Zander
“Lady Saoirse.” Theon shakes his head. “Did we not have this conversation yesterday?”
“We did.” And though I denied it at the time, I feared it all the same.
“Seems your brother is that stupid, after all.”
“I wish that were the case, but it is likely the opposite. With Saoirse, he will have Kettling. A lukewarm alliance at best, but it will hold. And with Adley’s son gone, Atticus will ensure he commands that army. Perhaps Abarrane did me no favors by removing his head.”
“That warrior of yours ….” Theon grunts. “Still, I would rather offer my cock to a daaknar than Saoirse.”
“I felt the same when I thought I would be forced to marry her.” And then Romeria came along, and everything changed.
For the worse.
For the better.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as memories of last night consume my thoughts—of her warm body, hard in all the right places, except where she is so soft. It was a special kind of torture, having to leave her in that tent when all I wanted was to lie next to her.
In hindsight, it seems unfathomable that I ever fell for that other version—Princess Romeria—and all her acquiescing and mollifying and batting of eyelashes. This Romeria … so fiery and temperamental, sharp-witted, and yet brimming with a genuine empathy that elven are incapable of. If last night taught me anything, it’s that I will not risk her, not for all the crowns and all the kingdoms. There must be another way.
“And what of Adley?” Theon brings me back to the dour conversation. “Do you have any idea how Atticus will deal with him?”
“I do.” I’ve thought about it plenty, and I know what I would do. “He will neutralize him as best he can and send his men in to infiltrate Kettling, but Adley will see through that and sabotage his efforts. Atticus will grow angry and lose patience, and once his heir is born, he will rid himself of the problem. An accident, or an attack. Perhaps I will be the one accused of his assassination. His hands will remain clean in the view of the court. Whether Saoirse believes it is another story. She is as conniving and distrustful as her father. There are those in the east well-stocked with gold and power by Adley’s hand who will wish to remain so, and that will only happen with Saoirse’s support.”
“So Cirilea and Kettling will remain divided, and war will likely follow.”
“Yes. Though our more pressing issue is not war with the east but the uprising in the west.”
“Yes, something I wanted to discuss.” Theon’s face is bleak. “I received a message late last night. The reports of poisonings are growing in many villages around the mouth of Venhorn. The mortals are being brought to Norcaster, where Isembert is ordering their executions.”
“Already?” The minor lord who governs the gateway town into the mountain range has been known to be harsh, as many who live in the area are, but this is unexpected. “How could Atticus’s edict have reached him so quickly?”
“Isembert is no fool and surely receives word from the south. But he would not wait for permission. He has planted himself as the ruler of Norcaster and all the surrounding villages. We have not helped matters by allowing that arrangement to continue all these years.” He doesn’t have to add that it was at my father’s request that Bellcross leave these villages alone rather than start a civil war that could prove bloody. I remember that well. Father figured that if these Islorians preferred the threat of saplings and the harsh mountain climate over his crown’s rule, he would leave them to it, as long as the trade goods—furs and lumber, mainly—continued flowing south to the markets each year. He claimed these people were too isolated in their valley to cause harm to Islor.
“Did the note say how the poison is moving? If there are Ybarisans there?”
“They did not mention Ybarisans, though they did say Isembert is suspicious of any southern traveler passing through his gates. More than one has gone missing, so I would be careful if I were you, thinking of venturing in there, whether under your banner or not.”
“I appreciate the warning.” The farther north we go, the less my banner will mean to these people, anyway. “If you are hearing this news, I have to assume pigeons have carried similar messages to Cirilea.” To my brother, to Adley, to anyone searching for an opportunity. And Atticus, with his war-centered mind, has never agreed with our father’s stance on leaving the Venhorn villages alone. This gives him his excuse to act, if he feels the need to look for one. “Has my brother sent an army from Lyndel yet?”
“I received word that they’ll be leaving within the day.”
“How many soldiers? I’ll wager it will be substantial to deal with the likes of these people.” The northerners are hardy and strong, elven and mortal alike, and they’re fighters.
“A thousand. They will take the mountain pass rather than go around the range, so you must move fast to avoid crossing their path.” He hesitates. “Forgive me for questioning your plans, but where in those mountains can you go that the armies can’t follow, can’t surround you? How long can you defend yourself in those caves with nineteen legionaries and a single caster?”
I force a smile and hope he can’t read my trepidation when I say, “Do not worry, friend. There is plenty of higher ground to establish a solid defense, and no one knows those caves better than we do.” Save for the saplings.
And, despite my doubts, I haven’t been able to shake Gesine’s claim that answers await us in Stonekeep. But I can never share that with Theon. He would think Mordain and prophecy are guiding me, two things no king in their right mind should ever trust.
“And what of the boy? Were your methods able to deduce anything?”
I knew this would come up. “Whether your blacksmith saw what he saw, I cannot say, but he was not lying about the mortal’s blood being tainted.”
Theon curses. “I sensed there was something deceptive in him. It has become so difficult to read these mortals, though, all of them perpetually full of fear. And to think I nearly made such a foolish mistake. Thank the fates for you, my friend.”
“Thank my mother. She always did say I was gifted with a highly suspicious mind.” A gift for a king faced with too many enemies.
“Still, I do feel empathy for the boy. What was his name … Pan?” Theon shakes his head. “Oswald proved a terrible keeper, and yet it was the mortal who suffered the most.”
I hesitate, but only for a second. The days of trying to run this realm with truths only when they suit me are over. “He has not gone anywhere yet.”
Theon’s mouth falls open. “You’ve kept him alive?”
“He has proven useful, and I think he will prove useful still. He is utterly loyal to Romeria. And smitten, it seems.” The scrawny mortal’s pulse races every time she is near. “The caster has marked him, and I have put the fear of the fates’ judgment into him should he ever allow anyone on his vein. Though in truth, a look from Abarrane is just as effective. His intentions no longer concern me.” I have far bigger things to worry myself with.
“I hope you are right, friend.” But worry etches Theon’s forehead as we round the pond.