A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

Who are you?

The figure had no face, and stood in a grey mist. A dreamer, it said, in a voice like pure water. An impossible voice, without pitch or inflection, or any trait at all. I suppose you are, too.

Is this your dream or mine?

They stood on either side of a stream. Outside of its glassy trickling, all was deathly silent.

And are we really dreaming?

Her voice echoed, identical to the other.

I remember falling asleep. The figure held a loosely human shape, and did not move. How strange. In all the dreams I have had, I have never crossed paths with anyone else. Either I am lonelier than I thought, and now I am imagining a friend, or you are a messenger from the gods.

There are no gods.

Of course there are. An expectant stillness. Very well. You are a dreamer, and so am I, and this is both my dream and yours. What could have brought us to each other?

I don’t know. Where are you in this world?

I am on an island.

I am on an island, too.

****

The dream broke, and Glorian woke in her bed with a shudder. Beside her, Helisent sat up.

‘Did you have a nightmare?’

It was a moment before Glorian could reply. Her tongue seemed sewn to her teeth. ‘I think so.’

Helisent touched her shoulder. ‘You’re frozen,’ she murmured. ‘It’s almost morning. I’ll have a bath prepared.’

‘Thank you.’

She went to the windows to check they were latched. Once she had stoked the fire and left, Glorian turned over, trying to recall the dream. The taste of silver filled her mouth.

Her ladies bathed her, driving the chill from her skin. After, she dismissed Helisent and Adela, letting Julain stay only to comb and dry her hair.

‘Shall we go to the queenswood today, since you have no lessons?’ Julain asked her. ‘A long walk is always a tonic in winter.’

‘It looks as if it will rain.’

‘You love the rain.’

‘I have a headache.’ Glorian grasped her own arms. ‘Let’s just stay here and play cards.’

‘It isn’t good to be so cooped up, Glorian. Why don’t we look for oak galls again?’

Glorian wondered how many people who wanted her dead were lurking in those trees.

‘Perhaps when the sun is out,’ she said.

Julain sighed. ‘As you wish.’

While her ladies sweetened her bedchamber, Glorian broke her fast in the Dearn Chamber, with her guards so close she could almost smell the steel in their scabbards. Her world, once closed and soft as a rosebud, had sprung thorns.

Her mother had joined her at first. As always, she had said little. Queen Sabran did not indulge fear or accept weakness. But she had sat with Glorian as she worked, for a time.

In the hours after the attack, no one could have come between them. Queen Sabran had marched Glorian to the royal apartments, tucked her into her own bed, and watched over her all night, stroking her hair whenever she woke. Glorian had slept fitfully – yet also never felt so safe, comforted by her own mother, swaddled in her love at last.

Queen Sabran had not touched her since. She had been colder than ever, as if that night of gentleness had turned her to pure stone.

Today she was in the Council Chamber. There had been more reports of livestock disappearing. Something was afoot in the world, and Inys was starting to sense it. King Bardholt had not made his usual summer visit, and all Glorian had wanted was to see him. Still, he would be with her soon. He never usually left Hróth during the darker months, when his own people needed him most. It had to be because of the attempt on her life.

The man with the dull knife had come from the mining town of Crawham. She had watched him die on the rushes. The next morning, her mother had ordered the court to move to Drouthwick Castle, where Glorian had hidden in her rooms with her ladies and her fear. She flinched at the faintest sound, expecting to see that wan, embittered face.

He had wanted to kill her because he thought the Nameless One was free, and her bloodline had no claim to Inys.

All because of the Dreadmount.

She looked out of the misted window. The morning was as grim and leaden as her mood, as mornings often were in the Fells.

The door creaked open, making her stiffen. ‘Highness,’ Dame Erda said, ‘King Bardholt’s party has passed Worhurst. They should be here before long.’

‘Thank you.’

The knight left, and Glorian was alone again. Alone was the safest choice.

****

It was past midday when her father arrived at Drouthwick. As the procession of riders passed beneath her window, Glorian saw Wulf among them. He glanced up, and their gazes met.

In that glimpse of him, she saw the shadows under his dark eyes. He saluted her, dipping his head, and rode on.

King Bardholt liked to bathe when he arrived at court. While Glorian waited for him, she played cards with her ladies, but her mind was elsewhere, and they let her win at least twice. By the time her father summoned her, her candle clock was halfway burned.

He awaited her in the Witting Room, where documents and manuscripts were stored. King Bardholt hated reading, but he liked the quiet and coolness of that part of the castle.

Two of his retainers flanked the door. One was stern and pale, with a scar across his cheekbone – Karlsten, that was his name – while the other had tousled black hair, a trim beard, and dark olive skin. He offered her a smile.

‘Good day,’ Glorian said in Hróthi. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘Thrit of Isborg, Highness. An honour.’ He raised a fist to his heart. ‘Joy for your hall.’

‘Fire for your hearth.’

Inside, her father was sitting with his elbows on his knees, stroking his beard, as he always did when he was deep in thought. He rose when she entered the room.

‘Glorian.’

‘Papa,’ she whispered.

The sight of him made her eyes well. Even without his mail and furs, her father was a solid wall no blade could ever pass. As soon as the doors closed behind her, she rushed to him, and he scooped her into his arms.

‘Dróterning,’ he murmured. ‘Are you all right?’ She tried to speak, and instead began to cry. ‘Come, my warrior. All is well.’ He drew her on to his knee, as if she were still a child. ‘Weep all you need. It’s good for the heart. I cried the first time someone tried to kill me.’

‘Truly?’

‘And the second. And the third.’

Glorian huddled against his chest, tears flowing down her face. Her father sang in his deep, slow voice, holding her tight. Whenever she had asked him not to leave Inys without her, he had calmed her with this old lullaby, which would have chilled the Saint himself.

‘Papa,’ she said, drying her eyes, ‘why did you not come to visit in the summer?’

‘There were matters that needed attention in Hróth. But I am here now.’ King Bardholt looked her in the face. ‘The miner is dead. He cannot hurt you now, Glorian.’

‘But there must be others like him, who hate us,’ Glorian stammered. ‘I know how to fight – you made sure I knew – but I was so scared, Papa. I couldn’t even move.’

‘That has happened to me, too. To freeze is an instinct shared by all living things. Think of how a deer stills when it scents a threat. There is no shame in it, Glorian, but you can conquer it.’

‘What if someone comes to hurt me again before I do?’

‘Then the Royal Guard will stop them again. Sir Bramel has been rewarded for his courage.’

‘Good.’ She tucked her head under his chin. ‘Was it in the war, when it first happened to you?’

‘No. In Bringard,’ he said softly, ‘when I was fourteen. One of the villagers came for your aunt.’ He smoothed her hair. ‘I was tall and strong, even then, but he was stronger. He beat us both to the floor. My mother returned from hunting just in time, and shot him dead.’

He had never told her this awful tale.

‘That was why we fled to Askrdal,’ he said. ‘Skiri Longstride sheltered us. She was kind.’

Glorian wished she could have met more of his family. Though their craft was useful, the Hróthi had once feared boneworkers, believing they brought death wherever they walked. Their situation had worsened when his sister had been born with a white streak of hair. In that cruel time, it had been seen as proof that she was cursed by the ice spirits.

‘Mother saved me. Like yours saved you,’ Glorian said. ‘She pushed the man away.’

‘I heard. Did I not tell you she was a warrior?’

Glorian nodded.

‘The day it happened . . . Mother was so tender with me,’ she said. ‘But now she speaks to me even less warmly. I never talk or laugh with her as I do with you, Papa.’ Her eyes brimmed again. ‘Did I shame her?’

‘No. Never,’ he said, low and resolute. ‘You could never shame either of us, Glorian.’

‘Then why does she not love me as you do?’

‘She does. Just as much. But some of us run hot, and some run cold. Queen Sabran is the latter sort, and I am the former,’ he said. ‘It is what makes our partnership so strong.’

Glorian looked at her hands.

‘Have you been outside since it happened?’ King Bardholt asked. She shook her head. ‘Don’t let fear command you. If I had hidden every time someone tried to hurt me, I would have walled myself up and never come out.’

‘I won’t hide.’ Glorian tried to sound brave. ‘Could we ride together in the queenswood?’

‘Of course.’

‘How long will you stay?’

‘Until the marriage of Lord Magnaust and Princess Idrega. Your mother and I will depart from Werstuth.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I must speak with the Virtues Council. Go to sanctuary and pray to the Knight of Courage. Let your patron fill you with his fortitude.’

‘Yes, Papa.’

As she stood, he took her hand.

‘I would have slain the man myself, as I slew Verthing Bloodblade,’ he said quietly. ‘If he has a supporter left in Inys, they will die the way that wretch did. I swear this to you, daughter.’

Glorian believed him. Northerners never broke an oath.

****

Outside, Helisent was waiting to walk her back to her guards. ‘Helly,’ Glorian said, once they had rounded a corner, ‘do you still remember how to find the secret room – the spyhole?’

‘You don’t mean to use it.’

‘I want to know why Father missed his summer visit to Inys. He said there were pressing matters in Hróth – I think it must be something of great import.’

‘Why not ask Master Glenn?’ Helisent said stiffly. ‘Jules says you rekindled your acquaintance with him.’

‘If two brief conversations count.’ Glorian said, amused. ‘And why, Helly, does the possibility make you look as if you’ve swallowed a sour plum?’

Helisent stopped to frown at her. ‘Glorian . . . you do know about Wulf, don’t you?’

‘What about him?’

Before they could go on, a door opened. Helisent swept Glorian behind a curtain, and they held their breath as King Bardholt strode past with the two retainers, speaking Hróthi.

‘Go on, Helly,’ Glorian said, once they were gone. ‘What do you want to say of Wulf?’

Helisent glanced out of the window. ‘Father told me the story,’ she said. ‘Some years ago, a boy was found at the northern boundary of the haithwood. A child who was said to bear marks of a witching.’

‘Witching.’ Glorian tried not to laugh. ‘Helly, I know there are certain tales in the north, and I like some of them, but—’

‘This tells of a woman of old Inysca, who lives deep in the haithwood, waiting to torment those who renounce the Saint,’ Helisent whispered. ‘She’s real, Glorian. I’m sure of it.’

‘Who?’

‘The Witch of Inysca. The Lady of the Woods. She who twists the trees.’ Her voice shook. ‘Wulf came from in there. Baron Glenn took him in that night, and gave him name.’

‘That was very kind of Lord Edrick. He is a man of generous heart.’ Glorian folded her arms. ‘To me, this sounds quite simple. Wulf was a foundling, given a loving home. Any talk of witchery is nonsense.’

‘You might think so,’ Helisent said, folding her arms right back, ‘but I believe the haithwood is an unhallowed place, forsaken by the Saint. Father has been its keeper to the south for decades, and he has seen too much for me to trust those woods.’

‘That doesn’t mean you can’t trust Wulf. It’s hardly his fault that he was abandoned there.’

‘I never said it was. I’m just asking you to be careful around him,’ Helisent said softly. ‘I know you like him, but to some, Wulfert Glenn is a reminder of the old world. We don’t know what might have seen him in there. What might still be watching him.’

‘Helly, none of this helps me find out why my father did not visit Inys in the summer.’

Helisent considered for a time. Glorian could see her mind at work behind those dark eyes.

‘Ask for a period of seclusion in the Royal Sanctuary tonight. To . . . reflect on your future as queen, or something. That will give you time.’ Helisent paused. ‘Glorian, some things in the shadows are put there for a reason. Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘If I am to be queen, I must learn to find the truth myself. I must be braver. In all things.’ Glorian drew herself up. ‘Mother retires after eventide. I will need to be at the spyhole by then.’ She grimaced. ‘Let’s not tell Jules. She’ll only worry.’

They looked at one another. ‘Or Adela,’ they agreed in unison.

****

After the evening meal, she and Helisent changed and walked to the Royal Sanctuary. Sir Bramel and Dame Erda closed the doors behind them, leaving Glorian to her supposed reflection.

‘Take this.’ Helisent took a fire pouch from under her cloak. ‘Do you know how to use it?’

‘Of course.’ When Helisent canted an eyebrow, Glorian sighed. ‘I am aware I lack certain practical skills as a royal, but do you truly think a princess of the North can’t light a fire?’

‘I sometimes forget you’ve a claim to two thrones.’ Helisent presented her with a set of iron pincers. ‘For the nails.’

They had worn cloaks of different colours, which they now traded. Helisent drew up her hood and knelt in prayer, while Glorian slipped through the sanctarians’ door.

Helisent had discovered the secret when she was fifteen. Since she had a sharp eye for detail, her father had asked her to find some coroners’ rolls in the castle archives. During the search, she had come across an old plan of Drouthwick and noticed two windows she had never seen from the outside, adjacent to the room that was now the royal bedchamber. Combing the castle, she had found a dusty nook, bricked up at one end.

The stonemasons must have grown lazy and not filled it in all the way. Content that no one was using it to spy on Queen Sabran – there was no sign of disturbance, save mouse droppings – Helisent had burned the plan and told Glorian. Now it was theirs.

The entrance lay in a passage behind a rusty iron grate. Glorian knelt beside it and used the pincers to pluck out its nails, revealing an opening. She slid through the gap.

In the dark, she unpacked the firesteel and flint. When she had a candle lit, she pulled the grate back into place, a thread of fearful excitement winding through her. In sixteen years, she had never eluded her guards.

The steps were cramped. Helisent thought the Malkin Queen must have used them to bring lovers to her bed, but the tyrant had paraded her adultery. More likely all of this was just unwanted space, sealed up to strengthen the castle. Glorian had never dared to visit it before.

Her slippers made little sound. She curled her hand around her candle, her shadow wavering. When she heard voices, she blew it out and crawled until she saw a faint light.

A fracture in the brickwork let her see straight into the Great Chamber. Her mother was sitting on her bed in a flowing ivory shift.

‘—never dare resist the Vatten. They have milk in their blood and feathers in the lining of their bellies.’

‘Now Heryon is appeased, I agree,’ her mother said. ‘But we have other things to fear.’ She watched her consort pace the room. ‘You say this sickness came from Ófandauth.’

‘My retainers found it almost deserted.’ King Bardholt sounded grim. ‘The Issýn caught it, Sabran. She is dead.’

‘By the Saint. She was the peacekeeper. Who knows?’

‘Only those who boarded the ships we took to Eldyng.’

‘What measures have you taken to stop word spreading farther?’ Queen Sabran rose. ‘Bardholt, we are already walking on sand. First an emboldened republic, then the Dreadmount—’

‘It is ended. Everywhere it tainted is now ash, along with the remains of the dead. I have riders waiting to inform me if it rears its head again.’ He grasped the shelf over the hearth. ‘One of my retainers survived it. Have Forthard examine him.’

‘You brought this retainer here?’

‘He is not afflicted.’

‘Any trace of it in Inys will feed the doubts the Dreadmount kindled. Glorian is already a target.’

‘Yes. I spoke to her.’ He sighed. ‘Ranna, you must show her more gentleness, more affection. You are her mother, the woman on whom she models herself. She barely knows you love her.’

Queen Sabran raised her chin. ‘You say I am too hard?’ she said. ‘I say our daughter is too soft.’ Glorian flinched. ‘A sword cannot be shaped without fire and force. You and I were both raised in a furnace, Bardholt. What does Glorian know of true hardship?’

‘Are we to be the furnace, then?’ King Bardholt said, his voice tight with anger. ‘Her parents?’

‘I must be the hammer, since you, ironically, refuse. She is sixteen and afraid to leave the castle. She spurns our highest duty. The Malkin Queen would have done the same, had she not feared an end to her rule.’

‘Do not compare our daughter to that—’

‘I must, because Inys always will.’ She walked to his side. ‘In the eyes of the law, Glorian may have a child of her own when she turns seventeen. A year later, she will be old enough to rule this queendom without a regent. If she were called to fulfil either of those duties now, today, are you confident she would be strong enough?’

‘Ranna, you are not even fifty. For the love of the Saint, permit her the childhood neither of us had.’

‘Easy for you to say. If you wanted, you could make as many bastards as you wished.’ She held a hand to her middle. ‘Glorian is my one and only successor. She must be strong – she must be perfect – because I will not bear another child. Saint knows, we have tried enough.’

Glorian blinked hard, as if she could wake up somewhere else. She was caught in the numbness after a fall, when the bone had been snapped, but the pain had not come.

‘Sabran.’ King Bardholt spoke quietly. ‘I would never. You are my own heart’s root.’

Queen Sabran released a long breath. ‘I know. I’m sorry, Bard.’ She sank back on to the bed. ‘I cannot pamper or coddle Glorian. Already she is too like my mother. I kept Marian away, all these years – but Glorian has her blood, too.’

Marian the Less, weakest of the three worst queens of Inys. Glorian wanted to shrivel into nothing.

No Berethnet queen had ever conceived more than once, but her parents had always hoped, all those years. They had wanted more than her.

‘Stop this.’ Her father sat beside her mother. ‘Glorian is not Marian. How could she be, when she is us?’ He laid a hand on her thigh. ‘Sweetheart. Are the shadows on you?’

‘Don’t fuss, Bardholt. It is not my head that gives me care,’ she said in an undertone. ‘It is the past.’

‘Damn the past,’ he said, his voice low and rough. ‘We are the future, and together we have changed the world. There is nothing that we cannot do. That we cannot take.’

Queen Sabran interlaced their fingers, looking him in the eyes.

‘This night,’ she said, ‘I bid you take what is already yours. And let me take what is already mine.’

She lifted his hand to her lips. King Bardholt waited, watching her caress his knuckles, before he leaned down and kissed her.

Glorian knew she should leave. This was private. She had to get back to Helisent before the guards realised.

Yet something kept her where she was. Curiosity, perhaps – about how it was between companions. You’ll find out when you’re wed, Florell had said when she asked. No need until then, sweeting.

Why should she only know then, and not before?

How would she ready herself?

So she watched as her parents undressed – not gently, but like they had slept in the sun and needed to cool down. Leave, a voice in her head urged, but Glorian was rooted, face burning in shock. All she could see were naked limbs, the sweep of hair on skin as her parents embraced on the bed. Not with courtesy or temperance. Something else had taken hold.

When they both started to breathe hard, it startled Glorian back to her senses. She scrambled down the steps and out through the opening, shoved the grate into place, and fumbled the nails in, palms sweating. Desperately, she gathered her borrowed tools and hurried along the passages, wishing she could scour what she had just seen from her mind.

‘Who goes there?’

Without thinking, she turned, and a housecarl stepped from the courtyard, carrying a torch.

‘Glorian.’ Wulf peered under her hood, his brow puckered. ‘What are you doing out here alone?’

‘I told you. I can look after myself,’ Glorian said thickly. ‘My father said that if he hid away every time someone tried to kill him, he would have walled himself up and died long ago.’

Wulf found a smile. ‘That’s true.’ His expression softened. ‘Let me take you to your rooms, at least.’

‘I can make my own way,’ she said, recoiling from his solid presence. ‘I’m fine, Wulf. Just leave me alone.’