Page 80 of War Queen
In the center of the canvas stood Alexander.
In his hand, he held a horned helm, bloodied and separated from its wearer. Her stomach twisted. She thought she might be sick.
She knew the dark, armored body that lay at his feet—a body she knew as well as her own.
Alexander’s eyes blazed in triumphant hatred, staring off the canvas at her. A deep shudder gripped her spine. She reached out and clutched Samuel’s chair for balance.
No.
“This isn’t possible,” she whispered. Tears stung her eyes. How had this vision not perished with Alexander? Was Mikael still in danger? Had his fate not changed? “Maybe… maybe it’s an old vision?”
Samuel shook his head. “The power that carries this vision is still very much alive. And with its detail… it’s very strong. Stronger than it’s ever been.”
Norah couldn’t stop her shaking. “Get the lord commander,” she whispered.
Samuel stood frozen.
“Get him!” she cried.
He quickly shuffled from the room, still holding his brush.
Norah shook her head. “This can’t be,” she said. Even if Alexander still lived, he wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t take Mikael from her. Would he? But if he wasn’t himself…
And there was something strange about this vision. Alexander’s hair was cut shorter than how he’d normally worn it. And he wasn’t wearing his signature battle armor with the pauldron of the great Northern bear. Instead, he was armored in black and red. Her eyes narrowed. Markings on the skin of his neck just above his breastplate caught her attention, as did those on his wrists peeking out from under the armor along his forearm. She’d seen these markings before…
Catherine had moved to the next room and was sifting feverishly through all the new paintings Samuel had done.
Soren charged in with Samuel close behind. He knocked back stacks of paintings along the narrow path as he made his way through the gallery, but when he reached Norah and saw the image, he stopped.
She gave him a moment to comprehend what he was looking at before asking, “How is this possible?”
He shook his head. “It’s not. The Bear’s dead.”
“But what if he’s not?” she whispered, wary of Catherine in the room nearby. “I know I saw him. I know he came to me.”
“Salara,” he said, low. His lips moved to protest more, but he said nothing else. He didn’t believe her; he didn’t believe she called Alexander with the blood.
“Then explain this,” she pressed. “How can you not believe it now?”
“I don’t believe that’s the Bear.”
“Because, as you like to remind me, he’s dead?” she snapped.
He clasped her shoulders and made her look at him. “No,” he said. “Because I know him. I would trust the Bear with Salar’s life, as I would my own. That is not him.” He looked back to the painting. “But I will find out who it is.”
The day seemed to have gotten colder as Norah walked toward her chamber. Her mind and her stomach twisted all at once. She needed Mikael back. She needed to see him, hold him, keep him from this cursed fate that refused to release him.
She reached her chamber and pulled off her cloak before even fully getting through the door.
And stopped.
On her vanity was a small package with a ribbon. She didn’t have to open it to know what was inside.
A vial of blood.
Chapter twenty-one
Norahclutchedthevialin her hand, her thumb numb from pressing it against the decorative beveled point at its top. She lay on her back across the bed in her chamber as she stared up at the ceiling.
