Free Bridge of Souls by Fiona McIntosh Page A

nameday. She began to sing it now privately in her mind and the words stayed with her as she ascended into the palace proper.
    Ranald, a stableboy, bowed and reached for the Queen’s reins.
    “Thank you, Ranald,” Valentyna said, and found a smile for the eager boy.
    “Your highness.” He beamed, unable to mask his pleasure at serving the Queen so directly.
    “It was a lovely ride,” she said to him, enjoying his enthusiasm, wishing she could be a child again, without a care in the world.
    “I’m glad, your highness. Bonny’s a beautiful girl. My favorite,” he chirped, ignoring the scowl from the stablemaster, who had come out to watch his young charge receive the horses correctly and no doubt thought him far too chatty.
    “Mine too,” Valentyna said, winking at Ranald. As she turned away from the boy the refrain of the ballad filled her mind again—and its resonance struck her.
     
    Wait for me, my love;
I shall return one day.
Accept not another’s words;
With me only, I pray.
     
    Valentyna froze in the courtyard as the words played over in her mind. Men walked around her and horses neighed. Dogs growled over a bone and busy servants crisscrossed the yard on various errands, calling to one another. Among the activity, their queen stood still and silent, deep in her own thoughts. What had sounded so poignant and charming when sung on her nameday now sounded like a message from the dead. A warning.
    “Romen!” she whispered fearfully, her breath catching in her throat.
    “Your majesty, are you unwell?” she heard someone inquire.
    “I’m fine,” she stammered, coming back to the present and almost running from the courtyard. She flew into the palace and up the beautiful staircase, and up the next flight and the next. Servants watched, perplexed, as their sovereign ignored their salutations and curtsies, rushing past them toward her study on the topmost level, her boots clicking loudly on the flagstones. Finally she came to her father’s former chamber and slammed the door behind her.
    Leaning against its solid wood panels, she held her head as her breath came in great sad wrenchings. Wait for me, my love. Was this Shar’s sign? Was this a message? What had prompted the song and its lyrics to come into her head? The bird! A chaffinch! Was this a warning from Fynch? Was heasking her to wait? For whom? Romen was dead! Cold, lifeless, bloodless…gone.
    She realized she was sobbing and felt ashamed of herself for losing control. What was happening to her? Storming out of meetings, crying violently, listening to birds, believing in magic. She was going mad.
    But she had asked for a sign. Perhaps this was it. She could be imagining it, of course, clutching at anything to save herself from Celimus, but it felt so right to believe it.
    “But who am I waiting for?” she asked the quiet of her room.
    She was startled by a knock at the door. “A moment, please,” she called, instantly embarrassed at being found in such a discomposed state. She quickly splashed water over her face from a basin in a tiny closet and dried herself with a linen cloth, then smoothed back her hair as best she could.
    She touched her fingers to her father’s desk and drew strength from the solid wood, then took a steadying breath. Her mind was racing in all directions, but she had duties to perform. She needed to be steadfast. Briavel still looked to her for leadership, even as it collectively cast her to the wolves—or wolf, she thought bitterly.
    Valentyna cleared her throat. “Come.”
    One of the older pages opened the door and bowed. “Your majesty, forgive my disturbance.”
    “That’s all right, Justen. Who has sent you?”
    “Commander Liryk, your majesty. He asked me to find you the moment you returned from your ride. He says it is urgent.”
    “Oh? A problem?”
    “A visitor, your majesty.”
    Valentyna frowned. “Another one? Can’t Liryk handle it?” she said irritably.
    The page blinked, uncomfortable, and