The Bird and the Sword (The Bird and the Sword Chronicles #1)(9)

“Tell your master the king is here, boy,” the man named Kjell demanded, and Lohdi was off like a shot, stumbling again amidst the laughter of the guard who followed in a protective formation around their king. My father would be alarmed that I’d been taken hostage, but not for the reason the king hoped.

Someone had already alerted my father and the rest of the keep that the king’s procession was en route, and he stood in the courtyard amongst a growing group of onlookers, a striking figure in the colors of his keep—brilliant blue and silver. He’d assembled a small group of his guard, but none of them were foolish enough to draw their swords. This was the king after all, and if the king wanted to take the daughter of a nobleman in his own kingdom, no one would stop him. They looked more stunned than anything, their eyes lingering on me in confusion. I was not exactly a prize.

“Corvyn,” King Tiras greeted coldly. His words stirred my hair and made the flesh rise on my neck. He disliked my father. His disdain was a frigid breeze, and it made me wince and long to wiggle free. I was clearly broadcasting my distress, and the king’s horse whinnied and danced at my discomfort. I bade it be still, a hand in his mane, and he seemed to understand.

“King Tiras. What is the meaning of this?” My father’s voice was surprisingly firm. He didn’t look at me.

“Your loyalty has come into question, Corvyn. Your men never arrived at Kilmorda. Lord Bin Dar sent three hundred men. Lord Gaul sent two hundred men. Lord Janda sent at least that many. I received men from every province and every region. Thousands of men from all over my kingdom were sent to respond to the attack on our northern border. But no men ever arrived from Corvyn.” King Tiras’s voice was curious. Conversational. I shivered against him, completely unconvinced. His arm tightened.

“I sent men, Your Highness. Hundreds of men,” my father stammered. The lie made a yellow halo around my father’s neck, a noose of his own making.

“Be very careful, Corvyn,” King Tiras warned softly, and he pressed his gloved hand to my chest. “Your daughter’s heart is pounding beneath my fist. She knows you lie. I know you lie.”

“She knows nothing. She is . . . simple. Like a child. She has not spoken a single word since her mother was murdered before her eyes. Your father killed my wife. Will you now kill my daughter too?”

I felt the king stiffen at my back, and I knew he remembered her. I could feel her name in his mind, Meshara. Her name winked out like he’d flung it away. There then gone.

Suddenly, Boojohni pushed through the crowd, shoving people aside, tunneling through legs and skirts. My heart rose to my throat as he fell to his knees on the cobblestones in front of the king.

“I am the servant of the lady, Your Majesty,” he cried, breathless. “Please! Don’t harm her. Take me instead.”

Laughter rose up among the king’s guard, and I shook my head adamantly. Boojohni growled at my denial and repeated his request.

“Take me instead!”

“Why?” the king asked, his eyes on Boojohni. “Why should I take you?”

“I have no loyalty to Lord Corvyn. My loyalty is to her. Only to her.”

“Your loyalty should be to your king, Troll,” Kjell barked, and Boojohni touched his forehead to the dirt in total surrender.

“I am at His Majesty’s service,” he said humbly. I felt tears prick my eyes. His fear for me was palpable, and my love for him had me shaking my head once more.

“The lady does not want you to do this,” the king said, taking note of my refusal.

“The lady is more concerned for me than she is for herself,” Boojohni rejoined.

“You hold no value to me, Troll, though I admire your courage,” King Tiras replied, then added, “I remember you.” I felt my mother’s name flicker in the air again, a whisper from the king’s thoughts that only I could hear. I wanted to hate him for it, but instead it gave me hope.

Boojohni’s eyes found mine, and his expression was desperate.

“Then let me come with her. Take me too,” he implored.

The king was silent for a heartbeat, considering. “So be it,” he acquiesced suddenly, and called out to someone in the back of the procession.

“Jerick! The troll will ride with you.”

A warrior rode forward and pulled Boojohni up behind him. Boojohni looked equal parts relieved and distraught. He had never been able to ride without getting motion sickness. The trip did not bode well for my little friend. I predicted he would be running alongside the warrior before long.

“Your daughter will be returned when the enemy is defeated, Corvyn. But if I die, she dies.”

I almost laughed. How ironic. I was convinced if the king knew the curse my mother had lain on my father’s head, he would make me suffer terribly.

“None of this is necessary, Majesty,” my father protested weakly. “I give you my word.” He’d taken on a grey pallor, as though he believed his days were numbered.

“And I will take it, and your daughter,” the king replied smoothly. “Just so I am assured of your fealty.” He took up the reins and Kjell raised his arm, signaling their retreat.

“I left an army at the border of Kilmorda. We’ve beaten back the Volgar. For now. But I will expect you to send five hundred men to assist.”

“Five hundred?” my father gasped.