The Queen of Stone: Thorn of Breland (23 page)

The chamber was as barren within as the hall without. A single cold fire torch spilled dim light across the small room, and a few sturdy wooden stools were spread before a round table sculpted from granite. Thorn could hear the medusa’s snakes hissing softly, and she easily pinpointed the creature’s location on the opposite side of the table. The other sound—the chewing—came from beneath the table.

“Sit,” Sheshka said.

Toli’s job was to secure the area, and he took charge. He pushed Thorn aside with a little more force than she’d expected, and she stumbled on a piece of debris lying on the floor. As Toli examined the surface of the table and pulled out a stool, Thorn glanced down at the object that had almost caused her to fall. It was oblong, crescent-shaped, and a little longer than the palm of her hand. Curious patterning covered it; bending down, Thorn realized that these were the lines and wrinkles found on skin.

A stone finger. Likely torn from the hand of an ogre.

Thorn was still processing this discovery when Toli leaped backward, swearing and drawing his sword. The ghostly shield expanded from his ring, shimmering into existence around his right fist. Thorn glanced over to see what had caused his reaction—and found herself staring into the eyes of a basilisk.

It was small for its kind, not much larger than a wolfhound, and it was curled under the table, contentedly chewing on a chunk of ogre. Its scaled hide was emerald green, and it was flexing the claws on all six of its legs. Its eyes were milky white, with no pupils. And, according to the legends, its gaze was as deadly as that of the medusa. Thorn snapped her eyes shut, knowing it was too late; she’d met the creature’s gaze dead on. But nothing happened. She felt no loss of sensation, no chill of her limbs turning to stone.

“Sheathe your weapon!
” Sheshka’s voice was fierce. Her serpents hissed violently, but Thorn still heard another blade being drawn—a sword in Sheshka’s hand. “Lord Beren, if this guard of yours hurts my Szaj, I will have his head!”

“Toli, stand down!” Beren commanded, and fury blazed in his voice. “What is going on?”

“Dorn’s teeth, sir!” Toli swore. “There’s a thrice-damned
basilisk
down there!”

“Szaj will not harm you!” Sheshka snapped. “If he
frightens you, look away. Raise your eyes and let us speak face to face.”

Anger infused her voice, but she’d dealt honestly with them at the feast. “Let me,” Thorn said. She looked up and opened her eyes.

As Thorn expected, Sheshka had closed her eyes. The medusa queen projected quite a different image at this meeting. She still wore the silver collar with the smoldering Khyber shard. But in place of her gown of white silk, Sheshka wore a light shirt of fine chain mail, along with vambraces protecting her forearms and long shin guards. She held a curved sword in one hand, and her mane of serpents writhed around her head, hissing her fury.

“Now lay your weapon down,” she said.

“Toli—” Beren said.

“No, sir!” Toli snapped. “I’m not letting you put your life in her hands. I want this lizard out of here, and a blindfold on this bit—”

“Enough!”
Sheshka roared.

Thorn saw the medusa’s eyelids opening, and turned away in time. Caught up in his rage, Toli wasn’t so lucky. Thorn saw his eyes widen and his muscles go rigid. Black threads spread across his skin, growing and intertwining, spreading from skin to cloth to sword … and then he was gone, replaced by a statue of polished black marble. And he was falling. Toli had been taking a step forward when he meet Sheshka’s gaze, and the statue was tipping. Thorn leaped and caught him, straining against the weight of the stone. She couldn’t stop the fall completely, but she managed to slow his descent and push him against a stool. He struck hard, but nothing broke.

Beren swore, and to Thorn’s surprise he reached for his sword. Despite his past, Beren had achieved more as a diplomat than he ever had as a warrior, and she’d never seen him lose control during a negotiation. Last night, he’d faced the medusa queen with no qualms whatsoever. She
seized his arm before he could draw his blade. Behind her, she heard Sheshka sheathe her sword.

“My eyes are closed,” the medusa said.

“I should tear them out!” Beren cried. For an old man, he was surprisingly strong.

“Be calm, Lord Beren,” Sheshka said. She had regained her composure. “Your man should have known better. Would you allow someone to speak to your king in such a way? I will restore him when our business is concluded.”

“He was just acting to protect Lord Beren from your basilisk,” Thorn said. “How did you expect him to react?” Thorn knew it was unwise to push the issue, but she was as angry as Beren.

To her surprise, the medusa shook her head. “I forget how little your people know of the world and its wonders.”

Her voice had actually softened. A few of the snakes hissed in a strange pattern, and suddenly the basilisk retreated from under the table, moving over to settle next to the medusa queen. She leaned down and dropped something on the floor … another petrified finger.

“Szaj is young. His gaze is unlikely to transform a creature of your size. Beyond that, the gaze of the basilisk is dangerous only when its eyes are fully exposed. If you met Szaj’s gaze, you’d have seen the pale membranes across his eyes.” Sheshka ran a hand across the lizard’s head; the finger it was chewing on had somehow become flesh and blood. “He is being trained to be around others without harming them.”

Beren was staring at the statue of Toli, and the muscles in his jaw were twitching. Thorn spoke before he had the chance.

“You couldn’t have expected Toli to know that,” she said. “He believed you were trying to kill us. So did I, for that matter. Surely you could have foreseen this.”

Six serpents hissed at once, watching her closely. “So
you’ve never heard of Cazhaak Draal? You didn’t think we would speak at this summit?”

Beren was still bristling, but he had regained enough composure to speak. “Make your point.”

“You aren’t in your Five Nations any more,” Sheshka said. She had sheathed her sword, but her voice was deadly. “You have come to
my
home. Your soldier threatened me with a blindfold. A
blindfold
, on
my
soil. Would I come into your castle and strip away your sword, or demand that you wear chains? If I found a hunting hound in your chamber, would I try to kill it, or would I assume it was under your control?”

“We can’t kill with a glance,” Beren said.

“And that excuses your threat to pluck out my eyes? Should I cut off your hands so you cannot strangle me?” The medusa’s eyelids fluttered, but remained closed. “Hand, tooth, steel—we are all deadly, Beren ir’Wynarn. If you had studied the creatures of our land, you would have known that Szaj posed no threat. Or you simply could have trusted that I wouldn’t allow a diplomatic envoy to come to harm. Instead, you drew a weapon and demanded that I cripple myself for your benefit. I am queen of my own kingdom. You cannot make demands of me, and you should consider yourself lucky that I am willing to restore him. If one of my kin acted in such a way in the presence of your king, I doubt you’d be so merciful.”

A storm brewed in Beren’s scowl. “Your kingdom would amount to little more than a city in Breland,” he snarled. Once again, Thorn was surprised by his aggressive tone. “Your leaders called us here. You want to join
our
alliance. We aren’t bargaining. We’re listening to the pleas of beggars.”

Sheshka’s serpents hissed, lying close to her skull. Thorn was ready to push Beren to the floor the instant the medusa opened her eyes, but Sheshka kept her composure.

“This is futile,” she said. “Beggars. Monsters. You cannot trust us unless we are crippled and chained. We
reach out to you and you spit on us. I had hoped to discuss the common ground between us, but now I see there is no such thing. I will waste no more time on you.
Guard!”

“Wait,” Thorn said. She heard an ogre moving behind her. “Toli—”

“Take his hands.” Sheshka walked around the table. As she moved closer, Thorn could see that the queen was wearing a headband beneath her serpent mane; copper and silver disks glittered in the torchlight as she approached. “If he strikes at me again, I will snap off his arm and feed it to Szaj.”

Beren said nothing; he merely glowered at the medusa. Thorn took hold of Toli’s wrists. Then Sheshka bent alongside the petrified man. Her lips brushed the surface of his neck for a moment, then she stepped back. Her serpents hissed and the basilisk trotted to stand at her side.

Nothing happened, and Thorn wondered if this was all a game; she felt a fool clutching the arms of a statue. Then the stone grew warm beneath her touch, softened, and color flowed across the dark stone like the sunrise against a deep night. The instant his consciousness returned, Toli threw his strength against Thorn, struggling to break free of her grip. His lips drew back in a snarl, and it was all she could do to contain him.

“Toli!” she cried. His eyes were wild, and he gave no sign that he had heard her. She couldn’t risk releasing his sword hand, but she let go of his other hand and slapped him across the cheek. “Toli!”

“Stop.” Beren’s voice was firm and steady, and it brought Toli back to himself. His breath came in deep, ragged gasps, and his eyes darted wildly about the room. “We are leaving. Sheathe your weapon.”

Toli shook with rage when he caught sight of Sheshka, and his head darted to the side. Her eyes were closed, but the bodyguard wasn’t taking any chance. He managed to slow his breathing, and Thorn released his sword. He turned to
Beren, who nodded, and Toli slowly sheathed his sword.

“Take us away from here,” Beren told the ogre. “Our business is done.”

Thorn took one glance back at Sheshka, preparing to turn away at even the hint of an open eye. The medusa watched them, eyes closed, idly stroking the head of her basilisk. She was a cold one, and Thorn couldn’t tell if Sheshka was disappointed in this outcome, or if it was what she had anticipated all along.

Well, at least one thing came of this, she thought as they returned to the hall. I know she can restore her victims. Now I just need to find the right one …

Beren’s mood grew darker as the day wore on. In the final meeting of the day, Drul Kantar opened the floor to demands, hearing what the envoys of the east expected in exchange for alliance. Many of the delegates had conditions or concerns. Minister Luala wanted assurances of full religious freedoms for the people of Droaam, including a pledge to erect a shrine to the Silver Flame in the Great Crag itself. Lord Tharsul of Karrnath wanted to know which ruler the Daughters believed held the greatest right to the throne of Galifar. Kantar laughed off both of these, telling Luala that religious freedom was why there
wasn’t
a Temple of the Flame in Droaam, and that the Daughters weren’t asking for an alliance with Galifar; they sought a place among the Thronehold nations.

Beren ir’ Wynarn said nothing. Thorn was certain that he’d been sent with a list of demands; Breland was Droaam’s closest neighbor, and Beren’s story of Sora Maenya was just a taste of the Brelish blood that had been spilled over the years. Yet he maintained a grim silence.

After the session, he opened up slightly. “I apologize for my behavior, Nyri. I … I’m not feeling well. I barely slept last night, and I don’t think the food here suits me.”

“Should we find a healer?” The thought of Fharg examining Beren brought a faint smile to her lips in spite of her concern. Surely the Daughters would be prepared to care for the needs of their guests—all the more so given the dangers of the region.

“I can examine him,” Toli said. He might not be an adept of House Jorasco, but Thorn had seen Toli’s talents when he bound his own wound in the Duurwood.

“Then I think we’d best retire,” Beren said. “I’m trusting you to represent Breland at dinner, Thorn. This is a time for charm, and I don’t have that in me.”

The evening meal was interminable. The medusa Sheshka was notably absent, and Thorn yearned to set her mission in motion, to match wits with the medusa queen. But Beren’s orders were equally important. She might be a Lantern, but she was also an agent of Breland—and at the moment, her country needed her charisma as well as her blade. And so she laughed with the gnomes over the soup, discussed the aerial races of Sharn with the ambassador from the Mror Holds while enjoying a course of braised boar, and heard about the troubles with the Q’barran lizardfolk while considering the dessert.

Sora Katra chose not to make an appearance that evening, and Drul Kantar was the master of ceremonies. He moved from table to table, talking with envoys about the issues raised at the final debate. The oni paused at Thorn’s table, where she was talking with the Q’barrans. “Is Lord Beren in need of assistance?” he asked.

“He slept poorly last night,” Thorn said. “All he needs is rest.”

“Good advice.” Drul smiled, revealing his tusks and pointed teeth. He was still wearing his robe of stars and necklace of moons, and the crystal spheres seemed to pull in the light. “I fear the people of the east have no stomach for the ale of Droaam. Perhaps we went too far with last night’s festivities.”