“I don’t think so.”

“We can speak of this in the morning. We’ll see what the archminister and your uncle Numar have to say. Perhaps we can let you wear the circlet for now, until you grow into the crown.”

She leaned forward to kiss Kalyi’s forehead and started to leave.

“Don’t go yet,” Kalyi said, grabbing her arm. “Please.”

“I’m tired, Kalyi. And it’s late.”

“I know. Just a little while longer.”

Her mother smiled and nodded, running her fingers through Kalyi’s hair again.

“Will I have to go to war now?” Kalyi asked.

“I certainly hope not,” her mother said, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, Father always said that one of the things a king did was lead his armies to war.”

“Kings do far more than fight wars, child. I think your father forgot that sometimes.”

“But if we had to go to war-”

“If we had to go to war, your uncle Numar would lead the army, not you. He’s your regent, which means that for the next few years he’ll be helping you rule the land and teaching you how to be queen so that you can lead on your own when the regency ends.”

“When will that be?”

“After your Fating.”

“My Fating?” Kalyi said, widening her eyes. “That’ll be forever.”

Her mother laughed. “Hardly.”

“Will Uncle Numar protect me, too?”

The smile vanished from her mother’s face. “Why do you think you need protecting?”

“Because of what that man said today, that he feared for my safety.”

“That man was the duke of Rassor,” her mother said, frowning and taking a breath. “And he should have held his tongue.”

“You agreed with him. You said that all of you were afraid for me.”

“Did I?”

Kalyi nodded. “Why are you? Is it because of Uncle Henthas? That’s what the duke said.”

Her mother smiled, though Kalyi thought she didn’t look happy. “I don’t think Henthas will hurt you. Truly I don’t. But you lead the kingdom now, and we have enemies in the Forelands.”

“Like in Eibithar?”

“Yes, the Eibitharians are our enemies. And others as well. They may see how young you are and think that the kingdom is weak because it’s led by a child. That’s why we have Numar here. And that’s why we all need for you to be very strong and very brave. Do you think you can do that?”

Kalyi nodded, and this time her mother’s smile seemed real.

“Do you think Uncle Grigor would have hurt me?”

“Peace, child. Please. It’s time for sleep, not questions.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. Goodnight.”

But her mother just sat, staring at the candle. “Grigor was a bitter, cruel man,” she finally said. “He wanted to be king, and he didn’t care who he had to hurt or kill to reach the throne.”

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Kalyi said. She knew it was a bad thing to say, but it was the truth, and both her mother and father had always told her to speak the truth.

Her mother looked at her sharply, but then looked away again. “So am I,” she whispered.

A moment later, she leaned forward again, kissed Kalyi on each cheek, and blew out the candle. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Mother.”

She watched her mother leave, then bundled herself in her blankets so that she could barely move her legs and arms. With the windows shuttered, the only light in the chamber came from the fire burning low in the hearth. It gave an orange glow to everything she could see, and cast strange dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling.

We all need for you to be very strong and very brave. She didn’t feel strong. She felt young and terribly small. Her father’s crown was too large for her; the throne she had sat upon during the ceremony earlier this day had seemed immense, as if she were just a baby sitting on a soldier’s stallion. She had been the only child at her investiture, she was certain of it, because she looked for others, even when she should have been listening to the prelate. Other children lived in the castle, some Qirsi, some Eandi. Most of them were her friends-because she was the daughter of the king, all the children wanted to play with her and see where the king lived and slept and planned for wars. But none of them had been invited to the ceremony. Or none had chosen to come.

Kalyi hadn’t seen any of her friends since her father died. She spent most of her days with her mother, or with Nurse, or with the prelate, who made her pray in the cloisters whenever he saw her. Before all this began, she had been tiring of her lessons, but now she couldn’t wait to get back to them. She wondered if she’d still have lessons now that she was queen. More than that, she wondered if the other children would still want to be her friends. They might not like having to bow to her and call her “Your Highness.” She would have been happy to tell them not to do any of that, but she didn’t know if she was allowed to. There was a lot she didn’t know about being queen. That was why she needed Uncle Numar.

The one thing Kalyi did know was that she could be brave. She might not have been strong like her father or the soldiers in her army, but she wasn’t going to be afraid. She had cried the morning her mother told her that Father was dead, but she hadn’t cried since, and she didn’t intend to.

Nor did she intend to let the Eibitharians frighten her. There had been a spy from Eibithar in the city a few days earlier. Kalyi had heard of it from the guards. And though everyone else in the castle seemed scared, including her mother, Kalyi was not. Father had told her many times that a soldier had to learn to master his fear. She hadn’t understood at first what that meant, but her father explained it.

“Everyone has times when they’re afraid,” he told her one bright afternoon, as they walked along the battlements facing the river. “But a good soldier is able to see beyond his fear, to conquer it in his mind the way he conquers his enemies in battle. If you fear defeat, you make plans for victory. If you find yourself fearing death, you think of how you will fight to avoid dying. A soldier who marches to battle thinking he’s going to die, probably will, just as a king who leads his army into a war expecting to lose, has little chance of winning.”

Kalyi knew that she was not a soldier, but she sensed that her father’s advice worked just as well for princesses and queens. The dukes of Aneira were afraid that Henthas wanted to kill her and that the spies from Eibithar wanted to destroy the kingdom. But Kalyi was queen now, and she refused to let those things happen.

She still needed to learn how to be queen, how to protect her land from its enemies. But Numar and Pronjed and her mother would help her. And as for Henthas, she would just stay away from him. If she had to see him, she’d make certain that someone else was always with her. Either way, she wasn’t going to be afraid of him, because then he would hurt her. Her father had told her so.

The one thing Kalyi didn’t understand was her father’s death. Her father, she was quite certain, was not afraid of anything or anyone. Yet he was dead, killed, she had heard someone say, by his own hand. Kalyi knew what that meant, just as she knew that taking one’s own life was a violation of one of Ean’s doctrines, though she couldn’t remember which. But it seemed to her that a person only killed himself if he was terribly afraid of something. Her mother said he did it because the castle surgeon told him he was dying, but Kalyi knew that her father wasn’t afraid of death. He had told her so. Which meant that there must have been another reason. She was going to find out what it was. She couldn’t really be queen yet, because she was too young. But she could be strong and brave, like her mother said, and she could discover why her father had died.

Yaella eyed her duke cautiously from the chair near the hearth, gauging his anger. He stood before the fire, glowering at the flames, his back to her and his hands behind his back. One hand was fisted so that the knuckles had turned white; the other held that one by the wrist, as if to keep it from reaching for a weapon.