Page 16 of North Queen
“She doesn’t remember,” Alexander said, not entirely confident in his voice.
Caspian shifted back. “She doesn’t remember what?”
“She has no memory, Caspian. She knows nothing. Not Mercia, not herself.” He paused. “Not me.”
Caspian’s eyes widened.
But Alexander didn’t want to linger on it. He couldn’t without emotion threatening. “Brief her core guard,” he said, “as well as her maids. They’ll need to help her. The queen regent was clear—no one else can know. Not even the council. She’s fought too hard to protect Norah’s crown in her absence. We can’t risk losing it now.”
“That won’t be easy. We’ll have to keep the princess from them.”
“I’ll let the queen regent manage that,” Alexander said. Then he frowned. They’d have to keep her from quite a few people. His mind turned to his brother. Adrian would want to see Norah as soon as he learned of her return, but he’d suspect something right away. Alexander would have to find a way to keep him from her for a while too.
“I’ve sent messengers to the outer reaches, calling all forces back,” Caspian said. “Except for our men in Bahoul.”
Alexander gave a small nod. The mountains—they’d need to keep men there to hold them. When the Shadowlands learned of Norah’s return, it would only be a matter of time before they came for her.Again. “Send the Ninth to join them.” Another thousand men in Bahoul would mean a thousand men less at the capital, but if the Shadow King attacked, Bahoul would be the first line of defense. Caspian nodded, and then he paused. “What about Aleon?”
The mention of their eastern ally made Alexander stiffen, but he pushed the twinge aside and took his belt and sword from the wall. “I’ll send word to Aleon that the princess has returned. And then I’ll go to the seer. Perhaps her return has brought new visions.”
“I’ll take care of the message to Aleon,” Caspian told him. “You go see Samuel.”
Caspian knew his struggle; he knew the bitterness that the thought of Aleon brought, and Alexander clasped his shoulder appreciatively. Then he buckled the belt of his sword and set his mind to the seer.
He didn’t bother with a cloak as he passed through the castle and outside toward the gallery house. He’d made this walk many times over, each with the same hope. But today was different. Norah had returned.
Alexander strode over the cobblestone street to the gallery of the seer. While it was connected to the castle, it was only accessible from the outside. He pushed through the doors and sidestepped the paintings strewn throughout. It was growing more difficult to weave through to the back gallery where he knew the old man would be. As expected, he found Samuel at his easel, hunched over and working on his craft. Alexander’s pulse quickened at seeing the seer at work. A vision must have come.
“A vision? You’ve had one?” he asked anxiously, not bothering with a greeting.
Samuel bobbed his balding head up in surprise. “Hmm?” In seeing Alexander, Samuel pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Oh, it’s you,” he gruffed.
“You’ve had another?” he pressed the old man. “Of the princess?”
Samuel scowled, turning his attention back to his work. “Boy, you’ve been asking me that for years, and for years I’ve told you—”
“She’s returned.”
Samuel stopped, glancing back up at Alexander. “What did you say?”
“The princess. She’s returned. Did you not hear the bells?”
Samuel wrinkled his nose and waved his brush. “Those damn bells ring all the time.”
Alexander drew in a deep breath, trying to summon his patience. “Well, she’s returned. Surely you can see something of her now.”
The old man drew his brows together and shook his head, then set his brush down. “No. I’ve seen nothing of her.”
Alexander sighed. The last painting of Norah was the image of her in the forest. It had come just before she had left, three years ago. When she’d disappeared, the visions of her stopped. Now that she’d returned, he hoped the visions had too. Samuel’s gallery held only a few paintings of her, all of which had been completed before she’d disappeared. Alexander knew every detail, every brushstroke, especially of the painting that had made Norah’s father take her away: the image of the enemy that would come for her—the Shadow King. The vision of her capture.
War. Death. That had been her fate, the fate her father changed by taking her to safety, wherever that might have been.
Then there were the images of himself. But those he put from his mind. “What are you painting then?” he asked Samuel.
The old man snorted. “Nothing you care to see.”
Alexander moved around the easel to look over the old man’s shoulder, and he sighed.Not again.“What is that?”
“What does it look like?” the seer asked with an edge of annoyance. “I’ve been painting long enough that I consider myself quite good at it.”
