Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 7: To Lose The Throne

Seraena stood at the edge of the salt caves.

A warm breeze tickled her hair, sending dark strands scattering loose from her braid. Below, the sea stretched out like a glass mirror, reflecting the watery shapes of dragons that soared above. Salt hung heavily in the air, along with that sweet, floral scent that she could never quite put her finger on. Something that was unique to the Gongo Islands.

"Seraena!" Teagan called.

Seraena looked down.

The thirteen-year-old girl was standing on the beach below. She'd rolled the legs of her baggy white linen trousers up to expose her knobbly knees, and her blonde hair was sorted into plaits. Her feet were damp with seawater.

"Watch this!" Teagan called.

She executed a perfect cartwheel, her face flushed with triumph. The two boys beside her — Seraena didn't know their names, although she'd seen Teagan playing "first-to-catch-the-blue-crab-wins" with them by the docks — gave a whoop, slapping her on the shoulder.

Seraena looked away. Her heart felt like a pustule that somebody had popped. She'd once run along that same beach with Mack and Alfie; the twins had always been faster, but she'd been braver, clambering to the deepest and sharpest rocks. Cowards, she'd call. What are you afraid of? And Mack would smile and shake his head and say, You're mad, Raena. Some of us want to survive to our twentieth birthdays.

Seraena closed her eyes, inhaling a lungful of salt.

"Your Radiance?" a voice asked.

She turned.

A servant stood a few meters away. He was dressed in a white tunic with a blazing star across the front of it, but even if he hadn't been wearing her uncle Cillian's crest, Seraena would have recognized him. It was difficult to forget a man that had once washed out her mouth with seawater because "proper young ladies didn't curse."

She inclined her head. "Druskan."

Druskan clasped his hands behind his back. "Lord Cillian wishes to speak to you."

Seraena raised an eyebrow. "Does he, now?"

An interesting development. She'd spent the last three weeks trying to speak with her uncle to no avail. She'd shown up at Cillian's house with his favourite whisky. She'd written long letters. Burning hells, Seraena thought with a wince, she'd been so desperate that she'd even resorted to trying to speak with Cillian at Mack and Alfie's funeral. But her uncle had slipped out of the palace early, forgoing the reception. He was avoiding her.

All her council members were.

Druskan held out his hand. "Your uncle asked me to give you this, Your Radiance."

Seraena took the letter. Although it was more of a note, she thought, hardly the size of her palm. She scanned the lines.

Raena—

Your presence is required in the council room. Please come at once.

C.A.

Seraena ran a thumb over the cardstock. So much blatant disrespect, she thought, her heart sinking, crammed into two sentences. Her uncle had forgone her title, and he'd taken the liberty of summoning her to her own palace. This was — as Annalise Cidarius would have phrased it — a godsdamn disaster.

Seraena lowered the note. "I'm preoccupied at the moment."

She wasn't. Not really. But it wouldn't do to have Cillian summoning her like a dog to a master. Druskan rocked on his heels.