Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(49)

It makes sense that King Aodren doesn’t want nobility to know. With Lord Conklin’s betrayal on the heels of Jamis’s near-takeover of the kingdom, the king must be wondering how many more traitors are hiding in the fold. When my friend Kendrick sold me out to the soldiers, it leveled me. Made me rethink whom I should trust.

I don’t envy King Aodren.

Casting one more glace at the deceased dungeon master, I wipe my hands on my slacks and nod at Captain Omar. “I’ll prepare my gear and be ready shortly.”

“What about Britta? She’ll want to go.” Leif’s voice stops me in my tracks.

I want to tell him to keep his mouth shut. But I catch the jerk of King Aodren’s chin, a reaction that has me fisting my hands. Why should he care whether my Britta goes or stays?

“A group of six will get the job done.” The corner of my eye stays on Leif as I watch the king for any reaction. “With Ulrich, Geoffrey, Wallace, Leif, the captain, and myself, we’ll have a full team. I cannot see how Britta would be any more help.” Every word I’ve spoken is true, yet even as I say this, I know she’s going to be spitting mad. She won’t want to be left out now that Jamis is on the loose with Phelia.

Leif’s mouth skews. “Don’t you think two trackers will find Lord Jamis’s trail faster?”

It’s an unnecessary risk. Putting Britta near Phelia might expose Britta as a Spiriter. Frankly, I’ve no clue what all Phelia is capable of. But neither do I want to find out.

The king’s reaction is minuscule, a twitch of the mouth; it’s enough to suspect he doesn’t like the idea of Britta leaving any more than I do.

Captain Omar steps away from the spittle mess and straightens his coat. “Cohen’s right. She’s not needed.”

Good. Whether the captain’s decision is based on logic or dislike of Britta, I don’t care. All that matters is that she won’t be in any unnecessary danger.

“No.” King Aodren’s crisp voice breaks into our conversation. All eyes turn toward him.

The man lifts his chin, gaining height. “Miss Flannery deserves the choice to go. The decision should be hers to make.”

Shock the seeds right out of me.

It’s obvious he doesn’t want her to go any more than I do. So why give her the option?

I scoff, an interruption that raises the king’s brow. “My apologies, Your Highness. Considering Britta’s recent interaction with Phelia in the woods, and the likely possibility that Jamis is working with Phelia, it might be best to leave Britta out of this tracking party.” The rest goes unsaid, though he knows exactly what I’m referring to. Britta told me that the king heard Phelia admit she’s Britta’s mother.

I may not like the attention King Aodren’s paid Britta, but I appreciate that he seems to consider my comment. After a moment of deliberation, he says, “Agreed.”

The last thing I want is for Britta to face danger again. This is for the better.





Chapter

22


Britta


GILLIAN NUDGES ME THROUGH THE GATE toward the Great Hall, where a herald announces our names to the gathered crowd. In the opulent rectangular room that seems as wide and long as the castle’s training yard, some curious gazes lift, though most seem not to care. Which is a relief.

I stand at the top of a grand staircase, marble steps that pour into the hall, knees knocking together like two woodpeckers confusing each other for sticks. At the far end of the great room, there are two arches, each one an exit. Should anyone riot when the king carries out his plan for the night, I’ll escape through one of those halls.

“Come on,” Gillian whispers out the side of her mouth. She links her arm through mine and tugs me down the steps.

A pull toward the back of the room has me cringing internally. It’s so much stronger here than it was in the stable yard. As always, knowing he’s nearby infuriates. I feel drawn toward him. Tonight the struggle frustrates me more than usual because all I want to do is seek out Cohen.

My hands ball at my sides. I try to study the crowd. It’s smaller than I imagined. I never feel comfortable in a small crowd. Too many people who can see you. Too few people to hide.

After a moment of searching for Cohen, I give in to the king’s draw and allow myself to scan the nobility for the man I’m yoked to. I haven’t seen him since the day he was attacked. I hope his shoulder has healed.

Ladies with giant coiffures resembling snail shells talk in whispery voices. Beside them, the men wear awful embroidered and silk ensembles with puffy trousers and pointed shoes. For a moment, I’m distracted by their ridiculous extravagance. Surely, the cost of one of their outfits could feed a family for a month. For some reason, I think of Lirra’s comment about everyone being liars. Makes me wonder what is hidden beyond their baubles and accessories.

Voices mingle in hushed conversations that I care little to be a part of. Gillian mutters something about how odd it is no one has welcomed us. I snort, and then try to cover it with a cough. She doesn’t understand that people who ignore me are the people I feel the most comfortable around.

I stick to Gillian like she’s my anchor, keeping me from drifting in the king’s direction, even though I haven’t yet spotted the man. He isn’t seated at the head table. Or at the carved wood monstrosity of a throne parked at the end of the room opposite the entry stairs.