Page 9 of Of Blood & Bone: The Young Queen

“Lord Greythorne, I understand you are disappointed to discover your seed is not viable. It must come as quite a shock, but it is no reason to come to my court and make veiled threats or demands of marriage. I am prepared to let your offensive comments and tone go unpunished today in light of your obvious disappointment. However, I command you to take your hellhounds and your men with you and leave my castle immediately. You may present yourself again for consideration in the future, but I would recommend doing so when you are in a stronger mental state to deal with the results of the Harvesting. As for your suggestion of marriage, I am not in a position to accept at this time. Now leave.”

He steps forward as if he plans to come up to the dais and then thinks better of it. He starts to laugh, a bitter and unnerving sound falling from his mouth. “Queen,” he declares, “it was not a suggestion. I will leave now but I will return on the full moon, and you will have me as your king or I will take you as my queen. Should you not acquiesce, there will be consequences for you and those who support you. My army is ready to take Ardvalla and I doubt if there are any who will stand against me.”

With that he spins on his heel, his men part down the middle and he marches through them as they fall in behind him. They fling open the great doors and leave to the sound of shocked silence.

Moments later Lords Glindenbrooke, Montrose, Sutton and Bottomleigh follow and the secondary purpose of Greythorne’s appearance at the Harvesting becomes clear. He was here to form alliances and I now understand Glindenbrooke’s icy glare and Montrose’s outburst. Their lack of respect now makes sense as I realise Greythorne had obviously been in their ears.

A feeling of molten fury moves through me, so strong I fear I am in danger of combusting. I squeeze the moonstonetight in my hand, drawing strength from it, and thank the gods for its calming influence. I need to compose myself and project an air of control and authority onto the assembled crowd and not let them have any inkling as to how rattled I am.

I watch the retreating form of Lord Bottomleigh bobbing from side to side as his bearers struggle to carry his bulk forth from the Great Hall. I watch and I vow to take him, Greythorne and the other treacherous lords who have betrayed me, down.

Chapter Three

I pull on the yellow cord beside the fireplace in my chamber and hope a healer, preferably the healer from yesterday evening, isn't long in coming. The events of the day – the Harvesting, Greythorne and his threats, the banquet, and the hours afterwards spent in conference with the Grand Council have all caught up with me. I am exhausted and my head is pounding and I'm in dire need of some attendance.

The Grand Council is in uproar and I couldn't take any more of them screeching at each other across the Council chamber. Predictably, they have fallen into a number of factions – those calling for Greythorne’s head, those who wish to do nothing but appease him, and those who don’t know what to do.

The Grand Master, of course, tried to turn the situation to his advantage and suggested I accept an offer of marriage from Lord Crottingham. He quickly abandoned this idea when I reminded him that once an offer of marriage is on the table, no other offers may be put forward, and since Greythorne’s marriage proposal was submitted first that put paid to his brilliant idea. I also pointed out that Greythorne would see another proposal as a direct challenge and any lord submitting such a proposal would most likely feel the pointy end of Greythorne’s sword. The Grand Master had turned a shade paler at this point and urged everyone to forget he had made any such suggestion.

It was at this stage I excused myself and returned to the sanctuary of my chamber.

There is a knock at my door and I give permission for the captain of the Night Guard to enter.

“Your healer is here, my Queen,” he informs me.

“Let her in,” I reply.

Myreena comes through the door and a small flurry of disappointment moves through me that it’s not the healer from yesterday evening. Myreena is a wonderful healer, but her methods are more traditional.

“The hour is late, my Queen, tell me what is it that ails you?”

“The hour is indeed late, Myreena,” I reply, “and I am weary, but I prefer not to go to sleep with a blacksmith pounding an anvil inside my head for the night.”

“Ah, I fear the events of the day have taken their toll on you. Give me a moment and I shall concoct a potion to soothe your mind and ease the pain in your head.”

She sets down her healer’s bag and proceeds to mix together a number of potions in a goblet, into which she adds some drops of goodness knows what and a sprig of verbena. She mixes it with a silver spoon and then hands it to me to drink.

It doesn’t smell as bad as some of her previous concoctions and I drink it in small sips. I know from prior experience some of her elixirs can have a knockout effect and I don’t want to fall asleep until I’ve had a chance to ask her about the young healer. I start my line of inquiry by asking about the birth she attended yesterday evening, as for some inexplicable reason I feel I should not look too eager to know more about this healer.

“Tell me, Myreena, how is the infant doing who was born yesterday?”

“Progressing well, my Queen.”

“And the mother?”

“Also doing well, thank the gods.”

“Did the dead infant live for any length of time?”

She looks immensely sad as she replies, “Yes, my Queen, he let out one heartbreaking cry and then he passed away.”

This news weighs heavy on me and I share in her feeling of sadness.

“I'm sorry, I can't imagine what it must be like to have a babe die before your eyes. I'm just glad you were there for the other child and the mother.”

“Thank you, my Queen, and thank you for being so understanding as to why I could not attend to you yesterday evening.”

“No problem, Myreena. The young healer you sent in your stead was most effective, if a little unorthodox in her methods, at relieving my pain.”

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