‘How pretty you are, child. And young. But youth can make one foolish.’ The smile she gave the younger woman was anything but friendly. ‘You would do well to hold your tongue in my presence, little one. That is, if you still wish to have one in your head. Or, indeed, a head at all.’

Fleya shot Astrid a look that told her to do as she was bid. ‘If I might address the queen?’ she asked, pleasantly. ‘May I ask why we have been brought here?’

‘Not so foolish, this one,’ the queen said absently. ‘I could list several reasons.’ She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘You were trespassing on lands that I rule. You came armed. You may be responsible for the recent disappearances of livestock. But really, you are here … because I will it.’ Her expression turned absent again and she subsided into silence.

‘Your Grace,’ Fleya said gently, her unease growing by the second. The queen half turned her head in the witch’s direction. ‘I should like to pay my respects to the prince. Your son. Where is he?’

‘Gone,’ Favner said dreamily.

‘Gone where?’

‘I sent him away. For his own safety. To a holy order of priests, so they might teach him the ways of his people. Away, away, away. Gone.’ She started to hum.

‘She’s lost her mind,’ Astrid said under her breath.

A man standing a short distance away from the queen gave a loud and deliberate cough that had the desired effect of bringing the monarch’s attention back into the room. When she looked up this time, Favner shot them a disconcertingly brilliant smile.

‘You have arrived in time for my wedding! I insist you join me in the celebrations.’ She looked at Astrid, her eyes narrowing at the girl. ‘I know you. Mirvar Rivengeld’s daughter. Did he send you?’

Astrid looked across at Fleya for help, but the witch was too busy studying the queen.

‘M-my father is dead,’ she said. ‘You … you sent a representative to attend the funeral, Queen Favner.’

‘Did I?’ she sighed and shook her head. ‘There have been too many funerals of late. My husband, the old king, is dead, you know.’ She paused. ‘Did I tell you I am to be married?’

Fleya had seen madness of this sort before: a sickness of the soul brought on after committing foul and dreadful acts. She had seen how the pursuit of power could destroy a person, leaving them mentally scarred. The healer in her wanted to help the deeply troubled individual sitting on the throne before her, but there was no majik she knew of that could save the soul of somebody who had committed the wicked deeds Favner had in order to gain her throne.