“When I woke, I felt like I’d been chewed up and spat out.” His words are rough but he pushes them out, determined, even though it seems like he’s in pain. “There was blood on my clothes and in the dirt, and my shirt was shredded. I’d seen enough death to know that much blood loss would kill me, so I tried to find my wounds and cover them.”
His boot stops its restless gouging in the dirt. “All that blood, Britt, and there were no scratches or cuts anywhere. It was the strangest thing. Beneath all of it, I had scars . . . like the attack had happened months before, not moments.”
His fingers slide across my cheek and I jolt, startled by his touch because I’m so lost in what he’s saying.
“I found you at my side, pale and cold.” He whispers cracked words. His hand gently cradles my cheek, and his eyes glisten as they peer into mine. “Your heartbeat . . . It was so slow, I was certain you wouldn’t . . .”
Siron nudges Cohen with his nose until his master relents, patting the beast. When the horse moves away, Cohen continues. “I carried you home. Your father called for a healer. She asked too many questions, though. I told the healer you were attacked by a mountain cat. Only you had no wounds or gashes or anything, while I had this.” He points to his face. “Nothing sounded believable. So Saul made up a tale that we’d been out in the woods earlier and crossed paths with a mountain cat. He said I was confused about the attack date. I had jumped in front of the cat to save you, but in the scuffle you fell hard. Saul told the healer we sent for her because you’d taken a turn for the worse.”
He blows out a breath, eyes searching the sky, the ground, then my face.
“That doesn’t explain why my father asked you to go away.”
“Don’t you see? You healed me, Britta. Completely.” His arms fly out to his sides, palms facing forward, stretching his tunic across his torso, as he retreats a couple steps. “If I stayed, you’d want to know what happened. I wanted to tell you, only Saul forbade me because it was too dangerous for you. You know what happens to Channelers. If word got out and someone accused you, you’d have been thrown in the pillory at the very least, if not tortured and hung.”
It’s infuriating to know Papa asked my friend—my only friend—to leave me, and yet his argument makes sense. It seems every week there is a new woman shackled in the market square. Still, bitterness coats my tongue as I ask, “How long was he going to keep the truth from me?”
“I don’t know. He said it was better, no, safer, for you not to know.”
“And so you simply left?”
He lets out a harsh scoff of a laugh. “Simply? There was nothing simple about my decision. I couldn’t sleep or eat for days. I didn’t want to leave. But I”—his chin drops and his eyes crinkle together—“I couldn’t lie to you. In the end it was easier to leave.”
I want to believe what he’s saying, except I’m too incensed, too hurt from the confidences kept behind my back to retreat. I make a sour face. “Easier? Is it easier to lie to me from far away?”
The tiniest frown tugs the corners of his mouth down and then disappears when he lets out a frustrated growl. “Yes, you could say that.”
A small prick of pain accompanies his candid answer.
“People notice oddities in Malam. Someone would’ve asked questions about the attack. With me still in Brentyn, there were more opportunities for people to see us together and speculate. If I was out of the scene, it would be more likely that the town gossips would forget. I had to leave.”
“You didn’t have to leave,” I say with weak conviction. A gust kicks through the trees, scattering pods and leaves around us, and infusing the air with an earthy, woodsy tang. In the past, the scent of the outdoors brought quietness to mind when my thoughts were turbulent. Today it does little to soothe the parts of me that are ravaged inside. I tuck a freed hair back into my braid and wait for him to respond.
“Yes, I did. I couldn't stay near you. You are . . .” He pauses, mulls over his thoughts, and then adds, “Noticeable.”
I roll my eyes.
“It’s true. You’ve always thought the townsfolk pay you no attention, but you’re wrong. They watch you because you’re different.” I cringe and he waves a hand. “When the healer threatened to talk, Saul knew I had to leave town to lessen the chance of gossip. You must know, I’d do anything to keep you safe.” Cohen steps around my side to rub Siron’s nose. “Do you remember the night I met you in the woods?”
It was the first time I’d seen him since the accident and the only time he visited before he left. Of course I remember. Long after Papa had retired for the night, an invisible tug pulled me from bed and out of the cabin. Cohen was waiting in the trees. When I woke earlier that day, Papa explained how Cohen had risked his life to save me. I accepted Papa’s story easily.
Embarrassment and shame kept me from confessing my memory loss.
The need to touch Cohen, to verify he was all right, coursed through me until I reached out and placed my hand on his arm. On contact, everything in me relaxed.
That night was the first time I confessed my feelings to Cohen.
He pulled away, saying he had to leave and that he’d return the next day.
Only he never did.
I’ve relived the memory countless times, searching for a missing clue to make sense of why he’d go away without saying goodbye. All this time, I believed he was angry with me for being the cause of his pain, his new disfigurement. And wondering if my admission of caring for him actually scared him off.
Cohen’s fingers glance over mine, pulling me back to the present at Siron’s side.
“The moment you touched me, I knew I’d made a mistake in meeting you. I wanted to stay, and not just for a few minutes. Seeds and stars, Britt, I wanted to hold you and never let go. It felt like I was ripping out my heart when I walked away that night. But it was necessary. I left because I didn’t want to put you in danger. Not again. Not after you’d healed me. I left to keep you safe.”
I pull my hand from his grip, needing space, and suck in a great big gulp of air as I walk away.
“I almost killed you.” Cohen rounds Siron and follows me a half dozen paces through the clearing. “You saved my life, and you almost died in the process. I’m not sorry I left. I’d do it again to protect you. I’ll always do what I must to protect you. I am sorry, however, for hurting you. Never wanted that.”
The angst in his voice clears away the last remnants of my anger. Both the new anger at finding out he’d kept my heritage a secret, and the old anger at his abandonment that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding on to. Cohen and I are not so different—we both left Malam for the other. Except his reason was to save me. Considering the deal I made with Lord Jamis, how can I be furious with Cohen? Any remaining anger ebbs within me.
“You risked yourself for me,” he says pleadingly, brokenly. “Why’d you do it?”
He deserves my honesty no matter how raw it leaves me. “I loved you,” I confess. “I would’ve given my life for you.”
His golden-brown eyes widen. “You loved me?”
“Yes.” I stare at the prints in the dirt that define our time here.
“What about now?”
My sight lifts to his, and all that fear from before rushes back tenfold. Despite his explanation for leaving, the cowardly voice inside my head begs me not to answer. Of course my feelings haven’t changed, only deepened.
I purse my lips and make up my mind to just say it. Just tell him.
But he steps in, slicing the space between us. “I felt the same way then.” His tenor could be mistaken for a bass, if it were louder than a murmur. “Feel the same way now.”
My breath hitches.
He comes to me quickly, drawing me against him with sudden force that makes my pulse skitter. His lips and nose crush my hair. “Britt, I love you. Then and now. Please say you still feel the same?”
“Cohen” comes out airily.
He moves back enou
gh to look down at me, hope and worry wrinkling his forehead.
“Even now,” I say. “I love you.”
The answering smile that spreads across his face could rival the dawn. This man. The things he does to me.
Ducking his head, Cohen kisses my cheek, my nose, the corner of my smile, and when I cannot wait a moment longer, he murmurs, “I love you,” once more against my lips as his mouth slants over mine. His hands clutch my back as he cinches my body tighter against his. His lips are soft, though his kiss is full of hard desperation. Different from our first, this kiss is full of hunger and need and forgiveness.
Chapter
31
THE ARCHTRAITOR ISN’T THE MASSIVE THREAT of a man I thought he’d be. He’s squatty and round, with dimpled cherry cheeks that plump like fall apples when he smiles, which he’s done often in the short time since he arrived at Enat’s home.
It’s not quite midday as we all sit around the table. After Cohen and I returned from the woods last night, we prepared our weapons and packs for travel, so we’re ready to leave.
“You’re the Archtraitor?” Cohen asks the visitor.
The jauntiness slides from the man’s face. “That’s one of many names, though I like Millner. Sounds better and it rolls off the tongue. Also, Millner doesn’t attract the king’s guard like Archtraitor,” he says, chuckling, “so I prefer it.”
“Millner it is, then.”
The chair creaks as Millner leans back, clasping his hands over his belly. “Let’s get to this, shall we? It wouldn’t be good for me to be caught in this area of the woods. But I owe you a favor, and you know I’m good for it.” He finishes the last bit while aiming a knowing glance at Enat.
“You know what they want.” There’s no nonsense in Enat’s response. “What can you tell them?”
Millner shifts to face Cohen and me. “You tell me what you’re looking for and why, and I’ll see if I can help you out. Yes?” He grins.
I openly stare at the man, confused as to why anyone would believe this man could evade my father for years. How did this portly figure earn the legendary Archtraitor status?
Cohen taps my knee under the table. It’s his way of putting the reins in my hands.
“Enat said you knew my father, Saul Flannery,” I explain. “He was murdered here in Celize, and Cohen was accused of it. The king’s guard are after us, and if we’re caught, Cohen will be executed. We’re looking for the murderer.”
A broad smile sweeps across Millner’s round features. “I knew Saul. Salt of the earth, he was. And if I could, I would’ve given my life for his. To think, most people in your situation would’ve run. You’re a mighty impressive girl, trying to track down the killer of your father when you have the guards knocking down every door looking for you. They put a nice bounty on your head.”
“Which is why we’re here, talking to you,” Cohen reminds him.
“Yes, well, I’m not sure how much help I can be to you.” The fleshy skin beneath Millner’s chin shimmies like a turkey gobble when he speaks.
I frown.
“Now, Britta.” He pats his belly. “I have an idea of who murdered your father—I’m just not sure how much it’ll help you with the guards. See, the night of the murder, a friend of mine was at the same tavern as your father. Lucky for him, he was taking care of some other business.” His face reddens and he coughs, as if I’m naive to what else happens inside taverns.
“Was he with a wench?”
Millner lets out a hearty laugh. “You’re smart. Not afraid to speak the truth. I like you. You remind me of your father.”
“Yes, well, I’d like you more if you could just give us a name.” I flash him a wry smile.
He chuckles. “Bear with me. I’m getting there. So this friend of mine just happened to be coming into the tavern through a hidden door when your father was killed. He had the wits to back right out that door before anyone saw him.”
“And where’d he go?”
“To me, of course.”
Millner has lost his seeds. I cross my arms and lean back. “Your friend saw a man killed, and then told no one but you?”
“Aye. Smart man, my friend. Information like this could’ve cost him his life.”
Even though his words register true, I’m still skeptical. “Please, don’t leave me in anticipation. What did your friend say?”
“The man who killed your father was wearing the king’s emblem on his coat.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Cohen and I have already determined that the only person who likely killed Papa was one of the king’s guards or one of the men close to him. That doesn’t help us.”
He clucks his tongue. “Patience, Britta. I wasn’t finished. Citizens of Celize aren’t subjects to King Aodren, but some still fear his reach, as well as the men who serve him. In a busy tavern, there should’ve been a dozen witnesses. Do you know how many there were?”
“Two,” I answer, remembering what Lord Jamis said.
“Two. So you see, people are afraid to talk.”
He has a point. “Do you have a description of the guard?”
Millner chuckles. “Just like your father—”
“A description?” If he compares me to my father again right now I might consider taking him back to Malam as well.
“Older man, dark hair, tall, with a solid build.”
“That description matches a number of guards.” Cohen steals the response right off my tongue.
There is a slight mischievous glint in Millner’s eyes as he leans closer to me. “I suppose I should also add that the man’s coat had five stripes. Do you know who wears five stripes on his uniform?” He sits up tall, gleaming triumphantly.
I know exactly whose coat he’s talking about. “Captain Omar,” I say, though hardly able to believe it’s true.
“Aye, Captain Omar.”
Did the captain really kill my father? Why would he accompany me on a hunt to find an innocent man? Perhaps his motive is to pin the murder on someone else. The truth of what Millner is saying warms me through, but the realization of his words shocks me to my core.
Perhaps Captain Omar needed me to lead him to Cohen so he could take Cohen’s life as the man who murdered the king’s bounty hunter. Such a devious move would leave the captain free of suspicion. It would even elevate him to the status of a hero. What would the captain gain from Malam and Shaerdan going to war?
“Now can you see why the truth won’t do you much good?” Millner’s question pulls me from my thoughts.
I groan inwardly at his perceptiveness. He’s right. The truth only complicates matters. Two days ago I was certain finding the murderer would solve most of our problems. Now there is an entirely new set of obstacles to face.
How will we convince the high lord that the captain of the guard is guilty? There’s no chance the testimony of an unnamed man, told from the mouths of two escaped criminals, will stand against the evidence.
Someone knocks on Enat’s door.
A mouse could scurry across the floor and it’d sound like the padding of a bear for as quiet as we all become. Enat is the first to rise, pulling a blade into her hand.
“Relax. It’s just my girl.” Millner waves at the weapon Enat has pointed toward the door. “You won’t need that.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Enat sheaths the blade and welcomes in a girl with hair so dark, it looks like the blue-black of a moonless night sky. She is about my age, with blue eyes set against tawny skin and rosebud lips.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Lirra.” Enat pats the girl on the shoulder. “Could’ve warned me you were coming.”
The girl smiles, a gentle curve that levels when her eyes scan the room and stop on Cohen and me. “And miss surprising you?” she says to Enat. “Never.”
Enat grumbles a response, to which Lirra laughs. Curiosity and, if I’m being honest, a little jealousy seizes me. I’ve only just discovered Enat is my grandmother. But I want to have a relation
ship like the one Enat shares with Lirra. Suddenly, I feel like I’ve been pretending my entire life. Acting as though I don’t care when people say unkind things to me. Acting like it doesn’t matter that no one wants to be my friend. Acting as if I’m not lonely.
“Lirra, meet my granddaughter.” Enat points in my direction. “Speak freely around her and her friend, Cohen. They can be trusted.”
I try not to flush at the compliment. How silly I was for worrying that Enat wouldn’t want others to know of our connection. Hearing her say I’m her granddaughter fills me with a warmth of a completely non-Spiriter kind.
“Hello.” Lirra waves at me. Her eyes linger on my face long enough that I know she’s studying me, perhaps comparing me to Enat. Her attention makes me acutely aware of my knobbiness and dirty hair. Before we leave for Malam, perhaps there’ll be time for another bath.
“I didn’t know you had a granddaughter,” Lirra says. “I thought you said your daughter died years ago.”
“She did,” Enat answers, her tone turning abruptly cold. I spare her a glance.
“It’s nice to meet you, Britta.” Lirra extends her hand, and I reach out and take it.
“Lirra,” Millner interrupts, “did you see anything?”
She retreats. “Yes, Papa. The men dressed as soldiers for Shaerdan left today, and a rider on the road was carrying a black flag.”
For the first time since he entered this house, Millner’s expression takes a grave turn.
“What does the black flag mean?” Cohen asks.
“It means there must’ve been another skirmish at the front,” Millner explains. “The black flag is raised when men have died. Lirra, go on, what’ve you heard?”
“Thirty men from Shaerdan were killed. One troop left two days ago, but today the council decided one from Celize isn’t enough. They’re calling all able men to fight. I also heard that the chief judge is traveling to the front with members of the inner court. They’re asking for a meeting of our countries.”
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