Blue woke with a start. For just the barest moment she didn’t know where she was, then saw she was in her Imperial Quarters, in a comfortable chair where she must have fallen asleep. How long ago? Minutes? Hours?
She felt better. Various pains had drained from her body, leaving only a residue of stiffness, and her mind was a great deal clearer. She started to push herself out of the chair when the memory flooded back. The war. She’d be needed in the Situation Room.
Then as the knocking came again she realised what had wakened her. ‘Come!’ she called and her voice pattern released the spell securities.
It was Gatekeeper Fogarty, along with Madame Cynthia and -
‘What’s he doing here?’ Blue demanded. Her heart was pounding suddenly. For a mad moment she thought he might be a prisoner of war.
‘My deeah,’ said Madame Cynthia cautiously. ‘Your uncle has something to say to you.’
Lord Hairstreak was already striding forward, arrogant as always, dressed in his favoured black. ‘Your Majesty -’ he began formally.
What in Hael was he doing here? No guards. No uniform. He might have been on a social visit.
‘I’m here to offer an immediate truce,’ he said.
Blue stared at him, certain she’d misheard. Nobody would offer a truce so soon. It had to be a trick.
‘Why?’ she asked him simply.
Hairstreak’s face remained unreadable. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘if we do not cease fighting at once, the Realm is doomed.’