Chapter
23

Aodren

FAINT LIGHT SNEAKS IN THROUGH THE cellar’s vents, illuminating Lirra’s dark hair. She is molded to the side of my body, and her head rests on my arm. I drink in the curves of her rested face and her full lips, and sharp longing pulls me forward. But then, with a jolt, I realize I’ve been asleep the whole night.

At the castle, someone could enter my chambers and discover my untouched bed. Didn’t she say it takes only one voice to spark a storm? Talk will lead to questions, which will lead to Lirra . . . to whatever we’re doing together. I can’t expose her to that, even if my own reputation was sterling enough to take the vicious gossip that would follow.

I force myself off the mattress. Lirra mumbles, curling toward the empty spot, and I want nothing more than to return. Because she’s warm and comfortable and serene.

I have to leave.

Quiet, to allow her rest, I pad out the door. Stairs lead up from the cellar to the grassy clearing around her quaint home. Beyond that, forest surrounds the property. Grayish light rolls through the trees on the morning fog. I’m relieved because it means the hour is early yet. My return to the castle could still go unnoticed. The question is, where do I go from here?

I edge away from the steps to figure out where to go, and two boys land in my path. I stumble back, barely managing to catch myself from tumbling into the cellar. They literally dropped from above. I glance up to the gables over two windows. They couldn’t have jumped from there. Could they? The boys, identical copies of each other—same sable curly hair, rounded cheeks, muddy boots peeking beneath baggy trousers—are wearing capes tied around their necks.

“Are those bed linens?” I squint against the faded morning dawn and lean to the side to get a better view.

One boy picks up a rock and waves it at me. “We’re asking the questions, stodger, not you. Who are ya? And what’re you doing in there?”

Stodger?

He actually throws the rock, something I’m not expecting. I lunge to the left, dodging the blow. My shoulder and back strain from the flash movement, and pain lances through my muscles.

“I mean no harm.” I clutch my bad arm and let out a low groan. “I’m a friend of Lirra’s.”

The little scrapper grabs another rock. “Yer a bloody Malamian.” His hand moves up, ready to throw. At this rate, these two boys are going to undo all Lirra’s healer work.

“Loren!” A slice of her voice comes from behind me, sleep-roughened, starchy, and stern. “You drop that rock right now.”

“This stodger your friend, Lir?” the second boy asks.

“He is, so don’t scare him off with rocks.” She snaps her fingers at the one she called Loren. “Put the stick down!”

“You’re saying he’s stodgy?” He cackles and drops a small branch that could’ve done me major damage. When did he pick that up?

Lirra steps to my right side and sighs in exasperation, but the effect is garbled by what sounds like a chuckle. I glance at her and see she’s holding a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. But still, I worry how her stepmother will react if she discovers I’m here.

“I’m a friend,” I tell Loren, hoping it’s enough of an explanation.

“That so? What’s your name, then?”

“Aodren,” I say at the same time Lirra says, “He doesn’t have one.”

Loren’s eyes turn into slits, an expression his brother shares. “Smells like fish guts to me. Lirra don’t have male friends. What’s your real name?”

A rush of pleasure at the fact these boys have confirmed Lirra is not involved with another, and they have no idea who I am is the last thing I should be feeling right now. Still, it’s nice to lose the weight of the crown, if only for a moment. “Aodren is my birth name.”

“Just like the bloody king o’ Malam?”

“Loren,” Lirra scolds. “You do not talk like that.”

“I’ve heard you say it loads of times,” he shoots back, and then turns to his brother. “Hasn’t she, Kiefer?”

The less talkative one nods. Lirra’s cheeks bloom red like two poppies in June.

Tamping down my amusement, I tell Loren and Kiefer, “You’re right. People call me Aodren just like the bloody king o’ Malam.”

Both boys snort and hoot. A little laugh bubbles out of Lirra. She good-naturedly wraps an arm around their shoulders and proudly introduces them as her brothers. She pinches one and chides the other, love warming her tone. Then she sends them away. Anyone can see Lirra cares deeply for her twin brothers, and they feel the same. What would it be like to have a family like Lirra’s? To be loved, in spite of your title? What a stark contrast Lirra’s life is to the sterile, loveless environment of my youth, shuffled between tutors, the regent who tried to kill me, and my former captain.

“I should leave,” I tell Lirra. The fog has slunk to the west and through the surrounding trees, more light breaks past the branches. If I wasn’t late before, I certainly will be now.

Before Lirra leaves me at the cathedral, she reminds me of her plans to talk with one of her father’s informants. I know she’s as eager as I am to find the supplier and stop the trade. We agree to meet tomorrow before the joust by the champions’ tent.

Parting from Lirra at the cathedral, I rush through the underground passages and into the keep’s lower halls. Clanks, creaks, and chatter echo from the waking castle. I have almost reached Malam’s corridor when steps scuff behind me. I spin around, feeling a sick sensation like my stomach is wedged under my breastbone, and find Segrande.

“It’s you.” My breath slides out.

A frown cuts into the forest of his beard. “Just the man I’ve been looking for. Late night?”

“You could say that.”

“I didn’t take you for a tavern-goer like my son.” I hear the fatherly reproach in his words, and it amuses me.

“Good, because last night I wasn’t in my cups.”

“No? Where have you been?” He lowers his voice on the last part and follows me to my chambers. “I came to your room earlier, and it was clear no one had slept in your bed. Also, you look . . .” He scratches his facial hair as if seeking the right word. “You look rumpled.”

We step into the privacy of my room. “I went to Lirra Barrett’s home,” I admit. “I ended up sleeping the night there.”

Segrande drops into a chair, like a boulder plunks off a mountain, and taps his fingers to his lips. Usually he’s boisterous and loud. This quieter version is disconcerting.

“Segrande?”

“You have disappointed me, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“To carouse with a young lady who is not your wife, or intended, or even one of your countrywomen. It is unseemly. May I remind you that you are the king? There is no higher power in the land. If you treat your position with negligence and laxity, you set a precedent.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Lord Segrande, what exactly do you think I’ve been doing?”

“The specifics of what you do with her or any other woman are none of my concern, but I think you should practice discretion while we’re here at the summit.”

“Segrande.” I say his name like the crack of a whip. Anger brims under my skin. “I did not go to her home, woo her into ruin, and then drunkenly wander back to the castle after a night of bedding. I was injured last night and exhausted. She saw that I was in need of healing remedies and drove me to her home. Considering what happened the last time she was here, I’m sure you can understand her aversion to the summer castle. She repaired me as best she could. We talked about her Channeler gift and her plans for the jubilee. And then we fell asleep. Is that specific enough for you?”

He stands and folds his arms over his belly. His mouth guppies open and then closed. He unfolds his arms and sits on the edge of the chair. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I—I misunderstood.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Perhaps you could be more discreet when you visit Miss Barrett,” he suggests gently.

I narrow my eyes on him.

“I accept what you’re telling me. I meant what I said before—our lives tend toward seclusion. That is a heavy rock to bear. So knowing you’ve found a . . . friendship in the Archtraitor’s daughter pleases me. But not everyone will be as understanding.”

“Explain,” I say, disliking the turn in the conversation.

“Many in Malam still see her father as the enemy. And if they don’t, they expect their king to find companionship in Malam’s noble circles. Perhaps that is something you should consider.”

I cross the room and sit down in the chair opposite him, dropping my elbows on my knees. My head is too full of implications to voice a response. He’s given me something to think about, whether I like it or not.

“You said Lirra’s a Channeler?” Segrande asks a beat later, tone completely different from before. “Wanting to enter the jubilee?”

I nod, uncertain where this is going and why the sudden mood change.

He steeples his fingers and taps them to his chin. “We may be in need of her services.”

“How so?”

“Late last night, Judge Soma came to me. He said King Gorenza uncovered a rule in the tome for the Channeler Jubilee. It says members of the Guild cannot represent individual kingdoms.”

“Are those rules still current?” I’m gripping the arm of the chair so tightly, holding in my anger, that the wood edges bruise my palm.

“Yes.” He pushes out of the chair and crosses to the window, blocking the light. “We could petition for them to be changed; however, even if the leaders agree to amend the original rules, any changes wouldn’t go into effect until the next summit.”

Damn Gorenza. Before coming to Shaerdan, Segrande, Leif, and I focused on the tournament and the summit meetings because Katallia’s performance at the jubilee was a sure thing. I knew it would be spectacular and awe-inspiring in all the ways Malam needs, because Katallia is a gifted, powerful wind Channeler.

The Channeler Jubilee is scheduled later in the summit because it’s the culminating event. It’s bigger than the tournament. Though it isn’t a competition, there is still talk of which kingdom’s Channeler had the best performance, had the most skill, was the most powerful. If Malam is the only kingdom without a Channeler representative, the absence will send a damaging message to the other kingdoms as well as to the citizens of Malam.

It will confirm the prejudices that have plagued my people and define us in a terrible light.

It will appear that Malam hasn’t progressed past the Purge.

Would Lirra consider representing Malam?

In the last few days, I’ve asked her to do a great deal. It would bother me to ask this as well. And yet, if she were truly a viable option, I would do it. I’d do anything to break my kingdom from the manacles of the past.

“Channelers representing each kingdom are supposed to be from that kingdom,” I tell Segrande.

“Well, Lirra is, isn’t she?”

I drop my head into my hands. “Originally, yes, but her father took her from the kingdom when she was a babe.”

A torrent of stories about Lirra’s father and Malam’s past return in force. My father suffered an untimely death. His passing stirred people’s suspicions. Convinced Shaerdan’s Channelers were the cause, my father’s advisers closed the border and drafted the Purge Proclamation. Millner Barrett was the only member of the inner court who disagreed. He spoke out against those who hunted Channelers. When guards went after Millner, Lirra’s mother, a Channeler, was tortured and killed, and their home was set on fire. But Millner’s escape and evasion of capture became legendary. He became the Archtraitor of Malam.

And Lirra? She was a girl whose mother, home, and land were ripped violently from her life.

I cannot imagine she would ever want to claim Malam again as her home. The thought is chilling, both for my hopes for the jubilee and my growing interest in Lirra.

“Find someone else,” I tell Segrande.

“We will be hard pressed at this point to convince a Channeler to stand up for Malam. Most are still leery to admit they are one. They don’t want their neighbors to know.”

I shake my head. “It cannot be her.”

After a morning meal, I cross Leif’s path in the main hall.

“You’re looking well,” I say, noting a sheen of sweat coating skin that looks healthier than it did when I saw him last. The real Sanguine truly does work wonders. Last night he was hunched over in exhaustion and pain. Now he stands upright, full of energy. “Have you been out for a stroll?”

“Nah. I’ve been sparring.”

“You convinced Baltroit to work out with you here?” I fall into step with him, crossing between the pillars to the stairs.

“I walked to the tournament field.”

His admission surprises me. He was stabbed a week ago. Last night he could barely walk from the tavern tent to the carriage. Today he’s walking to and from the tournament field?

“The Channeler oil makes me feel like a new man,” he says, reading my expression. He rolls his head side to side and then moves his shoulders forward and back as if to demonstrate his returned limberness. “I’m sick of being cooped up in that drafty room.”

I chuckle. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Whenever you’re ready, I’d be happy to return to training you.”

“You up to that?” He tips his head toward my injured shoulder. “You took a nasty hit last night.”

“It is a bit sore,” I admit. We climb the stairs, and at the top I glance around to make sure we’re alone. “Lirra prepared a tincture, which has taken most of my aches away.”

His smile fades at the mention of her. “She’s a girl of many talents,” he says, looking at me with a watchful eye.

“That she is.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time around her,” he says, and to my confusion, it sounds like there’s a spark of irritation in his comment. Leif is definitely not acting like himself, which makes me think he shouldn’t be sparring yet.

“You don’t seem thrilled about that.” I pause at the top of the stairs.

He tugs at his beard. “She’s my cousin. I want to make sure she’s being treated right.”

I stare at Leif, wondering if he understands the cut in his words. Behind us, one of the guards approaches. I gesture for the man to stay back. I face Leif.

“I wouldn’t treat her with anything but respect,” I tell him, my tone a stern warning.

Leif’s gaze widens, almost like he’s coming to himself from a dream. “Of course, Your Highness. I meant nothing of it.”

Even so, his comments have sawed jagged edges into the memory of last night’s kiss.

“If you’ll excuse me, Leif.” I step back, needing space to gather my thoughts, and inform him that I’ll see him at the summit meeting in an hour.

Around the mahogany table, we discuss tariffs, stolen goods, and security measures for trade routes. Because ore and other metals are plentiful in Malam, we’re finally able to lock down a trade deal with all kingdoms except for Kolontia. I wonder if anything fruitful will come from conversations with King Gorenza, who attempts multiple times to goad me about the jubilee. In a moment that perhaps isn’t my finest, I mention the melee flag hanging in Malam’s corridor. After that, Gorenza keeps his growls to himself.

The guard posted outside Malam’s corridor stops Leif, who then catches up to me and conveys the message. “The Channelers Guild has arrived. They’re waiting in your chambers with news from Malam.”

Two members of the Guild sit beside the unused fireplace in my chambers. Seeva Soliel, the woman who is also a member of my inner advisory circle, and Katallia Barrett, Lirra’s aunt.

“Is there any way around Gorenza’s claim?” I walk to the fireplace to face them, hoping they have answers for who might represent Malam at the jubilee.

Seeva shakes her head. “Unfortunately, the rules haven’t been officially changed since then. To maintain order, we have to abide by them.”

“You will have to find another Channeler.” Katallia leans back in the chair. How can she look relaxed right now?

“Easier said than done.”

Lirra resembles her aunt. They both have similar features, big blue eyes, wide cheekbones, and a kind smile. But unlike Lirra’s raven hair, Katallia has wild auburn curls that refuse to be tamed by her braid. Seeva Soliel has hair the same color as Lirra’s, but the texture is curlier and thicker, worn closer to her head.

“I’m afraid we’ve only brought more bad news,” Katallia says.

“We’ve received correspondence from our sisters in the south of Malam.” Seeva stands. She’s a tall, graceful woman, whose height is complemented by long, emerald robes that drape from her shoulders. She pulls a piece of parchment from her pocket and passes it to me. “One of ours was attacked by a man. He trespassed on her land and went after her with a blade. To defend herself, she used her ability to heat him.”

“Pardon?” While I’ve come to learn more about Channeler magic, there is still much I don’t know. Heat him?

Katallia explains that rare, gifted fire Channelers can heat someone’s internal body temperature.

“Were there any fatalities?” I think of the impact this sort of altercation can make on the local townspeople, and how quickly one rumor can spread fear.

Seeva’s nod is solemn. “The man.”

“She killed him?” The question comes out, astonishment more than anything freeing my words. It’s rare that Channelers ever cause harm, let alone end another’s life.

Seeva perches at the edge of her chair. Her eyes narrow to slits. “She did not kill him. He killed himself.” Her words come out clipped with contempt.

Katallia’s hands flap at Seeva, gesturing for her to relax. “From what we understand, the man was acting erratically and violently. The Channeler subdued him, and he retreated. He started destroying her property, tearing out her fence with his bare hands, and then, suddenly, he just dropped dead.”

I rub my temples and drop down onto the cool, unyielding hearth. Could it be caused by the fake Sanguine?

“The problem now is townsfolk believe our Channeler sister caused his death.” Seeva smooths the green material out over her lap before folding her hands and looking directly at me. “They want answers.”

Of course they do. When tragedy occurs, and death is the toll, people are more willing to believe an explanation that confirms their prejudices than the truth. News of this man’s death couldn’t come at a worse time. The division in Malam is growing wider.

Seeva rises. “Our sister Channelers who have tried to reclaim their former lives in Malam have not been welcomed. This rough transition has made other Channelers leery to return. The Guild has discussed this matter, and we have decided we can no longer support the movement of Channelers back into Malam.”

I gape at the women. The transition has certainly been rocky; however, Malam needs the returning Channelers as much as those women who were chased away during the Purge deserve to reclaim all that they lost.

“What of their homes? The land they left twenty years ago?”

Seeva flicks her green robes behind her and comes to stand beside the chair. “We cannot continue to encourage them to return to a land where their lives will be at risk solely because they possess Channeler abilities. They do not exist to help you redeem Malam’s reputation, King Aodren. It is better to have lands lost than lives.”

“A month ago, you were willing to support my effort to bring Channelers back into Malam.”

“A month ago, Katallia was representing Malam in the jubilee and Leif stood as the Channelers’ champion. His role in Malam has encouraged others to openly accept our sisters and welcome them back. But he did not take the field, and rumors have circulated that a Channeler is to blame.”

I want to growl my frustration. Why is the truth so difficult for people to accept? “Will you consider waiting? I’m . . . there is much we’re doing at the summit and tournament that will help change the tide.”

Katallia and Seeva exchange grim expressions.

“We see your effort. You’ve done well in the tournament, but you have no Channeler for the jubilee. When people hear of the discord in Malam, they will not believe your land is a safe place for them.” Seeva walks to Katallia’s side. “We will wait until the end of the All Kingdoms’ Summit, but even then, having no Channeler in the jubilee will send a message louder than our pull of support.”

The weight of her words hits me like a boulder. Who will stand up for Malam at the jubilee? Nothing could be bleaker than the lack of possibilities. But I cannot give up. I rise, standing to face the Channelers. “I’ll find someone.”