murdered Owyn Glennadoer, and each of them she’d spent running.
Hal still felt blood on her face, though she’d scrubbed and scratched it all away.
At the city gate, she’d left Ter Melia and the three soldiers who’d accompanied Hal to and from Innis Lear (the rest of the party was either making their way slowly home, or Banna Mora had claimed them as hostages). Because Hal’s return was not expected for weeks yet, the prince thought to go quietly, in the hopes she could make it to her mother before rumors began, and with the queen invent together the story they would tell.
Thus far, she’d not been recognized. But at Lionis Palace, she was the fallen Lion Prince and could not hide. Though her travel clothes were worn, her hair unkempt, cheeks chapped red, she remained herself. Surprised gossip would spread, but nothing worse than surprise, if Hal kept her expression clear and tears off her face.
In truth she’d not cried at all. Nor had she slept beyond what absolute exhaustion forced upon her: dreamless it seemed, only to wake choking on a string of Glennadoer’s hot blood.
Hal did not hesitate as she took the broad stairs off the People’s Courtyard up toward the level where she could cut across the audience gallery to her mother’s chambers. She ignored everyone—saluting guard, bowing maids, startled and diplomatically gaping nobility—until she arrived at the double doors where a page in Celedrix’s colors waited and a guard held out his gauntleted hand. “The queen is not to be disturbed,” he said apologetically.
“Is she alone?”
“So far as I know, Prince.”
“Then move yourself, man,” Hal said calmly, with no hint of humor.
He did.
The front room was dim once the door closed behind her, though light filtered in from the queen’s bathing room as well as through the arch leading into her bedchamber.
“Mother?” Hal called tentatively, a sudden apprehension tightening her already nervous stomach.
No answer came, and she moved toward the bedchamber. Again she called for her mother.
“Hal? What—?”
Relief softened her knees and Hal took a fortifying breath before hurrying in. Morning light glazed the simple room, soft enough to mark no shadows over the floral tapestries, nor upon the thick rugs, nor darkening the perfect clouds painted on the vaulted ceiling. The bed dominated the side of the room opposite the daunting hearth. Curtains had been drawn around three sides of it so that Celeda could see the edge of the windows but not the door.
“Hal?” her mother said again.
Hal hurried around and knelt beside the open portion of the bed.
Celeda reclined against striped silk pillows, hair loose, face unpainted, a quilt drawn to her waist and a heavy wool robe about her body. She blinked heavily, and her frown pulled worse lines around her lips, dragging at her eyes. Her lips were too dry. She looked as exhausted as Hal felt, and sick, even.
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Heart pounding, Hal leaned her elbows on the mattress. “A winter cough? Fever? You’re so pale.” Hal reached thoughtlessly to put the back of her hand to Celeda’s cheek. It was cold.
The queen stared at her daughter, lips apart, as if she did not quite believe Hal existed.
“Mother,” Hal insisted.
“I do not have a fever, nor winter sickness,” Celeda said. She took Hal’s hand as it dropped. “What are you doing here?”
Hal studied her mother, afraid.
Celeda said, “Hal,” and her voice was stronger, more commanding. The queen released Hal’s hand and sat up, with only a slight wince. “Tell me why you are home so early, and without notice or fanfare.”
“Then you will tell me what is wrong with you.” Hal tried—and failed—to make her voice as strong as her mother’s.
“I will, Hal, I promise.”
Taking a deep breath, Hal nodded and sat back upon her heels. She thought to ask for wine, but on an empty stomach it would spell disaster. She did not need such things to fortify herself. She refused. “I killed Owyn Glennadoer on the morning after the Longest Night,” she said.
Silence drew between them, Celedrix watching her daughter, Hal returning the steady gaze of her mother.
Celeda asked, “Why?”
Hal’s hands trembled in relief at the simple question. It mattered that her mother assumed she’d had a reason. “There is much I have to tell you, Mother, but the most salient is this: Glennadoer murdered Ryrie Lear, and sought shelter with me, to ally his betrayal to Aremoria, and when I refused, he would have killed me had I not defended myself.”