‘Ysra thy hjol särja Revenyr? Hjölmanen?’

Bryne shook his head. The Queen was speaking the Tongue of the Gods; for a brief moment, gratitude towards Professor Waynar flashed in his mind. The accent was a bit thick, but Bryne could understand the question.

Do you know where lies Revenyr? The Benignant?

Amrith did not fully wake yet. That was evident in her glassy eyes—and in her wretched body. Bryne felt sympathy for her.

‘Useless worms you are, all!’ the Queen growled, her fragile body quivering uncontrollably.

Bryne knew the time had come. He was chosen King. He had obligations none would understand among his people. His dear friend the least.

‘I’ve come to offer you redemption.’

‘You dare contemn me, filth? Who are you to offer me redemption?’

Bryne bowed his head. ‘A mere subject who wishes nothing but peace.’

‘Peace was shattered for eternity when they tore us apart!’ Amrith hissed. She coughed, viscous brown blood trickling from her brittle chin. ‘They destroyed him. Pulverised his body. Then they came for me.’

‘My Queen,’ Bryne began, but Amrith screeched.

‘Silence! You are of no use to me. I might as well order my knights to consume you. They need strength.’

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‘You need strength, my Queen.’ Bryne kept a low voice. He struggled to remain confident. He had to convince Amrith before the mad woman threw him to her vermin. The woman watched him with a glint of curiosity in her dead eyes. ‘I’ve come to offer you mine.’

The demons might have sensed their queen’s thoughts, for they suddenly screamed in the night. Their horrendous hisses and growls and howls made the hair on Bryne’s neck stand on end.

‘What a noble soul!’ Though her voice was no more than weak whispers and throaty rattles, Bryne could sense the malice and mockery edging her tone. He had somewhat expected their encounter would not be pleasant, but deep down he was disappointed. He felt cheated.

Yet the shackles of his—and Amrith’s—duties were heavy. What needed to be done must be done.

‘I have. Take it! Be whole again! Give life to these barren lands once more.’

‘Arrogant scum!’ the corpse screamed. ‘The power I take is to fuel my hatred to those conceited butchers! And yours certainly won’t do.’

‘Arrogant is the one who can’t see the power bestowed by the ones she so vehemently despises,’ Bryne stepped closer to the woman. Demons hissed; the soldiers around grunted, grabbing his arms. Amrith gazed into his eyes, expression bearing a hint of wonder, as though it was the first time she truly saw the storm in Bryne’s eyes.

‘Must have been Dhanus.’ She lifted her tattered hand, three fingers missing, and softly touched the king’s cheeks, studying his eyes intensely.

‘It matters little whose power I wield,’ Bryne whispered, trying to reach the queen’s mind trapped inside that decaying skeleton. ‘I wish you to take it. Use it. And make the land blooming. You were Bride to one of them once. Do you remember, my Queen?’

Amrith’s features remained unreadable.

‘I do,’ she whispered. ‘That’s the only thing I remember from before.’ She took another step towards Bryne, her rotting face only inches apart from the king’s. ‘Come, my loyal subject. Give me what you’ve brought to me. Let me be whole again. Let me live. Let me remember.’

‘That’s my duty, my Queen,’ Bryne said, voice trembling.

Amrith leant in and pressed her frail lips to Bryne’s.