“It was not my intention to withhold information. I could have shared this information before now. However, I wasn’t certain of the threat until after arriving in Shaerdan for the summit,” I say needing her to understand deception wasn’t my intent. “And even after arriving, I’ve had to sort between rumors and substance.”
Leif cracks his knuckles, seeming irritated. “So, you’ve been gathering information, sir?”
“I have,” say and continue, explaining the two different Sanguines and my belief that whoever is supplying the imposter oil to traders is doing so with the purpose of fooling buyers into believing they’re purchasing the real Sanguine and attaining Channeler magic. Beside me, Leif shifts in his seat. He was restless during the summit meeting as well. Perhaps all this talk makes him feel uncomfortable since it is real Sanguine that saved his life. I sum up my information by explaining the hazards of ingesting the fake oil.
Katallia sends a warm, reassuring smile, but my comments draw frowns from Leif and Segrande. They aren’t pleased to hear that I’ve been working on this without them. I have been remiss by focusing so much on Lirra. What happened last night is for the best.
“It seems we’ve come to similar conclusions.” Seeva, who has been standing near the hearth, crosses to the open seat beside Fa Olema. “You didn’t mention your source, though. Who gave you this information?”
I hesitate, not wanting to betray Lirra. Each person in this room, however, can be trusted with the Elementiary woman’s name. “Astoria. She runs the Elementiary here.”
“A credible source.” Seeva says. “Did she mention anything about who is making the oil?”
I shake my head.
Fa Olema, who has sat mostly silent through our conversation, leans forward in his chair. “What are you doing to stop the trade?”
“I am working with another to identify the supplier,” I say, though that search has been unfruitful.
“Why not start with the traders and work your way back to the supplier?” Seeva asks.
“The only way to prevent a weed from spreading is to tear out its root,” Ku Toa answers before I can. She has been standing beside my window. She walks away from it, her robes sweeping the ground. The evening twinkles from the window behind her. “Alerting the traders might alert the creator.”
She crosses to the chair beside the desk. The wood creaks as she sits down.
I draw strength from her unlikely alliance. “Exactly. If we can find who is making the oil, we can halt production. We will deal with the traders later.”
“The analogy makes sense if you can find the creator through other means,” Seeva says. “What if the only way to find the root of this problem is by starting with the traders?”
I lean forward. “A valid concern. But one we shouldn’t pursue until we’ve exhausted all other methods.”
Seeva taps her finger on the folds of blue fabric hanging off her knee. Her cheeks are drawn down in a frown.
Fa Olema looks at Seeva. “What has you worried?” His ancient voice crawls out of him.
“Quietly seeking out the supplier could take time,” she says and then, turning her attention to me, adds, “In the meantime, the damaging effects of the imposter oil will be blamed on Channelers. Your kingdom is already divided. What if old fears, spurred by this oil, begin to spread again? Your lords’ letters prove it’s already happening. Malam may return to old ways, and other kingdoms may go down the same path.”
“You mean, a path we have already left.” Segrande cuts into the conversation, the first he’s spoken today. The lack of energy in his words softens their impact, and a moment passes before anyone in the room turns to look at him. He leans against the wall near the door. His arms are crossed. He looks haggard and ten years older than the man who accompanied me into Shaerdan.
“Official treatment of Channelers in Malam may have changed, perhaps,” says Seeva, her eyes seeming more lined and tired. The stress is taking a toll on her. “But there are leaps that need to be made before Channelers will feel safe and welcomed in your kingdom.”
“Perhaps they should recognize the efforts that have already been made.” Leif cuts in, his eyes darting between Seeva and his hands. He stands up and abandons his chair for a place beside the window. He looks in the direction of the city of tents, the tournament field, and the Kingdoms’ Market. “If they still don’t feel welcome, that’s on them.”
I have barely registered his callous, misrepresentative comment when Seeva rises. She yanks her flowing blue dress around the chair and points a long, straight finger at Leif. “You have been hailed as a champion for Channelers. And yet you think the rejection, the hatred, the harm, the killing is on us?” Her pitch peaks and then drops to a hiss. She is an ocean storm. “Your ignorance is fathomless.”
Leif blinks, his expression switching from anger to one stricken with shame. Flush faced, he mutters an apology. What has gotten into him?
We spend the remaining time organizing a plan. We agree that we’ll each seek out information identifying the supplier.
“Finding and stopping whoever is at the root of the oil trade is important,” Seeva says. “But I fear it will be equally critical to quash the rumors. And if necessary, educate our kingdoms about the imposter Sanguine.”
Everyone nods in agreement.
“The jubilee is the most attended event of all,” Katallia supplies, her voice optimistic. “Thousands will come to the field to see the grand finale. If we need to spread word, perhaps we should do it there.”
“If you spread word of Sanguine, won’t it make Channelers look bad?” Leif asks.
The room’s occupants face him with varying expressions of mild interest, scrutiny, and irritation.
He scratches his neck, leaving three angry red marks. “If you tell the crowd of a fake Channeler oil that kills, then you say the killer oil is being falsely sold as the real Sanguine, won’t that make Channelers look bad?”
It takes a second to sort through his long, loaded question. “I agree,” I say.
Olema straightens his robes. “An unfortunate risk. However, as you’ve made evident, eventually oil consumption results in death.”
The grave understanding of what he’s saying hits me. “It would be remiss of us not to share the truth.”
“But it will divide Malam further,” Segrande says.
Seeva nods. “And yet that is the risk you will have to take. The people must be told.”
Segrande approaches the chairs. “You would support the spread of information that could possibly risk Channeler safety?”
“Channeler safety is our first concern.” Seeva exchanges glances with Katallia. She digs her fingers into the chair back. Her eyes look tired. “We mentioned before that we would have to withdraw support if Channelers are being threatened. And it seems to me that is happening. I’m sorry to say that if you cannot catch the creator and the supplier of the false Sanguine, we will have to formally withdraw our support of Channelers in Malam during the Jubilee.”
I blanch. That would defeat everything I’ve worked for in the last year. It would destroy Malam, and possibly send us spiraling back to the horrific crimes that were seen during the Purge.
“You understand that naming the maker means we’ll be naming a Channeler?”
Seeva stares at me. “We understand that. Channelers that have fallen into dark magic have been named before. You have till the night of the Jubilee finale to find the supplier.”
Chapter
30
Lirra
I SPEND THE DAY PRACTICING FOR THE JUBILEE showcase and trying to make a list of possible oil makers. No names come to mind. That’s because my head is a mess. All I can think about is last night’s conversation. Aodren made logical sense. There is no future for us, not when I won’t go to Malam, and yet, I cannot stop the hurt flowing through my veins.
When the night settles over Malam, I decide to return to the castle.
It’s a brash decision, but I’m not
satisfied with last night’s conversation. Aodren and I need to come to a better understanding. He may want to end this spark between us, but he can’t put an end to our deal. We’ve agreed to exchange information. I need to get to the root of the imposter Sanguine to prove to my father that he can rely on me. That he can trust me. That I can be an asset to him.
Once I’ve snuck inside the castle, I stop at Leif’s room. I’ll check on him to see how he’s dealing with the oil’s affects. But my door is on the knob when I hear his loud snore sawing through his room. He needs rest. I’ll visit him another time.
I leave and continue on to Aodren’s quarters. I slip in with silent steps. He’s hunched over his desk, head propped on his hand as he reads through a stack of letters. He glances up and pushes a chunk of golden hair off his face. His emerald gaze flickers with shock, before clearing into an unreadable mask. “You’re back.”
“I came to talk about the oil.”
He frowns. “Is there not a better time we could discuss Sanguine? It’s quite late, Lirra.”
I hate the precise way he says my name.
“Aodren, can I ask you something?”
His mouth is slightly open, as if he’s about to talk. But he closes his lips and nods.
“Did you . . . did you enjoy our time together?” I ask, the question tumbling out of me. I should be embarrassed by my inability to accept his rejection.
He blinks. “Yes.”
My throat clicks as I try to swallow over my dry tongue. “I—I did too. We have a week left.”
“Yes. But—”
“We don’t have to waste the week,” I say, hoping it comes across as bravery. Not desperation. But the aftertaste of last night’s hurt is chalky in my mouth.
Aodren stands and walks around the side of his desk. “What are you suggesting, Lirra?”
I take a deep breath. “I like spending time with you. And you said you like spending time with me. It’ll be easier to stay focused on the oil if . . .” My heart isn’t hurting. “If we work together. Why waste the time we have left when we can spend it enjoying each other’s company? We were working well as a team.”
Aodren’s brows dip together, and I notice a small scar slashed across the right one. “But what about when I must return to Malam?”
“It won’t be any different from parting ways now,” I say, though that is a lie. Every moment I spend with Aodren, deepens our connection. I don’t want to think about walking away from him seven days from now. But I’d rather do it in a week, than now.
Aodren eliminates the distance between us and takes my fingers in his hand. “If you’re sure. I could go for this plan you’re suggesting. In fact, it sounds like the best plan I’ve heard at the summit.” He smiles and I feel it down low in my stomach. “Perhaps I was too hasty last night.”
“Perhaps you were jealous,” I tease, changing the focus from serious to playful. If I keep things light with Aodren, I can avoid falling for him more than I already have.
“Jealous?” His shadow consumes me, and his finger guides a hair around the shell of my ear, drawing out my shiver. “Perhaps a little.”
“Only a little?”
He grins the most blindingly handsome grin, and I have to lock my knees against its power. My heart tries to bang a path out of my body.
Those green, green eyes darken, flickering through all the shades of the skyward trees. And I think, If only I could wander in this forest forever.
But we don’t have forever. I need to take charge of the time we have left, keeping things light and fun so when he returns to Malam, he won’t have made a complete hash of my foolish heart.
I move first, leaning in, tipping my chin, and rising on my toes. Aodren’s golden lashes flare as I stop just before my lips meet his. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t respond; he stares at my face, as if he might be memorizing it. But the lingering insecurity from our talk roots deeper, uncertainty and embarrassment tangling like untended weeds around my assertiveness. I start to edge away. His hand slides around my cheek, stopping me. He kisses me lightly, gently, forcing my mouth to surrender to his with agonizing slowness.
“I was a lot jealous,” he whispers some time later on a shared breath.
I cannot help but smile.
“You vex me, always. I’m jealous of anyone who gets time with you. I want all your free moments. I cannot stop thinking of you, wanting to talk with you, searching for you when we’re apart. We’ll have to make the most of our time together because this is madness, Lirra.”
Another fissure in my defenses. “Then we’ll lose our minds together.”
The words seem to unlock something inside him, chasing away his sweetness. Aodren’s fingers wind through my hair, scattering pins. He tugs me closer. His stubble-roughened chin scrapes my cheek, and a lash of frenetic energy, wild, charged, and free, snaps between us like lighting cracks across the sky.
I’m lost in him.
In all the time Aodren and I have spent together, I didn’t realize a gale was burgeoning. But the winds were brewing, churning, building into a terrible, overwhelming storm. And though I have the ability to control the wind, I realize, all too late, my walls are down and my heart would rather seek shelter in the safety of Aodren’s arms.
* * *
The next morning, in the early hour, a sliver of muted gray light sneaks past the castle curtains. Aodren and I spent the evening talking about the oil and the upcoming jubilee showcase. When we both started to yawn, Aodren asked me to stay. His request was sweet and full of concern for my safety, so I agreed. A rustling comes from the other side of the bed, where Aodren slept on the floor.
Groggily, I slip out of bed and quickly pull on yesterday’s dress over my chemise.
I hear a swift intake of air behind me. Aodren’s gaze remains on my back, where hidden under my layers a large section of warped skin wraps my left side—an old, thick, puckered scar from the fire that killed my mother. He must’ve saw it before my dress was in place.
“Lirra . . .” His voice is somber and filled with an ap-ology.
“It was a long time ago. I’m fine,” I say, but the emotion in his expression doesn’t fade.
“You’ve sacrificed a lot,” he says after a long, silent moment in which his attention to me doesn’t break. His narrowed focus makes my palms sweat. “You know, I see all that you do for your father and your friends. The weight of obligation you carry is similar to mine.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I’m not that noble.”
“No?”
“Your obligations are to a kingdom.” I glance at the door and then turn back to face him. “Mine are to a few people. There is no comparison.”
“I disagree.” His mouth lifts into a sloppy and tired morning smile. “I think we have more in common than you think. We’re both willing to sacrifice ourselves for the people we care about.”
It’s a kind sentiment, but if it were true, I would put more consideration into helping him out at the jubilee. Instead, I shoot him a smile, make a plan to meet him tonight at the showcase, and then slip out the door.
It isn’t so easy to slip out of the castle. The halls are filled with servants making morning preparations. I manage to sneak into Leif’s room to check on him, but he’s sleeping like a hibernating bear. When I cannot wake him, I leave the castle and return home.
I spend the day preparing for this afternoon’s showcase, the first part of the Channeler Jubilee. When the afternoon rolls around, I pack two outfits—a carriage driver’s costume and my favorite dress, a pretty green and lace one for the showcase—and then go to see Orli. Tonight, before heading to the tournament field for the showcase, I must try to see Leif once more. There’s no way of knowing if Leif has consumed as much oil as Baltroit. But I need to be sure he will make it through this. It’s bold and daring to keep returning, but so far, the guards’ schedule has been consistent with Da’s notes. And this is a risk I must take because Leif was asleep the last two times I went by.<
br />
The showcase starts during daylight hours, and because it draws crowds even larger than the tournament events, there is a greater chance I could be seen walking away from the cathedral on the cliff. I want Orli to drive me away from the cathedral so no one knows I’ve been to visit Leif.
Only, when I get to her house and talk to her, Orli’s answer is an emphatic no.
“I understand,” I say. She’s been struggling with leaving her home since we saw Baltroit die.
She unbraids and rebraids her hair three times while we sit in her pristine white room. She’s fidgeting. I can see she wants to give me a reason, but I don’t need an excuse. I never want to push her more than she can handle.
“I’m sorry I won’t be there for your jubilee performance. I feel like I’m letting you down, just like your da. I don’t want you to be alone for your big moment.”
I squeeze her hand to show that I understand why she can’t come and that I don’t blame her. “You’re not letting me down, and neither is Da.”
“I thought we didn’t lie to each other.”
“It’s silly to be hurt,” I argue. “I know he’s busy. I know he works hard.”
Her fingers abandon her hair. “But so do you. And what you’re doing is important too.”
“I know. And you don’t have to worry about me being alone. Aodren is meeting me before the showcase. Did I tell you he asked me to represent Malam in the jubilee?”
Her eyes widen. “What? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“I misspoke. He didn’t ask, exactly. But Aunt Katallia can’t do it because she’s in the Guild, and he’s desperate to find someone else. He wants me to offer to help, but I cannot do that. That would mean taking on Malam’s name. After what they did to me . . . to you . . .” I lie back on her bed and stare at the white ceiling. If I squint, her room reminds me of a snowy winter in Malam. “It wouldn’t be right.”
Once a King Page 24
