“You didn’t want to fight in a civil war that would most likely kill you long before you could ever become king. That isn’t a failing. It’s wise. And you weren’t always a drunk. When I was little, you were hardworking and playful.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t excuse what I’ve done to you and your sisters and . . . your mother.” He choked, barely managing to get himself under control. “And others.”
He’d mentioned hurting someone else once before. What exactly had he done? She’d no doubt he’d stolen from half the town.
“No,” she admitted. “But you’ve been trying to do better, to take responsibility for what you’ve done. That counts for something.”
They both fell silent. Larkin didn’t know what else to say. It seemed he didn’t either.
“All right, then.” He awkwardly patted her arm, and she tried not flinch.
Denan crossed the dozen steps to her, the guards fanning back into position. He handed her a cup of pain powder. They clinked cups and drained them, identical grimaces crossing their faces.
He glanced at Harben. “I don’t know if you’ll want to visit your mother again. But if you do, demand that she speaks to you respectfully. If she doesn’t, leave.”
Harben didn’t raise his gaze. “And let her die alone?”
“That’s her choice.” Denan passed the cups back to an orderly. “We should check on Alorica and Tam.” He gestured for the guards to move out, and they took their place a few steps behind.
“Larkin,” Harben called after her. “Where does that leave us?”
She looked back at the man who had raised her. “Maybe we could start slow. You could write me a letter.”
He nodded, his expression hopeful. “I’d like that.”
Alorica’s older sister, Atara, paced the corridor before her sister’s room. Both women had tightly curled black hair and dark skin. But where Alorica was lithe, Atara was stocky. She wore healer blue, and a huge bruise was visible on her arm—probably from the weapons training all enchantresses were required to attend.
“How is she?” Larkin asked.
Atara blinked hard, obviously trying not to cry. Before she could answer, a wail rose from inside the room.
“Our parents should be here,” Atara whispered.
Would travel between the Idelmarch and the Alamant ever be safe? Maisy had destroyed the portable wards, so probably not.
“Will she live?” Larkin asked.
“I don’t know,” Atara said.
Another wail rose. Larkin glanced back at Denan; this was no place for a man. “Stay with her.” He nodded.
Steeling herself, Larkin stepped through the doorpane. Immediately, the smell of blood hit her hard, drawing her back to the day Garrot had slaughtered the Black Druids who refused to cow to him, including her grandfather.
She fought against the horror and fear that clawed up her throat. Forced herself to focus on the here and now. Magalia stood at a table, pouring herbs into a pipe. Alorica lay on her side, her dark skin ashen and shiny with sweat. Pain drew deep lines across her skin. She was naked but for a wrap around her breasts.
Without her clothing, the gentle mound of her belly showed beneath the blood-soaked bandages. Tam held her hand, worry stamped across his face
Alorica groaned and doubled over. Fresh blood soaked the sheets beneath her. Mama was a midwife. Larkin had seen enough women in labor to know what was happening. Alorica’s womb had been punctured. With each contraction, she’d lose more blood.
Magalia lit a pipe and held it out for Alorica. “Here, take a puff when you need it.”
Alorica took it, puffed the smoke, and coughed. Either the contraction subsided or whatever was in that pipe started to work because Alorica relaxed onto the bed.
Looking broken and lost, Tam rubbed her back.
Larkin crossed to Magalia. “What can I do?”
Magalia’s mouth thinned. “There’s nothing anyone can do. The baby has to come out before the bleeding will stop.”
And if not, Alorica would bleed to death. “Mama might know what to do.” Maybe even Nesha; she’d been trained by Mama, after all.
“There’s nothing your mother could do for her that I haven’t.” Magalia held a cup of tea to Alorica’s mouth. “Just a sip.”
Alorica sipped and lay back, clearly exhausted. Her eyes focused on Larkin, and she reached out. Terrified, Larkin hesitated before taking Alorica’s hand.
“Promise me,” Alorica whispered. “Promise that you’ll be there for him.”
“Alorica . . .” Tam trailed off.
Another death loomed, but Alorica knew better than to bargain. Larkin wanted to assure Alorica that she would survive. That everything would be all right. But she might not. It might not. And Larkin wouldn’t lie to her.
“He’s my brother,” Larkin said. “And he always will be.”
Tam began to cry.
Alorica’s eyes fluttered shut in relief. A handful of beats later, she groaned, the muscles in her neck standing out. She puffed hard on the pipe.
From her position between Alorica’s legs, Magalia gave a cry of relief. “I have it.”
She held a bloody baby that fit neatly in her palm. A child that would never draw its first breath. She brought it to Alorica. “It’s a girl, I think.”
The first girl in nearly three centuries to be born to the pipers, and she’d been murdered before she’d ever been born. Murdered by the wraiths.
“Oh!” Alorica cried, her eyes shining with love and grief. “She’s the first. The very first.”
“She’s a miracle,” Larkin said.
Alorica held her close. “That’s it. That’s her name. Miracle.”
Tam climbed on the table behind Alorica, reaching around her to lay the very tip of his finger on his daughter’s back. “Miracle.”
Larkin and Magalia shared a look, wordless communication passing between them. In sum, Magalia still didn’t know if Alorica would survive.
“Tam,” Larkin said. “I’ll send some food in for you.” The hospital didn’t provide food if the patients could buy their own.
He nodded without looking at her.
Larkin backed out the door. “I’ll leave one of the pages here as well. If you need anything, they’ll fetch it for you.”
She left the three of them curled up, Magalia doing her best to clean up the blood. Beyond the doorpane, Denan stood beside Atara, who had managed to calm down.
“The baby didn’t make it,” Larkin said before they could ask. She turned to one of the pages and instructed him to bring enough food for everyone, including Iniya, and then be at Tam’s beck and call.
Atara wiped her cheeks. “Denan told me what you did, that you saved her life.”
It took Larkin a moment to understand that she meant by killing the ardent that had attacked Alorica. “Tam would have taken care of it if I hadn’t.” And she wouldn’t have saved anyone if Alorica didn’t survive.
“That’s the second time you’ve saved her life,” Atara said. “I won’t forget it.” She pushed past them, stepping into the room.
Denan held her gaze. “You can stay if you like, but my council is waiting for me at our hometree.”
Larkin looked back at the room. Alorica and Tam didn’t need her. And Iniya . . . didn’t deserve company. “I’m coming with you.”
Side by side, they left the healing tree.
Sela
Denan’s library circled the entire trunk, with deep alcoves full of books and comfortable chairs. Potted lampents and crystals hung at regular intervals, and the supports were lined with mirrors to increase the light.
The effect was bright and airy. The sweet scent of the lampents and the musty smell of paper reminded Larkin of the long, comfortable nights she and Denan had spent here while he’d taught her to read.
That bright, cheery atmosphere was a stark contrast to the mood of the council waiting for Larkin and Denan in the largest alcove, and she couldn’t help but
feel like her sanctuary was being invaded yet again.
A large, circular table took up the center of the room. His back to them, Gendrin slumped in a chair. He looked hollow and worn out—his father’s funeral was in three days. On the opposite side of the table, Arbor Mytin and General Aaryn pored over lists of the Alamant’s stockpiles.
Denan gestured for Larkin to sit beside his father. He took the seat on the other side of her. “As king, I’m required to stand down on all military matters. Gendrin will take my place as general until a new prince is embedded.”
Gendrin must have suspected this was why he’d been called to a council meeting. It was a smart move—one that would placate King Netrish’s supporters—and Gendrin was respected as a brilliant military commander.
He bowed before his king but said nothing.
“Before we begin,” Denan said, “I want to talk to you about security for Wyn.”
Larkin hadn’t even considered Denan’s young brother. The boy could be a target simply because of his parents and brother.
“He’s furious he missed the excitement.” Aaryn said. “Which is why your father and I sent him to live with your uncle Demry until this mess is over.”
Demry would certainly be able to keep Denan’s precocious younger brother out of trouble.
Denan nodded approvingly. “As you’ve probably heard, we’ve ardents among us. For now, this is our most pressing concern. We’ll leave the logistics of planning our invasion of Valynthia to our subordinates.”
Jaslin marched into the room. The woman’s eyes were swollen and her nose raw. She took an empty seat beside Gendrin, who didn’t seem surprised to see her. Larkin’s eyes narrowed with distrust and suspicion. They’d planned this. Why?
Denan shot Gendrin a questioning look, which Gendrin returned with a helpless one.
Denan frowned and leaned forward. “Lady Jaslin, again, my sincerest condolences for your loss, but—”
“A former queen may take her husband’s seat at council,” Jaslin interrupted.
Denan took his time answering. “The position is customary.”
“As is hers.” Jaslin motioned to Larkin. “Four of the five members of this council are immediate family. My presence will even it out a bit.”
Aaryn picked up a ball of purple yarn and started knitting, which she often did when she was thinking. Or angry. “Are you suggesting that we would elevate our own agendas over what’s best for the Alamant?”
“Perhaps not deliberately,” Jaslin said.
Mytin hummed in disapproval.
Why did Larkin get the feeling this was a bad idea?
Denan considered her. “I will allow your presence on my council, but only if you can be an asset and not a hindrance.”
Jaslin gave a curt nod.
Denan studied the other members. “As I was saying, we were attacked by our butler and our guard. Both ardents who were able to seamlessly blend in among our people.”
Like Maisy. A sudden memory clawed its way to the forefront of Larkin’s mind.
The blight was tearing through Denan’s body. She was losing him. She looked up at Maisy. Begged her for help.
Black tears streamed down Maisy’s cheeks. “Magic black. Magic white. Magic binding up the night.” She turned and ran.
Larkin hadn’t known what it meant, but it had been the clue that helped her figure out the weir. The clue that saved her husband and hundreds of others since then. Many who would have become mulgars were now living normal lives thanks to Maisy.
“For how long?” Gendrin asked.
Gendrin’s words snapped Larkin back into the present. Everyone looked at the new general in confusion.
“Ardents are infected by wraiths,” Gendrin explained. “Wraiths who can’t cross the water to reach the Alamant. So it would follow that the ardents were infected the last time they were in the Forbidden Forest.”
Denan nodded. “The guard would have been at Druids’ Folly. Unger . . . I’ve no idea.”
That meant that the guard had hidden among them for three months, and no one had been the wiser. And Unger had been among them for even longer.
Gendrin swore. His mother shot him a scathing look, which he ignored.
“The assassin who killed my father was an ardent,” Gendrin said. “And ardent who could be anyone. And there could be scores of them.”
At least he didn’t believe she and Denan had anything to do with the king’s death.
Denan pulled up his sleeve, revealing the scratch there. “I’ve tested all my guards and servants. We’ve all bled red. Now it’s your turn.”
Gendrin was the first to act. He took a small knife from his pocket and nicked his arm. The blood welled red. Mytin and Aaryn followed suit, with Mytin borrowing his wife’s sigil blade. They were all clean. That left only Jaslin.
Jaslin set her chin. “What about her?” She nodded to Larkin.
“She bled all over herself at the embedding ceremony,” Denan said.
“So the rules don’t apply to her?” Jaslin said.
The woman obviously hates me. Why? Because I took her place as queen? Or did she truly believe Netrish’s accusations?
Larkin sighed loudly, pulled up her sleeve, and picked at the scab under her stitches until it bled. Jaslin harrumphed and used her magical blade on herself. Larkin was a little disappointed when the woman bled red; being a mulgar would have been a solid excuse to banish the woman from the council.
Denan leaned back in his chair. “We have to test everyone. The whole city.”
“If they find out about the search,” Gendrin said, “any hidden ardents will start a killing spree.”
“We start with the leadership and work our way down,” Larkin said.
Aaryn unraveled some of her knitting. “At Copperbill Island.” The enchantress training grounds. “The border is easily contained. We can test in small groups.”
The six of them worked for over an hour, arranging the logistics of the operation.
When they finished, Aaryn packed away her needles. “We’ll wake the enchantresses in batches and test them through the night.”
“I’ll bring soldiers to be tested first thing in the morning,” Gendrin said.
Denan looked around the room. “Questions?”
No one said anything. Denan pushed back his chair as everyone filed out. He rested an arm on his mother’s shoulder. “I’ll accompany you to the island.”
“Denan,” Larkin interrupted with a meaningful look at his side.
“I’m all right, Larkin.”
Aaryn swung her knitting bag over her armor. “She’s right, dear. No point in all of us losing sleep. My enchantresses and I will handle it. Then you can take over in the morning while I sleep and Gendrin’s men are tested.”
Denan pursed his lips unhappily.
Mytin pushed in his chair. “Your mother is more than capable of handling her enchantresses, son.”
Aaryn kissed Denan’s cheek. “Cross me, and I have an army to back me up.” She hugged Larkin. “How’s Alorica?”
“Alive, but she’s lost a lot of blood.”
Mytin made an unhappy sound. “I will see some of the White Tree sap brought to her.”
Larkin nodded and saw them off. Back upstairs, she and Denan went to check on Mama and the girls. Her skin flushed with fever, Sela lay sleeping in the bed. Mama sat in a rocking chair, nursing Brenna—she was always changing or nursing the baby. It was one of the reasons Larkin took her maidweed tea religiously every morning. She wasn’t ready for children of her own. Maybe she never would be.
“I hadn’t time to ask before,” Mama said, “but have you heard anything about Nesha?”
Larkin shook her head. “Not since I saw her entering the city last week.”
Mama rocked faster. “She hasn’t answered any of my letters.”
And Mama had written every day. Denan’s pages had delivered them all to the Enchanter Academy, where the druids were staying, and then returned empty-hand
ed.
Mama looked worried. “Garrot is keeping them from her.”
Nesha might ignore a letter from Larkin—not that she’d written any—but not Mama.
“I’m sure of it,” Larkin said.
Mama looked to Denan. “There has to be a way to reach her.”
He passed a hand down his face and sat heavily in one of the chairs. “That’s the one point Garrot wouldn’t budge on.”
“You’re the king now. You could make Garrot give her up. Deny the druids thorns!” Mama’s cry startled Brenna, who began to fuss. Mama patted her bottom and made soothing noises.
“We need them, Pennice,” Denan said. “We lost too many men in the fighting last spring.”
Mama placed Brenna over her shoulder and burped her. “There has to be a way.’
“What if Nesha asked for help?” Larkin said.
Denan leaned forward and braced himself on his knees. “She’s Idelmarchian.”
“Technically, so are we,” Mama said. “Are Idelmarchians not subject to Alamantian laws while in the Alamant?”
He studied her. “As you can imagine, the Alamant has very strict laws about wives staying with their husbands.” They would have to, what with all the wife stealing. “But if he were to harm her in any way . . . We’re very protective of women.”
“She’s not his wife,” Larkin said. “With her clubfoot, she’s not allowed to marry.”
Denan sighed and turned to Larkin. “The druids are accustomed to seeing my pages in the academy. I’ll have them scout around a bit. See if they can figure out where she’s staying.”
Larkin felt a spike of apprehension—the pages were mere boys. “What if Garrot catches them?”
Denan’s gaze hardened. “Garrot got where he did because he knows which lines he can and cannot cross. If he hurt one of my pages, his life would be in my hands.”
“So we’re betting on Garrot’s restraint?” Larkin said uneasily.
Denan shot her a look. “They aren’t just boys, Larkin. They’re warriors in training. Being in danger is part of the life they’re born to.” He pushed himself up. “I’m going to take a shower.” He left the room.
Mama worried her bottom lip.
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