Exile by Betsy Dornbusch

you intend on informing the Prince of Brîn.”
    “Aye, Your Majesty. And the Moonling mother, Lady Oklai, as well.”
    Queen Elena’s lips tightened at the name.
    Draken shifted, trying to be unobtrusive about it, but her dark eyes flicked to him. An arrow had once penetrated the armor on his knee and it did not bear weight well when kneeling for long. His superiors, even the King himself, had always accommodated his injury.
    “A traitor, you say,” Elena echoed faintly.
    “I fear a Mance has been at work outside our noble duties.” Osias’ voice faded as Reavan stepped closer.
    “As you are, since Mance are tasked with the dead rather than the living,” the Lord Marshal murmured.
    “That is a strong accusation, nigh on treason against your own, is it not?” the Queen asked, ignoring Reavan.
    Osias acceded with a nod. “Some will think it. But this concerns more than my own kind.” Osias paused and switched tongues to Brînish. “ Fhavla Korde . Akrasians call them banes.”
    Reavan gave an incredulous laugh. “You’ve come all this way to tell us a cradle tale?”
    Osias gave a negative jerk of his chin at Reavan’s disdain. “All tales grow from seeds of truth. I saw a bane in the Moonling woods upwards from Khein just last nightfall.”
    The Queen frowned. “Your own King sent recent word all is well.”
    Osias hesitated before admitting, “I didn’t know. I’ve not been home since Sohalia last.”
    “You’re rogue, then.”
    Draken detected defeat in the Mance’s tone. “Truth? I’m on a lengthy scouting assignment. I found the bane by accident and thought it prudent to warn you. Perhaps it is best I bolster your perimeter. Should the bane take you, Your Majesty, I fear you could become a puppet under a traitor’s control.”
    “I appreciate your concern. However, I assure you I am quite well-defended and we have provisions in place should I be unable to lead.” Elena pinned on an indulgent half-smile. Draken had been right. Even false graciousness changed her entire appearance. Darkness fled and she was beautiful. But she lifted a graceful hand to her throat and her smile faded. “What is it, Lord Mance?”
    Draken glanced up at his companion and his empty stomach turned over at the sight of Osias’ eyes swirling to purple again. He twisted his head to look behind himself, though the guard nudged him. But he couldn’t look away. The last time Osias had looked like that, Draken had nearly been killed.
    Something whooshed overhead. Draken didn’t quite see Osias move, but he suddenly held an arrow in his hand. He looked back at Setia for a moment, some understanding passed between them because he gave a curt nod, and he turned to the Queen. He closed the distance between them and knelt before her, placing the arrow on the floor at her feet.
    “Step back from the Queen!” Reavan said sharply.
    Fingers dug into Draken’s bicep and the guard shoved him down. His aching muscles cried out as he hit the hard stone, and again when he thrust himself back in an effort to free himself. A heavy boot on his spine pinned him to the floor. He grunted, thinking, At least I’m off my knee.
    Hurrying footsteps brought more Escorts. Boots and cloaks swished by Draken’s face. The doors whooshed closed and darkness enclosed the room, brightened only by distant pools of torchlight. The weight on his back shifted, painfully heavy, digging into his spine. The arrow glowed with faint silvery iridescence on the black floor. How had the Mance caught it with no magic? Or was he stronger than the wards?
    Osias retreated to stand between Draken and Setia. He spoke quickly. “It wasn’t Draken, Your Majesty. Let him up—”
    Reavan interrupted. “This is outrageous! These visitors are obviously a distraction to provide means for an attack. This is a Mance arrow!”
    Draken struggled against the boot, but a prick at the base of his neck stopped him again. The cut burned like the stingers in the Monoean