“Majesty!”

A breathless young Dreamkin hammered on the door to the Queen’s bedchamber, sparing no thought for his own safety beneath the weight of the news he carried.

“Majesty! Please, open the door at once!”

He reached for the handle, urgency making him foolhardy, but it was snatched from beneath his fingers. Fayne exploded into view, dressed in flimsy negligee, eyes ablaze.

“You better have a damn good reason for waking me at this hour!”

The tall, willowy Dreamkin bowed so low his nose nearly swept the floor. “Forgive me, Majesty! It couldn’t wait – the Grand Dreamkin, sh-she collapsed with a vision!” He stumbled over the words, wide-eyed and shaking. “Sh-she has seen the Heir!”

Fayne leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms, trying to decide if the boy was crazy or plain stupid.

“That’s impossible,” she said after a moment. “The Heir is dead.”

He looked up at her, real fright plastered across his face. With impressive willpower, he collected his thoughts to speech.

“Forgive me, Majesty, but she is not – Galva has seen her! The Heir will return!”

Fayne clicked her tongue. “If this is another of that old crone’s tricks, I swear to Malevelyn…”

But the young man shook his head violently, his emotions rising again at her lack of acceptance.

“Please, Majesty,” he implored, “She bade me fetch you at once – p-please, you will see… I… I think the Grand Dreamkin is dying…”

“WHAT?”

Fayne swept her hand up, ensconcing her frame in a luscious dress of yellow that set her hair aflame. She pushed from the doorway, eyes hard as uncut emeralds.

“Take me to her!”

Tripping over the hem of his robes, the young Dreamkin scurried to oblige. He accompanied her through the twists and turns of the palace halls at a blistering pace, sometimes half a step ahead, more often, she leading him. They reached Galva’s quarters and Fayne threw open the door with little sympathy for whatever state the ailing woman might be in. Inside, the lumostones were muted, their warm yellow light barely throwing shadows across the walls. Galva lay, trembling and short of breath, in her modest bed beside the fireplace. Attendant Dreamkin hovered around her, but retreated in haste as Fayne swept across the room. The Firekin loomed over the old woman, glaring down at her.

“What nonsense are you spouting now, old hag?”

Galva met her gaze with moony eyes. Her skin was sallow with sickness, pulled tight like paper over her stark cheeks. Still, a slow, spiteful smile puckered her lips. “My time… is done… but I am grateful that life… agreed to sit with me this while… that I might dream the Heir returned.”

Fayne folded her arms, impatient, incensed. “The Heir is dead!”

“Is… she?” Galva shifted her old bones in discomfort, but the smile did not abandon her lips. “More fool… you… for not believing the visions… of an old woman. Your time… is soon done… too.”

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Fayne leaned forward over the bed, one hand fisted on either side of the old woman’s head. “Tell me what you saw.”

Galva’s smile softened as her thoughts turned inward. “I saw Jordenna Bal’Talanor… hale… beautiful… full of life. Rebirthed… from the darkness. Flanked by… the ghosts of past Queens. Her eyes silver… as evening stars, hair aflame with… lavender fire. She will… walk… with a warrior at her side. A dragon… at her heel. Sun… and shadow… watching over her.”

Fayne pushed away and began to pace, confusion making her furious. “She died with her mother, Galva! All the Kingdoms know it! They placed the babe on the same pyre as Asbeth!”

Galva’s breath rattled and she subsided into a fit of coughing, weakness spreading through her aged body. When she recovered, she forced words from her trembling lips. “Mine is not to reason why, only… to dream what is. I have seen her, a babe no longer… come of age and into the blooming of her power. She will only grow stronger with… each passing day, until she comes to claim her… throne and save Andoherra… from Chaos.”

“I saved Andoherra from the Chaos!” Fayne shouted, brandishing a fiery fist. “I cast the Fetters!”

Galva’s eyes flashed open and her smile strengthened with a valiant effort, buoyed by victory. “Aye… you cast it. You couldn’t have known it… doesn’t work.”

Fayne baulked. “What?!”

Galva heaved a gurgling chortle. “The Fetters of Chaos… doesn’t work. You have simply helped remove the… single person who might have stood between you and… your demise.” She stopped to catch her breath, fixed Fayne with a long, eerie stare. “Nerys loved you, you know. The kind of love that… can’t be bought. I never understood the unsympathetic bent of her… merciless actions, but in the shade of… my death, I realise… she was blinded by love. Her light… never stood a chance. She lived… her entire life… in the shadow of evil – your shadow. You’ve ruined a… perfectly fine Sorceress, Fayne. And you will pay dearly… for it.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about!” Fayne snarled. “Lies, all of it! A desperate attempt from a dying woman to lash out before her life fades!”

Galva managed a half-hearted shrug against the pillows. “Believe… what you will. You’re running out of time… to do anything about it… anyway.”

Fayne paused in her anger, scowled as the old woman sank back against the feathers. The milky light in her eyes dimmed fast. “What do you mean? When is your promised princess supposed to come and thwart me? Galva! Answer me!”

The old woman drew her last breath, let it out in a long, slow sigh. “She… already walks… among us.”

Her soul slipped away, and Fayne threw back her head with a roar of fury. Beset by a terrible trembling, she turned from the dead woman, shoulders tensed, lips white-tipped. Her hands clawed at her sides, snapping flame, and she lifted a cruel, fiery finger to encompass the watching Dreamkin.

“One of you…” She fought for enough calm to make her words intelligible, and her throat constricted with the effort, “One of you better tell me… where I can find this little bitch… You have one hour. Go, now.”

The last word erupted on a tide of flame. Her magic thrummed red hot beneath her skin, and the Dreamkin paled. They ported away in a rush to attend their desperate quest.

Fayne, breathing hard, was abruptly alone. She leaned against her palms on the edge of Galva’s bed, scorching the sheets as she glared down at the dead Dreamkin. Galva, her greying face passive, peaceful, ignored her. A twitch began in Fayne’s jaw.

She knew – Galva bloody knew all along! She’d played her, plotted her revenge for Asbeth’s murder, led Fayne on and astray. And now she was gone – dead – and Fayne was left to deal with unexpected consequences. The Heir was alive – worse, she was of age, her magic awakening on an unstoppable tide. Fayne gritted her teeth, fisted her hands, watched as Galva’s body caught alight. How? How had this happened? She had seen the baby placed on the pyre with Asbeth…

Her face drained of all colour – she hadn’t checked, hadn’t even thought that the child found dead with the Queen might not be her baby daughter... She’d simply trusted Nerys to take care of it.

Nerys...

The Fire Queen growled, deep in her throat. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so bad for condemning her lover to oblivion. Instead, she was disappointed that she hadn’t torn her living heart out first.

At a swish of magic, she looked up. The young Dreamkin who had summoned her to Galva stood a polite distance away.

“Majesty,” he whispered, “We found her.”