She was seated in a large chair to one side of the throne. As the kingdom’s regent, it was her right to sit on the throne if she wished. But there had been love between the late king and the regent, so she honored his memory by leaving the throne empty for a blood heir — if one ever turned up.
Sybeth led Ru and Fen most of the way to the dais, but when they came to the foot of it, she moved to one side and bowed, facing the regent. Fen and Ru stepped forward alone, facing their leader side by side. Fen bowed deeply, and Ru curtsied. She stumbled slightly, cheeks heating immediately as she did. Her legs were exhausted from riding, even after soaking in a hot bath.
“Are you well, Miss Delara?” asked Sigrun by way of greeting.
If Ru hadn’t known she was the regent, she might not have guessed this woman held the most powerful seat in the kingdom. Sigrun looked more like a general dressed in military attire with cream, skin-tight breeches, knee-high calfskin boots, a jacket of deep red, practically bursting with gold buttons and tassels, and a large feathered hat perched on her graying hair.
The woman herself was tall, her long legs crossed at the ankle, one long, large-knuckled finger tapping the arm of her chair. Her features were elegant and slightly masculine, and her nose reminded Ru of marble statues.
“Apologies, Lady Regent,” said Ru. “I’m well, thank you.”
“You must be exhausted from your travels,” said Sigrun, leaning forward. “Your story isn’t a pleasant one, as I surmise from the reports of my riders.”
Ru wasn’t sure if this was a statement or a question. She nodded slightly, her fingers curling tightly against the blanketed artifact.
Sigrun’s eyes narrowed in thoughtful observation. “And who are you?” she asked, inclining her head toward Fen.
“Fen, my lady,” he replied. “A traveling historian.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And your family name?”
He glanced at Ru. “Verrill,” he said.
“Fen Verrill, I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but unfortunately you arrive here under less than happy circumstances.” The regent shifted, and with the movement, her medals and tassels jangled softly, metal against cloth. “I have no desire to draw out this encounter. I am sure that you’re both in need of rest. I wish only to hear a first-hand account of what occurred at the dig site, Miss Delara. While the memory is fresh. I understand you were at the very center of this horrific event.”
Ru nodded. “I was.”
Another soft metallic clinking as the regent leaned forward, her stern chin resting on curled fingers. “How did you survive?”
The regent’s words were like ice in Ru’s veins. She felt Fen stiffen beside her, the rush of inhaled breath. She was beginning to develop a headache on top of her already roiling gut. “You want me to tell you now, Lady Regent?” she said, keenly aware of the countless eyes fixed upon her. “Here?”
“Yes.” Tap, tap, went her finger against the arm of her chair.
Ru had no choice.
Unsteady, frightened in the face of the regent's attention, the crowd, Ru reached inside herself for a source of peace. She found the artifact there, its presence less disturbing each time she looked for it, and yet she nearly recoiled when it reached out to meet her, soothing her in the dark of her thoughts.
The throne room was silent but for the low murmur of scattered whispers, the rustle of skirts and frock coats.
She began her story at Dig Site 33. She explained how she had been summoned by the King’s Riders and escorted to the Shattered City. How, once there, she had been informed of the nature of the thing she was meant to be inspecting: an artifact that might be magic.
When she came to the moment she was about to examine the stone, she paused in her recounting. A coil of remembered terror tightened around her throat. How was she supposed to explain what happened then? The inexorable pull on her, the desperate need to touch the artifact, her skin's desire to trace the smooth edges of it as if it were the only thing that mattered.
The regent cleared her throat, and Ru realized that she had been silent for too long. She tried to breathe like Fen had taught her. In. Out. And then his hand was on her back, a light, reassuring touch. She looked up at him, and he tossed her an encouraging half-smile.
“Then,” she said, her breathing finally steady. “I began to examine the artifact. But the moment I touched it, I—”
“You touched the stone?” asked Sigrun, raising her head slightly, the plume on her hat fluttering.
“Yes,” said Ru. She willed confidence to imbue the timbre of her voice, knowing that any hesitation could raise doubt or questions about her methods. “Due to my expertise in ancient artifacts, my extensive studies in the nature of magic objects, I determined that it was safe. There were no signs of volatility. I sensed no charged particles and no unusual interactions with air or moisture. The artifact, as far as I could see, lay dormant. And I needed to interact with it on a physical plane. How else could I make further deductions about its molecular properties?”
The white lie came to her lips almost too easily, and with it a wave of suppressed emotion — Lady Maryn’s face, darkness bursting outward from the stone, a spark of pain behind her eyes.
“I see.” The regent appeared grimly thoughtful. “I understand that some kind of explosion occurred shortly after you inspected the artifact.”
Ru squeezed her eyes shut, just for a second. “Yes.”
“Do you recall the nature of the explosion? How were you not destroyed along with everything else at the dig site?”
