There is no blood, he thought, his eyes lingering on a woven depiction of the Battle of the Lanterns. In it, the armored legions of Galland fell upon the cities of Larsia, their great green-and-gold flag held high. Though swords and spears glinted in silver thread, they were clean, and the Larsians fell to their knees in surrender.
We were never even given the chance. There was no mercy in that army, or that man. Andry squeezed his eyes shut and turned away even as the cursed image of Taristan rose in his mind. Corblood in his veins, a Spindleblade in his fist. Made of stone, made of flame, made of mortal flesh. Red blood, black armor, white hands, white ash, white-hot pain and anger and loss—
“How go your petitions?”
Andry blinked furiously, clearing his head. The hot sting in his eyes faded with his mother’s voice. “Sorry—what?”
She put a frail hand on his. Firelight danced on his mother’s face, brightening already brilliant eyes.
“Your petitions, madero,” Valeri said gently. My dear. “You have been petitioning lords and knights for service. You told me so last week.”
“Oh, y-yes,” Andry stuttered, finding his voice. He braced himself for another inquisition. “Yes, indeed, I’ve been asking around the barracks and the court. Sent some letters off as well,” he added, the half-truth tasting rotten. It was against the code of knights to lie, but with his mother in such a state, with such things still spilling forth on the horizon, finding another man to squire for was far from his mind. I have written letters, yes, but not seeking patronage.
Valeri drained her cup. “Anything promising?”
Quickly, Andry stood to prepare his mother another draft. He put his back to her so she would not see the falsehoods written on his face. I am no good at lying.
“A few,” he said, stirring honey. “Lord Konegin’s son just gained a knighthood and would be in need of a squire.”
“If memory serves, that boy is in need of far more,” Valeri muttered, giggling to herself.
Andry turned back to her with a wry smile. “Drink,” he said, nudging the cup into her hands. “The doctor is due to visit today. The Queen’s own.”
A strange look crossed Valeri’s face but quickly disappeared. “Oh, that isn’t necessary,” she sighed. “She need not fuss over me.”
Andry felt a twist of annoyance. He gently pushed the tea back to her mouth. Even as she swallowed, Andry heard the roughness in her throat. He braced himself for another coughing fit, but it never came. A stillness washed over her, and she fixed him with an odd stare.
“He’s university trained in Ibal,” he explained. The northern continent was not known for its skills in medicine. “Dr. Bahi isn’t another one of the foolish Gallish bloodletters or superstitious moon healers—”
Valeri waved a hand, suddenly sharp. Her eyes bored into his. “Why is the Queen of Galland bothering over me?”
“You were companion to her mother,” he offered, and almost winced. I’m not bending the truth so much as breaking it in half. “You knew her as a girl. Erida is a compassionate young woman.”
“You know the histories better than I do. Have you ever known a king or queen of Galland to be compassionate?” Valeri answered. Her eyes darted to the tapestries on the walls, to the sword and shield of his father, still hung on the stone. A great long scratch divided the shield in two, scarring the heraldry of Trelland’s blue star. It had not been earned in the training yard. “Was this shadow of the old empire forged from compassion, or from blood?”
Andry really did wince. The last thing he needed was to think of his father, broken on some field in Madrence, spent like an old coin. “Mother, please.”
But she stood, trembling, and Andry could not force her back down. The fire crackled at her back, turning her edges to ruby and gold.
“I came to the Royal Court of Ascal as a foreign bride, set apart from almost everyone around me by my skin and my voice. I have not remained here in high esteem by being foolish, and I will not see my son made a fool,” she said. Her hands met his cheeks, turning his face up to look at her. “What does Erida want from you?”
The breath caught in Andry’s throat. He hesitated, reluctant to put such a burden on an already burdened woman. Valeri stared down at him, the hearthfire in her eyes, and she was young again, vibrant, beautiful, impossible to deny.
Queen Erida had visited only a week ago, to pay her respects. And to quietly, carefully, and expertly try to pry from him any more details about the slaughter of the Companions. There was little more to say that did not concern a certain sword. And the whispers were clear as a bell.