But Rielle’s favorite of the godsbeasts had always been the chavaile—the giant winged horse that the bedtime stories from her childhood had told her lived in the mountains of Celdaria and could fly even faster than the dragons. They hunted game as mountain cats did and were sated for weeks afterward.
Rielle smiled to think of those stories. Hearing them read aloud was one of the only memories she still had of her mother. If she closed her eyes, she could hear Marise Dardenne’s voice—low and rich, a voice crafted by God for telling stories.
So her father had said, watching them from beside the fire as Rielle snuggled in her mother’s arms, a book of godsbeast tales open on their laps.
Rielle drew in a sharp breath as the memory surfaced. It was one she hadn’t remembered before, and yet there it shone in her mind, clear as daylight.
You’re welcome, came Corien’s voice, kinder than Rielle had ever heard it. I thought that might comfort you.
“How did you do that?” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“And now you’re talking to yourself.”
Rielle’s eyes flew open, and she shot to her feet. Beside the windows on the far side of the room, Queen Genoveve rose from a high-backed chaise and considered Rielle with one arched eyebrow.
“My queen!” Rielle hastily curtsied. “I didn’t… I didn’t see you…” She swallowed, took a deep breath. “I apologize. I would never have intruded, had I known you were resting.”
“I wasn’t resting. I was thinking. I come here often to think.” The queen crossed the room, wrapped in a gray dressing gown hemmed in blue silk. “And you come here often as well, it seems?”
There was no point in pretending. “Only sometimes.”
“I should punish you. Or at least your guard. But you are enduring enough punishment as it is, I suppose.”
When in the presence of the queen, Rielle often felt herself reduced to the child she had once been, leading Audric and Ludivine on some wild game through Baingarde. The three of them had once burst into the queen’s sitting room, shrieking merrily, right as Genoveve was taking tea with visiting dignitaries from Mazabat—and then, not five minutes later, Rielle’s father had chased her down, brought her back to her rooms, and shut her away once more.
She had never gotten to know Genoveve as well as Audric or King Bastien. The queen was a Sauvillier from skull to toe, with none of Ludivine’s warmth.
“Please, my queen,” Rielle managed, “do not punish Evyline. I’m afraid I rather manipulated her into thinking that if she didn’t obey me, I would bring the wrath of God down upon her, once I’ve been named Sun Queen.”
Queen Genoveve let out a small, dark laugh. “Rielle, you astound me. These trials are meant to cow you, and yet you make light of them as though they’re a child’s game.”
Rielle hesitated. “If I don’t make light of them, my queen, then my fear is liable to overtake me.”
The queen inclined her head, then settled on a settee across from Rielle. “Why did you come here tonight?”
Rielle glanced up at the painted bestiary. “I like coming here. The chavaile has always been my favorite. It reminds me of my mother—and the stories she used to tell me.”
Queen Genoveve considered her for a long moment. “Are you manipulating me right now, Lady Rielle, as you’ve done to your poor guard?”
Rielle blinked in surprise. “No, my queen. I’m speaking the truth to you. Perhaps I’ve been too candid.”
“Not at all. In fact, I think this is the most I’ve ever liked you.”
“Oh.” Rielle began to laugh.
“Was that so very funny?”
“I apologize, my queen. I’m caught quite off my guard is all. I suppose I need to sleep. My nerves are a tangle.”
“It’s not that you haven’t been a good friend to my son and niece,” the queen said after a moment. “It’s that you are…” She paused, thinking. “Cunning. Willful and lovely. It’s a volatile combination. It unnerves me.”
“And now you know I’ve been keeping secrets from you during all my cunning and willful years.”
Queen Genoveve nodded. “And I wonder what others you might have yet to reveal.”
Rielle forced herself to meet the queen’s thoughtful gaze, one that so matched Audric’s that a lump formed in Rielle’s throat.
“Come sit beside me.” The queen patted the settee’s cushion. “We will pray to Saint Grimvald together, that he may bring you success tomorrow.”