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.”

I think Omar’s waiting for the king to pass judgment for aligning with an underground ring of Channelers. I know he expects punishment because, if their roles were reversed, Omar would punish.

Aodren glances up at Katallia, who’s popped her head through the doorway. He nods gravely. “An alliance has been needed for quite some time. Thank you for taking the lead on that, Omar.”

The captain stares at Aodren while the king concludes the meeting. Lirra is the first to exit the room. I assume she’s going to speak with Cohen.

I pretend as though I’m not watching her retreat, wondering what she’ll say to him.

In the morning, we dress and ready ourselves for travel. I could use a few more days of rest, but as Aodren pointed out last night, time is essential. Dagger in my boot and sword at my side, I still feel naked without a bow.

I follow Lirra to the main room, where we wait for the men to finish gearing up.

Seeva, the tall woman with skin the color of rich earth, stands just inside the door. Lirra introduced her last night. She seemed marginally pleasant then. Now she radiates tension that has me taking a step back, bumping into Cohen, who I didn’t realize was behind me. His hands touch my shoulders and then leap off.

I fight to keep my expression neutral. Pretend I’m not saddened.

“You brought them here . . .” The woman’s voice quakes. Her hands flick at her sides, and I swear flames leap between her fingertips. I glance around in confusion. The room fills with the rest of the men and Lirra’s aunt.

The woman growls, “You brought the king’s guard to our doorstep.”

My confusion multiplies as Lirra curses and rushes for the window. She spins around so fast, her dark brown braid smacks her face. “Jamis and half a dozen men have spread out around the cottage. We’re under attack.”

I dart to the opposite side of the window, keeping cover to view the field beyond the cottage. Six guards, bows drawn, stand at the tree line one hundred paces away. Jamis holds position on a small rise of hill to the left of the men, his gaunt equine features ghoulish in the early morning haze. Beyond him, movement breaks the shadows.

“There’s more than six.” I lean against the plaster, dread weighing me down. “They have more men in the woods.”