Page 98 of War Queen
Norah nodded again. “Well, bring Araseth to the castle anytime. It would be wonderful to have a child around.”
Katya’s smile returned. “You’re too kind, Salara.”
Norah meant every word.
Chapter twenty-five
Itwaslateafternoonbefore Norah could escape to her chamber. She sat at her vanity, staring at her own image, yet her mind wasn’t on herself. Her stomach twisted. She still hadn’t told Mikael his fate remained. Or that Alexander had come to her with the blood. She needed to. It was important. But their brief time alone together had been spent in each other’s arms—poor timing to share this news.
And now the evening ahead would be special for Mikael; she couldn’t tell him tonight.Tomorrow. It would have to be tomorrow.
Soren would be furious.
Her mind turned to the evening ahead—something else that turned her stomach—when Mikael would get his markings for taking Mercia.
For her, taking back Mercia was the correction of a great wrong, but still the stain remained, and the loss suffered in doing so made her question if it was even worth it. But for Mikael, it was an accomplishment. He’d always wanted to take Mercia, and while it had been in a different form and under very different circumstances, he’d finally done it. It was now a significant part of his story—his story that she would have to look at every day, and be reminded of…
No, she didn’t have to look at it. She wouldn’t look at it.
What if it was on his neck? Or on his face? She groaned to herself. Did Kharavian warriors mark their faces? Master archers bore fletching-patterned marks on their bow-side eye. Other than that, she hadn’t seen any others—which was a small relief, but one that brought little comfort. This would be Mikael’s greatest accomplishment, and surely it would be bold and prominent across his body.
Norah moved her gaze over her reflection. She wore a gown the color of night, the color of Kharav. And right now, it was the color of her heart.
“Are you all right?” Mikael asked, coming up behind her.
She gave a small start; she hadn’t realized he’d come in. Her eyes met his in the mirror, and she nodded. Why did she nod? Of course she wasn’t all right. She should just say something. But she couldn’t. It was only a marking. She should let him have it—for all he had done for her, and all he had done for Mercia.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
No. She nodded again and rose.
Mikael took her hand, and they walked through the castle, into the courtyard, and across the gardens to the temple of Salta Tau.
It was just as she remembered from the last time she’d been there, when Mikael had gotten the marking of her crown.
The crown that she’d lost.
The crown that was now hidden in its velvet box in her vanity drawer.
They walked a series of halls back to a large open chamber. Salara-Mae and Soren were already there, just as they had been before. They stood on opposite sides of the chamber from each other, as they had before.
Salta Tau stood in the room’s center, wearing a cream linen gown and her hair pulled back in a braid. She bowed as they drew near. “Salar. Salara.”
“Salta Tau,” Mikael replied, and both he and Norah bowed their heads in return.
The old woman spoke in the Kharavian tongue, which Norah understood now. “What do you seek to record?” Her voice was gravelly from age, but there was a smoothness to it still.
Norah cursed herself silently. She should have said something, told him how she felt about the marking. Now it was too late.
“I come for the story of taking the North,” Mikael said.
Norah hated those words—taking the North.
Salta Tau took Mikael’s hands before closing her eyes and speaking her spell into the air. She swayed in her chant, her voice drifting in and out, echoing through the chamber. Then she stopped. The old woman opened her eyes and stood for a moment, silent, looking forward but at nothing in particular.
What did she see?
Salta Tau’s words made Norah freeze. “The story of the North, it brings you sorrow,” she said to Mikael in the Kharavian tongue.
