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Zedd walked her out of the rubble。 ‘Others have invested their trust in you to use the gift you were given to protect those without power。 They are the ones who wrote the prophecies。 You have been brought to this point for a reason。 That’s the trust you must keep。’
She nodded； rubbing a thin hand on his back as they walked away from the remains of her home。
‘Zedd； I think several other bones be missing； too。’
‘I know。’
They be dangerous in the wrong hands。’
‘I know that too。’
‘Then what do you plan to do about it？’
‘I plan to do what the prophecies say is the only thing that gives us a chance at closing the veil。’
‘And what be that； old man？’
‘Helping Richard。 We must find a way to help him； for the prophecies say he is the only one who can close the veil。’
Neither looked back as fire roared to life； roiling and racing through the ruins； dancing through the bones。
CHAPTER 26
Queen Cyrilla held her head high。 She refused to acknowledge how much the coarse fingers of the brutes who held her were hurting her arms。 She didn’t resist as they walked her down the filthy corridor。 Resistance was hopeless； anyway； and would bring her no aid。 She would conduct herself now as always： with dignity。 She was the queen of Galea。 She would endure with dignity what was to e。 She would not show her terror。
Besides； it was not what was being done to her that mattered。 It was what was going to happen to the Galean people that grieved her。
And what had already happened。
Nearly one hundred score of the Galean guard had been murdered before her eyes。 Who could have foreseen that they would be set upon in this； of all places： on neutral ground？ That a few had escaped was no solace。 They； too； would probably be hunted down and killed。
She hoped that her brother； Prince Harold； had been among those who had escaped。 If he had gotten away； perhaps he could rally a defense against the worse slaughter that was yet to e。
The brutal hands on her arms brought her to a halt next to a hissing torch set in a rust…encrusted bracket。 The fingers twisted so painfully that a small cry escaped her lips despite her will to stifle it。
‘Are my men hurting you； my lady？’ came a mocking voice from behind。
She coolly denied Prince Fyren the satisfaction of an answer。
A guard worked keys at a rusty lock； sending a sharp； metallic sound echoing down the stone corridor when the bolt finally drew。 The heavy door groaned on its hinges as it was pulled open。 The viselike hands forced her on； through the doorway and down another long； low passageway。
She could hear the swish of her satin skirts； and to the sides and behind； the men’s boots on the stone floor； splashing occasionally through stagnant； foul…smelling water。 The dank air felt cold on her shoulders； which were unaccustomed to being uncovered。
Her heart threatened to race out of control when she thought about where she was being taken。 She prayed to the dear spirits that there wouldn’t be rats。 She feared rats； their sharp teeth； their clutching claws； and their cunning； black eyes。 When she was very little she had nightmares about rats； and would wake screaming。
It an effort to bring her heart back under control； she tried to think of other things。 She thought about the strange woman who had sought a private audience with her。 Cyrilla wasn’t at all sure why she had granted it； but she now wished she had paid more heed to the insistent woman。
What was her name？ Lady something。 A glimpse of her hair beneath the concealing veil had shown it to be too short for someone of her standing。 Lady 。。。 Bevinvier。 Yes； that was it： Lady Bevinvier。 Lady Bevinvier of 。。。 someplace。 She couldn’t will her mind to remember。 It didn’t matter anyway； it was not where the woman was from； but what she had said； that mattered。
Leave Aydindril； Lady Bevinvier had warned。 Leave at once。
But Cyrilla had not e all this way； in the teeth of winter； to leave before the Council of the Midlands had heard her grievance； and acted upon it。 She had e to demand that the council do its duty to bring an immediate halt to the transgressions against her land and people。
Towns had been sacked； farms burned； and people murdered。 The armies of Kelton were massing to attack。 An invasion was imminent； if not already under way。 And for what？ Nothing but naked conquest。 Against an ally！ It was an outrage！
It was the council’s duty to e to the defense of any land being attacked； no matter by whom。 The whole point of the Council of the Midlands was to prevent just such treason。 It was their duty to direct all the lands to e to the aid of Galea； and put down the aggression。
Though Galea was a powerful land； it had been gravely weakened by its defense of the Midlands against D’Hara； and was not prepared for another costly war。 Kelton had been spared the brunt of the D’Haran conquest； and had reserves aplenty。 Galea had paid the price of resistance in their stead。
The night before； Lady Bevinvier had e to her； and had begged that she leave at once。 She had said Cyrilla would find no help for Galea from the council。 The Lady Bevinvier said that if the queen stayed； she would be in great personal danger。 At first； when pressed； Lady Bevinvier refused to explain herself。
Cyrilla thanked her but said she would not turn away from her duty to her people； and would go before the council； as planned。 Lady Bevinvier broke down in tears； begging that the queen heed her words。
She at last confided that she had had a vision。
Cyrilla tried to draw the nature of the vision out of the woman； but she said that it was inplete； that she didn’t know any details； only that if the queen didn’t leave at once； something terrible would happen。 Though Cyrilla trusted well the powers of magic； she had little faith in fortunetellers。 Most were charlatans； seeking only to fatten their purse with a clever turn of a phrase； or a vague hint of danger to be avoided。
Queen Cyrilla was touched by the woman’s seeming sincerity； though she reasoned it might be nothing but deception； meant to trick her out of a coin。 A ruse for money seemed strange ing from a woman of such seeming wealth； but times had been hard； and she knew the wealthy were not immune to losses。 After all； if gold and goods were to be seized； it only made sense to seek them from those who had them。 Cyrilla knew many who had worked hard all their lives； only to lose everything in the war with D’Hara。 Perhaps Lady Bevinvier’s short hair was the result of that loss。
She thanked the woman； but told her that the mission was too important to be turned aside。 She pressed a gold piece into the woman’s hand； only to have Lady Bevinvier throw the coin across the room before rushing off in tears。
Cyrilla had been shaken by that。 A charlatan did not refuse gold。 Unless of course she sought something more。
Either the woman had been telling the truth； or she was working in aid of Kelton； trying to prevent the council from hearing of the aggression。