“But your punishment need not be eternal. There is destined to come a woman of Hartkiller’s line who rules your stolen lands. She is your hope, for Annam’s blood is strong and it will run thick in her veins. She will bear you a new king, one with the power to undo what you have done and revive the empire of Ostoria. Be patient. Let the humans live in peace, for only through them can you lift the veil of twilight that shrouds the lost glory of your ancestors.”
Basil lifted his finger, and the glowing symbols faded. It had taken him only one reading to realize that Brianna was the woman-or should he say, giantess-to which the text referred, and he had certainly discovered nothing to contradict that conclusion. The runecaster found it difficult to believe they would risk her life by storming the castle. They could not be certain the queen would survive the chaos of battle, or that she would not take her own life when the fight went against her.
That meant the hill giants’ assault could be only a diversion. They intended to get Brianna out of the castle some other way, while everyone was too busy fighting to notice her disappearance. To do that, they would need help inside the castle, and Basil could guess who that would be.
The verbeeg went to a corner and traced the name Gilthwit in the dust. Below that he rearranged the same eight letters to write the name TWILIGHT. Prince Arlien of TWILIGHT. Basil did not know whether Arlien was one of the actual “faithless ones” who had poisoned Othea so long ago or simply an agent, but he felt sure that the prince had come from the Twilight Vale.
Would eight letters be enough to convince Brianna of Arlien’s identity? Basil did not think so. The prince could claim the anagram was a matter of coincidence, and the queen might well give him the benefit of the doubt. The runecaster would need more evidence to establish that Gilthwit and Twilight were one.
Fortunately, Basil knew where to search. Stone giants were scrupulous historians, and the volume preceding the one on his floor was sure to reveal the identity of those who had poisoned Othea. If the runecaster could find some link between the prince’s name and the “faithless ones” imprisoned in the Twilight Vale, the link would be irrefutable.
Basil grabbed his satchel and removed a runequill, then crawled to the door and laid his large frame down in front of the latch. The verbeeg propped an elbow on the floor and touched his quill to the lock. A glowing green mark appeared beneath the tip, and he began to trace the delicate rune that would open the door.
Brianna’s legs had gone numb from the calves down, and a cold ache had crept from the chilly floor deep into her knee joints. The queen had no idea how long she had been there, kneeling on the cool floor of Cuthbert’s temple, but it had been quite some time. She had placed a burning spear on the altar, and it had long ago burned itself out. All that remained now were warm cinders and the soot-covered head, and still she had discovered no sign of Hiatea. Her mind was too foggy to find the way to her goddess.
But at least the mist was beginning to thin. A couple of times now, Brianna had held a thought for several moments, carefully navigating it from one hazy point to the next. Encouraged by this small progress, she intended to keep kneeling on the cold stone until she found Hiatea.
The temple door creaked open, and a sliver of flickering torchlight crept over the altar. The queen did not rise, or even look over her shoulder.
“Leave me alone,” she commanded. “I left orders that I am not to be disturbed.”
“But it’s getting late,” replied Arlien’s voice. “You’ve been in here all afternoon, and most of the evening as well.”
The prince started across the room, heels clicking and steel plate jangling. Brianna found it strange that he was still wearing his armor. Earlier in the day, she had noticed that both his wound and his breastplate now seemed completely mended. Still, she knew appearances could be deceiving. Arlien or his armor might well need another day to return to full strength.
The prince stopped at Brianna’s side. She kept her eyes focused on the spear and tried to ignore his presence.
“You should be sitting on the bench, Milady,” Arlien said. “Kneeling on this cold floor will do your health no good.”
Realizing it would take more than a subtle hint to rid herself of the prince, Brianna asked, “Do you not prefer that your subjects humble themselves when they come before you?”
“Of course,” Arlien replied. “But-”
“Then how do you think Hiatea will receive my entreaties if I make them from the comfort of a bench?”
“A stone slab is hardly comfortable,” Arlien countered. “And I’m sure Hiatea would understand if you made use of it After all, you’re hardly well.”
“I’m beginning to feel better,” Brianna replied.
Arlien was silent for a moment, then stepped between her and the altar. In his hands he held a flagon and pewter mug. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “And I’m sure that after you drink your restorative, you’ll feel marvelous.”
“You may set it on the bench,” Brianna said, gesturing behind her. “I’ll have it later.”
The prince began to pour his concoction into the mug, and a warm, fruity smell pervaded the room. Brianna tasted the spicy libation on the tip of her tongue, her mouth already watering in anticipation of the sweet nectar. A wave of fierce craving rose from deep within her body; not simple thirst, or even gluttony, but a hunger as feral as lust, every bit as powerful and insidious.
“Not now, Arlien.” Brianna could not take her eyes off the golden draught flowing into her cup. “I’m trying to pray.”
The prince’s eyes flashed, and he continued to pour. “It’s been too long since you drank-and there’s not a drop of wine in it, just as you asked.” The prince’s voice was as sweet as the libation flowing from his flagon, almost cloying. “And your prayers will go much better once you have restored yourself.”
Brianna straightened her stiff legs and lurched to her feet, then took both the mug and the flagon from the prince’s hands. “I said later.” She put them on the bench and pointed toward the temple door. “Now will you leave me?”
Arlien’s lip started to curl, but he managed to keep it from twisting into a full snarl. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that,” he said. “There’s something we must discuss.”
“After I’m finished.”
“When will that be? Tomorrow, dawn? Noon, perhaps? Or when the giants drag you out of here screaming?” Arlien demanded. “By then, it’ll be too late. Duty calls now, Your Highness.”
Brianna sighed, then walked over to the window and peered into the dusk light The temple was high enough in the keep for her to see the purple mountains looming in the distance, but the castle walls mercifully shielded both the lake and the giants from her sight.
“Very well, but I hope this isn’t another argument between you and Cuthbert,” she said.
“Not a disagreement,” he replied. “Rather a precaution.”
“And what would that be?”
“Cuthbert is frightened,” the prince said. “When he sees the giants coming, he may try to strike a bargain-”
“We have discussed this before,” Brianna said, still staring out the window. “And I have taken the safeguards I consider appropriate.”
“But your own bodyguard said-”
“I am aware of what he said, but I won’t give a foreign prince command of Cuthbert’s castle,” Brianna replied. She noticed Selwyn walking along the rampart of the inner curtain, stopping to speak with his sentries and check their weapons. “But I could turn the castle’s defense over to Selwyn, and relieve you both of your responsibilities.”
“You are feeling better,” Arlien commented. He did not sound enthusiastic. “But I’m afraid that Cuthbert is only part of what I came to discuss.”
The prince came and stood behind Brianna. She did not turn around. “Go on.”