Page 91 of The Flame King's Queen

Wearing a tired but happy smile, I lean down and stroke Sylvi’s plump cheek with a forefinger. She’s more beautiful and perfect every time I look at her.

“You will wake me when she needs feeding?” Isavelle asks the women.

“We will, my queen.”

“Sleep well.”

The sun has not yet set, and I haven’t eaten, but the vast bed is too tempting. I pull off my clothes, wash the dust from my face and hands, and fall into bed. I think I’m asleep as soon as I close my eyes.

When I wake, the room is dark and someone is whispering for Isavelle. My queen gets out of bed, rubbing her face, and goes into the next room where Sylvi is crying. A moment later, the cries cease.

I sit up in bed and rest my back against the cushions, resolving to stay awake while she feeds our baby. I’m not sure why. In moral support? It doesn’t feel right to turn over and go back to sleep while she’s awake with Sylvi.

“Zabriel, what are you doing?” Isavelle says with a laugh, what feels like just seconds later.

I snort into wakefulness and blearily open my eyes to darkness. “I was waiting to welcome you back.”

“You didn’t need to do that. Santha and Posette are here so that you may sleep.”

“But you’re awake.”

Taking hold of my shoulders, she gently pushes me down onto the bed. “TheHratha’lentold me that new mothers’ blood and bodies are strengthened after giving birth to help them cope with all the disruption. New fathers are not similarly blessed, so you must sleep. Besides, you must have your wits about you tomorrow. I can sleep between feeds.”

I’m too exhausted to argue with her and lay my head down on the pillow. I don’t wake again until morning. Isavelle is sleeping peacefully beside me, her hair tumbled across the pillow. I poke my head into the antechamber and see that Sylvi is sleeping in a cot, watched over by Santha and Posette.

Smiling to myself, I quietly collect fresh clothes and carry them out into the corridor. The guards are amused as they watch me strip naked and dress in front of them so I don’t disturb Isavelle.

“I was the same when my youngest was born,Ma’len,” one of them tells me as I tug on my boots. “It doesn’t do to wake a sleeping dragon, or her mother.”

I’m feeling more energetic and clear-minded than I was yesterday, and I spend the morning sparring with the soldiers and stretching my unused muscles. In the afternoon, I resume hearing the grievances of people from across Maledin. It seems as though the aristocrats elbowed their way to the front of the queue, because as I continue, the people’s finery becomes less fine, and the problems more down-to-earth.

Sundra has been standing in the Great Hall and listening in for the last few hours, and as I get up off the throne I go speak with her. “To me it seems like a waste of these people’s time to travel all the way to the capital for me to settle their disputes. Some of them have been waiting more than a week.”

“I agree,Ma’len. Apparently the people used to go to their local Brethren monastery for this sort of thing, but of course the monasteries have been disbanded.”

Of course. I hadn’t considered that. “How were these matters handled in my father’s time?”

She thinks for a moment. “Godric would have known more about it, but from what I recall, your father enjoyed sitting in judgment. He didn’t wish to divest too much of his power into local authorities.”

That sounds about right. “I’m divesting it. I divest it right now. Find a way to invest it in some trustworthy individuals instead. A council of people in each area, and those people can report to me once a month.”

“Yes,Ma’len. But in the meantime, there are still more people for you to see…” She winces at my scowl. “I know,Ma’len. Apparently the Dragon Games has increased people’s trust in you, and they all wish for you to resolve their problems.”

In that case I suppose I mustn’t be churlish about it. “I won’t disappoint them, but appoint those councils quickly, please. Work with theHratha’len, as they travel throughout the land more than most of us.”

It’s not until the third day that a thin man dressed in scholarly black who looks vaguely familiar comes before me. It takes me a moment to recall him after the steward tells me his name.

“Master Gaun? You’re one of the former witchfinders who’s now running a magical archive. I hope all is well with you and your fellow warlocks.”

“We are all well,Ma’len,” Gaun says nervously. He’s holding a square of folded parchment and turning it in his fingers. “I would have spoken with the queen or one of her bodyguards, but of course because of the baby—blessings be upon the child—the queen has not been to see us in some time. I have been anxiously waiting to speak with you, but I was informed that I must be patient. Apologies that I must trespass on your valuable time.”

The man seems too terrified to look at me, and I think I understand why. “You mustn’t fear that I will treat you in the same manner that the High Priest once did,” I assure him. “I have no fondness for having people whipped and starved.”

“Of course,Ma’len. I will come to the point.” Master Gaun stares at his feet. “I was recently visited by strangers. They don’t wish their identities to be known, but they are united in belief with you that Emmeric must be stopped at all costs. These men insisted that I bring this letter to you. They promise that with your help, they can defeat him once and for all.”

He holds out the letter for me, and I take it with a frown. I help them defeat Emmeric, not they help me?

“A bold claim to make,” I say, as I cast my eyes over the slanted, heavily inked writing.

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