The Bird and the Sword

by Amy Harmon

  My fingers grew black from practicing the characters he’d written out for me, copying them carefully. I found the letters in Lark and the letters in Tiras, but didn’t know what they were called. They were simply shapes. Lines. Symbols that were completely meaningless. But I had a plan. When Tiras came back, I would have him write out the words for every object in my room on separate pieces of paper, naming each one. Chair. Table. Floor. Bed. Candle. I would put each paper in its proper place, and I would learn the words and decipher the sounds of each letter, every combination.

  But Tiras didn’t come back.

  I tried to convince the maids to write the words they knew. I also showed them the picture of Boojohni, but they all shrugged and shook their heads. They didn’t know much, and I didn’t trust the one who seemed to dislike me more each day. The others called her Greta, and I got the feeling she didn’t know how to read or write any better than I did, though she wouldn’t admit it. She just stomped around and pushed me away when I tried to communicate. Then there was Kjell.

  Four days after Tiras had shown me how to write my name, Kjell returned to drag me from my room in the middle of the night, just like before. I went with him willingly, eagerly, though his promise to help me had been a lie. I didn’t do it for him. I didn’t do it for the king, who’d lied to me too. I did it for the words he’d said he would teach me.

  Kjell didn’t take me into the bowels of the castle this time. We went to another tower, a tower directly opposite mine, and I marveled that the king had been so close all this time. I wondered if he’d seen me standing on my balcony, waiting for him to return. But when Kjell shoved me inside the chamber and slammed the door, locking it behind me, I found myself completely alone.

  The king’s bedcovers were tangled, his clothes discarded on the floor, but he was gone, and though I pounded on the door, Kjell did not return to explain what I was doing there and what was expected of me. Stepping out onto the balcony, I discovered the night was incredibly bright, the moon almost full, just like it had been the night I’d found the eagle in the forest. But there were no birds to save in Jeru City. Or kings, for that matter. I was lonelier than I’d ever been, and that was a feat in itself. I pulled my dressing gown around my body and returned to the richly appointed chamber.

  There were books on the shelves and several lay open on a table not so different from the one in my room. My father kept the books at the keep locked in his study. I had never seen one up close. I turned the pages, studied the words, and tried to make sense of them, tracing the shape of each letter with my finger, the way I’d traced my name. I’d determined that the S at the end of Tiras looked and hissed like a snake. I studied the page and found all the words with an s in them. I’d also compared the R shape in our names and determined its sound. Of course the T made a tapping sound at the beginning of Tiras’s name. T-T-T-T. I liked to focus on the sound, making it stutter in my mind like a woodpecker. I was going to take one of the books. When the king came back and found me in his room, I was going to fill my arms with books and refuse to give them back.

  I kept the candles lit and pored over the pages until my eyes would no longer focus and my head began to droop. I curled up in a corner of the king’s bed, trying not to notice how the covers smelled of fresh air and cedar. Then I slept, heavy and hard, dreaming of the shrieking of birdmen and the words that danced on the pages of the king’s books. The letters shifted and reformed, whispering their names in my mother’s voice. I heard a cry, piercing, louder than that of the Volgar, and a desperate fluttering, like a dozen flags whipping in the wind. It was so close, so present, that I opened my eyes blearily, reluctant to abandon sleep so soon.

  Dawn was breaking and grey light had just begun to spill through the open balcony doors and sneak across the king’s chamber. The doors had been open when Kjell had pushed me into the room the night before, and it hadn’t felt necessary or even right to close them, as if the king himself would use the balcony to reemerge from the night. But morning had returned without the king, and I blinked wearily, caught in that drowsy place where sleep and wakefulness become a strange blend of both.

  The eagle from the woods, no sign of the arrow buried in his chest, perched on the balcony rail. I watched him through glazed eyes, my lids at half-mast, unalarmed and completely unconvinced that I wasn’t still sleeping. He was aware of me, of that I was sure. He cocked his head and shrieked, as if warning me away.

  The door of the king’s chambers burst open, and Kjell erupted into the room, making me bolt upright, sleep abandoned, the eagle forgotten.

  “Where is he?” Kjell growled, as if I’d spun the king into gold while he slept. I shook my head helplessly and extended my arms, indicating the empty chamber. He turned in place, his hands on his hips, frustration oozing from every pore. The word hopeless flitted in the air around him, and this time I didn’t just hear the word, I saw it, recognizing the S—a pair of curling snakes that hissed with sound before disintegrating with his movement.

  He grabbed for my arm, and I wriggled away, darting to the table where the king’s books were spread. I grasped the first one I touched, scooping it up and clutching it to my chest.

  “Put it down,” he roared.

  I danced away from him, flitting to the door he’d left gaping beyond him and dashing out into the wide hallway. I would return to my room, gladly. But I was taking a book.

  I ran with the livid Kjell bellowing behind me, and when I finally stopped in front of my tower door, after easily navigating the corridors, he drew up abruptly, gasping for air, eyeing me like I was completely daft.

  I thumped the book at my chest fiercely so he would understand why I had run. Then I pounded the door to the room where I’d been held for two long weeks. With a shake of his head and an impatient curse, he pushed me aside and unlocked my chamber door. I was shoved inside once more—an infuriating pattern emerging—with no explanation of what he’d expected from me and no enlightenment as to the king’s whereabouts. But he didn’t take the book.

  Kjell was back less than an hour later. I was bathed and dressed, but my feet were bare, my hair lay in wet clumps down my back, and I hadn’t broken my fast. When Kjell burst through the door, it was all I could do not to fling my goblet at him, and when he grabbed for my arm, his grip harsh and bruising as always, I shoved him back as hard as I could. He was as brawny as the king, and he only staggered because he was surprised, but I shook my finger at him in warning and lifted my chin. Then I turned and began walking for the door, indicating I would go where he wanted me to go, but I would not be manhandled. When he tried to grab me again, I smacked his hand and kicked at his legs.

  “Fine. I won’t touch you. The king requires your presence. Follow me.”

  I followed him docilely, my chin high, my hands folded, but when he made to shove me into the king’s quarters, I shot him a look of such malevolence that he dropped his hands once again and bowed slightly, as if conceding.

  “He asked for you. That is why you are here. The only reason you are here,” he explained begrudgingly, and stepped aside, bidding me enter. But this time he didn’t leave. He followed me inside and locked the door.

  The king was not in shackles like the first time I’d been summoned, but his skin was flushed, and he trembled and thrashed on the bed. The bedclothes that weren’t twisted around his body were pooled on the floor, and when I approached, he opened his eyes and tried to rise. He wore a pair of breeches that were soft and loosely gathered, and nothing else. I wondered if the breeches had been pulled on for my sake and mentally thanked the Gods for that. And where had he been all night?

  I could not make him an elixir or blend the herbs for tea like I could have done at my father’s keep, where I had my own supplies in my neatly organized bottles and vials. I had nothing here—nothing that would ease his pain or lower his fever. I couldn’t even tell Kjell what I needed or send a summons to the kitchen. I thought about the words I’d pressed upon him when he was chained to t
he wall, the words that had brought comfort and relief. But I didn’t dare touch him that way with Kjell looking on. I wouldn’t survive the night.

  Distrust tinged the air, and I dismissed Kjell with a sigh, turning my attention to the task at hand, to the mysterious king who exuded size and strength yet struggled with an ailment he was clearly hiding from his servants and his subjects.

  Instead, I filled a basin from the pitcher on his dressing table and brought it to his bedside, soaking a cloth and wringing it out before running it over his arms and chest, repeating the action until the water in the basin was warm and I was soaked through. It didn’t appear to be helping, and Tiras watched me with exhausted eyes, offering no complaint. But his agony pulsed like a drum beat. It was becoming deafening, and I wondered why I was the only one who could hear it. It had always been that way. I had always been that way, hearing the words nobody said.

  I closed my eyes in defeat.

  “Kjell.” The king’s voice was remarkably strong.

  “Yes, Tiras?” Kjell was immediately at his bedside, his hand on the hilt of his sword, as if he could vanquish what ailed his king.

  “Leave us.”

  Kjell eyed me, his eyebrows lowered dangerously, but he acquiesced without argument.

  “I’ll be right outside, Tiras.” His warning glance told me he would be nearby should I attempt assassination. I would have laughed if the king weren’t so sick.

  The door closed softly, and I met the king’s gaze. He looked as troubled as I felt. He wasn’t writhing in horrible pain like he’d been the night he’d been shackled. He seemed more ill than wracked in pain, and I wondered again what was wrong.

  “Put your hands on me,” he instructed softly. “Like you did before.”

  I shook my head, stalling, wanting to understand. I pointed at his stomach and tilted my head in question. He shook his head. I placed my fingers on his throat and raised a brow. He shook his head once more. I touched his temples, his ears, his arms and his legs, and he finally spoke, answering my question.

  “It hurts everywhere,” he explained softly. “There is fire beneath my skin.”

  Suddenly there was fire beneath my skin too, and I felt the heat warm my cheeks and flood my chest. Last time he was hardly conscious. This time, his eyes clung to my face making the act terribly intimate. I was already sitting beside him on the bed, but I pressed my hands to his heart and closed my eyes. My hands were trembling, and he pressed his hands over them, weighing them down.

  “You are afraid,” he murmured. I nodded, not opening my eyes.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  I nodded again. Yes, I was afraid of him. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to help him, or worse, that I would, and I would mark myself a Healer. I would mark myself for death.

  His breath caught and his back arched in agony, his question forgotten. I pressed him back to the bed, smoothing my hands over him, trying to focus.

  Pain be gone, illness leave, skin is cool, sleep now, breathe, I instructed, pushing the words into his skin through my fingertips.

  Fire is gone,

  Fever leaves,

  Health in the marrow,

  Rest now, breathe

  The words were like an incantation wafting in the air, and I liked the rhyme and rhythm. It made it easier for me to focus on the words, to release them into the air. It occurred to me suddenly that perhaps that was the reason witches created rhyming spells. The words had more substance. I’d never done such a thing before. My words were always singular. Simple. But I could feel Tiras’s skin growing cool and damp beneath my hands as I silently chanted, telling his body to be well, inviting him to sleep.

  And just like before, I put myself under in the process, curling at his side in a deathlike slumber. When I awoke many hours later, night had fallen once again. Someone had lit a sconce, and it threw wan bronze light around the dark chamber. I sat up in bleary confusion, shocked by the passage of so much time. The king slept on beside me, and when I touched his skin it was cool and dry beneath my tentative caress. I laid my head against his chest, listening to his heart, to his steady breathing, and almost fell asleep once more, so deep was my relief. When he spoke, his voice a rumble in the darkness, I jerked and hissed, the only sound I was actually capable of.

  “You slept in my bed,” he observed mildly, as if a great privilege had been bestowed on me. I peered down at his smirking face, our eyes adjusting to the tepid light. I eased away from him and rose with as much dignity as I could muster; I had slept like the dead and now felt like a corpse, shaky and weak and far too tired to spar with an arrogant king.

  “Lark.”

  I paused on trembling legs, waiting for him to continue. I heard him rise as well, and he seemed much steadier than I. I watched as he walked to the table where a decanter of wine and a pitcher of water were set, along with a simple dinner. I wondered who had seen me in bed with the king and prayed it was only Kjell, who would know why I was there. Tiras poured himself a glass of water, drank it, and poured himself another. He drank the second glass, the column of his throat working eagerly. When he finished, he poured a glass of wine for himself and extended a glass to me as well. I took it and sipped at it gratefully, needing the warm comfort in my belly.

  “You helped me,” he said softly. “Now . . . what can I give you in return?”

  He didn’t explain what was wrong with him, what he suffered from, or what ailed him, but he seemed completely recovered once more.

  “Draw me a picture, show me what you desire,” he pressed.

  I wondered if I drew a picture of my home would he allow me to return? It didn’t matter, because I wouldn’t make that request. I didn’t want to return to Corvyn. I wanted to read.

  I walked to the shelves laden with books and ran my hands reverently along their spines, but I didn’t pull one from the shelf. There was one thing I wanted more than books. I turned back toward the king and fell to my knees. With my hands, I mimed the act of stroking an invisible beard. I needed to see Boojohni.

  The king scowled in confusion at my pantomime, then his brow cleared, and he laughed out loud, making me jump and my heart shake in my chest. He was such a conundrum.

  “The troll?” he asked, still laughing. “You want to see the troll?”

  I nodded emphatically and rose to my feet.

  “Done. What else?”

  He would give me more? I bit my lip to contain my glee and turned back to the shelves. I pulled a book down, the fattest one of the bunch, and embraced it like a friend.

  “I should have known.” He crossed the distance between us and pulled the thick tome from my arms. “The Art of War?” he asked. “This is the book you want?”

  I didn’t care what the book was about, I just wanted to look at the words. I took it back from him adamantly. His chest was bare, and his breeches hung low about his hips, making him seem almost more indecent than if he wore nothing at all. I was not used to seeing men this way, but he seemed comfortable with his state of undress. I turned my face to the side, focusing my eyes on the door.

  He observed me silently. I could feel his gaze on my face and the question in his thoughts.

  “Would you like me to read it to you?”

  My eyes shot back to his. I wanted that very much, and he knew it.

  I walked to the foot of his bed and picked up the deep blue dressing gown that had been tossed aside and brought it back to him. I extended it toward him, my eyes averted, and he took it from my hand. Then without waiting for him to direct me, I sat on the curved settee in front of the enormous hearth, set my wine aside, and opened the book on my lap. He sat beside me and began to read, his voice low and warm, his hand smoothing the page between us.

  “Lasting civilizations are forged on the blood of their citizens. Where there is life, there is conflict.”

  I stopped him immediately and pointed to the C shape that appeared several times. It didn’t make a consistent sound. He said the words slowly, not
understanding what I wanted.

  “Civilization?”

  I nodded, then pointed to the letter again in a different word.

  “Conflict?”

  I pointed to the first word again, and he repeated it. I held up two fingers and then pointed to the C shape in the two words.

  “Two sounds?” he guessed.

  I nodded.

  “Many of the letters make more than one sound.”

  I stared at the words he’d said, trying not to cry in frustration. I would never learn to read.

  “Shall I continue?” he said softly, as if he could sense my turmoil. I nodded but didn’t look up from the page.

  “But war, in all its forms and manifestations, is an art which the successful leader must master and utilize.” He sighed. “Would you like to skip ahead to the chapter on disembowelment? This is a bit dry.”

  I brought my hand to the page and pointed at the words impatiently, and he sighed again. I ran a finger under each word so that I could match the sound to the letters, but I got lost almost immediately. He seemed to understand what I wanted, and he placed his hand over mine, moving my hand as he went, so that I stayed with him. He spoke slowly, clearly, unraveling words about life and death and conquering armies and ruthless kings, about blood and war and surrender. And despite the lurid instruction, I did my best to learn.

  The king returned to my chambers with Boojohni in tow the very next morning, and I embarrassed myself by clinging to my friend with all the desperation of a lonely child. Boojohni stroked my hair and I wiped my wet eyes in his beard before pulling away and running my hands over his short arms and sturdy legs, my own way of asking him if he was okay.

  He laughed and slapped gently at my hands.

  “I’m fine, Bird.”

  I wanted details and specifics about his quarters and his keep and how he’d spent his time since we arrived in Jeru, but his eyes roamed my rooms as if reassuring himself that I too had been well cared for. The king stood back, letting us have a moment, but his presence made me uncomfortable, and he seemed unwilling to leave us alone.