The sun shone in through the tall, pristine windows, warming Halia’s left side. Her right side was riddled with goosebumps. The castle was always kept cool at this time of year, no matter the weather. The wood that was saved was sent elsewhere. She didn’t know where. She’d asked once, but couldn’t remember the answer. It didn’t really matter, though. In the end, everything given in the kingdom and everything sacrificed always made its way back to the Eternal Hearth.

  “Your highness?”

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s your turn, highness.”

  Halia turned her attention to the chessboard in front of her. Most of her pieces were gone, but she still held a knight, her queen, and a few pawns. Lady Asta Marbury of Lostingam had only lost a handful of pawns and her king had not moved, despite the spaces in front of it being entirely clear.

  “Which piece did you take, Asta?”

  Years of training ensured that Lady Asta’s expression remained calm, but she wasn’t so proficient that her eye didn’t sparkle of triumph. “Your rook at H-five, your highness.”

  “I see,” Halia said, pretending to study the board. “Thank you.”

  The other young women of the court looked on eagerly, waiting for Lady Asta’s victory. Halia wasn’t bothered. Though the ladies in waiting were her closest friends publicly - daughters, nieces, and wards of Alfreyad’s highborn hoping for a place in the inner circle of the most powerful family - privately, she couldn’t care less what they did, thought, or said. Court had officially disbanded a few weeks ago, but a few stayed by her side through the spring until court resumed in the summer. Beautiful women, all of them, Halia could see, but in reality little more than dogs at the table waiting for scraps. Still, she was careful to remember that dogs were once wolves.

  “That is also check.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, your highness,” Lady Asta said, sitting up just a little bit straighter. “My bishop to your king. You can sacrifice your knight to block my bishop, if you wish.”

  “But then you’d just use your queen to take my knight and I’d be in the same place, Asta.” Halia favored her with a small smile. “Do you really insist on finishing this game? It really is quite boring.”

  Lady Asta looked down at her hands. “Well, if you don’t want to continue, your highness, then we can consider it done.”

  Halia was almost tempted. She despised chess. Her mother insisted she learn when she was a young girl but she couldn’t think of anything worse. If she conceded defeat, though, it would just be one more thing for them to gossip about.

  “No, let’s finish this. It’ll be over soon.” She glanced down at the pieces and suppressed a sigh. Typical Asta. She thought that just because she had most of her strong pieces and had nearly cornered Halia’s own king that she’d as good as won. Halia withdrew a file from her gown and tended to her fingernails. “Queen to E-two.”

  Asta moved the piece for her, lips curled in a smug grin. “And that’s...oh…”

  “Checkmate, I believe?”

  Asta studied the board, but it was no use. Her aggressive strategy in the beginning had been beneficial, taking Halia’s pieces one by one while the princess moved her pawns apathetically. Ultimately, it had backfired. Once Halia had become annoyed at the thought of losing so soundly to this inconsequential woman who claimed herself to be a “strategist” simply because she liked to read fictional war novels smuggled down the Coolar, she had applied herself. Halia carefully maneuvered her remaining defense around Asta’s sizeable army, still acting as if she weren’t really paying attention. In the end, Asta had left her king alone and defenseless and there were no other pieces around to stop Halia from placing her knight, pawn, and queen in such a way that there was no way the king could move.

  “If you take my queen,” Halia said, still smoothing her nails, “that puts you in danger of my knight. Move anywhere else, and my queen can still take you.”

  “I...see that, your highness.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. A moment later, Captain Stae stepped inside and saluted. “Your highness, you have a visitor.”

  “Ah yes, I was wondering when he would arrive.” She pushed back her chair, slipped her file back into her pocket, and stood. The other women in the room quickly followed suit, Lady Asta bumping the table as she did so and knocking over most of her pieces. The stone clacked loudly on the wooden table before falling with muffled thumps to the floor. “Lovely game, Asta. It’s always a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Princess Halia,” she said with a bow.

  The ladies curtsied each in turn then exited through the door. When they were gone, Halia turned to Stae. “Is he alone?”

  She nodded. “He came to the castle with a few companions, but I believe your father insisted that they not accompany you. We will remain outside, of course, but if you need us to, we can come in?”

  A meeting like this was surely a breeding ground of gossip among the Kingsguard. No other captain would dare to make such a request, but that was one of the reasons she liked Captain Stae. She wasn’t kind to her like Captain Tammer was, but she was everything Halia wished she could be - strong willed, fierce, and unafraid. Stae was also one of the few Kingsguardmen that never recited or even laughed at . She and Tammer both chastised their guards even for humming it. Tammer did so out of a sense of professionalism but Stae did so out of respect for another woman. It was good of her.

  “That won’t be necessary. See him in, please.”

  Captain Stae saluted and stepped back. A moment later the door was opened again and Highest Priest Stafford came in, donned in his white robes, the set reserved for less formal meetings. On mass days and any other requiring great ceremony, he wore bright reds and oranges. He was alone for once, though only because of her father . It was rare that Stafford traveled anywhere with at least one of the lesser priests in attendance, the only public display of prestige and power the Eternal Hearth deigned to show. The only thing rarer was Stafford’s requested meeting with the princess in the first place.

  “Your highness,” Stafford said in his soft voice. He nodded his head but did not sit, waiting for her to stand and nod in return. Such a gesture would be a courtesy, one usually presented by the royal family, who by law was the highest authority in the land and so bowed to no one. Today, though, Halia did not feel like extending such a courtesy and remained seated.

  “Thank you for coming, Good Father,” she said with a genteel smile. “Please do sit. I am feeling a bit tired, given the events, so I would like to get straight on with it.”

  If it had been up to her, she would have spent the day by herself in her rooms, but her mother insisted that she try to have as normal a day as possible. It was Queen Asera that had called all the ladies to Halia’s sitting room. She wouldn’t even be surprised if it was Mother who suggested Asta bring the blasted chess board.

  Regardless of her mother’s interfering, this meeting would have come and one does not refuse a private conversation with Highest Priest Stafford, annoying as it may be. Truthfully, Halia didn’t know why Stafford had wanted to meet with her in the first place. Her curiosity tempered her irritation, but not so much so that she felt the need to stand.

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  Stafford’s shoulders stiffened at the perceived slight but kept his face calm. He smoothed his robes carefully before sitting, leaning back in the chair and huffing a little as his older bones settled. He glanced over at the abandoned chessboard. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your game, Miss Halia.”

  Halia’s eyebrow twitched. “It’s no matter. I wasn’t much invested anyway. I am rather invested in the reason you asked to speak to me, Good Father.”

  Stafford turned to look at her, his eyes gray and bright under his snowy brows. “I am, of course, concerned for your welfare. Word has reached the Cathedral about the incident in Linford yesterday.”

  Halia straightened her spine. For a moment she could hear the echo of Sir Gentren’s screams, the smell of blood in the road, how the horses jumped and pulled in fright. She’d never seen so much blood in her life. She’d never seen a dead person before, either.

  She cleared her throat slightly. “Yes, I understand. Though I expected the Cathedral to send Sister Pamay. As my tutor and holy guide, it would make sense to send her to see to me, don’t you think?”

  “Sister Pamay will be by later this evening. Do you have tea, Miss Halia? It seems like a nice time for a calming cup of tea.”

  Halia bit the inside of her lip, imperceptibly so. “Unfortunately I’ve already sent my ladies away, Good Father. Now please, if Sister Pamay is coming by later, then why are we speaking now?” She wrinkled her brow in confusion and pouted her lip just a little.

  Stafford was not so skilled at hiding his irritation, but then again, when had he had the chance to practice? Stafford was used to getting his way no matter what he asked, when he asked, and who he asked. The only exception was her father, which certainly grated Stafford’s pride.

  Halia, meanwhile, had learned the benefits of professional stoicism in the hellish pit that was court. How many times had she been the victim of salacious gossip because she didn’t control herself enough? How often had she been a tool in some fool’s political ambitions because they noticed a weakness in her? Too many times to count, so much so that her reputation was certainly irreparably damaged for it. Her own father wouldn’t even speak to her.

  But she had learned that most people rarely suspect the fool.

  Halia cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, waiting for Stafford to tell her what the hell he wanted. Stafford waited a moment more, then relented. “Miss Halia -” She raised her eyebrow. Stafford gave a small chuckle and shook his head. “My apologies,” he said. “ Halia. You and I don’t spend much time together, and it seems my manners are a little rusted.”

  “No offense was taken, Good Father.”

  Stafford turned serious and continued. “I apologize for interrupting your day with my unexpected intrusion,” he said. “It’s just that we have reason to believe that the attack in Linford was somehow related to the Abyss, your highness. It’s not common knowledge in the Cathedral, and so I came to see to you myself. I didn’t want to worry Sister Pamay overmuch.”

  Halia’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands turned cold. “The Abyss?” she whispered.

  Stafford nodded solemnly. “Indeed. Such an attack in Alfreyad is unprecedented in our history. Normally the Abyss aims to take the One Fire through espionage, corruption, plague - more brutal, sinister, yet subtle means. Yesterday, though? An outright act of war, killing two of our own, and destroying a religious relic at that…”

  Halia clutched her hands in her lap all the tighter. The Abyss...in Alfreyad…

  “Wait a moment. Two?”

  “Yes, two people, your highness.”

  “But...I thought just the elderly man was killed by the attacker in the belfry,” Halia said. “They shot someone else?”

  Stafford looked sad, burrowing his chin into his chest. “Ah, you haven’t heard. No, your highness. Gentren of the Kingsguard was also killed. He died late in the night due to his injuries.”

  Spots appeared in Halia’s vision. Sir Gentren…

  “Does,” she started, but her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. “Does his section know?”

  “I don’t know that, highness. We were just informed this morning, right after I requested a meeting with you.”

  “Captain Tammer is going to be...rather distraught.” She continued to wring her hands in the folds of her skirt. “My understanding is that they were best friends.”

  “Then I am sorry for him. From the account I received of the event, Captain Tammer acted valiantly in accordance with his training. He brought you home, safe and sound.”

  Halia wouldn’t look at Stafford. He was saying the right things, but she didn’t think he felt them. He didn’t know Sir Gentren, as she had for years. He didn’t know Sir Gentren, or Sir Liesl, Sir Ferg, Sir Taryn or Captain Tammer. “He did, yes. At great personal strife, I’m sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If given the choice, Tammer would have wanted to stay and comfort his friend. He’s a good man; he cares for the people in his section dearly. I don’t know if any of the other sections are closer to each other than the Second.”

  Stafford studied her, nodding slightly. “And yet he did his duty. He brought you home.”

  Halia felt her eyes grow wet but she forced the tears down with the shame and guilt she felt inside. “Yes, he did.”

  Stafford leaned forward and lowered his voice. For a moment, he seemed almost grandfatherly. “None of this is your fault, Princess Halia.”

  She dabbed delicately at her eyes with her handkerchief then slipped it back into her sleeve. Damn. She should have been more careful in front of Stafford. The royal family isn’t supposed to personally care for the Kingsguard. She had to stay aloof, as her father always scolded her. “Never grow too close to the Kingsguard,” he said, “they will do their duty, but their loyalty is bought with coin.” Halia had always wondered why her father was so distrusting of the people put in charge of protecting them. If he didn’t trust them, why not fire them and start again? It made no sense…

  “Princess?”

  Halia pulled herself out of her thoughts, set her jaw, and smiled. “Thank you for your kindness, Good Father, and for telling me about the Cathedral’s assessment over what happened yesterday,” she said, voice warm but eyes cold. “Is there anything else you wished to discuss?”

  He leaned back in his chair, looking like he’d been slapped before he mastered himself. “I was wondering if you saw anything yesterday,” he said, tone light. “Anything at all could give us more information about who or what is truly responsible for the terrible tragedy.”

  “I was in the carriage. I didn’t see anything of the attack. Only the immediate aftermath.”

  “What did the carriage look like?”

  “It was the usual carriage. I’m sure you’ve seen it many times before.”

  “Cover?”

  “Yes, except for the windows on the side.”

  “Could you see the top of the belfry?”

  “Not unless I leaned out the window and craned my neck to look up,” Halia said with a small smile. “That would be undignified for a princess, don’t you think?”

  Stafford returned her smile. “It certainly would, yes.”

  “Good Father, what does it matter what carriage I was in?”

  “It does not, now that the event is over,” he said, shifting a little straighter in the seat. “I do wonder, though, why the murderer chose to instead kill a nobody civilian instead of taking a shot at Her Royal Highness.”

  The two exchanged a look, Stafford’s old eyes hard and searching. A chill ran up her spine.

  She stood and Stafford hastily followed suit, his joints creaking. “I’m afraid I must excuse you, Good Father. I have a meeting with Her Majesty soon that I mustn’t be late for.”

  “Thank you for your time, your highness. I know you’re quite busy.” He gave a stiff nod but nothing more.

  “I look forward to seeing Sister Pamay later this evening,” she said, following him to the door. “I do so need her comfort right now. But please, if there is anything else you need in the future, do let me know. I apologize that I have to cut our meeting short.”

  “It is no trouble, Princess Halia. It is always a joy to see the One Fire’s glow on our kingdom’s future queen.” He stepped into the hallway and gave her a broad smile. Out in the hall, two of his personal attendants fell in step behind him and disappeared around a corner. Captain Stae poked her head around the door.

  “Shall your ladies return, your Highness?”

  “No,” Halia said faintly, sitting down in her seat with controlled grace. “I am...quite tired.”

  Stae nodded and shut the door. Halia idly twirled her fallen queen in her hands. In most circles, she was nearly a master at reading a room and coming away in a better position than she had when she entered and no one was the wiser. Silly Halia. Man-crazy Halia. Airheaded, emptyheaded, clueless Halia.

  She dropped her queen back onto the table. She couldn’t tell why, but today she felt like all of those things.