Nothing happened. Sigarni stayed where she was, and glanced at Ironhand, who was watching her intently. She had explained her theory to him, and he had listened thoughtfully.
‘Well, where is this miracle?’ asked the King, his tone hardening.
Ironhand stepped forward and knelt beside Sigarni. ‘Touch the bush,’ he whispered.
Lowering her arm, her fingers brushed against the wood and she felt her hand grow hot. The blood upon the branches disappeared into the grey wood, which began to swell and grow. Buds appeared, pushing out into new red growth, stretching up towards the iron sky, then darkened to green and finally to brown. Three blooms appeared, opening to roses the colour of Sigarni’s blood.
She stood and turned towards the King, ready to present her arguments.
Just then a beam of sunlight pierced the clouds, illuminating the garden. In its bright light the King looked older, more weary, his face lined, dark rings beneath his eyes. ‘How have you done this?’ he whispered, moving to the rose and kneeling before it to smell the blooms.
‘The war must end,’ she said. ‘That is all that keeps the sun at bay.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘This is a magical land, Majesty, where the war and the devastation feed the dark side of the magic. Every act of hate, of malice, of bloodlust only serves to fuel the fires beneath the mountains. You are destroying this world with your fighting. Think back to the days before, when the sun shone. The Feast of Athling. There was a three-day truce between the armies; when the righting stopped the sun shone. It was the same when your father was buried: a day of truce. And before the war Yur-vale was a paradise. Can you not see it? In some way the feelings of the people are magnified by the land itself. All this hatred and violence is reflected by the land which, like the people here, is turning on itself.’
‘I told you she was a spy!’ roared Pasan-Yol. ‘This is all a trick to lull us.’
From some distance away came a series of dull, booming sounds, and the faint clash of steel upon steel. The sunlight faded away.
‘The siege towers have reached the walls,’ said the King. ‘I must go now. But I will give your words serious consideration and we will meet again this afternoon. In the meantime I will ask one of my servants to show you the palace museum. There are many wonders there -including the Helm you seek.’
Sigarni and Ballistar bowed. Ironhand merely inclined his head.
‘Your tall friend does not care for the formalities. Does he not know it is wise always to pay respects to a king?’
‘He does, my lord,’ said Sigarni. ‘But he is a king himself, and is unused to bowing before others.’
The King chuckled. ‘A monarch should have better dress sense,’ he said, pointing to Ironhand’s ill-fitting red shirt. ‘And you, young lady, should have that wound dressed – unless of course you plan to revive my entire garden.’ He swung to the young man. ‘You cut too deeply, Pasan. See that the surgeon is sent for, and that our guests are looked after.’
‘But, Father …’
‘Just do it, Pasan. I have no time for further debate.’ The King strolled away, followed by four of the guards.
Pasan glared at Sigarni. ‘You may have fooled him with your witchery, but not me. You are an enemy – and enemies are to be destroyed. And look at your rose,’ he said triumphantly. ‘It is already dying.’
‘Aye,’ she agreed sadly. ‘With every death upon the walls. With every mouthful of corpse meat. With every word of hate.’
Summoning Ballistar and Ironhand, Sigarni walked back towards the palace.
Her arm bandaged, the blood still seeping through, Sigarni sat with Ironhand and Ballistar in the main hall of the Palace Museum. There were statues lining the walls, paintings hung in alcoves, but pride of place went to the Crown of Alwen, which sat upon a slim column of gold within a crystal case. The Helm shimmered in the lamplight and Ironhand gazed upon it with undisguised admiration. ‘Had I retained the Crown,’ he said softly, ‘there would have been no civil war. Elarine and I could have enjoyed a peaceful reign and you, Sigarni, would have known great joy.’