The Hidden Queen by Alma Alexander Read Free Book Online Page A

sought sanctuary, a man who could learn from within who else the priests were harboring? They do not ask to know a seeker’s sin if it is not freely told. The man could be in and out within a week. And we would at least know. Later…we have time. We could set a watch, if we were sure. She would never leave those walls.”
    Sif allowed himself a guarded smile. “Do it. And report to me.”
    “Yes, lord.” Fodrun had made it a habit to execute all Sif’s orders instantly. People who lagged tended to be remembered. He was already on his feet when Sif laughed.
    “Tomorrow will do.” There was amusement at Fodrun’s alacrity in Sif’s voice. Now, finally, he turned toward the decanter. “Wine?”
    Fodrun settled back into the chair into which he had been waved at his arrival. “Thank you, my lord.”
    Sif’s back was to him as he poured, and Fodrun studied him, safely unobserved for the moment. Even in the loose house robe, there was no disguising Sif’s dangerous build, the breadth of his shoulders, the smooth muscle in his back. This was a true warrior prince Fodrun had raised to power, wild in all warriors’ ways—a few words of prudent advice were all too often needed to calm his hot blood. Unpredictable, too; it was hard to gauge the sudden swing of Sif’s moods. With all his faults, however, this was where Fodrun’s fate had been cast. Why, then, did he sometimes find himself so reluctant to point out things Sif might have missed, especially on the subject of Anghara? Fodrun had thought on her intriguing disappearance, and the convenient amnesia of Rima’s deathbed. He had been on the point of discussing these thoughts with Sif many times, yet somehow he could not bring himself to speak. Why? Did he still think he could protect Anghara? Against the power Sif consolidated daily? And what did his wanting to protect his king’s only rival for the throne of Roisinan make of his loyalty to Sif?
    Some of those thoughts, concealed so carefully for so long, must have showed on his face. Sif paused as he turned, two full wine goblets in hand. The king’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “You have something else to tell me.” It was a flat statement, not a question. More, it was an order; Sif’s silence was expectant.
    Cornered, Fodrun grasped the nettle. “I was thinking about Anghara,” he said. “She vanished too quickly, too well. They simply did not have time to plan this, my lord; King Dynan’s death and your being at hand for the battle at Ronval was not something anyone could have foreseen long enough in advance to produce an entire contingency plan, not one this flawless.”
    “What are you telling me?” said Sif, stepping forward, offering a goblet. Fodrun accepted it, and took a convulsive swallow. Sif would not like what he was about to hear.
    Fodrun said carefully, “Rima must have had help. Anghara did not merely disappear, she was actively hidden from you; and yet there was the document, which implied she had already claimed the crown. I believe she is alive, she holds the original, and she was hidden from you by something more than clever planning. By Sight.”
    Sif was frowning. “Sight,” he repeated hollowly.
    “None in Miranei ever saw her use it,” said Fodrun, even more carefully, “but it was an open secret that Rima had it.”
    “Yes,” said Sif flatly. “I know.” The hand that was closed around the stem of Sif’s goblet whitened. Fodrun tensed, waiting for the wineglass to shatter against the wall at any minute. But Sif thought the better of it, and took a large swallow instead, forcing himself to relax into a chair. He looked faintly revolted; he had never liked to traffic with Sight. Sometimes he used it, ruthlessly, if he saw no other way past some obstacle toward a goal—as he had wielded it to wring true memories from the dying Rima in this very room. But Fodrun had seen Sif shy from it several times so far during their short partnership. It seemed to frighten him