Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(28)

The kids and the dog are asleep moments later. One snore out of the animal and Jacinda spins to me, hands on hips, fingers tapping against the fiery material. “Cohen, did you want to live another night? Do you know who this girl is?”

I step back, shocked by the ferocity of her whisper. “Who?”

“This is Seeva Soliel’s daughter. Seeva is the leader of the Guild.”

“By Guild do you mean the Channelers Guild you’ve been talking about?”

Her chin rises up and slams back down in a definite nod.

Bludger. “So you’re saying if anyone catches me with her, I’ll be killed first, questioned later?”

She gives me a worried look. “Exactly.”





Chapter

13


Aodren


NEAR THE INNER GATE, A THIRD-STORY room the size of a closet has loophole slits that look down on the outer yard. The room can be accessed only from the parapet. I discovered the spot at the age of seven, after Jamis turned me away from the lords’ meeting and tasked me with reading a particularly dreary tome in the castle library. Boredom goaded me to explore.

To ensure no one sees me, I scurry along the battlement in a half-crouched position. Though it’s been a few years since I’ve come here, my muscles remember the balance needed to cross the sections on the parapet where the stones have crumbled.

A wool banner rests against one of the keep’s south towers, hiding the entrance into the room. I shove aside the heavy material and duck into the small opening.

Archers once used this nook for defense. In the centuries since it was built, more strategic defensive locations have been added to the castle, and this room has been forgotten. When I was younger, I watched people through the loophole slits.

The earthy smell of the room dredges up memories. I rest my head against the smooth, chilled stone.

The first time I noticed Saul Flannery, I was in this very room. He was rushing across the yard to help a stablehand with a foaling horse. Unlike other birthing horses, this one’s movements were jerky and frantic. It paced and kicked, eyes rolling to whites. Despite the danger, Saul reached for the animal and assisted until the newborn horse had been foaled. The mare died from complications. The foal had been injured during birth and the stablehand thought it would die also. But Saul stayed with the vulnerable animal for days, and when it was stronger, he took the animal home.

Saul was kind and caring and, most important, always courageous in the face of danger. My father was not a good man. A terror of a king, he let his superstitions lead to mass execution of his people. When he passed, his conspiracies bled to his nobles and onto the country. After yesterday, it sickens me to admit that I understand my father’s choices a little bit better. I don’t agree, but I understand his fear.

Unlike my father, however, I won’t let fear control me. During my reign, the people of Malam will see the abolishment of the Purge. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll bring about a change that clears the haze of hate and fear clouding the vision of the citizens of Malam.

The peepholes give me a view of the road and woods beyond the castle where a brisk breeze pushes through the tops of the trees and whistles through the cracks in the tower. A couple of carts crunch over the gravel approaching the bridge. I watch them, wondering when I’ll see Britta again.

I saw Britta Flannery for the first time four years ago. The bounty hunter’s shadow took cautious steps into my Winter Feast celebration. Grim mouth, wary blue eyes, and the scowl she wore like chainmail fascinated me.

The luxuries of the castle and opulent décor of the celebration didn’t seem to draw her attention. I wanted to know more about the strange girl. I still do. Back then, it didn’t take much prodding to discover who she was. Or that, despite the noble status her father held, Britta was an outcast.

In that aspect, we were similar. I grew up a ghost in my own castle. No one spoke to me for fear of offending the future king, the son of the tyrant. No one met my eye. No one held my trust, other than the two men who raised me.

Now that one of them has betrayed me, I feel like I’m navigating through the woods in the dark.

As king, I have to weigh each decision, anticipate how it’ll affect the kingdom. If I could be more like Britta, shrewd, self-assured, strong . . .

My leadership has given little for the people of Malam to trust. Before I took over from Jamis, who’d become regent after my father’s death, I stood aside while he demanded that the Purge Proclamation be upheld, that every Channeler in Malam be hunted down. After I became king, I allowed my high lord to deceive and manipulate me.

I scrub my palms against my face.

“Get the healer.”

The shout echoes up from the courtyard, followed by a clatter of metal. I press my face to the stone, seeking the source of the noise. One of the elite guards, Leif O’Floinn, passes an unconscious girl to another man before dismounting his horse. Once on the ground, he takes the girl back into his arms and says something I cannot hear. Then the stablehand ushers the horse away as Leif rushes toward the inner gate, a flopping autumn-haired teenage girl in his arms.

I push aside the tapestry and rush along the parapet. I leap down the stairs two at a time, reaching the main level of the castle as a couple of servant girls go rushing past. They squeak at the sight of me, mutter an apology with their eyes to the stone floor, and scuttle away. I follow, heading toward the castle’s healer, picking up pieces of their conversation.