TWO STARS AND A CROWN

When they reached the west wing, Laren sent Anna to report to Mistress Evans, and continued up the stairs toward the royal apartments. She dreaded every step, dreaded what she would find out about the queen’s condition.

The corridor outside the royal apartments was clogged with Weapons, officers, administrators, and their aides. She spotted a few lord-governors, and representatives of absent lord-governors. Estora had been meeting with various parties concerning the upcoming campaign season, and Laren had been due to report later in the afternoon.

She scanned the crowd looking for a friendly face, and found an unexpected one. Seeing Dakrias Brown outside the records room took some adjustment, for it seemed out of context. He usually handed over meetings and the like to his deputy, and rarely left the records room if he could help it. She grabbed his arm, and he gazed at her in surprise.

“Captain?”

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, Captain, it is good to see you. I haven’t the faintest. We were waiting to be admitted to meet with the queen when there was a bit of an uproar. They admitted the chief mender and some of her assistants a little while ago.” He leaned forward and confided, “There are many rumors afoot.”

Laren could believe it, and she doubted any of them were good. Just then she heard someone call out to her.

“Captain Mapstone?” It was Fastion, peering over the heads of the crowd, searching for her. When he spotted her, he shouldered his way to her. “This way, please.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” she told Dakrias, and she fell in step behind Fastion as he cleared a path to the entry of Estora’s apartments. Angry muttering followed her, that she, a mere messenger captain, should be allowed access when more senior officers and nobles were not. It was a relief when she crossed the threshold and Fastion closed the door to the hubbub outside.

“The queen—how is she?” she asked him.

“The queen was having some pains. Master Vanlynn is in with her now.”

There were other Weapons in the entry area, some from the tombs whose names she did not know, and a trainee from the Forge in dark gray. Fastion led her to the queen’s sitting room, where others waited, a much smaller group that included Les Tallman and Castellan Javien. They spoke in hushed voices, and a wave of unease rolled over her as though she were reliving that terrible day almost a year ago in which they thought Zachary was dying from the assassin’s arrow. She’d been standing next door in his rooms back then, waiting for word of his death.

“Captain? Captain?” Les Tallman gently tapped her good shoulder, and she shook herself back to the present.

“Les,” she said, “do you know how the queen is?”

“I haven’t heard anything,” he said quietly. “I was sitting in on her fourth meeting of the day when suddenly she started having pains. I am sure Vanlynn will tell us when she knows more. I am guessing it is false labor, or . . .”

“Or?”

“Something worse. Sometimes twins want to come too early.”

Much too early, Laren thought fretfully. Like four months too early.

“And, of course, there can be other complications, as well,” he added.

He wasn’t helping to calm her worry. Recalling, however, that Ben was now stationed in the royal apartments day and night did help. Surely his true healing ability could avert disaster. After all, it was his use of his ability that had revealed the queen was carrying twins in the first place.

She seated herself near the fire, and again the sensation of reliving the day of the assassination attempt on Zachary crept over her as she overheard snippets of conversation about what was next, should the queen perish. She at least did not pick up on any conspiratorial plans to marry Estora off as she lay on her deathbed, but if anyone offered her tea, she was refusing.

They needed Zachary back. Where are you, Moonling? Come back to us. Your wife needs you, your people need you, and I need you.

Estora had been working hard to govern the realm and prepare it for what must come. She worked too hard, to Laren’s mind, hosting meetings all day in her bed chamber, and defying Vanlynn’s instructions to rest. Laren had known pregnant women to be tough, working in the fields as labor came on, walking miles to reach a midwife, hauling fish from the sea. But with their queen carrying royal progeny? No chances could be taken.

When Vanlynn emerged into the sitting room, those awaiting word crowded around her. Laren, stuck in the back, stood on her tiptoes to see over shoulders.

“The queen is fine,” Vanlynn announced. The sigh of relief that accompanied her announcement was unanimous. “It was false labor, and she is in need of rest and quiet. I want all of you to leave except Counselor Tallman, Castellan Javien, General Washburn, and . . . Captain Mapstone? Are you there?”

“Yes,” Laren called.

“The rest of you scat.”

Only Vanlynn could get away with such irreverence. There were protests and grumbles from the others, but once the Weapons closed in to remove them, they quickly cleared out.

Vanlynn gave Laren a hard look up and down. “I am astonished,” she said.

“Astonished?”

“You’re using the sling as I instructed. I’d have expected you to have tossed it away days ago.”

“I did think about burning it, but my Riders look after me.” Even though Anna was not a Rider, Laren could not help but think of her as one.

Vanlynn looked them all over with an unhappy expression on her face. “You have not been taking care of your queen. She has been working much too hard and I am of a mind to forbid anyone at all into her chamber on business.”