The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (23 page)

The queen prepared for battle, donning the trappings of war. Her armor and weapons were vastly different from other monarchs. Instead of chainmail, she chose a gown made of cloth of gold to bedazzle the eye. The bodice was close-fitting, the dagged sleeves nearly reaching the floor, every aspect designed to accentuate her hourglass figure. Glowing in the candlelight, the golden gown created a vision of royalty that exceeded most men’s imaginations. Her raven-black hair was teased to a lustrous shine, her face painted to remove the years and draw attention to her emerald-green eyes. And on her brow, the royal crown to impart authority, the shining symbol of her sovereign power.
Beauty to beguile,
it should have been the motto beneath her coat-of-arms. Liandra scrutinized the mirror, needing all of her weapons to win the fight for her throne. Victory or death, there was no other choice for a sovereign monarch, especially a queen.

“Do we look dead to you?”

Nervous laughter tittered from her women.

The queen turned before the mirror. “We shall be a vengeful ghost.”

An urgent knock sounded on the outer door, sending shockwaves through her women.

Princess Jemma answered the door, taking a message from the soldier.

The queen stood statue-still as her women made the final adjustments. “We need your best work. We must be our most regal, a vision of sovereign splendor, a monarch anointed by the Lords of Light…a queen worth fighting for.”

Princess Jemma closed the door and approached. The petite young royal wore a close-fitting gown of deep blue, a quiver of arrows belted at her waist. Her face blanched pale but her voice held steady. “Your majesty, the fighting has reached the sixth floor.”

A glass vial shattered against the stone floor, flooding the chamber with the scent of roses. Lady Martha gasped, “Only one floor below!”

The queen kept her voice iron-calm. “Any word from our other forces?”

The princess shook her head. “None, your majesty.”

Lady Amy knelt to clean the broken glass but the rose scent prevailed, overbearing and sweet.

Liandra glanced at the casement window. Dawn was still hours away. “Time for us to play our part. We dare not tarry any longer.” Liandra stood sword-straight, her face composed. Her women fluttered about, arranging the heavy folds of the golden gown, perfecting the royal image. Lady Sarah knelt and clutched the queen’s hand, kissing the emerald ring of office, tears on her face.

The queen spared a moment for her ladies. “You have all served us well. Wait for us above, in the secret chamber. We would see you kept safe.” She dismissed them with a small smile and then set her mind on the task ahead.

The gown was stiff and heavy but the queen glided forward, maintaining a royal posture designed to bear the heavy crown. Princess Jemma opened the door and the queen stepped into the outer hallway.

A gasp rose from the handful of soldiers guarding the door. The men dropped as one to their knees.

The queen studied their upturned faces, satisfied that her beauty still held sway. “You may rise.”

Captain Durnheart approached, his voice a low whisper. “Your majesty, we don’t have the numbers to hold the rebels. You must flee the tower while there is still time!”

She kept her voice calm. “What news of our forces?” Against the better judgment of her senior military men, the queen had split her loyal soldiers, sending the greater number into the secret passageways to attack from the rear, counting on the element of surprise to make up for the disparity in numbers.

The captain paled. “Still no word from the lower floors.”

“Then we will continue to hope.” The captain looked to argue the point but the queen raised an eyebrow forestalling him. She turned to one of the soldiers. “There is a foot stool in our solar. We bid you to bring it.” The soldier looked confused but leaped to obey. The queen turned back to the captain. “You may escort us to the fighting.”

“But majesty, you must flee!”

She gave him a stern look. “If a monarch flees, why should soldiers stand and fight?” She softened her voice. “In order to rule, we must lead. We will do what we can to buy time.” The queen’s voice brooked no argument.

Captain Durnheart swallowed hard, a resigned look on his face. “Majesty, if this is your will, then allow us to escort you to the battle.”

The queen gave him a gracious smile. “The honor is yours.”

The captain barked an order and the soldiers unsheathed their swords, forming a protective ring around the queen.

“Majesty, I wish to join you!” Princess Jemma held her bow in her hands.

The queen admired the young woman’s courage. “Walk with us. We will show them the courage of royal women.” The soldiers reformed around the princess and the queen. Liandra set the pace, balancing the heavy crown upon her brow. She walked to war with an escort of five soldiers and an archer princess, a thin hope but Liandra knew guile and beauty might win where swords failed. The rebels whispered rumors that the queen was dead, killed in the uprising. The blatant lie might be the rebels’ undoing.

At the end of the hallway, she heard the faint clash of swords. The sounds of war echoed in marble halls that had only known the flattery of courtiers, the queen silently cursed the rebels.

At the staircase, the battle sounds intensified. Captain Durnheart looked her way. “Majesty, are you certain?”

She gave him a terse nod. The captain led the way down, his sword held at the ready. Wounded soldiers lined the lower half of the stairs, crimson stains marring their emerald tabards, pools of blood staining the marble floor. Many were grievously wounded, some missing limbs. Most stared with vacant eyes while others moaned in agony, the awful price of war. One of the wounded glanced her way. “The queen comes! The queen
lives!
”

The cry was echoed by other wounded, a herald that ran ahead of the queen. Faces turned her way, desperate for a glimmer of hope. Liandra gave them a radiant smile, her voice full of confidence. “You’ve fought with honor. You deserve better than this. Make your way up the stairs to our royal solar. Our ladies-in-waiting will do their best to bind your wounds and ease your pain.” The gratitude in the soldiers’ eyes clutched at the queen’s heart. She wished there was a way to protect them all, to end the bloodshed.

The sounds of fighting intensified, proof the battle was near.

The queen took a deep breath, hardening her resolve.

The staircase opened onto a long hallway. Chaos claimed the far end, soldiers crammed into the narrow hall, fighting with swords and spears. A din of screams and a clash of swords, the emerald line retreated as she watched. The fighting was fierce. More wounded fell, trampled beneath the line of combat.

“This must stop.”

A soldier retreated from the line of battle, running to meet the queen. Major Telcore bore a sword cut across his forehead and was missing an ear but otherwise he seemed whole. “Majesty! I gave orders for you to leave the tower. We will not hold much longer.”

“Major, you are a brave man but one does not order a queen.”

“Majesty, it is not safe!”

“We do what we must.”

A wave of desperation passed across the major’s face.

The queen raised a hand, forestalling his argument. “When swords fail, we must try other ways.”

The major’s face darkened. “Surely you won’t surrender?”

“We shall try a queen’s gambit, a feint within a feint.”

The old soldier narrowed his stare. “What would you have of me?”

“Stand with your men at the front line and watch the enemy. This gambit could yield a victory…or further treachery, be prepared for both.”

He raised a bloody sword in salute. “As you command.”

The queen turned to the soldier carrying the footstool. “We must move closer to the lines of battle. We need to be seen by both sides.” Armored in regal calm, she moved toward the fighting, drawing close enough to smell the battle, a terrible mix of sweat and blood and grim determination.

Soldiers near the rear of the frontline flicked quick glances backward, amazement on their faces. Cries of “The queen!” mixed with the sounds of battle.

She gestured to the marble floor. “This will do.” She needed help stepping up onto the small platform. Captain Durnheart provided a steadying hand. She found her balance on the small stage and released his arm. Sword-straight, she stood armored in a shimmering gown of gold, a royal sun rising before the dawn. Staring above the heads of her loyal soldiers, she sought the attention of her enemies, looking for familiar faces among the traitors…but she found none. Three officers directed the rebel forces but none were lords. The leaders of the rebellion were absent, cowards hiding behind the bloodshed of others. Their absence was her opportunity. The queen pitched her voice to carry. “
Soldiers of Lanverness! This bloodshed must end!”

The clash of swords continued, claiming a bloody harvest.

“
Soldiers of Lanverness, we would speak to you!”

The ferocity of the swords lessened. A hesitation hung in the air. A few soldiers on the far side of the battle lines looked up and stared at her, surprise on their faces. A low murmur spread through the ranks.

The queen seized the moment. “
Soldiers of Lanverness put up your swords and let us speak!”

“
The queen lives!”
The words echoed on both sides of the battle.

The swords came to a stop. Soldiers on each side drew back, creating a narrow strip of neutral ground. Suspicious faces stared up at her, but she’d won her chance to speak.

She stood tall, giving them a chance to see what they opposed, to see the glory of their rightful queen. “It is a grim day when brothers fight brothers. You are all brave men…but your bravery is wasted.” She studied their faces, noting their surprise at her praise. “Rumors whisper that the queen is dead…but
we are here!
” A ragged cheer rose from her loyal troops. She waved them to silence, focusing on the rebels. “We dare our own life to save your lives, the lives of our soldiers. We would stop this bloodshed. Even now, we would pardon every one of you, every soldier who puts down his sword and swears fealty to our crown. We will not spare the lords who lied but we will spare the soldiers who were misled.”

One of the rebels yelled, “Don’t listen to the witch!” but other voices shouted him down. A rebel officer turned and ran back down the far hallway, her time was limited.

The queen raised her voice, using all of her skills of persuasion. “Look behind you! Where are your leaders? Where are your lords? They cower while you fight. They grasp for glory by risking your blood. They
lied
to you about our death.
What else have they lied about?”
A murmur rose among the rebels, confusion and anger on their faces. The seed of doubt had taken root.

“Save your lives and the lives of your fellow soldiers. Put down your swords and swear fealty. Let peace return to Lanverness.”

A hush settled over the hallway. A grizzled sergeant shouted a challenge, his voice skeptical. “You’d pardon us all, every one?”

She kept the hope from her face. “Every soldier who lays down his sword and swears fealty.” Doubt shadowed their faces. She made her voice solemn. “You have our royal word.”

Arguments broke out among the rebels.

The queen rushed to persuade, but this time she made her voice a soft, feminine hush. “We have heard what they say about us.”

The orator’s trick worked. Her soft words teased the soldiers, stilling their argument. The rebels turned and stared at her, their faces a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Knowing the tide could turn either way, she kept her voice teasingly feminine. “They say a woman cannot rule.” She shuffled on the stool, the ripple of movement causing her gown to shimmer in the light, a calculated vision of splendor. “We are only a woman yet we keep the taxes low and find ways to grow the wealth of Lanverness, a wealth that benefits all our people. Is any other kingdom more prosperous than Lanverness?”

Her loyal men shouted, “
No!
”

Their answer echoed down the marble halls.

“We are only a woman, but a queen is also a mother. We know the value of each life. We guard the peace like a lioness because we refuse to needlessly risk the lives of our soldiers…
your
lives. We would keep the sons of Lanverness safe.”

Her loyal men drummed their swords against their shields, a soldier’s salute.

She made her voice a woman’s plea. “
Sheath your swords and swear to keep the peace!”

She’d won them over; she saw it in their eyes.

The rebel sergeant knelt. The others cleared a space around him. He extended his sword toward the queen, hilt first, remorse on his face. “Pardon me for fighting against my true queen. Accept my sword in fealty.”

A low murmur raced through the rebels.

The queen extended an open hand toward the sergeant. “We do accept.”

“
No!
” Footsteps raced from the far end of the hall. A minor lordling led a fresh squad of rebels. Their battle cry echoed through the hallway, “
Kill the witch! Fight for the king
!”