Chapter
8

Aodren

IN THE PAST, WHEN TREATIES WERE FORGED between our kingdoms, Judge Soma proved reliable and wise. Tonight, however, he’s proven it’s time to reevaluate my opinion.

His strict edict to imprison those involved, turn them into public examples in order to sway others from similar harmful activity, might make sense for the people who actually were fighting. Extreme, merciless sense. No reason stands for two women, who were bystanders and threw no punches, to be detained. Nothing can be gained, no added measures of security, in jailing innocents. His actions don’t make sense.

She looked nothing like the ballsy girl who broke into my room. Shoulders curled forward, elbows tucked tight to her body, it was as if she wanted to make herself smaller. Admittedly, the sight pricked me with guilt. If I’d allowed her to leave the castle the way she wanted to, she wouldn’t have been caught in the fight at the fountain. For that matter, neither would Leif have been there. It wasn’t until after the March of Champions that I vaguely recalled hearing an order for all people involved in the fight to be detained. Ironically, it was Gorenza who reminded me when he gloated about catching Leif’s attacker.

I knew that challenging Soma more than I already had, in front of the prisoners, would’ve been detrimental. I followed him out to show respect, respect that will hopefully be returned during the summit as Malam seeks favorable alliances.

But my plan from the moment I set eyes on Lirra and Donella was to set them free. This is why, after parting ways with Soma and checking on Leif, I go to meet Judge Auberdeen.

In his study, we talk ruler to ruler.

“They are innocent bystanders. They should not be held,” I say, fighting to keep my voice level. I don’t want him to see how furious I am about Lirra and Donella’s imprisonment.

He resets his spectacles on the bridge of his aquiline nose and looks through them, as if studying me in meticulous measure, like a swordsmith might inspect a newly forged weapon for flaws. “How can I overturn Soma’s decision?”

A ruler’s command, given in a time when all kingdoms have gathered to seek peaceful agreements, outweighs a dignitary’s intolerant decision. He knows this.

When I remind him, he says, “Flexing your leadership may ruffle some feathers.”

“True, but you are a just and fair man, who will do the rightful thing,” I say, and then launch into a discussion pertaining to stewardship over the citizens of our kingdoms. I may not have been a ruler for as long as Chief Judge Auberdeen, but I have spent years studying law books and histories of our kingdoms. Innocent Channeler women and their families have suffered at the hand of my kingdom for far too long. Knowing how they’ve suffered fills me with fury.

I must see justice served.

Our conversation goes on until Auberdeen yawns, removes his spectacles, and rubs his eyes. “It appears you understand the laws as well as I do,” he says, and I detect a hint of respect. “You understand the ramifications of having the prisoners released in your name?”

“I do. Now release them.”

Lirra is sleeping fitfully, tucked next to the slightly older woman. Her breath puffs from the gap of space between her chapped lips. Dirt darkens her high, rounded cheeks. I steal a moment to study the girl. Even in sleep she looks scared. It adds to my guilt for not managing to free them sooner.

The guard unlocks the door and swings it open. The rattling causes others to stir. Lirra’s eyes blink open. At first, she seems stupefied by my appearance. Then a glare darkens her face like a thunderhead moving in front of the moon.

“You,” she croaks, her voice roughened as if she shouted for hours. “You left us.”

“I came back,” I point out.

Her scowl sharpens. I admire her fight.

“Lirra,” the other woman, Donella, whispers a scolding. In the darkness, her widened eyes track over me before she lowers her head.

“You can sit there and be angry, or you can leave with me,” I tell Lirra. “If the latter is your choice, we should go now, before the others wake.”

“What of Donella? I won’t leave her.”

“Of course. She’s coming too.” When she revealed the woman’s condition, I thought it would be enough to stop Soma. Not so. Instead, after we stepped outside of the chamber, Soma indicated Lirra, daughter of the Archtraitor, had inherited her father’s gift for lying. Even if Lirra had lied, hearing that a pregnant woman was in a cell should’ve given him pause. At the very least, he should’ve verified the story.

I help Donella stand, and the woman’s shocked eyes fall on me once more.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and I guide them out.

Lirra sits across from me in my traveling coach, head canted to the side as she openly studies me. After we left the holding chamber, the carriage driver and my guard took us directly to Donella’s family. When Lirra said goodbye, she embraced the woman and her boys like long-lost family.

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Lirra admits now that we’re alone. The wheels sink into a rut, and her body jostles against the seat.

“I gathered as much.”

The frown she unleashes hits me like the crack of a schoolmarm’s switch. “I thought you were going to leave us there to wait for the Guild.”

I would’ve never waited that long. I almost tell her that I didn’t want to make an enemy of Judge Soma before trade negotiations get underway, but in my head, the explanation sounds calculated and harsh. Lirra’s opinion, for some reason, matters.

“Negotiating with Judge Auberdeen is best without an audience,” I say instead.

She watches me. “That’s probably the wisest choice.”

There’s no hint of sarcasm in her comment. I’m not sure why that pleases me.

“You can leave me here,” she says once the carriage nears the crossroad dividing the camps. One way leads to the summer castle, the other to Celize.

“In the middle of the road?” We’re a long walk from Celize, where I assume she lives.

“Really, I don’t need a ride.” She smiles. Had I not witnessed the carefree beam she blasted at Leif yesterday, I might think the expression genuine. Instead I recognize it for what it is: an attempt to disarm me.

Lirra is an attractive girl. Even with filthy clothes, matted hair, a grime-streaked face, and a foul smell from the prison that clogs the air around her. But more than that, she’s clever. I didn’t see it before, but I can now.

“Did you not wish to visit Leif?” I ask, oddly curious about the Archtraitor’s daughter, though I know she must want to go home after spending a night and a day in the cells.

“Oh, Leif.” She sets her hand over her heart and her eyes grow distant. “I . . . I must be more tired than I thought. Time in that cell was . . . well, exhausting. Of course I want to see him. He’s doing well?”

“Better than I thought possible,” I admit.

She agrees to return to the castle, and an unexpected smile lifts my lips, though she doesn’t notice, as she is staring out the carriage window. The moonlight breaks from the clouds and paints the tents we pass bluish-gray. All the kingdom flags are united under the colors of night. If only it were that easy for Malam. Earlier in the evening, when Baltroit took the field, shouts of approval clashed with jeers. We need a victory to convince Malamians to unite, and once they do, maybe their unity will continue when they return to Malam.

For a victory to be possible, we need a competitor. Tournament rules state that competitors fighting in the name of their ruler must be declared by the March of Champions. Leif was named as Malam’s competitor, with the note that he’s been injured. No one else can take his place. Except me, the ruler for whom he was going to fight.

The carriage rolls over the gravel road. The closer we come to the summer castle, the more time I have to consider the hazards of competing in the melee.

Just as sabotage was a risk in the past, it will be the same now if people discover I’m going to fight in my own name. No one can know of this plan until the tournament begins. Not even Segrande and my guards, who would surely stop me from taking such a risk. And it would be best if no competitor know until I walk onto the field. I’ll have to sneak out of the castle and make my way to the competitors’ tent unseen. An impossible task. Unless . . .

Lirra sways with the lulling movement of the carriage. Her stable boy disguise, now grimier from the fight and time in the cells, would fool anyone into thinking she was a young lad. The only thing that gives her away is the matted lock of dark hair hanging in her eyes. What she said the first night is true—she saved my life when she helped during the coup. It was shock at finding her in my rooms that kept me silent. In recent months, her father has become an unlikely confidant. If I can trust him to keep my secrets, I should be able to trust her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Her eyes dip to her tunic. She touches the blackish stain that might be blood. Her nose scrunches, and she abandons the shirt to run a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the dark knots. “King or not, it’s impolite to gape. In case you forgot, I was jailed in a stench hole with a dozen other people for the last twenty-four hours. You wouldn’t look much better.”

She has no compunction about treating me as her equal. So much of dealing with nobility is talking around what you intend to say so as not to cause offense. Lirra doesn’t care.

I’m not sure why that’s so intriguing.

“I would.” I struggle to keep the corners of my mouth from lifting. I raise my hand and circle a finger around my hair, showing how much shorter it is than hers. “I have less to keep clean.” When she stiffens, I know my joke as gone awry. “I meant your hair, not your clothing.”

She turns back to the window.

“I went before Judge Auberdeen tonight to secure your freedom,” I say. “In exchange, I’d like a favor from you.”

Her head whips in my direction. Her eyes, sharper than two daggers, drop down, inspecting me from my boots to my face. She lunges, catching me off-guard, and grasps the opening of my surcoat in one hand. “Are you planning on throwing me in the holding chamber if I refuse?” Contempt salts her words.

“We’ve gotten off to a rough start.” I gently pry her fingers from my coat. It crosses my mind that she might’ve seized my dagger with her other hand. But I don’t look down, and I try not to appear startled. “I want to begin again.”

Wary eyes stare from a dirt-streaked face. “What does that mean?” She settles on the other side of the carriage, and I’m pleased to see she hasn’t divested me of my blade. The wheels roll to a stop, rumbling over the gravel, and moments later, the driver opens the door. I dismiss the man and the guard who is beside him to wait near the castle entrance so Lirra and I can finish our conversation. The men bow and leave.

I give my attention back to Lirra, trying to find the best way to explain what help I need from her and why.

“Now that Leif’s been injured, Malam is down a competitor,” I explain, going for a straightforward approach. “Without two fighters on the field, our kingdom is sure to come in last. A team cannot come back from that deficit. The only man who can fight in his place is me.”

She leans back against the carriage seat. “What does that have to do with me?” Then her sooty lashes lower into midnight slits. “Why exactly did you free me?”

Because it was the right thing to do. Instead, I say, “I need your help.”

Her skeptical expression doesn’t change as she listens to me explain that I want to travel from the castle to the tournament field in disguise. No one can find out, not even my advisers, who would try to stop me before I have a chance to enter. From firsthand experience and knowing her history of working for her da, I know Lirra is the master of disguises. She’s the key to making this plan work.

“You need a disguise?” She stares at me incredulously. “What of the risks? Someone could kill you, and it wouldn’t be considered treason or an act of war. It would be a hazard of the tournament.”

“If no one knows I’ll be fighting, no one will have time to plot my assassination. As for the fight that happens on the field, they won’t be able to take me down.” The second night is less of a concern. Depending on how fast Sanguine works, Leif could recover by then. Since his name was called out at the march, he should be able to return to the field.

Her arms cross. “That confident, are you? Have you been training?”

I cannot help but smile. “Yes.”

She dusts off her pants, fingers skating gently over her exposed, scabbed knees. “You really want to win.” She tilts her head. Her gaze is shrewd. Assessing. “You hope to take the tournament cup?”

She sees too much.

“Doesn’t everyone?” I ask casually, as if I’m not desperate for the win. Her dislike of me was blatant in my room last night. I doubt she’d understand my driving need to give Malam back some of the pride and unity that was lost under my father and the regent.

I push the door open and step out. She hops out of the carriage behind me. A cool ocean breeze cuts through the day’s heat, blowing between us.

“Would you like me to speak to the healer about tending to your wounds?”

I swear her hand flickers toward her left side. She glances at the castle and frowns before turning to face me. “I’m good.”

We’re the only two people in the yard. At this hour, the castle is quieter than a mausoleum. Everyone is sleeping. I look her over, trying to assess if she can truly be trusted.

“Lirra, I also need you to guide me out of the summer castle.”

Her body locks up, chin jerking in my direction. “I haven’t agreed to help you. And yet you assume I’ll get you a costume and escort you out of there.” She hitches a thumb toward the looming castle behind us.

“I need your help. You snuck in yesterday. Is sneaking back out so hard?”

Her head tips back, exposing her dirt-streaked neck as the night sky holds her focus. She mutters something to the stars and then looks at me. “Hard?” she repeats. “You have to know the tunnels. When the guards change station. Where they’re positioned. There is risk involved. Not so much for you, but if I’m caught, Judge Soma won’t hesitate to throw me back into that hellbox. You may be king of Malam, but you cannot grant me permission to enter tunnels that are secret.”

“All right, there are risks. But . . . this plan of mine isn’t possible without your help,” I admit.

“Don’t tell me that. Don’t put this all on me.” Lirra lets out a growl of frustration, but when she talks, her voice is softer than before. “The thing is, I have plans to enter the jubilee. And I’ve spent so long working on my—” She worries her dirty tunic with her dirtier hands and glances at the castle. “What you’re asking of me is presumptuous. I know you freed me tonight, but Soma won’t let you overrule him again if he catches me. And I’m not going to do anything that will get me sent back to that cell. Tell Leif I’m relieved he’ll be okay.”

She walks away. Lirra might as well have punched me in the face, for how her refusal flattens me. There is no one else with her know-how and access to disguises. No one who has the information about the guards’ schedules and the secret tunnels. What will I do without her?

I need her help. There is too much risk involved if others find out I plan to fight in the tournament. My trip to the field must be made in secret.

What if I offer her information? She wanted Millner’s letter. Using her father to force her hand coats my insides with brackish unease. I’m not the manipulative tyrant the regent before me was. But then, is it manipulative to propose a trade? She was furious when I didn’t turn over the correspondence. I could offer the information in a simple exchange, Millner’s command to keep Lirra out of it be damned.

She is nearly to the edge of the courtyard. I run to catch her, footsteps crunching the gravel. She glances over her shoulder. A grimace flashes on her face, and her left hand slides up to press on her ribs.

“Are you injured?”

Her nostrils flare. “I’m fine. But I meant what I said. You cannot change my mind.”

“I thought you might be interested in a trade.”

“I’m not. There’s nothing you can offer me to convince me to take that risk. Good night, Your Highness.”

She keeps walking. I doubt I’ve ever met anyone as tenacious and headstrong as Lirra.

“Lirra, do you want to know what your father wrote?”

She stops and swivels to face me, expelling a harsh breath like steam from a kettle. The threads constraining her annoyance are thin as commoner’s cloth. Something inside me comes alive at the spark in her eyes. This conversation should fill me with worry over my outlandish plan, but instead this feels . . . fun.

“Apparently,” she snaps, “I was wrong.”