Chapter
19

Aodren

I STEP OUT OF THE TUNNEL INTO THE cathedral’s catacombs, amazed that I made it through the darkness without getting lost, and come eye to eye with a filthy speck of a boy. A startled yell bursts out of me. He lurches forward, hands grabbing at my face. Shock shifts into instinct, and I seize his wrist, yanking him toward my chest. We scuffle over the dusty stone floor. I tighten my hold and twist his arm behind his back.

“Yeoooow!” the little cud screeches.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, pulse galloping in my veins. Lirra told me before no one comes down to the catacombs. Did he follow Lirra? “What do you want?”

“Aodren, let go!”

I blink. The boy’s voice belongs to Lirra.

My hands fly upward, instantly releasing her. She called me by my name. That’s the first time I’ve heard it on her lips. It’s as unexpected as her disguise and . . . nice.

She shuffles back and rubs her wrist, a flesh-melting glare directed at me.

“I didn’t recognize you. Why did you attack me?” I ask.

“I wasn’t trying to attack you, you fool. I was trying to silence you.”

Lirra’s disguise is so well-crafted it would’ve fooled her own family. Extraordinary. She’s a dirt-encrusted chameleon. Not a speck of her smooth, tan skin is distinguishable beneath the muck. Her dust-covered hair is roughly drawn back, held in a band, and braided in the style many sailors and street merchants wear. Each trouser hem is frayed. Rips show her slender, filthy knees, and mud stains a shabby shirt that could fit two people her size. So large, in fact, the excess material drapes her shoulders in the same way my shirt hung on her two nights ago.

No. It cannot be. “Is that my—”

“Shirt? Yes.” She grins. Dirt flakes off her face and dusts her—my—shirt.

“You turned it into a dirty cabin boy’s disguise?”

She frowns. “You think I’m a sailor?”

“A miscreant, then?”

“You’re calling me a criminal?”

“You did steal my shirt.”

She laughs. “I’m a beggar.” To show me her disguise, she plucks the shoulders of the shirt, and holds the fabric away from her body.

I knew this already. Lirra’s outfit impressed me the second I realized who hid beneath the muck. No one will question her presence at the cathedral, where vagabonds often gather for meals and coins the clergy provide.

The stiff decorum required throughout yesterday’s summit meetings that stretched well into the evening still clings to me. But it takes only a moment in Lirra’s company to feel the bindings of constant correctness and royal dignity loosen. Before we get to the business of why she asked me to meet her, I lean closer and, in an uncharacteristically and intentionally riling way, ask, “Perhaps some advice?”

Her brows quirk upward.

“If you want to fool others—” I lower my nose near her dirty neck and sniff. Despite the disguise, her skin holds the scent of the ocean breeze. I step back before I can do something monumentally stupid. “You have to smell the part.”

Lirra’s back snaps straight. “You stole my words. That was my advice to you.”

“I believe, Miss Beggar Barrett, you said ‘act.’ You have to act the part.”

Lirra’s lips fall open.

I swipe a hand over my face to hide my smile. “Feel free to add my tip to your arsenal of impersonations.”

Her head drops back, and a laugh erupts, carefree and unguarded. “You’re horrible,” she says and then pauses to recover from her laughter. “And surprisingly clever.”

“Is it so surprising?”

She assesses me from head to toe. “No. Now, come on. It would be a shame to miss the sunrise.”

“The sunrise?” Does she simply want to spend time with me? The thought pleases me, even though my goals for Malam don’t allow for dalliances. My focus should be on the summit meetings. The tournament melee. The lack of Channeler support for Malam at the upcoming jubilee.

And yet I follow her up the stairs.

Lirra doesn’t stop at the main level of the cathedral. She rushes between the pews to the bell tower stairwell. I should stop her before we reach the top. I should insist she immediately divulge the purpose for this meeting. And I definitely should remember my days allow no time for unnecessary diversions.

And yet I follow her to the bell tower.

There isn’t much walking space around the ropes and beams affixed to the bell. Lirra shimmies against the wall to reach the gaping eastern-facing window. She climbs onto the wide ledge, sits with her legs crossed, and pats the space beside her, as if this time between us is completely natural. As if we are friends. As if I am not a king and she’s not daughter to the Archtraitor of Malam.

And yet I follow her onto the ledge.

My leg presses against hers. I look out. To my disappointment, the view is a gray sky with streaks of dark, brooding clouds. She won’t be able to see the sunrise today. For her sake, I am disappointed that she’ll miss it. But if seeing the sunrise is the only reason she brought me here, then this is a waste of time.

“We should discuss the reason for this meeting,” I say, irked when the delivery has the stiffness of my patrician upbringing.

A finger lifts and presses to her lips.

A glow from the east suddenly paints her face in rose hues. Her finger leaves her mouth and points to the tree-topped horizon. There, the sun crawls over the evergreens’ edge and pushes life into the stubborn clouds in vibrant yellow, coral, and glorious purple.

“It’s always the loveliest before a storm,” she says.

The soft warmth in her words cuts right through my thoughts. She makes me forget my responsibilities.

My gaze dips to her smile. A madman’s desire to wipe her lips clean, to see them full and pink, shudders through me. Gravity pulls me closer, and when she turns, her eyes flare at our proximity. I want to know what her mouth would feel like against mine.

She blinks and returns to staring at the sky.

I clench my fist and tap it against the stone ledge. What am I doing? This curiosity isn’t anything new. A year ago, I thought I felt something for another, but I came to realize it was our time spent together that made me think we were sharing something more than friendship. These last few days I’ve had time alone with Lirra. My spark of interest in her isn’t anything I should heed. If anything, it’s a mark of my inexperience around others. I cannot let myself get caught by Lirra’s free-spirited lure.

“Tell me why you wanted to meet,” I cut to the point.

The carefree expression vanishes from her face. “You were right to worry about Sanguine.”

“You have new information?” This is unexpected. She made no indication that she was going to continue looking into Sanguine. Did she go out of her way to help me?

“I spoke with Astoria yesterday.” Lirra recounts her conversation about a new strain of Sanguine oil that has the kind of draw that keeps taverns afloat with men deep in their cups. She details how those who drink the oil will feel less pain, fewer aches, and at the same time, they’ll have increased strength.

“You’re saying this new oil would make it so people could lift more weight? Or wield a sword with more force?” I ask, though it sounds implausible.

“I think so.”

Astoria is no fan of mine. Is it possible she concocted this story? What would be her motive?

“Increased strength would be a lure to many,” I say, unconvinced, but also unsettled. That kind of promise preys on deep insecurities, especially in a kingdom of people who have been weakened. “If this is true, it might explain how rumors started about Sanguine giving a person Channeler powers. Magical vigor? Sounds similar to lore about Spiriters.”

She leans against the side of the window opening. “That isn’t all. This new Sanguine is dangerous. When taken repetitively, the hazards are rage, confusion, illusions, and even death.”

“Did she have proof? I know you’re saying there are two different oils. But it makes no sense they would have the same name and opposite outcomes. The Sanguine Ku Toa used saved Leif’s life. Even Judge Soma mentioned it at the first summit dinner. He didn’t indicate any dangers.”

Lirra sits up straighter and frowns. “Why would I lie?”

“You are not the one I’m doubting.”

“Astoria might not like you or your kingdom, but she has no cause to lie. Besides, she didn’t know I was going to pass this information on,” she admits with a guilty grimace. “Astoria mentioned the risks, but she wouldn’t say more because she’s too worried about me getting involved. And rightfully so, considering Da’s current status. But I have my own proof,” she says, explaining the rage preceding the fountain fight, a struggle between prisoners in the cells, and the conversation she overheard outside the champions’ tent.

I climb off the ledge, needing to stand to think this through. “Why would someone name the oils the same thing?”

“Astoria said the original oil is sacred to Akaria and valuable. Maybe someone created a second oil to capitalize on the real oil’s value. Do you think the Ku might know something?”

Akaria is the origin of Sanguine. There is reasonable cause to speculate that the Ku would have knowledge of a counterfeit oil. The Akarian leader strikes me as guileless. I doubt she’d mislead me if I talked to her privately.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s possible.”

Lirra puts her feet flat on the window ledge and pulls her knees up to her chest. Her face turns toward the horizon, though she doesn’t appear to focus on anything in particular.

“Someone doesn’t want the new Sanguine trade to stop. That person is hurting Channelers and is the reason my da isn’t home with his family,” she says, and then wipes the morose expression off her face. “Whomever we’re dealing with is powerful and dangerous. Da is out there trying to uncover information about Sanguine. I wonder if he’s come to the same conclusion we have. If he hasn’t, I cannot sit by and let him puzzle this out alone.”

“He did say he wanted you to stay away.” I remind her of Millner’s letter—She cannot stop herself from getting involved.

“When Channelers aren’t at risk and he’s home where he belongs, I’ll sort out his grievances. This choice is mine to make. He needs to see he can trust me. I’m going to figure this out for him.”

Fair enough. I’m glad to have her on my side.

She thrusts her hand out for me to shake. “I propose we work together to figure out who is heading the new Sanguine trade.”

“Work together how?”

“Continue seeking information in your royal circles, and I’ll keep my ear to the underground. In a couple days, let’s meet and exchange notes. You’ll relay everything you’ve heard, and then I’ll do the same.”

“I’ll go first?”

Her raven brows arch up. I suppose it’s fair.

I start to ask where we’ll meet, but she gives me a look that says, Leave it to me.

My hand grasps hers in a firm shake. “Agreed.”

After the summit meetings adjourn in the afternoon, I meet with Ku Toa and her dignitaries. Thus far, Akaria and Malam have had no disputes. Despite my purpose for coming, I hope to maintain that peace, but from the moment I bring up Sanguine, Fa Olema is standoffish.

“It sounds like more rumors,” he says. Unlike his usual placid self, his mouth twitches in distaste.

“I have reason to believe there may be another Sanguine. One that poses a danger,” I say, compelled to defend myself and, at the same time, annoyed that Olema’s small show of judgment has such a strong effect on me. “Those who ruled before me made grievous mistakes. I want to bring change to Malam so my people can thrive. That is why I must know more about this oil.”

Olema edges forward a fraction, his grip on the tall back of the Ku’s chair. I think he might respond, but Ku Toa’s hand peeks from her robe and flattens in a staying action. “Tell us more about what you’ve heard.”

I’ll not break Lirra’s trust, but in order to gain answers, I must give them some details. I explain the men’s rage preceding the fountain fight, and then, without sharing names, explain Astoria’s understanding of the new Sanguine and the perilous effects of its overusage.

“Who you choose to believe has no bearing on actual facts,” says Olema disdainfully.

“Of course.” My jaw clicks. “However, as I said before, my concern is my people. All of them. Which means I need to know what Malam is dealing with, preferably before more people are hurt and blame is cast on Channelers.”

The elder dignitary looks away, seemingly mollified by my answer and yet still displeased.

“The Sanguine in Akaria does not affect the giftless as you’ve indicated,” says Ku Toa.

“But is it possible there is another Sanguine being made in Akaria?” I press. “Or is it possible to duplicate your Sanguine?”

Olema and Ku Toa exchange a look before Olema says, “Anything is possible. Though it’s more likely you are chasing rumors instead of accepting that sometimes discord runs too deep to be settled.”

A frustrated sigh slips out. This oil has turned me into a dog chasing its damned tail.

“You said Sanguine is valuable in Akaria.” I turn to the Ku, thinking about my talk with Lirra and why she thought someone would want to replicate the oil and sell it. “Is it costly because it provides miraculous healing? Or is the value linked to the supply and demand of the oil?”

“You think we would extort money from our people for a healing remedy?” Olema’s judgment tremors through his wrinkles.

“I mean no offense,” I say quickly.

He turns away from me, shifting in his seat, his taut body a clear sign he no longer wishes the conversation to continue.

“Sanguine heals my people. That is why we value it,” Ku Toa answers. “But we must safeguard it as well, because we can produce less than a barrel a year, which yields one hundred bottles.”

When each decision I make can affect an entire kingdom, and misjudgments could have devastating consequences, I’ve learned to be meticulous about inferring more than what’s been said. In this case, three important points register.

First, Sanguine isn’t merely a limited commodity. No, it’s as rare as the jewels affixed to my coronation crown. Just considering the lives that might’ve been saved last year in Malam renders the oil invaluable, let alone how many lives it could save in the world at large.

Second, Ku Toa sacrificed a bottle for Leif, a man she has no responsibility for. Her action proves her character. I will not doubt her again or forget her sacrifice for him.

Third, I’m certain whoever is making and distributing the imposter oil in Shaerdan and Malam knows the real oil’s value and is intentionally using the same name to fool buyers, regardless of the hazards.

Only one thing is certain: the mastermind of the trade must stopped.