Ninthborn (The Ninthborn Chronicle Book 1)

by J. E. Holmes

  “Good morning, Princess,” he said with a sly grin. “Doing well?”

  She couldn’t keep from smiling. She found herself smiling all the time the last few days, even when people ignored her or pretended she wasn’t there. The anger from her second encounter with her father had worn off; her infant hatred for Remer also dissipated, especially since Ediline could find out nothing about the girl. That all faded, and it was because of Javras.

  This was happiness; this was feeling like she belonged. It didn’t have anything to do with a place or a family. It was being able to be with people who wanted her company.

  “Things have been better, recently,” she said. “Thank you for reaching out to me.”

  “It’s too late, I’m afraid,” he said, taking a sip. “Here I was intending to help you escape a potential forced betrothal to this young man, and my work has been entirely for naught. It’s a pity. I hate working so hard.”

  She sat forward. “What do you mean?”

  “Work is tiring, and I don’t like its effects on my skin—”

  “Not that! About your work being for naught?”

  He grinned. “You couldn’t possibly think no one would gossip about you. Public displays of affection and all.”

  She shrank back. Yes, she could. Gossip about Ediline the ninthborn rarely had anything to do with the truth. It usually treated her poorly. She actually hadn’t thought that news would spread far about her courting Javras—if that was what she was doing.

  “Do they still want me to marry him?”

  “You mean your siblings? Likely, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

  She sighed, a little relieved. Maybe they would settle for enough of a relationship to help foster friendship and trust between Ronrónfa and Tithelk. Trust which her father would inevitably destroy. It made her sick. “I have another quick question,” she said.

  “Will this one cost you?”

  “I bought you coffee and bread.”

  “I’ve had worse payments. What is the question? Perhaps I’ll answer it.”

  “I bumped into a supposed advisor of my father’s, a man named Venet Hanar. Do you know who he is? He has a daughter Remer, a vicious little witch.”

  “What’s the matter, Princess? Is she prettier than you?”

  She made a show of slapping her hands to the table. “You think I would be so vain?”

  “No, not at all,” Geltir said with a sly smile.

  Remer was pretty, in an ethereal way, with that paper-white skin. Ediline had only ever thought of herself as attractive in a vain sort of wishful way, insecurity stoked by loneliness. It was only very recently that she could look in a polished mirror and think that maybe, in fact, she could be beautiful.

  “I just would like to know who they are, that’s all,” she said. “I’d never heard of them.”

  “Neither have I,” Geltir said. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. But I can look into finding out for you.”

  She cursed in her head. Venet being her father’s advisor was almost definitely a lie. Isbeil said they hadn’t been in Sladt long. Who was he, then?

  “It’s supposed to be tomorrow, isn’t it?” he said.

  She paused. “Yes.”

  “Tensions are high all over, especially around that home of yours. Like all of Korv is holding its breath. Will you be there, when he comes?”

  That was a question that had been tumbling in her head for a while. When Ashwin arrived, would she stand by her family, or would she stand by Javras? She hadn’t yet come to a conclusion. “With Javras, or with my family, I think it’s likely.”

  “Lords protect you, then, my sweet, sassy princess.”

  “I’m sassy now?”

  “Have you ever not been?”

  “Fine—I’m sweet now?”

  He chuckled. “You’re nearly the only titled person in all of Tithelk who is tolerable, let alone delightful company. And speaking of delightful company . . . I get the sense that you are about to abandon your old friend Geltir.”

  The lighthearted banter did a bit to loosen that tightness in her chest. She looked up at Geltir, overly sheepish, and made a show of pouting. “I wouldn’t mean to wound our friendship, of course.”

  He smirked. “Will you not stay until I finish my coffee? I’ll get us some more food.”

  She was walking up the ramp alongside the embankment, from the cafe, when she saw him ahead, leaning on the rail, arms crossed. His gray hair looked nearly white in the sunlight, the way it had when he was a kid. He seemed smaller beneath the halo.

  “Ancil,” she said.

  He glanced sideways her direction. This was no place for Ancil to loiter. He had known where she would be, and he had been waiting for her.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Ancil said.

  She felt a jolt go through her. It was the anxiousness of being at the edge of knowing. If Ancil’s conscience got the better of him, he could tell Ediline everything. He obviously knew what was going on. Aside from putting her in a position to attract Javras Teshtéshev, the only reason she could think of for Ancil to pretend to be ninth was to remove him from public observation. He was back there with her father, orchestrating whatever it was they were doing. She just knew it.

  “Then why are you here?” she said.

  Silence. Fine.

  “Is Straad still protesting?”

  “Edi, don’t ask me about that sort of thing.”

  “Who is Venet Hanar, and how long has he been Father’s advisor?”

  “Edi,” he said. “I can’t answer your questions.”

  “If not that, then why are you here, really?”

  “You’re my twin.”

  “What in the desolation does that mean?” she said.

  He didn’t respond. He looked almost pained.

  “If we’re really one person split into two,” she grumbled, “you got all the desirable qualities.”

  “Are you saying Javras would rather kiss me goodnight?”

  “I haven’t asked him.” She would have made even more of a joke of it, but the comment struck her. Part of her always worried that Javras was only interested in her for her birthright, for her political position. But he never brought up politics, and he hardly brought up her being the eighthborn anymore, either. If he was interested in her for either of those reasons, he was talented at subterfuge.

  “I came to talk to you,” he said. He paused for several moments. Ediline listened to the roar of the river gushing south. “You’re doing a good job.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” she snipped. “Nothing I’ve done has been for you.”

  “I understand.”

  “Ancil,” she said, and she met him by the rail. “It hasn’t been for you, or for Father, or for Mother, or anyone else besides me.”

  “So you actually like him?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a Ruiner.”

  “Please, Ancil, don’t be ridiculous.”

  He jerked back. “What are you talking about, ‘ridiculous’? It doesn’t make you furious?”

  “Not in the least,” she said. It had unsettled her at first, but only at first. Sometimes it was hard for her to remember she had only known him fifteen days. Almost every one had been so filled by time spent with him. “You think I would judge someone for something as simple as that? Ruinism and Truism stem from the same beliefs, the same text. I’m sure—”

  “You’re being stupid.”

  She slapped him before she could think about it.

  He stood perfectly frozen, his head turned to the side by the force of her hand. She felt cold guilt in her stomach and almost apologized. It was the submissive part of her that her family had done their best to cultivate. But growing submissiveness in Ediline was like trying to drink from a dusty stream—sure, sometimes you might ease your thirst, but mostly you would just swallow sand.

  “Do not talk to me like they do, like Deffren would,” she said with a clenched jaw.
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  He turned his head slowly back her way and stretched his neck. He didn’t rub his cheek or react to the blow, but she hoped it hurt. “Edi,” he said, his voice rich with condescension, “he believes your gods were cruel and evil.”

  “They’re your gods, too.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “I just don’t care. It’s just belief. If he does his best to be a good person, and I do my best to be a good person, what does it matter what we say when we make our prayers? What does it matter which symbol we decide means something to us?” She leaned away from her brother. “I’m stupid? Lords, Ancil.”

  Ancil just chuckled and rubbed at his reddening cheek.

  “Why are you here?” she said.

  “Ashwin will be in Korv tomorrow.”

  Her stomach knotted. “I know that. What will happen?”

  “I can’t see into the future. I’m not one of the Lords.”

  “What do you hope will happen?” she said.

  He rolled his shoulders and turned so she couldn’t see his face. “If things go badly, you know which way to go,” he said.

  “Please don’t tell me you came all the way down here to say something like that. You want to frighten me with cryptic advice?”

  He whirled on her, and she thought he might hit her. It had never happened before. Of her family, only Ancil and her father had never hit her. Odd, that juxtaposition. He reached out with his thin, graceful arms, and grabbed her by the shoulders. He leaned in close to her, his mouth close to her ear. “Ediline, I can’t tell you exactly what to do,” he whispered. “People may be listening. Think about who you trust, and who you want to survive. You will have to figure the rest out for yourself. Ashwin carries a weapon that can kill untold thousands.”

  He released her then and started to walk away.

  “Unless I’ve misheard my gossip,” he called over his shoulder, “you have a date at jungle’s edge. You should get going.”

  “Ancil, tell me—”

  “Get going, Edi.”

  “Lords drown you in the river!”

  “Don’t forget, Edi. Don’t be late, and don’t forget.”

  She ground her teeth, clenched her fist, and punched the soft side of the hill. Figure it out for herself? How, when cryptic warnings were her only clues? As much as she was furious with him, she was also suddenly terrified by what this visit might have meant, if Ashwin was arriving tomorrow. Unless everything went right, they might all be dead.

  — Chapter 12 —

  “Lord Phae ruled from Van to Montess. Unlike other Lords, she possessed no palace, no throne; she was gracious to her people and used her gifts of godhood to travel twice per cycle of seasons back and forth across her territory; she met with her people and gave what she had to give, and it was the greatest honor to host her.”

  —The Words of the Lords, ed. ii–ix,

  the passage removed from later editions

  Just past the southeast edge of Korv stood a tree that bent at the base of the trunk so that it ran parallel to the earth. Then, after a good length, it bent again and grew straight upward. It was a tangletree, rare in Ediline’s part of the world, and it bent itself around and under other trees in a competition for sunlight. Forests of them were labyrinths of knotted trunks and branches forming impassible walls. This one was alone, by the peculiar chance of nature, and also made a perfect bench.

  Javras was seated on it already when Ediline arrived. She grabbed the trunk and swung herself up and onto it. Javras was just to her side. His sword hung at his waist. She hadn’t seen it since the time she’d snuck into his room.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Busy morning?” he asked.

  “I hope you didn’t wait long.”

  “Not any amount of time that wasn’t worth it.”

  She tried to hide her smile. Yes, this was what she’d been missing all morning. How could she throw it into the fire to see if it burned? How could she tell Javras how worthless she was in the eyes of everyone else and ask him not to feel the same way?

  “You brought your sword.”

  “I thought you might like a second try with it.”

  “You brought it because we’re outside the city,” she taunted. “You’re embarrassed, because you’re offering to share with me a personal item of yours, and you know the symbolism inherent in that.”

  “That isn’t quite it,” he said. “I am not embarrassed, and . . . well, I do want to share it with you, but only because you expressed interest.”

  She eyed it. Just the hilt peeked up around his hip. Seeing it, the creases in the leather, she could almost feel it in her hand, against her bare palm. It made her heart pound and her chest feel light.

  “I am interested in it,” she said, “and I appreciate the gesture, and I accept. I would love to try again.”

  “Where are you taking me this time?”

  “We’re already here.”

  “A tree?”

  “It’s a tangletree, thank you, and I think it’s a lovely place to be.” The seat of the tree overlooked the jungle to the southeast, which stretched away downhill. The Rodiv coursed away from Tithelk almost as far as Saiyoe before twisting toward the sea.

  “I agree,” he said. He set his hand over hers and held it.

  It was all a lie. She was a liar. How could she allow him to continue to think such nice things about being with her, to think that he ought to be with her, when in reality . . . ? But what was the reality? If she were going to tell him the truth—now, before his father came, before someone else told him—she needed to believe he wouldn’t hate her.

  She’d lied. Javras seemed honest with her. If he was hiding something about himself, he might appreciate her honesty and feel a little relief. Or, if he had nothing to hide, he might appreciate her honesty as opposed to continued lies. However, he might be so furious that she lied in the first place that he would never speak to her again.

  And then she would be turned inside-out by Wulfgar, or beaten to unconsciousness and drowned in the river by Deffren. Moving on.

  She didn’t know the doctrine for Ruiners, but from what she’d gathered, their thoughts were close to the same as those of Truists, regarding superstitions around the number nine. Yes, he might think less of her. But would less be all that bad, if it was the truth? And then there was the matter of her bending to her family’s orders, and her generally low standing in their estimations. What would she say if—?

  Blast all this to the desolation, and damn it, too. This was getting her nowhere.

  “Javras, I need to tell you something,” she choked out, nervousness threatening to strangle her from the inside. “Something that I’ve been holding inside. Can I speak, and ask you to let me finish before you respond?”

  He paused and swallowed, carefully considering her with his dark blue eyes. His hand still rested atop hers. “Yes, Ediline,” he said. He didn’t call her Princess, and it made her smile.

  All right, here was the opportunity. No shriveling now. “I . . . .”

  She had to turn and look out over the river before she could find her tongue. Was this really the right thing to do? If she guessed wrong, then she would ruin things for her family, she would squander all the good will she had nurtured between herself and Javras that might go toward forming a pact between Tithelk and Ronrónfa. Why were the stakes so high, when she just wanted to tell a young man the truth?

  She just had to start, to form the first word, and she knew the truth would pour out of her, crashing through the dam of her lies. Just a crack, just a word.

  “Before,” she said, then stopped. Keep going. “Before you and I were introduced, my sister lied to you.”

  She paused but couldn’t look to gauge his reaction. She paused, as if he would say something, but of course he wouldn’t. She’d asked him to remain silent until she finished, and he was as gracious and accommodating as always.

  “Ancil is my twin brother,” she said. “We were born on the s
ame day, in the same hour, but he was born eight minutes before I was.” Nervous energy like fire and ice snapping together ripped through her. She had to force herself to breathe, and she had to fight not to cringe and run.

  Now it gushed out. “I didn’t know what was happening,” she said, “and it wasn’t my idea. The first I’d heard of it was right there, right from your mouth. Betrys told you I was eighth to get you to like me better, because . . . because I’m just the ninth. I’m the undesired one. Nobody has ever wanted me around.”

  Again, she felt a pause was necessary, but she couldn’t look, and he didn’t speak.

  “Your father’s arrival has my family terrified, but they won’t show it. They ordered me to befriend you, in the hope that it might help. But that isn’t why I’ve been seeing you so much!” She turned and grabbed his shoulders before she knew what she was doing. “That was because I wanted to. I understand if you think I’m bad luck, if you think I’m ill-fated—believe me, I am. My family has guaranteed that much.”

  Javras’s face was unreadable, something made up of concern and anger and confusion. But it was elation and heartbreak all at once to have him looking at her again, and she didn’t want to leave.

  “I understand if you think those things,” she said, “but I will not forgive you if you think I’m less of a person just because of eight Lords-damned minutes my brother spent sucking air before I did. I am a person, I am lovely, and I deserve as much respect as the next girl.”

  She closed her eyes and released his shoulders. “Anyway, that’s the truth,” she said. “No one in my family likes me. My father is disgusted by my existence, my mother pities me, my siblings either hate me or just find me incredibly bothersome, and my twin brother—who was my only friend in the world—is slowly turning into my father and I don’t know how to cope with that.”

  One tear and then another rolled down her cheek. Great—when was the last time she’d cried when she hadn’t wanted to? She was really losing control. This wasn’t going like she’d hoped, and Javras still hadn’t said anything.