“Adral, Highness,” the big man said.
“Thank you. Lord Iltis Al Adral, I name you Protector of the Queen’s Person, until such time as you wish to return to your Order, of course.”
“That time will never come, Highness.”
She smiled and moved on to Harvin. “Don’t have a family name, y’Highness,” he said. “None that I know of anyways.”
“I see. In that case it’ll be Lord Harvin of the Broken Chain, until you find a name more to you liking.”
“Think I like that one just fine, y’Highness.”
“It’s just Highness, my lord.”
“Grey Gull, Highness,” Benten said when she moved to him. “Fisher folk take the name of their family’s boat. Boat might sink or get scrapped, but the name never changes.”
“Lord Benten Al Grey Gull it is. You and Lord Harvin will answer to Lord Iltis from now on. Your sole concern will be my protection. The Realm needs a head to wear the crown, you will ensure I keep mine.”
She lifted the small chest from the deck and turned to the women, both of whom were already on their knees. Lyrna opened the chest and held it out to them. “Not the style I would have chosen, but they’ll do for now.” The rings were both identical, simple silver bands inset with small bluestones, the best the Meldenean jewellers could offer at short notice. “A queen needs her ladies. But the choice is yours and the road ahead long and fraught with danger. So think well before you answer, will you stay at my side?”
Murel took the ring immediately whilst Orena was more hesitant. “My Queen,” she said. “My life before . . . It was not noble. I shouldn’t wish to besmirch your patronage with my reputation.”
“I think such trivia is behind us now, my lady,” Lyrna said.
Orena blinked away tears and took the ring. “Dunsa was my husband’s name. I should like to use my own, Vardrian.”
“Lady Orena Al Vardrian. Rise and take your place.”
Lyrna extended her hand to Murel, who took it and pressed a kiss to the fingers, weeping openly. “H-Harten, my Queen.”
“Lady Murel Al Harten.” Lyrna took the girl by the arms and gently pulled her to her feet, pushing the hair back from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You really have to stop crying.”
The warden of the Wensel Isle greeted them on the flat section of carved rock that served as the island’s dock. He was an elderly brother of the First Order, wearing a once-white robe now grey with age and use, matching the extensive beard that swung from his chin like frayed rope.
“Grave news indeed, Highness,” he said when Lyrna had related her reason for coming. The sight of her face and word of the Realm’s troubles seemed to concern him no more than a bad turn in the weather.
He introduced himself as Brother Lirken as he led her up the carved steps to the Order House, hewn from this rock some seven hundred years ago. A few other brothers waited there, greeting her with bows but no sign of particular interest. Most soon returned to reading their scrolls or sitting in silent meditation. They were all of a similar age to Brother Lirken, making her wonder how they managed to subsist in such a harsh place.
“The rock pools supply crabs and mussels aplenty,” Lirken said in answer to her question. “And we gather seaweed at low tide. It’s surprisingly hearty if cooked properly. I can bring some if you are in need of nourishment.”
“I’m afraid I must decline, brother.” She cast her gaze around the chamber of elderly brothers. “Is he here?”
“Atheran Ell-Nestra does not live amongst us, Highness. In the months since he came here we’ve had no more than a few moments in his company. Come, I’ll take you to him.”
She followed the old brother through the Order House and out onto an uneven track leading along a narrow ridge to a promontory some two hundred paces away. “You would be well advised to keep low, Highness,” Lirken suggested. “The waves sometimes sweep over the ridge.”
Iltis stepped forward, the only escort she had chosen to bring. “This route is too treacherous, Highness. I’ll go and fetch him back.”
“No, my lord.” Lyrna stepped onto the track, finding the rock more damp than she would have liked. “This is something best done myself, I think. Wait here for me. I believe Brother Lirken can show you the original parchments of the first catechisms.”
“Indeed I can,” Lirken said, suddenly enthused. “You are a scholar, my lord?”
Iltis’s face was as hard as the surrounding granite. “I was a brother of the Fifth Order. Now I’m not. I shall wait here for my queen’s return.”
Lyrna suppressed a grin at the old brother’s discomfort and started along the ridge, keeping low as he advised. She was halfway across when the first wave came, smashing into the rocks and raising a tall cascade of spume, crashing down on her with considerable force as she sank to all fours, clinging to the stone. She got to her feet when it subsided, thoroughly drenched, and stumbled on. She was obliged to suffer two more near drownings before reaching the promontory.
There was a narrow ascending path carved into the irregular pillar of granite, leading to a cave from which a thin column of smoke could be seen rising. The path was sloppy with moss and she stumbled several times before reaching the cave. The view of the surrounding ocean was impressive at this height, the curve of the earth discernible through the occasional break in the weather. Below her the Sea Sabre bobbed on the waves like a toy. Sunlight broke through the clouds to bathe the small plateau and she wrung out the headscarf she had been obliged to remove on the ridge, tying it back into place to ward against the paining heat. A noise caused her to turn to the cave, making out a shadowed figure against the dim firelight inside.
“You have chosen an uncomfortable perch, my lord Shield,” she said. “But a fine view.”
The man who emerged from the cave was tall and broad across the shoulders, long blond hair trailing in the wind as he stood regarding her in silence.
Just as pretty as the spies said, Lyrna thought, noting the handsome features beneath the beard.
“You know who I am,” the Shield said after a long moment. “Who are you?”
“Queen Lyrna Al Nieren, of the Unified Realm.” She bowed. “At your service, my lord.”
Pale blue eyes searched her face for a moment before he turned away, returning to the cave without a word. Lyrna hesitated, wondering if she should follow him inside; however, he re-emerged soon enough bearing a steaming earthenware cup. “I just brewed some tea,” he said, holding it out to her. “The only luxury I find I can’t do without.”
“My thanks.” She sipped the beverage, raising her hairless brows in appreciation. “Very nice. From the southern Alpiran provinces is it not?”
“Indeed. One of the few lands whose ships always enjoyed immunity during my pirate days. In return they would deliver a year’s supply to the Isles, just for me.” He watched her sip more tea, arms crossed, the brisk sea wind ruffling his threadbare shirt. “I had the brothers send the Ship Lords’ messenger away,” he said. “Now they send you. Or have you usurped your brother and seized the Isles, I wonder?”
“My brother is dead. Killed by a Volarian assassin the night my Realm was invaded. She burned me with Dark-born fire, as you can see.”
“A terrible thing. My condolences.”
“Your own people will need your condolences soon, for the Volarian fleet sails to seize their islands as we speak.”
“They are fierce and well supplied with ships. I’m sure the battle will be a grand sight to see.”
“Ship Lord Ell-Nurin seems convinced of their defeat if you are not there to lead them. Captain Belorath also. He sailed the Sea Sabre across the entire Boraelin faster than any ship before to bring warning of the invasion.”
“My first mate always was the finest of sailors. Please send him my regards.”
She saw the hardness of his gaze then, the anger simmering away inside. “Lord Al Sorna is renowned as the finest warrior ever born to the Unified Realm,” she said. “Defeat at his hands carries no dishonour.”