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The news of the cardinal capturing escaped witches in the forest had reached Nuris not long before the soldiers returned to Sunsong. The cardinal had at least followed the king’s instructions finally and returned. Nuris now pressed himself into the shadows in the hope of seeing his sister one last time. He was surprised the king had agreed to see them rather than putting them immediately to death.
The cardinal led the prisoners into the throne room in an odd procession. The soldiers Nuris was sure would flank them lined the walls of the room instead, blocking the doorways. The king glowered from his throne, and the cardinal wore his supercilious grin, clearly pleased that he was able to do what the general could not.
His sister looked just as she always had, just as slender and just as pretty. He touched his fingers to his scarred face and, as he realised what he had done, lowered them quickly. She had aged in the last twenty years, but nearly as much as anyone else in the room. Her long, dark hair shone in the candlelight, and she stood straight and tall despite the exhausted look she wore. She held tight to the hand of the young man beside her.
He was the elder of the brothers, Frayne. The one with the almost magical sword skills. For a moment, Nuris believed that he might have been her son. He had the same feeling of familiarity as he looked at the tall, broad young man, yet he didn’t look anything like Nelda.
“A gift, Your Majesty,” the cardinal said without bowing his head or showing any of the respect he should for his king. “The witch and her children.”
King Dunstan stood slowly from the throne, and Nuris thought he leaned too heavily on the armrest to raise himself up. His slow steps forward were shaky. Nuris wasn’t worried about his king. It was anger; he could see it on the man’s face. The gift from the cardinal remained standing in a line before him.
Despite the cardinal’s claim, Nuris knew they were not all her children. Between Frayne and the brother who had started the fire was the witch they had stolen from the camp. She held their hands, certainly appearing to be family—if not in looks, at least in nature.
The king took another step, then slowly scanned the line before returning his focus to Nelda. “I need to know why,” he demanded, his voice echoing from the walls. The younger witch flinched.
“Why your man of the God kills innocents across the kingdom?” Nelda asked. “All the peoples of Burasal would like to know such a thing,” she replied, her voice level, her hand tight around Frayne’s hand. Nuris felt a pang of something like jealously, which he quickly shook away.
“The reason you killed my son,” the king said, stepping closer, his voice louder.
“I did not start the fire. I did not kill the child.” Nelda raised her chin to meet his gaze.
“You are a witch,” he spat.
“So I have learned.” She took a deep breath but didn’t take her eyes from the king, whose face was reddening. “I loved that child as my own. I would never harm him.”
“He would have been the future king; he would have hunted out your kind.”
Nelda growled something under her breath, and despite the unease moving through the soldiers in the room, Nuris smiled.
“You deserve to die for what was done.”
“If I had done it, yes, I should die for such a sin. I did not kill the babe,” she repeated. “And yet you allow women and children to die every day on a whim.”
“A whim?” the king shouted, and although the younger ones stepped back, she remained unmoving.
“You allow this man, who does not even understand the God let alone believe in him, run rampant over the people of your kingdom. Your father would be disappointed in you,” she added softly.
The king moved so quickly, Nuris didn’t even suspect the slap until it echoed through the room and Nelda cried out. The taller boy was quick to throw his arms around her, putting himself between her and the king. Nuris was tempted to leave his hiding place for a better view of what the king might do next, nervous that he might demand her death there and then.
There was a murmur and a shuffling amongst the soldiers. Nuris looked away from his sister to see them part to allow the queen to move through the room towards the king and the single throne. He had always wondered why there wasn’t one for her beside the king’s, but he couldn’t remember seeing her in the throne room since the coronation.
As she joined her husband, too close to the prisoners for Nuris’s comfort, soldiers stepped forward and pushed them to their knees—Nelda included, although her hand remained on her face while the other gripped that of the boy beside her, who openly stared at the woman before him. Did he know her from somewhere? He looked at her as though she wasn’t where she was meant to be.
But then, perhaps she had more lovers than just him. Nuris had never thought he was important enough to her to be the only one, despite what she told him. Nelda leant in and whispered something to the boy, who lowered his gaze to the floor.
The queen stepped forward, shrugging off the king before he even managed to grab her arm, as though she knew what he would do. She took the boy’s chin in her hand and lifted his face back up.
“Who are you to this woman?” she asked, but there was a quaver to her voice, something Nuris had never heard before. She might always give the impression of someone lost to sadness, but she always sounded like she was in control.
“Her son,” he said.
“No,” she returned as a soldier clipped him from behind.
“You are to use the title ‘Your Highness’ when you address the queen,” the soldier hissed.
The boy pressed his lips closed.
“You are not her son,” the queen insisted.
“I am,” he returned. Although Nuris knew it too, he wondered why the queen was so sure.
“And this?” She released him, although his eyes followed her as she walked along and stood before the other boy. “Who is he?”
“My brother,” he returned. “My twin brother.”
The queen raised her eyebrows then, looking between the two.
“Not all twins are identical,” Nelda said, her eyes forward, and for a moment Nuris thought she might sense him in the dark shadows.
“No,” the queen admitted, looking more closely at the other boy. There was a similarity between them—Nuris had seen that himself.
“This is not their sister,” the queen said.
“She is younger,” Nelda said, as though that explained it all.
“She is a witch,” the king growled.
“That does not mean she doesn’t have brothers,” Nelda added.
Nuris expected a further rebuke from the king, but there was none.
“She was discovered in a convent,” the cardinal offered.
“She was hiding,” the younger of the boys said—Heath, Nuris reminded himself. “Life is hard,” he added softly, “and we are grateful you didn’t kill her outright. But we did have to come to her rescue.”
The girl leaned into him.
“What is your name?” the queen asked her.
“Grace, Your Highness,” she whispered, and Nuris was tempted to lean forward to hear her. She had been somewhat more confident in the tent. But kneeling between these boys, she appeared younger than he had suspected. He wondered then at the child in the cage and where she might be.
The queen took her time looking at all three of Nelda’s claimed children and then stood before her, blocking Nuris’s view of her.
“If you did not start the fire that killed my son, why did you run?” she asked, her voice soft as though they were old friends.
“I would have died either way. I was scared.”
Nuris had seen that on her face that last moment, the fear so evident he could nearly taste it. But then he’d had his own fear when he’d realised what she was, and it was too soon replaced by hatred. Odd now, after so many years trying to find her to finish what he had started that night, that any such idea should be swept away by seeing her.
“We could have found a way,” the queen said.
“You would have put me to death the moment you caught me,” Nelda returned. “As your cardinal does not hesitate to kill women whether they are witches or not. You blamed me, and I would have died.”
The queen looked at the floor and then at the king. From this angle, it was difficult for Nuris to read what that look might mean, whether she was seeking clarification or something else. The two had barely spoken since the death of the prince, and he wondered at her being here now.
“She must die,” the king said with a sigh. “No matter what she might have been or whether we can prove her part in the fire. She is a witch. A witch with fire, and despite her words she was likely involved.”
Nelda raised her chin, not in defiance but as though ready to die. “I only ask that you protect my children.”
“When you could not protect mine,” the queen murmured.
The king looked over the three of them again, but his jaw was set, and Nuris knew there would be no way to save any of them. Unless he could determine the parentage of the boys. Because no matter what any of them said, they were not her children—and in the long term, that might save them.
He shook his head and moved back further into the shadows, pressing against the cool stone wall. What did he care if these children survived, whether they were hers or not? But there was something there, something like longing in the way she spoke. He wondered why it was so important that they survive and why pretending they were hers would save them.
Frayne climbed to his feet and bowed low before the king. He opened his mouth to speak, but the king turned his back on him. Taking the queen by the arm, he left the throne room. Frayne looked down at Nelda and sighed. She stared at the floor as Nuris wondered whether he would have the chance to talk to her one last time before she died.
The cardinal turned to the soldiers, but one shook his head. Several moved forward to guide Nelda and her children from the room. Nuris was curious to see where they would be taken. Although he enjoyed the idea of the cardinal not getting what he wanted, he remained hidden until everyone had left.
There must have been instructions as to where they were taken. Part of him wondered if the king would tell him what he planned to do and when he planned to do it. Another part of him didn’t want to know. Now that he had seen her, he didn’t want to watch her die. He couldn’t.
He headed out into the sunshine with the idea of finding someone to ask. The king had likely disappeared into his garden. It was where he liked to go when he was particularly distressed, and Nuris had felt the anger rolling from him while he’d faced Nelda. But as he made his way through the neatly clipped hedging, there was no sign of the king.
“Who do you seek?” a voice asked, and he froze mid-step. The queen looked at him seriously. “Have you come to seek her freedom?”
“I came to see my king,” Nuris replied, knowing he could not tell her anything.
“I was surprised that she looked just the same,” Aphera said, her voice suddenly wistful as though talking of an old friend.
“Why did you go?” he asked.
“I had to see what she had become.”
“A mother,” he murmured, and the queen’s blue eyes clouded to grey as her face hardened to stone. He knew the word would push her, but he had to push if he was to get what he wanted from her.
“They are not her children,” she said. Her voice was level, but he felt the danger. He might have pushed too far.
“Why are you so sure?”
“I know it could not be possible.”
“Someone must have saved her that night, because she could not have left the castle alone. Why could it not have been a man?” Nuris had wanted to tease her, but as he spoke it seemed credible. There had been someone, he had thought after that night. She had been keeping something from him. He had thought it was that she was a witch, but he didn’t think that was it. She had told the king she hadn’t known she was a witch until that night, and she might have been telling the truth. Nuris also knew that she hadn’t started the fire. He looked at the woman staring him down. And then, with a swish of her skirts, she disappeared deeper into the garden.
Did she really not believe that Nelda might have children, might have had a life beyond the castle? Or did she know far more than she was telling him?