Ironhold
The fortress of Ironhold was not beautiful.
Its walls were thick and dark, built from the black stone of the mountains, scarred by centuries of war and weather. The towers were squat and functional, their windows narrow, their battlements crowded with archers. The gates were iron, massive and rusted, their surface pitted by years of rain and wind and the impact of enemy siege engines.
But it was strong.
Rhaena felt the strength as she passed through the gates, as the shadows of the walls swallowed her, as the cold of the stone seeped through her cloak. This was a place that had endured. This was a place that would endure.
Her cousin, Rhaegar, walked beside her.
He was taller than she remembered — though she barely remembered him at all. He had been a boy when she last saw him, younger than her, with red hair and freckles and a gap-toothed smile. Now he was a man, broad and bearded, his face scarred, his gray eyes hard.
“Your father sent me north when the war began,” he said. “He knew Malrik would come for the castle first. He knew the north would be our last hope.”
“He sent you to die?”
“He sent me to live. To hold Ironhold. To raise an army. To wait for you.”
“You have been waiting for twenty years.”
“I have been training. I have been building. I have been hoping.”
The courtyard was crowded.
Soldiers in silver and black moved between the barracks and the armory, their faces hard, their eyes watchful. Blacksmiths worked at their forges, hammering steel into swords and spears and helms. Children ran between the legs of the adults, chasing each other through the mud.
“You have families here,” Rhaena said.
“The soldiers’ families. They fled south when Malrik’s armies advanced. They have nowhere else to go.”
“So they fight.”
“So they survive.”
Rhaegar led her to the great hall.
It was smaller than the great hall in Kingsfall — much smaller — but it was warmer. A fire burned in the hearth at the far end, casting shadows on the stone walls. Long tables filled the room, their surfaces scarred by knives and spilled wine and the passage of years.
Her people filled those tables.
Not nobles and lords. Soldiers. Farmers. Smiths. The people who had been waiting.
They stood when she entered.
They knelt.
“Rise,” she said.
They rose.
They stared.
She stared back.
Rhaegar poured her a cup of wine.
“Your people have been waiting for this moment for twenty years. They have been hoping. They have been praying. They have been dying.”
“I am not a queen.”
“You are the heir. That is enough.”
“It is not enough. They need food and shelter and peace. Not a queen.”
“The queen is the first step toward food and shelter and peace.”
She drank the wine.
It was bitter.
Theron stood at the edge of the hall, his scarred face hidden in shadow, his good eye watching.
Rhaegar noticed him.
“Who is that?”
“A guide. A former knight. A man who carries guilt.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“He killed my father. He buried him. He has been carrying the weight for twenty years. He wants to be free.”
“And you trust him?”
“I trust his guilt. It is heavier than any sword.”
The night deepened.
The fire burned low.
The soldiers drifted to their beds.
Rhaena sat alone at the great table, her cup empty, her eyes fixed on the embers.
Rhaegar sat across from her.
“You are not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone taller. Louder. More confident.”
“I have spent twenty years hiding in a kitchen. Confidence is hard to maintain when you are scrubbing floors.”
“You are not scrubbing floors now.”
“No. Now I am drinking bitter wine and pretending to be a queen.”
“Pretend long enough, and it becomes real.”
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
“The grandmother said the throne is a cage. A cage for the hunger. A cage for the Withering. If I sit on it, I become the cage.”
“You spoke to the grandmother?”
“She is real. I saw her. I touched her. She wants me to break the throne.”
“Can you?”
“I do not know. But I must try.”
Rhaegar was silent for a long moment.
“Then we will help you. All of us. Every soldier in this fortress. Every farmer in these hills. Every hope in this kingdom.”
“Why?”
“Because you are our queen. Because you are our hope. Because you are our family.”