The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,108

she is a beauty.”

I looked at the girl cowering against the wall. “You agreed to this?” I roared.

She nodded.

I turned away, shaking my head. “This is extortion.”

“It is negotiation, Your Majesty, a practice as old as the realm—and one your father was well versed in. Now, the sooner you sign the documents, the sooner the betrothal can be announced and I can execute your orders.”

I glared at him. Execute was an appropriate word choice. I turned and walked out of the room, because all I could see was his neck squeezed between my bare hands. I had never felt like I needed Sven’s tempered counsel more than I did now.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

PAULINE

I was on my way back to the inn, night closing in and blind to my path because Mikael’s relieved smile continued to loom in my vision. His question—who’s the father?—clanged in my head like a cow bell, overpowering my thoughts.

But then I sensed something. I felt a presence as strongly as a hand on my arm, and I looked up. She was a small figure perched high on the portico balcony overlooking the plaza. The royal red satin trim of her cloak shone in the fading light. The queen.

I stopped as a few others had, most hurrying home to their own eventide remembrances, shocked to a standstill by the sight of the queen sitting on a balcony wall. Outside of official ceremonies, I couldn’t remember ever having seen her say remembrances publicly, especially not perched so precariously on a balustrade, but now her voice carried eerily over our heads, swirling like the air itself and slipping inside us just as easily.

She quickly drew more onlookers, and a stillness fell over the plaza.

At times it seemed her words were more sobbed than sung, more felt than said, and they scuttled through me with their haphazard delivery, some phrases skipped and others repeated. Maybe the rushed anguish was what held us all in a breathless grip. Nothing was by rote, only by her need. Every word was raw and true, and I heard it in a new way. Her face was hidden in the shadows of her hood, but I saw her reach up, wiping at what I was sure were tears. And then she said remembrances I had never heard before.

“Gather close, my brothers and sisters. Hear the words of the mother of your land. Hear the words of Morrighan and her kin.

“Once upon a time,

Long, long ago,

Seven stars were flung from the sky.

One to shake the mountains,

One to churn the seas,

One to choke the air,

And four to test the hearts of men.

Your hearts are to be tested now.

Open them to the truths,

For we must not just be ready

For the enemy without,

But also the enemy within.”

She paused, choking on her words. Silence clutched the plaza, everyone waiting, mesmerized, and then she continued.

“For the Dragon of many faces,

Dwells not just past the great divide,

But among you.

Guard your hearts against his cunning,

Your children against his thirst,

For his greed knows no bounds,

And so shall it be,

Sisters of my heart,

Brothers of my soul,

Family of my flesh,

For evermore.”

She kissed two fingers and lifted them to the heavens, a heavy sadness to her movement.

“For evermore,” the crowd echoed back, but I was still trying to comprehend it all. The words of Morrighan and her kin? Seven stars? A dragon?

The queen stood and looked behind her as if she had heard something. She jumped down from the wall and hurried away, disappearing into the darkness as easily as night. Seconds later, the balcony doors burst open and the Watch Captain stepped out on the empty balcony with several guards. It was then that I saw the Chancellor standing only a few feet to my right. He was still staring up at the balcony, perhaps trying to understand the queen’s unexpected appearance. I turned, tugging on my hood, and hurried away, but in spite of the danger, something compelled me to return the next night. The queen’s urgent prayer still stirred within me. Again, she spoke just as the veil of darkness fell, and this time from the east tower.

The next evening, Berdi and Gwyneth came with me. The queen was on a wall below the western turret. I worried for her, perched so uncertainly on ledges and roofs, and I wondered if her grief had made her reckless. Or mad. She said things I had never heard before. The crowds grew, but it was her haunting words that prodded us to return. On the fourth night, the