“Are you in pain, my lady?” Grimwar asked gruffly.

“Not for the moment, my king,” she said, making a weak effort to squeeze her fingers. “It seems as though pain, as well as all else, has been wrung from me.”

“When did this strike?”

“Not long after the supper. I fear there may be some bad shellfish in the royal larder. I had Brinda send word to the cooks as soon as I was taken ill.”

Such an innocent! It warmed the king’s heart to see that she did not even suspect the wrong that had been done to her. Na?vet? was one of qualities he found so appealing about Thraid, and so different from his wife. His throat tightened as he raised her hand and kissed her fingers.

“You rest well, my dear. Has the royal surgeon been to see you?”

“Indeed, sire. He purged me, and bade me drink much water. Brinda has been faithful with the pitcher.”

“Very well. You must rest. If there is anything you want or need, you will have it. Slave!” Grimwar turned to the curtain, which was parted by Wandcort. “I shall desire word, steady reports, of the state of Lady Thraid’s health.”

The slave bowed. “It shall be done, Sire.”

Grimwar rose to his feet and gazed one more time at Thraid. His anger still burned, but the fire had been banked by his willpower. He started toward the door, and Wandcort hurried ahead to lead him through the kitchen. The slave turned, startled, as the king stalked past.

“I am leaving by the front door,” declared Grimwar Bane, his voice a deep and very royal growl.

* * * * *

“I would speak to you, my queen,” declared the king of Suderhold, stalking unannounced into his wife’s parlor.

She was making a diagram of something that looked like a hollowed sphere, an array of colorful inks spread upon her table and a quill in her hand. She looked up at him crossly, her eyes, so tiny in that block of a face, glittering with guarded thoughts.

“You take a cold tone with me, my lord,” she said, her own voice layered in ice. “I sense your displeasure, yet I do not know its cause.”

“You have said that you wish me to attack Bracken-rock this summer,” he declared bluntly.

“To destroy Brackenrock, yes,” she corrected, “and to retrieve the Axe of Gonnas.

“Bah-we can retrieve that ancient trinket next year,” the king snorted. “If it bears such significance, you should never have let the elf wrest it out of your hands in the first place!”

Stariz, still seated, straightened and glared ice. “Do not forget that the elf still lives with the humans. Have you not seen his boat, fruitlessly chased by your galley on several occasions? I should think his survival would be an affront not just to you but to our entire kingdom. It is a pity that you have so little regard for the Axe of Gonnas. Remember, it was the weapon that King Barkon used to hew the ice from Mount Winterheim, thus giving his clan-”

“Yes, yes, I know all this,” Grimwar said impatiently, although he did have a little trouble remembering the details. “Do you think I forget our heritage?”

Stariz pressed ahead. “Now that we have the powder from the Alchemist, the royal smithy will be able to prepare a weapon in a matter of a few days. This is the design-it will be a sphere of pure gold, filled with the powder prepared by the Alchemist.” Her pig eyes narrowed. “Have you started to organize the troops for the raiding party? And prepared the galleys for the voyage?”

Grimwar shrugged. “The troops, the ships, will be ready when I tell them to be. If I tell them to prepare. And I tell you now, Queen… I have decided. I do not choose to make this campaign this summer.”

Stariz snorted in exasperation. “You know that you have been granted an opportunity that has come to no other king in the many centuries of your line? You understand that, do you not?”

“Opportunity is in your eye, or mine,” the king said with a shrug. “I have no doubt but that the humans will be available to fight, whenever I deem myself ready. They are a fact of life but not a threat to our existence. And I did not lose the Axe of Gonnas.”

“The axe is a treasure of our people, an artifact dating back to the Barkon migration!” she retorted, shocked and outraged at his statement.

“I am the king of Suderhold,” he reminded her. “You have achieved exalted status of your own-because you are my wife! If you choose to retain that status, you will do as I tell you. This is a fact you should, you will, remember.”

“It is a fact that is never far from my mind, Sire,” she replied, her tone neutral.

He drew a breath. “Now I wish to talk about Thraid Dimmarkull.”

Stariz waited, eyes narrowed now, upper lip curled in disapproval, showing her short, Hunt tusks.

“I give you a warning,” Grimwar declared bluntly. Stariz’s eyes widened. “Should any harm come to the Lady Thraid, I will be displeased. Exceptionally displeased. My displeasure shall be such that your station, your rank-indeed, Queen, your very life-will be in some jeopardy. Do I make myself clear?”

The ogress managed to inject a great deal of scorn into one small shrug of her broad shoulders. “You have too many your father’s weaknesses. I had hoped that the passing years would move you beyond such trite concerns.”

“I am serious,” the king replied.

“Very well,” declared the queen, with an air of great boredom. “I give you my word. No harm shall come to the, er, lady at my hand.”

“Neither at your hand, nor at your bidding,” Grimwar pressed. “You must swear upon the Willful One.”

“You test my patience, husband,” snapped the queen. She shrugged again, apparently unconcerned. “But suspicion is not a bad thing in a king. Perhaps it is even a sign of the strength, the maturity, I seek to cultivate in you. So I agree. I swear upon the sacred name of Gonnas the Mighty that I shall neither command nor commit any assault against the person of Thraid Dimmarkull.”

“Very well,” he said, although he felt the vow had come too easy. However, he believed Stariz was not likely to abrogate a vow sworn on the god she served.

“My lord,” the queen said, in a more deferential tone, “I acknowledge your mastery of your realm, and indeed, of myself. I ask for one small consideration. You have made your decision about Brackenrock-you will not go there this year-and I, as your wife, must be content with that. However, are you certain, absolutely certain, that the Lord of Us All, Gonnas the Mighty, the Willful One, is pleased with your decision? Should you not seek some guidance from our god?”

“I obey the will of Gonnas,” Grimwar said guardedly, “but you are the voice of that will, and there are times when you discuss prophecies and visions, when I suspect that I am hearing your desires, and not those of our god.” He glared at her challengingly, expecting her to react with fury. He was surprised when she nodded in apparent understanding.

“That is a fair assessment, Sire,” she said, as meekly as he had ever heard her say anything. “But what if you speak directly to the god, without using me as an intermediary?”

“How could I do this?” Grimwar wondered, still suspicious.

“The Ceremony of the Midnight Sun is but a few weeks away,” the priestess-queen reminded him. “You will be on the King’s Roost, atop our mountain, as is your right and duty as king of Suderhold. There you will address Gonnas directly. I merely suggest that you ask him for a sign of pleasure or displeasure with your choice.”

The monarch scowled. It was some kind of trap. Everything had been going so well, up to this point. “If there is no sign?” he asked warily.

“Why, that would certainly be proof that he is pleased with your rule and that your mandates are right and correct for Suderhold.”

Grimwar nodded, pondering her words. “If Gonnas shows his displeasure,” he continued hesitantly, “that will be an indication that you are right, that I should pursue the campaign against Brackenrock at once?”