by Sharon Hinck
He rolled his eyes. “It’s how things work here.”
I’d heard plenty from Ria last night about how things worked. How her family had sold her into an uncertain future. I shook my head, dislodging an unfinished braid. “Promise me you’ll treat her like . . . like a sister.”
He shrugged, and I decided to try a different trail. “You’ve been a great help to your father. Your mother would be proud of you.”
He stilled. Then slowly, deliberately, he carved another slice from the fruit in his hand. Then another and another. But he set each slice on the table instead of eating them. Finally, he tucked his knife in his boot-sheath and wiped his hands on his pants. He nodded toward the fruit. “Help yourself. I’d better go. He’s waiting.”
I stopped him with a touch of his arm. “Sometimes it helps to talk.” The one thing Kieran had asked of me was to try to help Nolan talk about his grief. And I was about to lose the opportunity. Give me the right words.
He glanced at me sideways, then grinned. “What’s wrong with your hair?”
I sighed. “I don’t have enough hands to weave in the threads. It’s harder than learning to play the long-whistle.”
He laughed—such a rare sound from him that I forgave myself for not being able to draw him out.
“You want help?” he asked. “I used to braid the ones in back for my mother.”
My heart caught in my throat, and I fought to reply with the same casual tone. “If you have a moment.”
Hands still sticky from the melon, he plaited the first unfinished strand with nimble fingers. “It’s not that hard. My mother could do her braids in no time . . . until she got sick.”
Maybe if he stayed preoccupied with fixing my braids, he’d keep talking. “How long did she have the fever?”
He knotted off a piece of thread and moved to the next section. “Not sure. She didn’t tell me right away. And I was gone a lot.”
I ached for him. “You were so young.”
“I was twelve when they conscripted me.” He sounded offended.
“Practically ancient.”
He snorted. “It wasn’t bad. I was fast. They mostly used me in Sidian. Not like some messengers that have to travel to Corros or Trezold or Grey Hills. They don’t always make it back.”
“Did you see your mother much?”
His hands paused for a second, then resumed the rhythmic winding and tugging. “They kept us in the palace.” He stepped back. “There. You try.”
I fingered a last unbraided strand and slowly knotted it.
Nolan snickered. “Well, it’s a little better.”
A quick shake of my head tested the braids. “Thank you. And anytime you want to talk . . . songkeepers are supposed to be good at listening.”
Color rose up his neck as he backed toward the door. “Sure. Well. I’ll let Kieran know you got his message.”
He left, still assuming I’d agreed to Kieran’s order to cancel my appointment.
Should I have admitted I still planned to see the king? I could make a bigger difference in one meeting than in hundreds of classes with the women of Sidian or even the young messengers. Yet my spirit felt unsettled. I could hear Lukyan’s grandfatherly voice in my head. The value of a choice isn’t measured by the act alone, but by the motives of your heart.
My motives had been such a confusing mix lately. If I waited for all my intentions to line up, I’d never take any action. Some of my desires stood up to any songkeeper standards. I truly ached for the people in Hazor. So much darkness, so many lies. I was willing to take any risk, make any sacrifice if I could change that.
But less virtuous reasons also compelled my choice to meet with Zarek. Kieran had made me feel like a worthless fledgling who should return to safe and familiar arbors. I yearned for his respect. Was he waiting for me to make my own decisions? To stop acquiescing to his?
I also wanted to justify my presence here. Needed to. If Kieran sent me back to Braide Wood, the loss would drown me. I’d pass the small cottage Dylan had built, or see the trail where we would slip away for a stroll after supper, or run into one of his friends at the healer’s lodge.
As homesick as I was, I wasn’t ready to face that. I wanted to stay here—to have worthwhile work to fill my days. A good discussion with the king would ensure that.
A firm rap on the door interrupted my thoughts.
A king’s herald stood in the hallway. Wiry as a messenger, he wore a leather vest over his tunic that hinted at a military role. The heralds weren’t technically soldiers, but were still trained fighters. In this violent culture, Zarek surrounded himself with people skilled in every weapon.
“The king awaits,” he said simply.
I nodded and followed. “Of course.”
He escorted me along the jagged corridors, heading one direction, then making a brief backtrack at a diagonal before continuing forward. Each sharp-edged corner reminded me that I was in a foreign place. Instead of the central hall where Zarek held court, the herald led me deep into another wing of the palace and to huge double doors covered with grotesque carvings. The men standing guard were undisguised soldiers: swords, daggers, armor, and heavy foreheads that seemed carved into a permanent glower.
The herald stopped. “Linette of Braide Wood to see the king, at his request.”
One of the guards touched a lever recessed in the stone wall, and the doors slid apart with a magnetic gasp.
My stomach tightened. What if I said the wrong thing? What if Zarek were in a bad mood today? This wasn’t a good idea. Kieran understood court politics better. I should have waited until Kieran and I could meet with him together. I should have—
The herald cleared his throat. He gestured me through the door. When I didn’t move immediately, he gripped my elbow and marched me inside.
Kieran had visited Zarek’s private quarters often for fermented orberry wine and games of Perish. He’d described the huge slab of stone that formed the common-room table, and the austere, military atmosphere. He seemed to respect Zarek’s lack of decadent luxuries. I thought the space seemed barren and cold.
Seeing no sign of the king, I cast a questioning look at the herald. He backed from the room. The doors slid closed after him.
“Come in.” I whirled toward the voice. Zarek stood in front of a curtain that moved slightly, as if touched by a breeze. His sleeveless tunic was unadorned, but shone as if woven from pure metallic thread. An armband circled his right bicep, and an ornate dagger was wedged in his belt.
I gave a small bow. “I’m honored to meet with you.”
His teeth flashed. “I’m sure.” He scanned me up and down, and shook his head. “Are you as innocent as you sound?”
“In-innocent?” What did he mean? “I’m no criminal.”
He gave a howl of laughter. “Dear girl, I wasn’t accusing you of that. Sit, sit.”
I perched on a chair, keeping the stone slab table between us. The curtain behind him shifted again. The cold of the granite floor seeped through the leather of my shoes and up my legs. But I shivered with something more than physical chill, something I’d felt before—this sense of a presence, foreign and dark, rippling in the air.
Zarek settled across from me. “Has Sidian been all you expected?”
I shook off my unease. “I didn’t know what to expect. But your people have been so welcoming and curious.”
He studied me for a long moment. “The other songkeepers didn’t seem to find it so. I hear they’ve returned to the clans. But you’re different. Tell me about yourself.”
“Royin and Havid are much more experienced. They met during their apprenticeship and—”
“Stop. I asked about you.”
My stomach tensed. I was here to find out how far Zarek’s understanding of the One had developed, but I was quickly losing control of the conversation.
His smile broadened. “In my nation, when the king asks a question, he is given an answer.”
My fingers fluttered in a rhythm of a feast day song, and I clenched them in my lap. But the melody lingered in my mind, strengthening me. “I was born in Braide Wood. My first teacher was Lukyan. He’s the eldest songkeeper of the clan. When I was old enough, I apprenticed in Lyric. That’s where I met Royin and Havid. They’ve been life-bonded for twenty years and—”
“And you?”
I glanced up. Zarek’s broad forearms rested on the table. He was still smiling, but I didn’t know how to read his eyes. Another whisper of cold stirred across my skin. “I . . . I don’t—”
“Life-bonded. You must be alone to leave everything and come here.”
My eyes stung, surprised by the sudden pain his words stirred. “I was pledged.” I swallowed, unwilling to desecrate Dylan’s name by speaking it here. “He . . . was killed by Kahlareans.”
“The skirmish at Rendor?”
Kieran was wrong; Zarek continued to be very well informed about the clans. Who was feeding him information? I shook my head. “Before that. At the Cauldron Falls outpost. Syncbeams from across the river.”
“I’m sorry.” His rich, deep voice softened to a gruff rumble—a glimpse of unexpected gentleness. He reached for a pitcher, filled a mug, and slid it toward me. “And what led you here?”
“Well, after he told the Council he was the Restorer, Kieran—”
“Ah.” He gave a knowing smile. “I understand.”
I stiffened, then took a slow breath, willing away my irritation. “When the Restorer asked for help from the songkeepers, I agreed to come. The Council was surprised that the One was calling the Restorer to serve Hazor, but it made sense to me.”
“Because the One is switching his allegiance?” Zarek poured another mug.
“No. Because the One loves everyone.”
The king raised one eyebrow, furrows marring the slope toward his bald head. “Even Kahlareans?”
My stomach clenched. Did He cherish the enemy who had taken Dylan from me? Could I ever embrace His love for them? I clutched the mug in front of me and groped for one of the Verses. “‘He made all that is and loves all He has made.’” But in spite of the words, pain stung the raw places of my soul. Holy One, I’m drowning in this place. I don’t belong. I shouldn’t have come.
“My apologies. That was an unkind question. Grief shakes even the strongest truth.”
“Shakes it but doesn’t change it. Good plans can unfold from even the worst pain.” A warm current throbbed through my veins, and I could breathe again.
Zarek lifted his mug. “To plans.”
Orberry wine was worse than Sidian clavo, but I didn’t want to offend him. “To the One and His plans.” I managed a small sip. The sour liquid pinched the inside of my mouth.
Zarek drained his cup and slammed it to the table. He didn’t expect me to follow, did he? I tried another swallow, and the juice burned in my throat.
“So you ran here to escape your grief. Have you succeeded?”
Put so bluntly, his assessment stung. I had longed for distraction from the pain. But my grief wasn’t the only reason I’d come here.
I met the king’s eyes. “I came here because I wanted to help the people of Hazor. There are others here with grief to overcome, and I hope I’ve been able to serve.”
“I’m sure Kieran has appreciated your help.” He waited for my response with a carefully bland expression.
I sank back, relieved to move away from myself as the central topic. “He’s faced a lot of challenges. Your people have different thoughts on . . . well, everything.” This might be a good time to explain why Kieran couldn’t accept Ria as a gift, but my face heated as I tried to form the words.
The king rose and strolled the perimeter of the room. “I’ve paid careful attention to everything Kieran has said. And I’ve wondered. Wondered why the One would have sent the Restorer to Hazor when the clans of Lyric were still threatened. Kahlareans, Rhusicans. Your people have been in danger.”
He walked toward the doors, and I turned my chair to keep him in view.
“Uniting under a king was a smart step, but from what I understand, Cameron couldn’t hold power. And in the meantime, your clans were successfully invaded. Doesn’t make sense, does it?”
A dull ache throbbed inside my temples. “The One continues to protect the clans. And He called us to come here and offer you truth—”
“And I accepted a trade.” Zarek’s powerful arm reached for a lever beside the door and jerked it with unnecessary force. The magnetic seal gasped apart, and the doors slid open. Two guards dragged a bound prisoner into the room. A sack covered his head, and the man twisted in the grip of the soldiers, making muffled, angry sounds.
Panic welled up in my chest, freezing every muscle in my body. Even before a guard pulled the sack off the man’s head, I knew who the prisoner was.
Kieran.
Chapter
8
Linette
Kieran squinted as the bag was pulled from his head. When he saw me, his eyes flared, but whatever he said was lost behind the rough fabric gag binding his mouth.
I lurched forward, but Zarek shoved me back into my chair. “No need for dramatics. We’re going to have a conversation.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed over the gag, and Zarek chuckled. “Remove that,” he told one of the guards. “And you can untie him.”
As soon as he was freed, Kieran worked his jaw side to side a few times and rubbed his wrists. He shot a stinging glare in my direction, sending a stab of shame through me as sharp and poisonous as a venblade. He’d told me not to meet with the king today. Why hadn’t I taken his advice?
Deliberately turning from me, he gave Zarek all his attention. “If you wanted to play games, you could have invited me to spar. Or I could beat you at Perish again.”
All trace of humor vanished from the king’s demeanor. “Show me the wound.”
“The what?”
Zarek signaled the guards. One grabbed Kieran from behind, the other lifted his tunic and slit the bandage wrapped around Kieran’s ribs. The soldier wrenched the fabric away in one harsh move. Kieran hissed in a sharp breath as the fresh scab tore open and blood ran down his side.
My lungs tightened, the air in the room too hot and thick to breathe. I’d warned him of the dangers. Why hadn’t he listened? Or was this my fault, too? Should I have been more insistent that it was time to leave Hazor?
Kieran ignored me, ignored his injury, and faced Zarek as though he were in control of the situation. “Your point?”
Zarek answered with a bitter half-smile. “I would think that’s obvious.” Then his lips flattened. “We had a bargain. But that has changed.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“So if I slit your throat, you’ll heal?” Zarek drew a dagger from his belt.
“No.” Kieran’s confident posture sagged. “I meant that nothing important has changed. The One asked me to give you my service, to answer your questions about Him. I can still—”
Zarek slammed him in the ribs with the blunt handle of the dagger.
Kieran gasped and doubled over as far as the guard’s grip on him allowed.
“Stop this!” I sprang forward and flew between Zarek and Kieran, rounding on the king. I held out my hands. “Please.”
Zarek’s mouth curved up slowly.
“Linette.” Kieran ground out the words from behind me. “Get away from me. Now.” The hardness in his voice jabbed like a blow to my own ribs. Even now, he still didn’t want my help.
Zarek’s smile grew. He gently drew me to the chair again. I didn’t resist, my knees unsteady. Everything was tumbling out of control. All our work—the allegiance we’d nurtured, the good we’d tried to do—was crashing into pie
ces. How could I stop this? I wasn’t a guardian. I had no weapons.
The king rested a hand idly on my shoulder, and I sensed the deep current of betrayal and rage coiled inside him. “I knew your word couldn’t be trusted,” he said to Kieran.
Kieran strained against the grip of the guards. “Zarek, let her leave. You promised her safety.”
Zarek looked at his one-time friend with venom. “And you promised me the services of the Restorer. It seems we were both deceived.”
My heart raced, and every swallow threatened to choke me. Why hadn’t Kieran been honest with him? He could have prevented this moment. Why had he been so stubborn?
I fought to think of some way to salvage the situation, but my head throbbed. The shadows in the room seemed to close in like fog, invading my vision and my mind. Bereft of anything to say or do that wouldn’t make things worse, I begged the One to save Kieran. Begged him to . . . My thoughts grew blurry.
Zarek studied Kieran. “When did you stop being the Restorer? Is there a new Restorer? Where is he? How many guardians protect him?” He fired the questions like blasts from a syncbeam.
Kieran paled but drew himself up and met the king’s eyes.
Careful, Kieran. Don’t antagonize him.
“The sign of healing stopped soon after I came here.” As if he’d heard my thoughts, Kieran answered Zarek with a rare tone of respect. “I should have told you. But because it didn’t change the reason we—”
“Is there a new Restorer?”
Kieran, clench-jawed and silent, dropped his gaze.
The king fingered one of my braids. “It’s regrettable, but Linette is about to deny a request from the king. An offense that demands her death.”
My heartbeat stumbled and the chill seeped more deeply into my body. I tried to pull away from Zarek’s hand, but my limbs had become strangely heavy.
Kieran strained against the guard holding him. “Leave her out of this.”
“That’s your choice. Answer my questions, and perhaps I won’t make my request.”
“What can I do for you?” I meant to speak quickly, but my words slurred. “I’m happy to grant you a request. Just let him go.”