Chapter
41

Cohen

IN KATALLIA’S MAIN ROOM, WE’RE ALL GATHERED around the fire, aside from Omar, who sleeps upstairs. Leif returned from town minutes ago. When he entered the home, snow clung to his hair. Now, as he addresses our group, it melts into drops that stain the shoulders of his tunic.

“Lord Jamis gathered his followers and planned a rebellion, starting with the castle,” he begins. He launches into the story, sharing what he gathered in town. There’s no way to lessen the gravity of Castle Neart being taken. We all sit around, stunned into silence at the lengths that Jamis, the power-hungry, blood-spilling madman, has been willing to go for control. The country would be in better hands if the Akarians from the south were to take over.

We need to fortify our group and lead a counterattack. We need to get inside Neart and see if there are any survivors. And see if we can find King Aodren, who’s apparently missing. We need to put him back on the throne.

After experiencing Seeva’s ability to manipulate temperature, I have no doubt these women would be a boon in the fight to take back Brentyn and Castle Neart.

I say this, and the women share a disdainful snort.

“What you’re telling us may be the best news this country’s had in eighteen years.” Seeva stands in front of the fire, eclipsing the light.

“What?” The fire Channeler has lost her damn seeds. Best news? Horse dung.

“Lord Jamis has been a quiet supporter of Channelers,” Yasmin cuts in, in her low, straightforward way. She pushes back in a rocking chair. Forward and back. “How do we know you’re telling the truth about him being involved in the kidnappings? Lord Conklin was arrested for those, and the man hasn’t named Jamis. Perhaps his intentions in taking the castle were for the benefit of the people.”

Snow continues to fall outside the window, the piles now calf deep. Torima, who is curled beside the fireplace on an overstuffed cushion ahems. “It’s a horrific way to force new leadership, but—”

“But nothing.” A growl tears out of my throat. “The man murdered half the nobility. At least one hundred people.”

If I were in any condition to travel to Brentyn, I’d have left the second Katallia mentioned the rebellion. Britta knows how to stay safe. Despite my tendency to worry for her and go to ridiculous lengths to protect her, there isn’t anyone I’d trust more with my life and my brother’s life than Britta. Our last conversation comes to mind, and a hit of guilt gets me because I doubt she knows this. Doubt she realizes that when my life’s full of upheaval, knowing she’s a survivor is the one thing that keeps me sane.

“What kind of man can disconnect himself from humanity enough to massacre an entire group of people?” I scoot to the edge of a wood chair, elbows resting on my knees.

“You speak of the nobles’ deaths as if we do not know brutality.” Seeva stares down at me, eyes sparking like flint on steel. “In this kingdom, soldiers from every fiefdom have hunted our kind for sport for eighteen years. They’ve stolen daughters. Tortured mothers. The deaths of Channelers outnumber the hundred you speak of by more than a thousand. You tell me, hunter. What kind of men can disconnect themselves from humanity to murder thousands of women and girls?”

The validity of her point strikes firm—a hammer shaping a blade after it’s been pulled from a forge’s fire. The grief in her words pounds into me and profoundly shapes my perspective of the women who have suffered from the Purge.

I take a moment before answering. “I see how the Channelers have suffered, and I am so very sorry. I agree, change needs to happen. We cannot go on like this. All I ask is that you listen to me when I say Jamis is not the change you want.”

Yasmin’s chair creaks. She rocks back, rocks forward. “That may be. But until we know the truth of what happened, it wouldn’t be sound to choose sides.”

I push off my chair and pace away from the fire, having had enough heat today.

“What of our oath?” Leif asks the women.

“Your oath to us doesn’t require us to vow ourselves to your cause. We’ve already helped you.” That comes from Katallia.

“Aunt Kat!” Lirra stares at the woman like she’s just admitted to aiding Lord Jamis. “We have to help.”

“I’m sorry, Lirra. So far I’ve given you all the help you’ve asked for. Without question. I let you into this safe house with royal guards, knowing it could mean my death. What you’re asking now is too much.” Katallia’s eyes flick to the other women in the room. “The Guild may discuss this matter further, but your input”—she looks pointedly at me and Leif—“is no longer wanted. You’re welcome to stay while your captain is recovering. But once he’s on the mend, I expect you to go.”

We sit, shocked silent, as the women file out of the room. Their footsteps echo down the hall to another room. The door latches closed. Voices begin. I can pick out Seeva’s cold tone and Yasmin’s measured cadence, but no words.

“You all should rest.” Lirra stands and rubs her hands on her skirt. She gives me a pointed look. “And you won’t heal if you don’t lie down and put salve on your wounds.”

I move my arm to demonstrate how quickly I’m healing. “What’s in that salve? It’s taken the edge off the pain.”

She nods to the closed door. “You should ask Yasmin. It’s from her collection of herbs. But yes, it speeds up the healing.”

It’s nothing compared to what Britta did, but I’m grateful nonetheless.

When I don’t move, she says, “Standing there isn’t going to convince the Guild.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I turn away from the door. “Any idea what could?”

She shakes her head and leads me to the room we’ve been sharing. Although, now that I think about it, I’ve been sleeping on the bed. Don’t know where Lirra’s been resting.

“Do you really need them?” she asks. “Couldn’t you reach out to the nearest fiefs, build an army, and fight your way back into Brentyn and the castle?”

“You make that sound so simple.” I sit down on the bed and try to hide my wince. “What you’re proposing takes time. Takes organization.” I blow out a breath. I think of Finn and his freely given smile that’s all gums and teeth. I don’t want to wonder about where he is right now, because all I will do is spend the rest of the night worrying. “That’s time I don’t have.”

Lirra points at the bed as if to say, Lie down.

I do as requested.

“I’m going to talk to my aunt. See if I can change the Guild’s mind into helping us.”

I like how she uses the term us. It says something about Lirra, that she’s willing to fight for this cause even if her aunt isn’t.

“Hey, Lirra, I’m sorry I still haven’t found Orli. I didn’t plan for things to go this way.”

She shrugs. “Does life ever go as planned? Besides, I figure we know exactly where Orli is now. She must be at the castle since that’s where Jamis and Phelia are.”

Lirra gently lowers herself onto the mattress, so as to make it move less. I wonder if she’s doing this to spare me some pain, or if she’s suddenly feeling shy about our proximity.

The thing is, Lirra’s a beautiful girl. Her big eyes and pretty face could lure any man looking to be lured.

I’m not.

Someone shoves my shoulder, and ache runs through my torso. Nothing as bad as a few days ago, but it gets me to crack my eyes open.

The room’s dark. Moonlight’s pouring in through the window. Lirra’s on my bed, kind of hovering over me.

I rub my eyes. “What’s going on?” A yawn stretches out my words.

“Word just came. A man and a woman matching Britta’s and Aodren’s descriptions were sighted earlier today by one of the Guild’s confidants not far from here, just off the road through the woods. Maybe a few leagues away.” Her voice is a quick roll of words, one tumbling out after the other.

I sit up with a jolt and, damn, pain cracks me under the armpit. I shake it off and stand, searching for my boots. “Let’s go.”

I knew Britta would make it out. “Get Leif,” I tell Lirra.

Leif comes striding in, looking sleepy but ready to go a couple of minutes later. Five more after that, the three of us are out the door, saddled up, and riding east.

Following the directional tip Katallia received from her confidant, Leif and I keep our eyes peeled to the woods. Snow has dropped as deep as my knees. Knowing most of it fell overnight, I doubt Britta would’ve risked traveling. Since there are no caves in these hills, Britta most likely looked for a tall tree that has some branch coverage against the storm. We press on, keeping our eyes open for a camp setup.

We don’t risk calling out for them in case they’ve been followed. Wouldn’t want to alert Jamis’s men.

The horses cut through the fresh snowpack easily enough, but the dense white seems endless. Siron tips his head up, ears flicking forward.

“What’s there, boy?” I rub his neck.

He runs straight at the trees and then slows. I lean on my good hand to slide off the saddle so I can take a look around. As soon as my boots hit the ground, I see the flap of a tarp by the base of a tree, where the snowfall is lightest. She was always the smarter one of us when it came to survival.

Emotion burns my throat. Must be the overwhelming relief at finding her after all we’ve both been through. I take the ten strides to the tent in five steps. I crouch, peel back the tarp, and—

“What the hell’s going on here?” I gawk, not understanding what I’m seeing. Tucked up to the king’s back, Britta’s got her arms around his body and her nose against his neck. Her eyes crack open, and she looks at me blearily as Leif moves behind me.

“Cohen?” Britta sits up, and as she does, the bedroll splits open, giving a view of her fancy underthings to me, Leif, and King Aodren, who’s slowly waking up beside her. The royal bastard. Royal Naked Bastard. The dress that I bought her, tattered and covered in muck, is piled on top of them, along with a man’s tunic and trousers.

I shake my head, confusion rolling into disbelief spinning into anger.

The king sits up without a speck of clothing on and puts his arm in front of Britta as if he’s shielding her from us. From me.

Something snaps.

The dagger’s in my hand and I’m pointing it at the bloody king of Malam. “Get. Out. I’m going to kill you.”