Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(92)

Her frown softens.

“But I also know that I’m not necessarily what you might want anymore. Or need.” I shift my hand over my belt, feeling for the dove feather beneath. I hate every bit about what I’m going to say next, but it needs to be done. After all, my weakness is doing what’s best for Britta. Even if it pains me. Britta is loyal. Last thing I want is for that loyalty to lead her to misery. “I want you to figure out what you want, Britt.”

“Are you making me choose between you and my friendship with Aodren?” Her voice squeaks as she says this.

I tighten my fist over my belt pocket and draw a breath through my nose. “No, course not. I’m giving you space, to decide what you really want . . . who you really want. We always had the bond between us. Now that it’s gone, you should decide if you really want a life with me.”

“You think the bond is the reason I want to be with you?” She scoffs, blinking rapidly before dabbing her eye. She stomps away toward the barn, where Siron’s head pokes out of the door. Britta rubs his nose. “This entire conversation is ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “I hope I’m being a complete bludger, and one day when we’re old and hobbling around, we’ll laugh about this. But tell me this, Britt, have you ever considered the possibility that our connection influenced your feelings for me? Or that the years we spent together influenced you?” I cough, forcing myself to say this last bit. “There are other men out there. I need you to be certain that I’m the one you want. Faults and all.”

She opens her mouth. And for a second I’m praying a protest comes out. But it’s the hesitation, the space between heartbeats, that speaks the truth. “Consider it.”

She stalks away and my heart cracks.

The door slams behind her.

Cold and wet, I reach into my secret pocket and slide out the piece of parchment. I withdraw the gray-tinged feather. Wind kicks past the barn, scooting it right out of my hand. I suck in a short breath, gaze ricocheting around the yard in a desperate search.

But it’s gone.





Chapter

44


Britta


WHEN COHEN ENTERS THE COTTAGE AT least twenty minutes after me, I cannot bring myself to look up. His suggestion that I don’t know what I want makes me itch for my bow. I could loose a hundred arrows right now and still not find the calm that shooting usually brings.

I’m angry, but part of what he’s said whispers possibilities in the back of my mind. Aodren has already indicated that he’d like to be more than friends. Admittedly, a relationship with him would make the bond we share easier to live with day in and day out. And I do care for Aodren. But I don’t love him.

The toxic mix of emotions must be radiating off me because other than introducing me to the Guild, Lirra gives me a wide berth. As does Leif.

The Guild provides me and Aodren with Beannach water and some Channeler paste for my arm. At first it stings the arrow wound but then leaves the area numb.

A couple of hours later, we’re a broken, ragtag group gathered around Katallia’s table. Omar sits upright in a dining chair, but judging by the pallor of his skin, I’d guess he’s missing his bed. Leif stands by the captain while Lirra and I sit on the opposite sides of the wooden slab, facing the men. Aodren takes the head of the table.

Cohen doesn’t sit down at all. He stands in the doorway, arms folded, mouth in a grim twist. The tension between us is like invisible hands pushing us together and simultaneously pulling us apart. Makes me wonder if anyone else in the room has noticed.

“What do we do now?” Leif asks.

“We find allies.” Aodren speaks first. “We build a competent army by drawing from the fiefs of lords who were killed in Jamis’s coup because we know they were loyal.” His shoulders settle and his expression hardens while he talks.

It must be difficult, knowing that he’ll have to talk to families of men and women who were killed. Unease is written in every line around his eyes. I’m sure the fiefs will rally around him. Anyone who knows him must realize that he’ll never be the kind of ruler his father was.

“Gathering that kind of army takes time,” Cohen argues.

“It can, but that is why we’ll split up.” Aodren taps the table. “You and Leif will head to the northern border. Captain Omar and I will head east after meeting with Lord Freil’s family. The northern tip of Lord Freil’s land is out of the mountains, but away from the main road. The flat land will give us a good place to set up camp and prepare to move on Brentyn.”

We talk for hours, everyone chiming in. In the end, though, Aodren’s plan demands we act quickly. Everyone will leave in the morning. Time is essential.

“What about Britta and myself?” Lirra moves to stand in the doorway.

Aodren pauses, and then turns to me. “Britta. I . . . had thought we would continue to travel together—”

Cohen’s cough interrupts him, but I speak at the same time. “Sounds good to me.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Cohen stares out the window, jaw hard. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to make preparations to leave.”

Aodren flicks a dismissive wave in the air, and Cohen exits the room.

Omar grips the table to stand up. “One more thing. We made an agreement with the owners of this home. We’ve sworn an oath to help them.”