The resolve required to sit there, still and silent, made Rielle’s shoulders burn. She refused to break or blink. Her tears could build all they liked.
Tal glared at his casting, arms stiff at his sides. Rielle allowed him his seething silence for a full minute before she decided enough was enough.
“Will I have the chance to defend myself,” she asked, “or am I to bear you yelling at me without complaint?”
Tal looked back at her. “What right have you to complain?”
“You don’t own me, Tal,” she snapped. “No one does, Sun Queen or no. Not Audric, not Queen Genoveve, not the Archon.” She rose, lifting her chin. “I did save Styrdalleen, yes, and every one of its citizens, from a wave that would have dragged them all into the sea. And by doing that, I proved myself to the Borsvall people, to Prince Ilmaire and Princess Ingrid, to their magisterial council. Even to the Borsvall Obex.”
With that, Rielle crouched beside the chest and undid its four bronze latches. She opened the lid and stepped back, allowing Tal to look for himself.
He approached, frowning. The moment he laid eyes upon Grimvald’s hammer, his expression eased open, as if he were witnessing dawn for the first time.
Before he could speak, Rielle hurried on. “Jodoc Indarien, speaker of the Obex in the Sunderlands, thinks I may need the castings of the saints in order to repair the Gate. That their castings hold the memory of the Gate’s creation, and that by using them, I could follow those memories, reproduce their actions, and make the Gate stand strong once more.”
Tal said nothing, still staring at the hammer in disbelief.
Rielle watched his face, craving some kind of sign that he accepted her and what she had done. That he was proud of her, that this strange new rift between them was fleeting and meaningless.
“I know we should have told you our intentions when we left Carduel,” she said quietly. “Audric had received an urgent letter from Prince Ilmaire, and we could not delay going to Borsvall. If we had, I’ll remind you, the capital would have been destroyed. And Lu was convinced that it was safer for me to stay away from Carduel, for I had just…”
She swallowed. She had not yet told Tal about Corien, and wasn’t eager to, not with her nerves so frayed. “Well. Lu thought we should stay away from Carduel for a time, given our encounter with those assassins, and I trust her. I trust both of them. I could have asked them to return, or forced them to, if it came to it. But I didn’t want to go back there and face all of those people who hated me.”
Tal glanced at her. “Many in Carduel that day did not hate you.”
“But some did, and they tried to hurt me for it. They could have hurt my friends. Can you blame me for running away?”
Tal shook his head. “You’re the Sun Queen, Rielle. You have a duty to your people. You have a responsibility to be a stable, comforting force during times of peace, and a standard-bearer, a warrior, in times of strife. You can’t simply fly away on Atheria whenever it pleases you.”
At the mention of Atheria, Rielle’s tears broke through her defenses. She dashed a hand angrily across her eyes.
Tal softened. “Audric told me about her. I’m sorry.” He came to her, hesitated, then kissed her forehead and each of her cheeks.
Rielle closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Didn’t I do well? Despite everything I did wrong, I did some things right. I know I did. Please tell me I did.”
Tal’s voice was thick. “Rielle. What you accomplished in Borsvall was remarkable.”
She opened her eyes, relieved, to find him watching her closely. The way he held himself, the new flare in his eyes as he watched her face, was not something she had seen before. A rogue thrill, jittery and bewildered, skipped across her navel.
“Our spy saw you stop the wave with his own eyes,” Tal went on. “I received his report three days ago, and I’ve read it dozens of times over. Rielle, I don’t understand how you did what you did. It shouldn’t be possible for one human to control such an immense force all on her own.”
Rielle beamed. “I don’t think I could have without all your years of interminably boring lessons to draw upon.”
Tal smiled wistfully. “I’m not sure my lessons did you any good.”
“Oh, come now. Surely you don’t mean that.”
“Books and recitations, praying at the feet of statues.” Tal scoffed. “You are beyond such things, Rielle, and always have been. Your father and I were deluding ourselves to think a few prayers could ever contain you.”
The unexpected mention of her father dislodged Rielle’s sense of calm. For a moment, she could hardly speak. A wild desire broke open against the walls of her chest. Suddenly, she wanted to confess everything about what had really happened on the day of the fire trial. To see the shock on Tal’s face and confront his disgust. To unburden herself of a secret that seemed to be growing a mind and will of its own.
Instead, she forced out words that were not a lie, but certainly not the whole truth. “I miss him. He hated me, and yet…” She laughed a little, marveling at her own performance. “I miss him every day.”
Tal hesitated, then reached for her cheek.
A slight knock on the door. Tal’s hand dropped. He moved away, turning toward his desk. “Yes?”
A young, scarlet-robed acolyte entered, bobbing her head nervously. Her eyes went immediately to the open crate. Rielle stepped in front of it, glaring.
“Pardon me, my lady,” the acolyte said, “but I bring a message from Her Majesty the queen. She requests that you come to her sitting room at once.”
“Ah,” Rielle muttered. “Time for more yelling.”
Tal cleared his throat with a pointed look.
“Please tell the queen I will—”
“My apologies, my lady,” interrupted the acolyte, looking rather stricken, “but I bring another message, from His Royal Highness the prince. It says…” The acolyte unraveled a slip of paper. “Please tell Lady Rielle that ‘at once’ means ‘at once,’ and not ‘when you and Tal have finally stopped shouting at each other.’”
Rielle tossed a grin Tal’s way. He returned an echo of it, half-formed.
“Well, then. I suppose I should hurry.” She moved toward Tal, placed her hand on his. “May I leave the hammer with you? Your office has always been a safe place for me. I would feel comforted if I knew it remained under your watch.”
Tal lifted her hand to his lips. “Of course.”
Rielle searched his face, but found nothing reassuring. He would not meet her gaze, his mouth set in a bitter line. Without warning, Corien’s coy words from long weeks before returned to her: esolve required to sit there, still and silent, made Rielle’s shoulders burn. She refused to break or blink. Her tears could build all they liked.
Tal glared at his casting, arms stiff at his sides. Rielle allowed him his seething silence for a full minute before she decided enough was enough.
“Will I have the chance to defend myself,” she asked, “or am I to bear you yelling at me without complaint?”
Tal looked back at her. “What right have you to complain?”
“You don’t own me, Tal,” she snapped. “No one does, Sun Queen or no. Not Audric, not Queen Genoveve, not the Archon.” She rose, lifting her chin. “I did save Styrdalleen, yes, and every one of its citizens, from a wave that would have dragged them all into the sea. And by doing that, I proved myself to the Borsvall people, to Prince Ilmaire and Princess Ingrid, to their magisterial council. Even to the Borsvall Obex.”
With that, Rielle crouched beside the chest and undid its four bronze latches. She opened the lid and stepped back, allowing Tal to look for himself.
He approached, frowning. The moment he laid eyes upon Grimvald’s hammer, his expression eased open, as if he were witnessing dawn for the first time.
Before he could speak, Rielle hurried on. “Jodoc Indarien, speaker of the Obex in the Sunderlands, thinks I may need the castings of the saints in order to repair the Gate. That their castings hold the memory of the Gate’s creation, and that by using them, I could follow those memories, reproduce their actions, and make the Gate stand strong once more.”
Tal said nothing, still staring at the hammer in disbelief.
Rielle watched his face, craving some kind of sign that he accepted her and what she had done. That he was proud of her, that this strange new rift between them was fleeting and meaningless.
“I know we should have told you our intentions when we left Carduel,” she said quietly. “Audric had received an urgent letter from Prince Ilmaire, and we could not delay going to Borsvall. If we had, I’ll remind you, the capital would have been destroyed. And Lu was convinced that it was safer for me to stay away from Carduel, for I had just…”
She swallowed. She had not yet told Tal about Corien, and wasn’t eager to, not with her nerves so frayed. “Well. Lu thought we should stay away from Carduel for a time, given our encounter with those assassins, and I trust her. I trust both of them. I could have asked them to return, or forced them to, if it came to it. But I didn’t want to go back there and face all of those people who hated me.”
Tal glanced at her. “Many in Carduel that day did not hate you.”
“But some did, and they tried to hurt me for it. They could have hurt my friends. Can you blame me for running away?”
Tal shook his head. “You’re the Sun Queen, Rielle. You have a duty to your people. You have a responsibility to be a stable, comforting force during times of peace, and a standard-bearer, a warrior, in times of strife. You can’t simply fly away on Atheria whenever it pleases you.”
At the mention of Atheria, Rielle’s tears broke through her defenses. She dashed a hand angrily across her eyes.
Tal softened. “Audric told me about her. I’m sorry.” He came to her, hesitated, then kissed her forehead and each of her cheeks.
Rielle closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Didn’t I do well? Despite everything I did wrong, I did some things right. I know I did. Please tell me I did.”
Tal’s voice was thick. “Rielle. What you accomplished in Borsvall was remarkable.”
She opened her eyes, relieved, to find him watching her closely. The way he held himself, the new flare in his eyes as he watched her face, was not something she had seen before. A rogue thrill, jittery and bewildered, skipped across her navel.
“Our spy saw you stop the wave with his own eyes,” Tal went on. “I received his report three days ago, and I’ve read it dozens of times over. Rielle, I don’t understand how you did what you did. It shouldn’t be possible for one human to control such an immense force all on her own.”
Rielle beamed. “I don’t think I could have without all your years of interminably boring lessons to draw upon.”
Tal smiled wistfully. “I’m not sure my lessons did you any good.”
“Oh, come now. Surely you don’t mean that.”
“Books and recitations, praying at the feet of statues.” Tal scoffed. “You are beyond such things, Rielle, and always have been. Your father and I were deluding ourselves to think a few prayers could ever contain you.”
The unexpected mention of her father dislodged Rielle’s sense of calm. For a moment, she could hardly speak. A wild desire broke open against the walls of her chest. Suddenly, she wanted to confess everything about what had really happened on the day of the fire trial. To see the shock on Tal’s face and confront his disgust. To unburden herself of a secret that seemed to be growing a mind and will of its own.
Instead, she forced out words that were not a lie, but certainly not the whole truth. “I miss him. He hated me, and yet…” She laughed a little, marveling at her own performance. “I miss him every day.”
Tal hesitated, then reached for her cheek.
A slight knock on the door. Tal’s hand dropped. He moved away, turning toward his desk. “Yes?”
A young, scarlet-robed acolyte entered, bobbing her head nervously. Her eyes went immediately to the open crate. Rielle stepped in front of it, glaring.
“Pardon me, my lady,” the acolyte said, “but I bring a message from Her Majesty the queen. She requests that you come to her sitting room at once.”
“Ah,” Rielle muttered. “Time for more yelling.”
Tal cleared his throat with a pointed look.
“Please tell the queen I will—”
“My apologies, my lady,” interrupted the acolyte, looking rather stricken, “but I bring another message, from His Royal Highness the prince. It says…” The acolyte unraveled a slip of paper. “Please tell Lady Rielle that ‘at once’ means ‘at once,’ and not ‘when you and Tal have finally stopped shouting at each other.’”
Rielle tossed a grin Tal’s way. He returned an echo of it, half-formed.
“Well, then. I suppose I should hurry.” She moved toward Tal, placed her hand on his. “May I leave the hammer with you? Your office has always been a safe place for me. I would feel comforted if I knew it remained under your watch.”
Tal lifted her hand to his lips. “Of course.”
Rielle searched his face, but found nothing reassuring. He would not meet her gaze, his mouth set in a bitter line. Without warning, Corien’s coy words from long weeks before returned to her: