Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(45)

Lirra rubs her horse’s jaw. She looks over her shoulder at me. “Other Channelers can only manipulate their specific energy. I’ll only ever be able to push the wind around. Whereas you have the ability to take and give energy.”

“But if I took another Channeler’s power, that would be dark magic.”

“Well, yes.”

“And even if I did, I didn’t think a Spiriter could then use another’s power.”

“That’s what the runes are for.” She reminds me of the mark she saw on the deceased girl in the castle. Using the stable floor, Lirra squats and draws the rune in the dust. “This particular rune is used to transfer energy to a Channeler and allow that Channeler brief control of the ability.”

“So Phelia could use this rune on any Channeler to steal her ability?”

Lirra scratches out the mark on the stable floor. “That’s the thing that doesn’t make sense. The rune is supposed to work when both Channelers are giving their power freely. Not that I’ve seen it happen. Runes are banned by the Guild. But I doubt any of the kidnapped girls are going to willingly give their power to Phelia.”

“How is she taking their power and using it, then?”

Lirra shakes her head. “It could be as easy as a combination of runes. I just don’t know them all.”

“That look you’re wearing.” Lirra points at me. “That’s how I feel inside when I think about what Phelia might be doing to Orli.”

“I’m sorry she hasn’t been found yet.”

“Yeah, well, if Cohen doesn’t turn up something by the feast tomorrow . . .” She doesn’t finish. Not that she needs to. I know she’ll leave. She’s been talking about it since she arrived. Mostly she needed Cohen’s help to cross the border. Now that she’s here, she can search for her friend in Malam herself. Her Malamian is flawless. I’d expect nothing less from the Archtraitor’s daughter.

Unlike me, Lirra is a chameleon. I envy her that, especially with tomorrow’s feast looming over my head.



The next day, I wish I were still patching the roof.

Instead I’m preparing to go to the Winter Feast.

Even my old trousers and tunic would be preferable to the fancy undergarments I’m wearing. The thin, fine linen chemise is an itchy torture chamber. The constricting boning around the midsection and the neckline that threatens to expose my breasts are only two of a hundred reasons for throttling my maid and former friend.

Gillian threw a fit after discovering I was going to wear the shift Enat gave me, arguing it was too boxy and baggy to be worn beneath one of the king’s dresses. I accepted Gillian’s new underclothes only because I had finally realized that the shift used to belong to Phelia.

It took only half a second in this contraption to regret my decision. “What was she thinking?”

Lirra flips a length of muddy-brown hair out of her eyes and looks up from where she’s seated cross-legged on the floor.

“Or maybe I should say, what was I thinking?” I amend.

Lirra picks at a speck of nothing on her knee. “Considering the giver, it could’ve been worse.”

“Doubtful.” I groan.

“They could use a little more color. But in truth, they’re gorgeous. If it were me, I’d wear—”

Gillian pops her head through the open bedroom door. “It wouldn’t be you in a hundred years, so that’s neither here nor there.”

Lirra scoffs. “Only because I’m not angling for an invite.”

I clear my throat. “There was no angling.”

“The comment wasn’t intended for you,” Lirra says with a flat look at Gillian.

Gillian stands in the center of the door frame looking like an adorably ornery canary in her frilly, feathered yellow dress. “You sound petty in the most unattractive way, Lirra.”

The Archtraitor’s daughter scowls.

Gillian points to the rainbow pile of silk gowns. “We don’t have much time before the carriage arrives.”

Lirra pushes off the floor. “In Shaerdan, women ride their own horses. And buy their own material for clothes.” She gasps in mockery. “Imagine that.”

“Snip it.” Gillian’s gaze slices to Lirra with the ferocity of a mother bear. “The king knows Britta doesn’t own a carriage and riding Snowfire to the castle would dirty her skirts. King Aodren offered out of kindness. We couldn’t turn him down.” Gillian points to the door. “Go feed the horses since they’re your company for the night.”

I watch Lirra’s face redden under her tree-bark tan and wait for words to explode from her. For as jolly as her father is, Lirra is equal parts unruly and taciturn. Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue. She stomps out of the room, shouldering Gillian aside as she passes through the doorway.

“After I fetch a bucket of water, I’ll be back to do your hair.” Gillian slides her hand over the coiled and curled concoction on her own head and looks pointedly at the dresses.

I nod, though it’s a fight not to roll my eyes until she leaves the room.

I scratch my shoulder where lace trim rubs it and debate between the pink and green dress. And then I nearly cackle, because what am I doing? I feel as though I’m drowning in silk. How did I become a girl whose biggest problem is choosing between ball gowns?