The horses know their way. They pull the carriage around the property to where signs of travel fade into another rise of woods full of exposed roots and gnarled trunks. Normally, I would leave the horses and carriage here, but tonight we wind through the woods to the other side.
Here, like a lone hibernating bear nestled in the glade, is the Barrett homestead.
I can only imagine how angry Da would be if he knew his years of carefully maintained secrecy were about to be compromised. For this one reason, I suppose it’s good that he hasn’t come home yet.
I’ll make a tincture, give Aodren more Beannach, and when his energy starts to return, take him back to the cathedral.
He climbs out of the carriage, eyes reddened and sleep hungry, arms tucked around his torso, and legs stiff. He follows me around the side of the house and down to Da’s cellar. Eugenia and the littleuns will be asleep by now. Somewhere in the array of boxes, bins, crates, and containers, I’ll find everything needed to mend him. Da, a collector as much as he is a dealer of secrets, owns buckets of Channeler healing supplies. If only he were an organizer. Nothing has a set place, which hinders my search for Beannach water and herbs. By the time I’ve pulled everything together, Aodren is slumped in Da’s chair.
He needs somewhere to rest while I make the tincture. I cross the room and push some crates off a rarely used mattress. It’s stiff and lumpy, nothing a king would sleep on, but he won’t be here long.
“Come rest here,” I say, a little embarrassed. “It’s not very nice, but it’ll do for now.”
“I couldn’t imagine anything better.” He peers at me from Da’s chair with a gentle, sleep-soggy smile, and suddenly, warmth blossoms in my chest, sweeping away any misgivings. I don’t wonder if he should be here, but rather how I will ever let him go?
Startled by the depth of my feelings, I occupy myself with finding herbs.
Astoria taught me to make a healing aid with a pinch of chiandra, a scrape of wormwood, two springs of elm berry, and a handful of dried clary sage. The mixture steeps in Beannach water, and the outcome is a drink that eases pain and fades bruises. A trip out for wood and kindling takes longer than expected. Aodren is nearly asleep by the time I set the kettle on the fire.
A search around Da’s cellar turns up a blanket. I use it to cover his legs, and then ladle the tincture tea into a mug.
“Aodren? Can you wake? You need to drink this if you don’t want to be sore tomorrow.”
His golden lashes lazily climb upward, and cozy green eyes blink at me. His “thank you, Lirra,” comes out rumbly and warm, like a bite of cobbler right off the fire.
He sits up and blows on the drink. “Do you like working for him?”
“My da?” I shrug.
He drinks and then lowers the cup. “I know few people with your skill set. You’re talented. Your father must be proud.”
“Thank you.” I duck my head. “I . . . I do enjoy the work.”
He finishes the tincture and places the empty mug on the shelf. “But?” he asks, reading the slight hesitation in my words. “If you weren’t working for him, what other things might you be interested in?”
I must be a fool, because my first instinct is to answer his question. I have to stop myself and remember that this isn’t just a regular man. No matter how I like to pretend he’s just another acquaintance of Da’s, I cannot keep pretending he’s not the king of Malam.
I worry my lip, wondering if perhaps I’ve made a mistake bringing him here.
“You’re tired. We should head back to the castle.” My fingers twist in the folds of my dress.
“I’m not tired anymore,” he says. The liar.
But he grins, and it’s disarming.
The next thing I know, we’re leaving the cellar, him at my heels and my head in pieces. He waits outside the shed while I gather the components of my glider. He watches with blatant curiosity as I place each item in the grass.
For the jubilee, I’ve created two smaller gliders and one larger one, which isn’t quite finished yet. I attach the components of the smaller one. Two wings span out from a slim oval disk. Attached below the disk is a basket, one that could be used to deliver items. Or, on a larger scale, it could carry people.
“Watch,” I command, trying not to wonder if he’ll like my gliders or find them childish.
My hands turn outward, facing the wood and fabric contraptions. I draw the night air to me and then take off running, releasing the glider into a gust. My energy encourages the wind to guide the glider higher and higher, searching for a warmer lift of air it can ride without my help. The night has cooled the land around us, but I finally find a balmy breeze for the glider to ride.
I pull back on my Channeler magic, letting the wind work its own magic, and only now and then using a nudge of energy to keep the glider afloat. Once the wings catch the air current, it takes almost no Channeler energy for the glider to stay skyward. After much time has passed, I guide my creation to the ground.
“You amaze me, Lirra,” Aodren whispers, breaking the comfortable silence that has formed around us.
The compliment warms me.
Aodren walks beside me to the shed to put the glider away. “Could a person ride on one of these?”
“That’s my goal.”
“Would the person have to be a Channeler?”
“No,” I tell him. “That’s the beauty of my invention. In history books, I read about other people who wanted to fly like birds. But to make and test an invention that gives a man wings is too dangerous. The learning process could result in death. But because of my gift, I’ve been able to create different models and test them without fear of plummeting to my death.”
He stares at me. “And after they’ve been tested, can anyone use them? Even someone giftless like me?”
I nod.
“You’ve taken your Channeler magic and used it to create something everyone could benefit from. Brilliant.” He breathes out the word.
There it is again, the compliments that come unexpectedly and rattle me.
“Not brilliant, just born with a little extra magic.” I pick up the glider.
“And modest.”
I cannot help but smile. “I’m hoping to share my gliders at the jubilee.”
“You and your aunt will be performing on the same field, but for different kingdoms.”
He means Aunt Katallia, my father’s sister, who remained in Malam during the Purge years because it was too risky to uproot her family. Somehow, she kept her Channeler ability a secret, though she’s a longtime member of the Channelers Guild.
“Yes, except she’ll be part of the jubilee grand finale.” He follows me to the shed and helps me take apart the glider. “I’m going to audition for the smaller show, the showcase. Channelers of every ability level can enter. The grand finale at the end of the week is only for each kingdoms’ most celebrated Channeler.”
“It matters not if you’re in the finale or the showcase. These gliders are brilliant. Anyone who has the privilege of watching you work your magic will be impressed,” he says, and then gives me a sheepish look as we leave the shed.
“Thank you,” I choke out.
He blows a breath into the night. “It’s been difficult to convince Channelers to represent Malam. I overlooked the showcase because no one from Malam will be entering.” The moonlight through the trees casts him in colorless hues.
I can imagine how difficult that would be. “You know, I was leery at first of your intentions. I didn’t think you cared for Channelers beyond what they could do for you. But now I can see you want a better life for them, for everyone. What you’re doing is admirable. You want to show your kingdom that Channelers aren’t to be feared, but accepted. Give it time and others will see your vision.”
I wish Astoria would give Aodren another chance. If she could hear him now and see that he’s nothing like the Malamian leaders before him, surely she’d find no fault.
Aodren follows me back into
the cellar. He sits while I stir up another concoction. The more he drinks tonight, the better he’ll feel tomorrow.
We fall into a comfortable quiet as he sips from a mug.
“Lirra,” he says as my eyelids are starting to droop.
I jerk upright in Da’s desk chair. “Yes?”
“I keep thinking of how your glider could change the world.”
“You and Orli,” I mutter, even though his words thrill me.
“Your gliders can be used to benefit all sides of society. They can be appreciated by giftless or Channelers.”
I nod. “I wanted to make something that could be used without a Channeler having to be drained of energy to keep it afloat. But Channelers are still needed in the process to create them. So it might open opportunities for Channelers to find a way to work in their towns and cities without having to drain themselves of energy constantly.”
“It provides a way for Channelers to live openly with their magic,” he says, and shifts over, making an obvious spot for me next to him on the mattress. I squish closer to him, noting how good he always smells, like soap and man. “Using your magic as a tool to assist the bigger project will show Channelers a new way of approaching their ability. And in turn, maybe you’ll inspire more Channelers to think of ways they can build and create with their magic.”
He’s so animated, his hands lifting to express what he’s talking about. Tea sloshes out of his mug. “That’s an entire economy that could open up. People to assemble the parts, Channelers to test the inventions, traders to sell the final product.”
I’m mesmerized by his spark, his vision of what could be.
“Why don’t you pursue this?” he asks.
I pluck the pilled lint off the blanket on the bed. “I want to,” I admit. “What you said about showing Channelers other ways they can use their magic, that’s what I want to do. I want us to be innovative and not beholden to jobs that just endlessly drain us of our energy.”
His hand drops on top of mine, preventing me from picking at the blanket. “What’s stopping you?”
“My da. Part of me is still waiting for his approval.”
“Is that why you are working so hard on this Sanguine problem? For his approval?”
I shrug. “I care about him. I want to help him. I want him to trust me and recognize what I’m capable of doing on my own. Also, I cannot stand by knowing the oil has the potential to ruin so many lives. I can help, and to me that feels right. What about you? Would you do something else if you could?”
Aodren leans back until he’s lying down on the mattress, his hands under his head and elbows out. “No, I don’t think so. I feel like I’m meant to do this work, and in truth, there are many things I enjoy about being the king. Mostly I want to make a difference. I want to bring change to Malam that will positively affect the people.” A sigh moves like a wave through his chest. “But I’m starting to wonder if that’s possible.”
“Of course it is. One man’s voice can start change.”
“But can it erase the destruction brought on by the former leaders? One voice cannot reach everyone.”
“Maybe you’re thinking about it all wrong. Instead of taking on all the work that needs to be done across Malam, maybe you just have to be the man who shouts at the snowy mountain until an avalanche starts.”
He scrubs his face and laughs a little. “I’m not sure I’m following. Perhaps I’m more tired than I thought.”
“I mean if there’s a loud enough disturbance, it can loosen the snowpack and trigger an avalanche that will slide down the mountain.”
Aodren’s face scrunches. “You want me to wreak havoc and destruction?”
“It’s a metaphor.” I laugh. “If you want to bring about change, all you need to be is a voice. A voice loud enough to start a storm.”
“Start a storm,” he repeats, with a smile, tired, weak, and shadowed by the darkness, that still makes the man look impossibly beautiful.
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.”
Once a King Page 18