The First Stone by Mark Anthony Page B

concern. Lursa was usually brisk and cheerful, but her expression seemed dull now, even despondent.
    “I’m sure Master Graedin will help you sort things out,” Grace said, and granted the witch leave to go.
    Lursa crossed the hall to where Graedin stood against the far wall. The young Runelord was as tall and gangly as ever, and a grin crossed his face as Lursa approached, though his smile soon faded as they spoke. No doubt Graedin would help Lursa with her problem. He had suspected there was a connection between rune magic and the magic of the Weirding well before it was revealed that Olrig, patron god of runes, and the witch’s goddess Sia were one and the same—and were in fact simply two guises of the being known as the Worldsmith.
    Except Olrig and Sia weren’t the Worldsmith anymore. The world had been broken, and the fact that it had been remade exactly as it was before didn’t change the fact that someone else was the Worldsmith now.
    I miss you, Travis
, Grace thought.
And Beltan, too.
    Sometimes when she thought of them her heart ached, just as her right arm did when she remembered standing before the Pale King. She missed them even more than she did Lirith or Aryn, for at least she could speak to the two witches from time to time, even if it was only across the threads of the Weirding.
    Not that she had spoken to them often of late. Lirith was too far to the south for Grace to contact on her own; she could only do it with Aryn’s help. And Aryn had been too busy in recent times for idle conversation. She was a queen now, not of one Dominion but two. Teravian was not only King Boreas’s son, but Queen Ivalaine’s as well. As Ivalaine had had no other heir, Teravian was now king of Toloria as well as of Calavan, and Aryn was queen of both realms.
    They spent their time traveling between the two courts, and by all accounts had done much to earn the admiration and loyalty of their subjects in both Dominions. But their labors had prevented them from journeying to Gravenfist save once, and Grace doubted future visits were in the cards, given that Aryn was now expecting her first child. Still, it was enough to get occasional reports, and to know that despite their labors both Aryn and Teravian were happy, and these days very much in love.
    However, as much as she cared for all her friends, it was to Travis her thoughts most often turned.
    I want so badly to talk to you, Travis
, Grace thought, gazing into her goblet of wine and wishing she had the power to see a vision in it as Lirith sometimes could, wishing she could get a glimpse of him.
I think you’d understand what I’m feeling better
than I do.
    Only what was she feeling? It was so strange. There was a sorrow, yes. But there was something else: a tinge of nervous expectation. But what exactly was she expecting to happen?
    For them to not need you anymore.
    It was the dry doctor’s voice that spoke in her mind, making its diagnosis. The thought startled her, but not so much for its suddenness as for how true it felt.
    You did your part, Grace, you gave Malachor a second
chance to be. But its people don’t need a queen, not anymore.
They’ve built this kingdom themselves. Why can’t they rule it
themselves?
    Yes, it made sense. If Travis could create a world, then depart from it, why couldn’t she do the same with a kingdom? She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beating of her heart.
    “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” spoke a sharp-edged voice.
    Grace looked up from her wine to see Master Larad standing above her. He was clad in a twilight blue robe. His eyes glittered in a face that was made a fractured mosaic by a webwork of fine white scars.
    She sighed. “Why does everyone keep asking me that tonight?”
    He shrugged but said nothing. Larad never offered an answer unless he had a strong opinion.
    “Did you speak to Alfin, the young man from Brelegond?” she said in hopes of changing the subject.
    “Yes, for a few moments.”