the pause as hesitation, so added, “I don’t like to entertain superstitions from Innis Lear, but with that strange prophecy still swimming through the capital,