The Torch of Hope
The walk back to the city was different.
The snow was still deep, the wind was still sharp, the cold was still cruel. But the torch burned in Rhaena’s hand, silver and bright, pushing back the darkness, warming the air, lighting the way.
Lyra walked beside her, her gray eyes fixed on the flame.
“The first queen gave her life for that fire.”
“She gave her life for hope.”
“Will it be enough?”
Rhaena was silent for a long moment.
“It will be a beginning.”
The city gates were buried.
The walls were cracked.
The guards were gone.
But the people were waiting.
They had seen the light from their windows. They had felt the warmth in their bones. They had hoped.
“The queen is returning,” they whispered. “The queen is bringing fire. The queen is bringing hope.”
The great hall was crowded.
The refugees huddled around the cold hearths, their faces pale, their eyes hollow. They had given up. They had stopped praying. They had stopped hoping.
Rhaena walked through the doors.
The torch blazed.
The shadows fled.
The people stared.
“Your Grace,” they whispered. “Your Grace. Your Grace.”
She walked to the hearth.
She touched the torch to the kindling.
The fire caught.
It spread.
The room grew warm.
The people wept.
“Eat,” Rhaena said. “Drink. Rest. Tomorrow, we begin again.”
Corin stood beside her.
“Your Grace, the torch—”
“The torch will not burn out. Not as long as we remember. Not as long as we hope. Not as long as we love.”
“The first queen?”
“She is at peace. She has been waiting for a thousand years. She is tired. She is free.”
Theron stood in the shadows.
His good eye was bright.
“Your Grace.”
“Theron.”
“The Withering is retreating.”
“Retreating?”
“The cracks in the throne are closing. The hunger is sleeping. The hope is spreading.”
“Because of the fire?”
“Because of you.”
Rhaena looked at the torch.
At the flame.
At the light.
“The fire is not mine. The fire belongs to the people. The fire belongs to the kingdom. The fire belongs to the hope.”
She handed the torch to Lyra.
“Take it. Share it. Let it spread.”
Lyra’s gray eyes were wet.
“Your Grace—”
“You are the fire keeper now. You will carry the hope. You will warm the cold. You will feed the hungry.”
“And you?”
Rhaena touched the crown on her head.
“I will watch. I will wait. I will hope.”