And they were shouting her name—not the name with which she had been born, but the names they had given her.

“Blood Queen!” they cried.

“Lady of Death!”

“Kingsbane! Kingsbane!”

That was one Rielle hadn’t heard before, and one that made her feel sparkling and hot, as if she’d stepped too close to a cliff’s edge and caught herself, right at the last moment. The giddy feeling of having barely avoided disaster.

She held her head high and did as Audric had instructed her in those early days of her national tour. She waved and smiled, ignoring the jeers, the furious cries. No one threw anything at her—perhaps not even the angriest among them dared test her—but they waved crimson banners. They thrust sun pendants at her, the golden surfaces once pristine and now dark with red paint. They crowded close, an aggression in their nearness. The air popped like the heat of a hungry fire.

“We must get you to the castle,” Tal muttered. He wore Saint Tokazi’s staff around his torso on a leather strap, much of it hidden beneath his cloak. “Take Atheria and go.”

She shot him a look. “I won’t be cowed. I won’t run from them. They can’t harm me.”

Ludivine sent her a feeling of urgency. I agree with Tal. Your presence merely serves to provoke them.

Then provoke them I shall. Rielle caught the eye of a ferociously glowering man, his face puckered with hatred. She flashed him a dazzling smile. He spat at her feet, and she smiled even more brightly.

“Where’s my mother?” someone cried as Rielle stepped off the bridge and entered the city proper.

“Bring them back!”

Those who died at the fire trial, said Ludivine.

Obviously. Rielle squared her shoulders. I will say something to them.

No. It’s neither the time nor the place for that.

It’s the time and place when I say it is, Rielle snapped. She would stop in the market square up ahead, she decided. She would stand on the steps and address them all, tell them she had been studying resurrection, that she had been guiding her power down a path that would someday mean an end to death. No more soldiers killed mysteriously in the cold north. No more unforeseen attacks that would leave dozens dead.

She picked up her muddy skirts and made swiftly for the market steps. Someone spat at her; someone did, at last, throw a fistful of mud that hit her boot. Tal called for her to stop, but she ignored him. He grabbed her wrist and she wrenched her arm free.

Rielle, this isn’t the way, Ludivine said, but the feeling of her thoughts was weak.

They were, all of them, weak.

Rielle climbed the steps and turned to face the crowd with her head held high.

But before she could speak, there came a sound to her right, beyond Tal. She whirled and saw a man marching forward out of the crowd, his dagger flashing.

Astonished not that someone would try to kill her, but that they would do it so stupidly, she watched him coldly.

Atheria darted between them, rearing up with her front legs flying. Her wings cast immense shadows across the square.

Those nearest the chavaile cried out and jumped back, but the man—wild-eyed, grim-faced—tried to dart around her. Atheria’s ears flattened. With a hiss, she bared her long, black teeth.

“It’s all right, Atheria,” Rielle said. “He can’t hurt me.”

Atheria subsided at once, and the man pushed past her. Tal lunged forward to intercept him instead, but with a flick of her wrist, Rielle stopped him, freezing his body midstride.

And then she saw the man’s dagger flying at her—a decent enough throw with good aim, but still she stifled a laugh at the sight of it, and only because she thought, at the last moment, that Audric would advise her against laughing with so many eyes upon her.

Instead she raised her fingers and stopped the blade in the air. It dissolved to infinitesimal specks of metal and bronze and floated away in the wind.

Then, gently, Rielle flattened her palm and forced the man to his knees. In the tense silence of the watching crowd, she approached him. She stood over him, watching him tremble, and relished the sight of his terror until two tears squeezed out of his limpid eyes, painting tracks down his cheeks.

“As Sun Queen,” she announced, her voice ringing out clear and strong, “I am and will continue to be merciful. Even to the murderous and treasonous among you.”

Then she bent to kiss the man’s forehead, her throat clenching in disgust at the grimy, slick texture of his skin. Without another word, she left him kneeling there in the dirt, held out her arm for Ludivine, and continued up the city streets toward Baingarde. The silent crowd parted before her. Rielle did not allow the man to rise until she had reached the temple district, where the sounds of prayer song washed her mind clean of anger.

• • •

Audric was inside his office, in a meeting with the Lady of Coin and the Lord of Letters and three other advisers, all of whom bowed their heads and swiftly left upon Rielle’s arrival.

Once they were alone, her exhaustion rose up like a river swell, and when Audric came around his desk, she met him halfway. His arms came around her tightly, his hands soft in her travel-dusted hair. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest until the sensation of her fatigue was not so overwhelming.

“A month apart is too long, my love,” he said. He kissed her hair, her cheeks, and then her mouth, then led her to the sofa against the windows. He sat in the cushions, and she climbed into his lap. He held her in silence, stroking circles between her shoulder blades until she found the will to speak.

“They were waiting for me,” she whispered against his collar, breathing in the scent of his skin, his hair. “Thousands of them, on the bridges and in the streets.”

“I know.” Audric’s voice was steady. Even without Ludivine to help her, Rielle sensed the quiet force of him, like a physical thing in her mind, soothing all her worries. “I hope you aren’t angry I didn’t come to meet you.”

She looked up at him. “Why should I be?”

“I thought it would be best for you to handle the situation on your own.” His soft gaze met her own. “God, how I missed your face.”

She kissed him, long and slow, and then, drowsy, subsided against him. “They hate me,” she said after a moment.

“Not all of them do,” he replied.

“Even some is too many. Why should they fear me? Why don’t they love me?”

“You know the answer to that.”

She frowned against him. “If they’d only step back a little from their anger and their fear of things they don’t understand, they’d see that there’s no danger in me. I don’t want to hurt them.”