Ninthborn (The Ninthborn Chronicle Book 1)

by J. E. Holmes

  Ah. That was because she’d told him not to.

  “You can react now,” she said weakly. Her voice sounded like she’d swallowed a whole papaya and it was stuck.

  There was a pause that was heavy and still. “That’s all true?” he said.

  “Yes, I’m the youngest of my siblings. I’m the ninth.”

  “No,” he said. “I mean the way they treat you. I never—I had never met a ninthborn.”

  “We’re not very common, you know. Some couples, if they really want eight kids, stop having sex after the eighth one is born. You know, just in case. But sometimes you can’t guard against everything. I wouldn’t be here, either, if I hadn’t tagged along with Ancil. And honestly we’re all a little surprised that I don’t have any younger siblings. My father likes to, well, you know.”

  “You don’t seem different.”

  She tilted her head and peered over at him. His brow was still furrowed in either shock or confusion, but he didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem hurt by her lies. A small bud of relief blossomed in her chest, and it pulled down her clenched shoulders.

  “I’m just me,” she said and tried to smile. It must have been a complete failure.

  He nodded. “Wien did tell me she’d seen you meet with few people besides me.”

  She sat straight up and blinked. “Wien has been following me?” She’d understood being watched when she was with Javras, but she couldn’t imagine what reason they would have for watching her when she wasn’t with him.

  “I hope you aren’t offended. I suspect there are people watching me everywhere I go.”

  Her eyes went wide and panic jolted through her. “You mean there’s probably someone watching me right now break down and cry? And . . . and tell you this?” Her stomach dropped through her body. “They could figure out what I’ve just told you!”

  She leapt to her feet, balancing on the parallel trunk of the tangletree.

  “I have to go, Javras.”

  “Wait, Ediline, what is the problem with that? It’s a lie, a political lie. I understand.”

  Her heart started beating again for a moment, her face warm. He understood? She looked down at him. Her legs told her to run. Her head full of panic and echoes of Deffren’s threat—if you ruin it, I’ll make sure you don’t get another chance—pinging around, she needed to run. Her father would wring her neck. She needed to hide.

  “Ediline,” Javras said. He got to his feet and teetered on the trunk beside her. Not of Grace, he slipped a little, and she caught him, a hand on his shoulder, a hand on his chest. He set a hand on her side for balance, and she didn’t want to go. But the panic was too tight, too dense.

  “Javras, I am in danger,” she said. “My brother. Lords, my father.”

  By the furrowed brow, he still didn’t understand. “Because—?”

  “Because I told you the truth! Because maybe I’ve ruined this. They won’t know how you feel, and they won’t believe me. Whoever was watching you is probably sprinting back to my brothers to tell them that they finally have their excuse.”

  “Excuse?”

  “They’re going to kill me!”

  “Ediline, don’t be—”

  She grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “You don’t understand! I’m not exaggerating, and I’m not being ridiculous. Have your sisters ever threatened to kill you? Have your sisters ever really truly believed their lives would be better if you’d just died in the river that time they tied you up and threw you into it?”

  “Tyrants’ blood—did that really happen?”

  The tears were painfully plentiful now. What could she do? There was nothing. Lords, this was the worst decision she’d ever made. How could she not have suspected they would be watched?

  Because she’d never been important before.

  “They tied me up in a sack and lobbed me from the manor into the river,” she said, “but I managed to keep my head above water until I washed ashore, and then I kicked my way out of my bonds enough to walk home. I was eight. Ever since then I’ve kept some deadfish reed in my bag, in case I might drown.”

  “That’s awful,” he said.

  “I’m a curse on them.”

  “Not on me.”

  He touched her face, and a ripple of calm spread from that touch. “Are you angry?”

  “Side-struck, but I understand why you did it.”

  Without warning, without any though, without ever thinking about wanting to, Ediline threw her arms around Javras’s shoulders, buried her face against his neck, and sobbed. It poured out, the dam burst. Then, a moment later, she put too much weight on him, and they both dipped, twisted midair, and fell off the tangletree.

  His body took most of the impact from hitting the ground. He groaned and took a couple shallow breaths. She was on top of him, her tears momentarily re-dammed.

  “Are you okay?” she said through sniffles.

  “I think so,” he groaned. “You?”

  “I had a good pillow to fall on.”

  “I am here to serve.”

  Something about that lit a small fire in her head. Why was he here? The thought flashed through her panicking mind and was gone a moment later, leaving only an echo behind. She rolled off of him, got to her feet, and straightened out her clothes. Her skirt in particular had been twisted around by the falling, landing, and rolling.

  “If you think you are in danger,” he said, getting up, “come back with me. Wulfgar and Wien will protect you if I ask them to, Princess.”

  Everything else froze and then broke, like a sheet of ice shattered by a piercing strike. “You still call me Princess.”

  “Did you stop being a princess?”

  “It’s just that most people don’t bother. I’m Ediline the Accident. My father only wanted Ancil, but I came with him, like falling in love with a beautiful stranger, sleeping with him, and getting crotch rot.”

  Javras laughed. “And still you make those jokes of yours.”

  “I never acted,” she said. “All the awkward flirting and fumbled attempts at trying to show my affections, that was all real. I’m still me, the same me you’ve spent all this time with, the same me you’ve kissed.”

  He held her hand. “Come back to the manor, and we’ll figure out what to do.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She pressed his hand between both of hers. “Your courtesy is truthfully like nothing I’ve ever felt. Thank you."

  She let go of his hand, but she could still feels its shadow.

  As much as she hoped to simply disappear, to vanish and run away from all of this, Ediline knew there would be people she would have to face. She had hoped to at least get a reprieve until after she settled, but that was dashed, because when she came back to the manor with Javras, Jinnrey was serving dinner.

  “The princess and our Javras come to eat at our table,” Wulfgar bellowed.

  Javras waved a hand. “No need,” he said. “I’m taking Ediline to my room, and I’ll come down for some food for her. She isn’t feeling well.”

  She let out a slight groan, which may have been interpreted as apologetic, or maybe an objection, depending on who was listening.

  “No,” Javras said, “it is no inconvenience, Princess.”

  Another groan, resignation. And she kept her arms tight to her sides, hands near her stomach, as she dragged herself around the table to the hall toward the back of the manor.

  “Drink two full glass of this," Wulfgar said, tilting a flask toward her. “Your stomach will turn to iron, and—”

  “And she will never taste or feel another thing in her life,” Wien said sharply. “Javras knows how to care for her. Let him do it.”

  “Thank you, Wien,” Javras said. “I will get everything I need when I come back down.”

  She followed Javras down the hall, up the ladder, up through the second level and to the third level, where she had only been secretly. She pretended not to know where to go, and he led her to the room on the right, his bedroom. At the door, he p
aused.

  “My inviting you into my bedroom doesn’t mean—”

  “Oh, I know,” she said. “At least, I expected.”

  “Good,” he said.

  He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside. He followed, closing the door. Just inside, she stood and waited while he hastily picked up things that had been dropped and put everything back where it belonged. He made no apology for the disarray, because he didn’t need to. This was his space, and she was a gracious guest.

  “You really didn’t look up my skirt, did you?” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When I fell over the rail, and you caught me—”

  “I truly did not.”

  “Not even a glance?”

  “None.”

  “Peripherally? You know, without meaning to?”

  He set his sword down on the trunk at the foot of the bed, beside its partner, and he looked at her. “You were falling. You could have died. I was focused on something besides your undergarments at the time.”

  “Ah, so you saw I wear undergarments.”

  He turned away. “Ediline, that isn’t—”

  When she laughed, some of her fear bubbled away. “You’re a truly nice person, Javras. I am fortunate to have met you.”

  He pulled the chair from his desk into the center of the room and gestured to it. He sat on the trunk, next to the swords. “I am honored,” he said. Then he took a deep breath. “My father will be here tomorrow. You can stay here until then, but I think you—and I, too, if you would accept my help—should have a plan for what you should do.”

  Yes, but there were too many things she didn’t know. There were too many things that could go wrong. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve been working on it, but I will accept the help.”

  “I’m glad. Are you hungry? I need to go to the kitchen for some food for you. They are all expecting me to.”

  “I will eat anything you bring if Jinnrey made it.”

  “Good. I’ll be right back.” He stood to go, and when he passed by her chair she caught his wrist. With a gentle pull, she stretched up to her feet and tugged him into a kiss. He blinked in surprise. She shooed him with her hands toward the door. He paused.

  “Is that undesired?” she said.

  “No,” he said. “Neither is it inappropriate.”

  Before he left, he smiled an honest smile that put Ediline back in her chair.

  After he left, she clutched at her stomach, bent her head down, and smacked her forehead against her knees repeatedly. What could she do? She needed to convince her family that things between her and Javras were great—which certainly seemed possible, because it was at least close to truth—but she didn’t know the full reason she had been treated as eighth. Her best guess was that it would make her more appealing to Javras, but she also understood the possibility that it actually had something to do with Ancil, perhaps hiding him or disguising him. But what good would that have done?

  Ancil was brilliant, liked by everyone. Everything he did was exceptional, every idea a perfect one, and everyone expected the world of him. He was trained, he was schooled, he was given responsibilities more important than his older siblings. Because it was understood that one day he would inherit. King Maxen had all but declared Ancil as heir.

  He had chosen the eighth born as heir.

  Damn it, could this all really be drawn back to the appeal of arranging a marriage between her and Javras? When she had told Ancil she wouldn’t marry him just because they wanted him to, his response had been we won’t make you.

  They wouldn’t make her. But could someone else? Could Ashwin? Could the situation require it and give Ediline no other recourse? Lords wring Ancil’s neck—and he could convince himself to sleep soundly at night because he hadn’t technically lied to her. It made her sick.

  “Ediline, are you all right?” Javras pushed the door open and brought a covered wood platter. “You look almost green.”

  “I . . . .” And what did Javras know about the possibility of marriage? If only her sisters or her mother had talked to her about boys and how to deal with courting one of them. But no, they had never expected anyone to want to court Ediline, even though a princess she may be.

  “Yes?” he said. He sat on the trunk again, the platter on his knees.

  “Do you know that I never expected to be courted? If a man—or, I suppose, a woman—were to marry me, they would assume everything that comes with me. The princehood, sure. But all the enmity would belong to him, too. And who would want that?”

  “Ediline, I am—I mean, you and I are—”

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’m . . . well, no, that’s not entirely true. It does warrant mentioning. I’m warning you right now that any further pursuit of spending time with me may come with consequences.”

  “I acknowledge and appreciate your warning,” he said.

  “I just realized that, as eighth, I would have been considered my father’s presumptive heir. I think that is why my family lied to you, to make me that much more appealing.”

  “I doubt they could have done anything to make you more appealing.”

  “Really?” She lifted her head and saw the tray of food on his knees between them, but for how drawn to him she felt, for how pulled into his presence she was, a solid wall wouldn’t have stopped her. She leaned in and rested a hand on his knee.

  “Truly.” He cleared his throat and ran his hands through his hair. “Now, shall we get to your plan?”

  “Yes.” She withdrew, but the attraction didn’t recede. He was right. There were important things to talk about, even if she’d had enough talking, even if her head hurt from thinking and sobbing, even if her life might end tomorrow. She straightened. “What do you know of your father’s plans?”

  “I expect he will go to Sladt and speak with your father.”

  “Anything more than that? Do you know why he’s coming?”

  Javras smiled. “All this time we’ve spent together, and you haven’t asked me that.”

  “I was supposed to know already,” she said hotly. “I was supposed to be inside on everything going on, and I had to pretend that was the case when I was with you.”

  “You said there was no acting.”

  “You’re right, I apologize. What I meant was—”

  “Ediline, I know what you meant.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was just trying to prod at you a little, like you do to me,” he said. “I hoped it would lighten the mood. You don’t need to worry about being killed. Wulfgar and Wien will protect you.”

  “Did you ask them to?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you . . . tell them?”

  “I did not.”

  She nodded along. “So, why is your father coming?”

  “I actually don’t know, either. Officially, it is a diplomatic visit. That is all I know. But with my father, diplomacy typically means death threats, at the very least.”

  “With my father, diplomacy usually means he’s planning on invading your border cities.” She tried to laugh, but it was too disturbing to laugh about. Here they were, son of the Endbearer, daughter of the warmonger, mocking their powerful fathers.

  “What is your mother like?” he said.

  “Javras,” Ediline said, her chest alight with sparks. Her shoulders were tired. Her hands picked up bunches of her skirt and then smoothed them down. “I don’t need to talk about my mother right now.”

  He sighed. “I admit that learning what I’ve learned about you has changed my perception of you,” he said. He leaned to one side, his hand out on the trunk. “Not poorly, I just need to reassess everything I know about you.”

  “I want you to get to know me, too,” she said. “But it’s been a long, long day already.”

  “If you want to rest, there are empty rooms downstairs.”

  “I know. I fell asleep in one, waiting for you.”

  “I did hear about that.”
/>
  “Had the strangest dream that night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Javras,” she said. Her whole stomach curled inward with anxiety over what she was about to say, over what she wanted to do so badly it was threatening to burst from her like fire. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to take even one step away from Javras tonight. “Might I, with your permission, stay here?”

  “Of course,” he said. “The permission is already yours.”

  “No, not downstairs.” She leaned closer, arms forward to steady herself. “Here?”

  He touched her forearm. It was heat, it was lightning, it was the sun setting behind the holy mountains, and Lords it was just her forearm. “Ediline,” he said, and he swallowed. Was he as nervous as she was? That was a relief. It made the next movement easier.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I can?”

  “You may.”

  “Then—”

  “And tomorrow?”

  “I have a plan,” she said. The phantoms of one, somewhere far ahead of her. “Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “Good.”

  The food tray thudded and clattered. Ediline moved forward, catlike, and kissed him. She brought her body full against his and felt the firmness of his chest. She breathed and felt whole. His arms around her back, cradling her, pulling her, dug such a deep craving in her that she pushed and crawled until he fell backward onto his bed, and she lay down on top of him. His hands lifted her, slipped beneath cloth to embrace her bare back. Elation just short of madness from feeing his skin on hers. She was lost in the heat, eclipsed by the passion, burned away by desire, the unmatchable need of a moment that might never be followed. Tonight he was hers, she was his, naked and pulled together and warm, utterly wanted.

  — Chapter 13 —

  “Nothing in this world is isolated. A river is made of water; yet it is the river which carves a path through the route of least resistance, and it is the water that follows this path. The water is temporarily part of the river, until deposited elsewhere, but the river does not cease to be. Like water, you are transitionally temporary. An infant, a child, a sister, a mother, a warrior, a leader, an elder. Our lives carve through the stone of Lanen, and you merely fill the space and follow.”