Still some twenty yards from where Elani stood, Klia reined in and dismounted. Taking the sheathed sword down from the saddle, she walked the rest of the way until she stood before Elani. Without a word, she knelt and placed the sword in Elani’s hands. Elani slid it into her sword belt, then extended her hand and brought Klia to her feet. In front of the assembled throng, she kissed her aunt on both cheeks, then embraced her. Despite the gravity of the occasion, people broke into cheers at the sight. The succession was secure. Korathan embraced Klia next, then Aralain. The four of them, Phoria’s heir and the last of Idrilain’s children, walked to the catafalque. Soldiers lifted aside the wooden cover, revealing the dead queen.

The drysians had done their work well, preserving the body from decomposition on its long journey by sea and land. Phoria lay on a raised bier, dressed in her uniform and cape, boots, and gorget. Her grey-blond hair was braided neatly over one shoulder, hands folded on her breast. Her face was gaunt, but peaceful.

A hush fell over the crowd and people went to their knees as Elani and the others silently accompanied Phoria through the gates of her city for the last time. Inside, they mounted horses and continued slowly through the Harvest Market and on down Silvermoon to the Palace, with Alec and the other nobles walking behind the court.

Every foot of the route was lined with crowds of citizens, come to pay their respects to the fallen and the victor, many holding candles and victory wreaths swathed in black silk. Like a great wave, they fell to their knees when the catafalque and the new queen passed.

At the gates of the palace grounds the courtiers continued in, while the lesser nobles went their separate ways. Retrieving their horses, Alec and the others set off for Wheel Street.

Thero wiped his eyes. “She was a hard woman by all accounts but such a warrior! At least she died a good death.”

“Such a short reign,” Seregil noted. “But this marks the beginning of a new era for Skala, I think—a kind and gracious queen and peace. What will we do with ourselves, eh?”

Chapter 47 - Watermead

SEREGIL sat with Micum on the wall of the sheepfold, watching Alec and Illia petting the spring lambs. In the distance herds of still-shaggy horses gamboled and grazed in verdant, rolling meadows.

The two men didn’t talk; watching Illia play and listening to a murder of crows palavering in a nearby tree was enough. The sound of singing drifted to them from the house, where Kari and the household women were doing laundry, and laughter and chatter from the kitchen garden, where Luthas and Gherin had been sent to pull turnips. Seregil felt splendidly content.

Just then they heard the distant sound of horses from the highroad, and saw a cloud of dust rising over the treetops.