Sholin Temple

The Crownless Queen

**Two moons later**

When a voice behind her chided her in Eirrannian, Syrsha paused before turning to face a white-haired man. His eyes, like her own, were made of gems.

"I was looking for something to eat," she stuttered.

His forehead crinkled, deeper lines replacing ones that were already there, and the man shook his head and lifted his hands.

She repeated her words, this time in Eirrannian, and the man smiled, revealing uneven teeth that had yellowed with age.

"You must be the girl that everyone speaks of," he declared as he stepped toward a simmering pot.

"I am Syrsha," she offered when nothing else would come.

"Oh yes, you are the one," he said as he lifted a lid from the pot.

The scent of rosemary and beef filled the air, savory and tempting, and Syrsha's stomach grumbled in response. The man stirred the stew, slowly, as if he had little else to do.

"Is Nahla near?" she asked, knowing that the woman would know why she had come.

"The Islander? Oh she no longer works in the kitchens. But I can help with whatever it is that you might need," he told her. "Around here, they call me Paz, mostly because my full name is too long to make sense of."

His chuckle sounded more like the croaking of tree frogs, and Syrsha laughed with him. The man was thrice her age or more, with reddened skin and a threadbare beard, but his eyes glimmered and his thick hands were gentle ones.

"Would it be too much to ask for some of that stew?"

Three bowls later, the man said, "I did not think that women could eat so much. I will have to begin serving you from your own pot."

She began to apologize before realizing the man's words were teasing ones. It seemed like most of what he said was in jest or taunt.

"I have always required more food than most," she told him. More quietly, she asked, "What is it that the Eirrannians say of me, Paz?"

While his wide-knuckled fingers pulled apart onion layers, he spoke of his moon years in Eirrannia and his life spent as the owner of a small inn. After decades of prosperity, his inn had been shuttered three moon years past, once the tariffs that Delwin imposed and the restrictions against Eirrannia had become too much.

"We tried for moon years to make it on our own, as we have done for generations, but our fields would be burned as well as our silos and storehouses. Yet we would never see who lit the fires as it was under night's watch that the crimes were committed. I was not a man of wealth, you see, but my rooms were clean and my meals fresh and hearty."

"You think it Royal Army soldiers?" she inquired gravely.

"Perhaps. Although many thought it Tribesmen," he admitted.

"I will speak to my father at once," Syrsha stated as she hurried to the door.

Before she could leave, Paz said with an uneven tone, "You would have been welcomed if not for the last few moon years, child."

"I have visited with Prince Quin, and he has vowed to support my armies," she argued, suddenly confused.

"Bah! That man is no more a prince than I am!"

Her eyes had begun to burn with threat, and Syrsha cried out, "Eceas claimed that Quin's bloodline was true! What game is being played here, Paz?"

"A simple one, I would guess," he laughed gruffly. "Never trust a man who wears a crown, child."