The guards to Lyla’s door stood hastily aside as Rachelle strode down the narrow corridor.

“Open this door,” she commanded. The two soldiers jumped to do her bidding. Rachelle really was trying to control her temper, but Dior help her, the last two men to plead with her in the throne had brought inconsequential affairs before her. Why couldn’t they find someone else to take care of these things? It didn’t occur to Rachelle to appoint someone below her, to whom these issues could be taken.

Inside her room, Lyla heard the queen’s voice, and quickly shoved the thin volume of Melizzande under her pillow. Smoothing her hair, she moved to stand near the high window.

The door opened and Lyla dropped into a deep curtsey.

“Your Grace.”

“Wand-bearer.” Rachelle turned a fierce eye at the two guards who stood interested at the door. They noticed her glare and beat a hurried retreat, closing the door behind them. Rachelle turned back to Lyla.

“I see this stay has done you no harm,” she began. “I have come to see if you are ready to disclose more about this subject.” She waved the scepter carelessly in the air, motioning to the thick tome on Lyla’s bed. “I see you have been doing some reading. What have you learned?”

“First of all, your grace, I once again do humbly beg your pardon for those words I hastily spoke in your presence.” Lyla glanced up to the queen, and seeing those eyes narrow, continued. “As to the Golden Scepter… yes. I have been reading.” She crossed the room to touch the book. “I’m afraid this book hasn’t taught me much,” Lyla confessed.

“Tell me what it has taught you, then.” The queen demanded.

“Well, this book is mostly a history book, your grace. It tells the stories of Tulern, it talks about the battle between Melizzande and the demon horde, and of Ragor before that. It barely mentions the Golden Scepter, only saying that it help bind the demons in their present state, and then was dropped and broken by the Silent Queen when she fell. It does not say much of the nature of its abilities or power.”

“I know these stories,” Rachelle gritted out. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve spent these last few days reading story books?”

Lyla’s face flushed. “I was looking for clues to help us understand the scepter, and the power it showed, your highness, as I am at a complete loss.”

“And I supposed you have no better explanation for your actions on the night of the blue light, have you?” the queen’s chest and neck were splotched with red.

“I… I have only the explanation I gave to you,” Lyla stammered. “I don’t know how to better describe it. It was just… just a feeling. Lord Valon will tell you that these feelings happen…”

Rachelle’s temper broke loose at the mention of Sir Valon, and the memory of how he had stood up to her, taking the side of the wand-bearer.

“You insolent bitch!” she screamed. “You insult me to my face, in front of the entire court. You hide information from me. I give you time to reconsider telling the truth, and you spend that time reading stories!” The queen shook violently in her rage, and she swung the scepter, catching a small wooden figure from the chest of drawers, sending it flying.

The crash of the statue breaking against the stone wall seemed to loose a dam in Rachelle. She lay about, smashing everything in sight while Lyla cowered in a corner. The points of the crown tore at Lyla’s bedcovers, leaving ragged tears. It knocked down a row of shelves, sending it crashing to the floor while Rachelle shrieked curses in uncontrollable anger.

The two guards opened the door, looking to protect the queen from her ward. Seeing how things were, they hastily withdrew again, faces pale.

Finally, with nothing left to destroy, the queen turned and glared at Lyla.

“You pitiful wench! You terrible creature! I will see you starved in the dungeons, beaten to scraps of skin and bone until you submit!” She hurled the heavy scepter straight toward the corner where Lyla stood. Fortunately for Lyla, the queen’s aim was off, and the rod struck the wall, falling harmlessly to the floor.

“There is your broken wand,” Rachelle proclaimed, her composure gained once again. “I shall send the gaoler for you shortly. Mayhap he will beat you with that useless rod until you scream for death. I suggest you beg Dior for mercy.”