Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(100)

Torima wraps her hand around Britta’s wrist while Seeva holds Britta’s head. Orli and Katallia place their hands in different spots on Britta’s body. They chant words I’ve never heard before, continuing until all four have shortened breath, perspiration on their brows, and shaky hands. My body grows weaker by the minute. I slump into a chair and rest my head on the bed beside Britta, needing sleep, despite my brain’s desperate attempts to stay awake. To heal her.

I may have fallen asleep, but after a while, Seeva lifts my arm off Britta.

One at a time, the women touch their chests, dip their heads, and say, “Go well with the spirit.”

I watch them leave, panic creeping back into my numb arms and legs. Britta’s eyes are still closed.





Chapter

49


Cohen


AODREN’S BEWILDERED GAZE BOUNCES FROM me to Britta to the door where the Channelers exited. I don’t think he heard them explain that she received enough energy from him and now they both need to rest. His head drops back to the side of the bed, and his arm, marked in Britta’s blood, flops to his side.

While it’s a struggle not to be jealous of the man, I couldn’t be more grateful.

His head bobs a few more times. He mumbles Britta’s name. I try to tell him twice that Britta is alive, but he’s too incoherent. I suggest he go with Lirra to find a bed to sleep in. She’ll let him know the good news. Seeva mentioned that he would be giving up at least half of his energy. Which would in turn mean the man would need to sleep for days.

When Lirra walks to his side of the bed, Aodren’s arms flex, like he’s struggling to hold himself together. She gently guides him to the door, and then nearly collapses as his head falls against her shoulder. Once they’re gone, Britta and I are alone in the room.

The last time we were alone, I ended our relationship. What a fool I was.

I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. But when she wakes up, I’m determined to be the first person she sees.

As night draws closer, there are fewer scrapes and bangs of repair work on the cabin. The Guild members have put Leif to work to keep his mind off Omar’s death. We are all affected by the captain’s passing, but I don’t blame Leif. No one holds Omar’s death against him.

Leif doesn’t see it the same, however. I hope someday he’ll forgive himself.

Behind the closed bedroom door, I stay at Britta’s side. A thousand promises to the gods have passed my lips as I beg them to spare her.

She hasn’t moved a knuckle since the Channelers left. As when she risked her life to save mine and then the king’s, she lies, motionless, almost colorless. This time, however, she’s covered in her own blood.

When my head starts to bob and my lids dip, I allow myself rest, hunched in the chair beside her bed. Though I’ve never been a churchgoer, I say a prayer—that I won’t have another grave to dig in the morning.

I wake a dozen times in the night, full of aching muscles and creaky bones.

There is no change the next day.

Nor the day after.

The Guild women have come in to dress her wounds; wipe her face, arms, and legs; and drizzle Channeler concoctions over her lips. They’ve brought me bowls of pottage and water.On the third day, King Aodren comes to the room. I don’t know the extent of the man’s feeling for Britta, however, I took note of the many times he sought her out the morning before the attack. Like his eyes were homing pigeons and she was home.

His sallow skin takes a greenish-yellow tint under the lantern light. He moves like his bones are made of glass. The cost of returning Britta’s energy is apparent. He could pass for someone afflicted with the ague.

“You don’t look so good,” I tell him.

“I was about to tell you the same.”

I rake a hand through my unkempt beard and into my hair, which could use three solid washings. A quarter smile cracks my lips. “I’ve seen better weeks.”

The king leans against the wall and gazes out the window at the gray morning. “I’ve come to ask you to leave for Brentyn.”

My spine groans as I sit straight.

“I’ve received word back from Lord Freil. He has nearly one hundred men armed and ready to march.”

I stare at Britta and wonder if I’ll ever see her smile or smirk or glare at me again. I scrub my eyes and turn to face the king. “You need a commander.”

“Yes. I need you and Leif to take this army with me, and together we’ll march on Brentyn. I don’t believe we’ll meet with much resistance. Now that the rebels’ leaders have been killed, I suspect most will accept a deal. If they lay down their arms and accept defeat, they may live out their lives beyond the borders of Malam.”

“And if there’s strong resistance?” I ask, though it’s unlikely. The head’s been cut off the beast.

“The sons of two lords from the northern borders who were killed during the castle attack have pledged their loyalty to me. Should more men be needed, we can call on another hundred and fifty from the northern fiefs.”

At my hesitation, the king says, “The Guild said it might be weeks if not longer before Britta can travel.”

Though the thought of leaving her drives me mad, restoring harmony in the land will give Britta a home to return to. And perhaps she’ll have the freedom to live her life without fear of who she is.