“My lady.” Zeb nodded at the bowl in his right hand. “Please eat.”
She didn’t look up at first, but when she realised he was addressing her, a tentative hope flooded her face. Her hands came up hesitantly and then she grabbed the bowl quickly.
“Spoons are in my pocket.” Zeb turned sideways so she could reach one.
She snatched one out, scooping the warm food gratefully into her mouth. She paused only once in her rapid consumption to jerk a nod of thanks at Zeb but he was already turned to the next elf, and then a trader from the mountains of Lothian.
When he turned every eye on his side of the courtyard was watching him. He looked back at them each in turn, defiantly, a fire lit in his cool, calm eyes. “Shame on a race who faces destruction that they would turn away those who face a similar fate at the hands of tyrants. What have your peaceful race become if you turn away from those who live by your side in this land? Your ignorance towards those who differ from yourselves is disgusting.” He halted his monologue and strode over to Ria again, thrusting his hand in his pocket to grab out the left-over spoons and throwing them clattering onto the table. He marched to Kiara’s side and took her arm, the crowd at the northern end of the square breaking apart to make way for them.
“Are you okay Zeb?”
No, he wasn’t. The hackles which had risen on the back of his neck were slow to go back down. He was sick of the in-fighting in these races. Couldn’t they understand what was at stake here? It wasn’t just about their own individual race, why couldn’t they see that?
Laowyn were still lining the streets, but these were troops from the Resistance. They formed lines on either side of the street, reaching up to steps at the far end. The meeting hall was behind the doors at the top of the steps. From this side the façade was still intact, though without a roof, and some of the graceful beauty of the old city could be reimagined.
“Excuse me,” Zeb spoke to the soldiers on the left. They would be stopped if they carried on but they needed to know what was going on in the meeting hall. More importantly he had to get Kiara to the King. If she didn’t realise what her marriage meant, he certainly did.
“Aye, aye, Zeb!” One of the Laowyn Resistance called out, a cheeky tone in his voice.
Both of them turned. It was Calev. “You’re a bit out of your area, aren’t you?”
“Can we get to the meeting hall?”
“I think that’s the point of me standing here, Zeb.” Calev was stood to attention against the wall, but not even that official stance of his could stop his half grin. “I’m supposed to stop people crowding into the meeting hall. The King is in there, negotiating.”
“Let’s just go.” Kiara pulled on Zeb’s arm lightly, but now he knew the King was in there his heart was racing faster, his mind more determined.
“He’s requested Kiara come. Calev you have to get us in there.”
“Do I now? The Elders haven’t sent any orders.”
“I’ll give you my portion of your sister’s famous stew at dinner.”
Zeb watched Calev think about it, moving his mouth and tongue as though imagining what that extra portion of food would taste like. He finally looked back at the elf.
“Done.” He moved out from the line in a strict march pausing only once. “This is important, right? The Commander has not been best pleased with me and Jaik since coming back from Emril City.”
“Believe me,” Zeb said, guiding Kiara firmly forward. “This will change everything.”
Chapter 25
“Before we speak of the defence of your people in two days’ time, I have to first ask if someone resides within your refuge.” Trevisian was stood before a makeshift table which stretched out in a crescent moon, a collection of angled pieces of wood and struts.
Some of the Elders looked to each other. The woman with white eyes, who had refused to sit at the request of the Elders, was watching him with obvious mistrust. A broad-shouldered man, almost as big as Johan, stood by her side but was not in armour. In fact, he looked as though he had just come out of a cattle shed somewhere. Trevisian wondered why he was attending this meeting - and why there was something familiar about him.
“There are no Reluwyn here.” One of the Elders spoke, a man with grey streaked hair.
“I seek a Laowyn.”
Johan turned towards his King, and Trevisian inclined his head.
“The man stood beside the white-eyed woman,” whispered the Radichi. “He was at the palace. He was part of the group of traders who wrote the assassination warning.”
“A Laowyn?” An older man, with a grey beard and shoulder-length grey hair spoke. Others turned to him as he did so. Trevisian saw looks pass between them around the table.
“Him too,” whispered Johan. “If they’re here, it’s safe to guess that she escaped the palace with them.”
“What are you saying?” The white-eyed woman stepped forward aggressively.
Trevisian doubted he had ever seen such a tall woman. Her armour was all-covering and well-made, she must be part of their military force. “Why is there any need to whisper when you are come to broker a truce with us?”
Trevisian turned dark, sardonic eyes upon her, “My friend was telling me that I owe the debt of my life to several in this room – but not to you.”
She looked a little surprised by his abrupt answer but it didn’t last for long. Her hard, distrustful gaze came back. “I am Ikara, daughter of Zenex, Commander of the Laowyn Resistance.” A woman in charge of their forces? Surprising.
“Commander,” Trevisian gave her a slight nod. “The man who stands to your right.” Trevisian nodded to the fair-haired man in the jerkin. “Your name is?”
“Fidel, my Lord King.”
“Don’t address him as such!” The white-eyed woman hissed. “He’s no King to us.”
“And you.” He turned to the grey-haired man who had addressed him a moment ago. “What is your name, Elder?” Trevisian used the correct address. He would show deference even if these high and mighty Laowyn would not.
“Zephenesh, my Lord King.” The Elder rose slightly from the table and bowed.
He inclined his head to both the Laowyn men - Fidel first, then Zephenesh. “I am told I owe you a debt, that of my life. As does another – the woman I seek.”
“Who is it that he seeks?” the Elder with grey-streaked hair spoke again, but this time to Zephenesh.
“So the offer of your arms is simply a pretext…” Zephenesh was cut short.
“It is not a pretext,” Trevisian replied curtly, his patience fraying. That old man didn’t deny it - she was here. His heart beat became more persistent, faster, and his patience drew thin. “But it is dependent upon her safety.”
The Commander whispered to the man named Fidel.
“Now it is your turn for whispering?”
Johan put a tempering hand upon Trevisian’s arm, but it would not calm the King’s spirit. She was within reach and these old fools would not let him near her. What did they think he intended?
“Who is she to you?” It was Fidel who spoke. Trevisian could see the Laowyn’s eyes measuring him. His face was open, waiting for an honest response. It was in that moment that Trevisian remembered who he was. The one Trevisian had shot in the arm back in the forest. The one who had captured him. Now he wanted to be an ally with Trevisian.
“The woman who you took from my palace is the rightful Queen of Emrilion.”
Whispers immediately erupted in the ruined hall. The white-eyed woman looked to Fidel, but he was still staring at the King in silence. Other Elders at the table were murmuring amongst each other, a few cast their eyes in the direction of the door, no doubt wondering who the Queen of Emrilion was among their people. Kiara’s return from the Palace had caused a stir but no explanations had been given by Zephenesh or the others. They wouldn’t have known what to explain. Definitely not this.
“You took her unlawfully from me, even under your own marital laws, and I d
emand she be brought before me.” Trevisian’s voice was fierce. “I married her in full knowledge of her Laowyn blood. It is Garesh, my High Councillor, who constructed the Edict against your people, and I, in my ignorance of your position - and thinking your people were rebelling against me - signed it. Kiara has since told me of the persecution you have suffered at Garesh’s hand. For too long have I allowed my Kingdom to be ruled by another, and now is the time I wish to take it back. For the protection of my wife, I will grant permission for any Laowyn under attack in two days’ time to defend themselves with equal force, and I will stand in defence of them.”
“Can you not stop Garesh?” The Commander ignored the mention of the Queen.
“I cannot.”
Johan stepped forward, his deep voice booming off the crumbling walls, “In standing for your people’s protection before the Council, my Lord King kindled the wrath of Garesh. The High Councillor now leads an uprising against the King. This has forced us to take up arms to defend the King and the Laowyn he stood for.”
“An uprising?” questioned the first Elder.
“Well I’m hardly shocked.” The white-eyed woman folded her arms, a smug smile spreading across her face.
“Yes.” Trevisian was not proud, but Johan had just saved him from admitting his Shapeshifting nature. It was so clear to him now that Garesh had been working against him for a long time. Ever since the High Councillor had forged his father’s hand on the Regency document his sights had been consumed by power. Had Garesh always planned to turn against him? “My army and my government has been fractured. The troops outside your gates are the last loyal to my crown.”
The Commander scoffed.
“You would do well to realise that I am not your enemy,” Trevisian’s eyes hardened. This was a waste of time if they didn’t understand the urgency. “And that your gloating should wait until the Edict has run its course and we have defended ourselves against my rebellious troops and the usurper Garesh.”
The Commander looked uneasy at this, turning to Fidel behind her. He touched her arm briefly and whispered something to her. She seemed irritated by whatever he said and shook her head as if to ignore it.
“Are you helping us to defend ourselves, or are we helping you regain your crown?”
“Both.” There was no point in lying to these people. “But in doing so I will be indebted to your race. More than that, I will be a part of it because of my marriage, and I wish to rule for the future prosperity of the Kingdom. Our Kingdom.”
“Inspiring words.” It was Fidel who spoke. When Trevisian looked at him he saw no derision there, only honesty.
“And this Kiara,” said the old man. “What if she was forced to marry you? Are we still to return her to you if she does not wish to be?”
Trevisian suddenly strode forward, fire ripping through his body and mind. It was only Johan’s heavy hand on his arm that halted him.
“It’s not the way.” Johan whispered.
“She consented.” Trevisian’s voice was controlled but his eyes blazed. “Our truce depends on her safety - and on her return to me.”
“She is not property,” Fidel spoke again, those honest eyes and that deep but soft voice.
Trevisian turned on his heel and made to exit the hall. He would not be made to discuss her publically, it was between them. A deep thudding ache had settled in his chest since she had gone, and now he knew she was so close it was heavier, more painful.
He lay a hand on each of the meeting hall doors and threw his whole weight against them, sending them soaring open. He could hear Johan’s steady step behind him, but his eyes barely saw anything. Until he saw her.
He stopped short and blinked, focusing on her. She was standing there, next to someone else that Trevisian barely noticed. All he saw then was her.
Her thin frame was in the same Reluwyn gown she had worn in his court; her hair was the same tangled mess of golden curls, but dark smudges shadowed her blue eyes. She had gotten as little sleep as him since they’d been apart, and now she was looking at him with those same blue eyes. She was here.
He caught the look of uncertainty in her eyes, as if she didn’t know what he would do, and resolved to wipe it clean. He strode forward, suddenly certain for them both, wrapped both arms around her and pulled her forward until their lips connected. He wouldn’t be letting her go again.
Ikara stood open mouthed several paces from the table. They had all seen it, just outside the doors of the meeting hall, the King and Kiara embracing. They could still see them through the open doorway, clinging to each other as if every breath depended on it. No one had expected that, least of all Ikara - this King who had seemed so fierce now buried his face in Kiara’s hair, his body pressed against hers.
Before anyone could register what was going on, the King was walking down the steps outside the hall with Kiara. Ikara stepped forward. What if he had gotten everything he’d come for?
She felt a large hand enclose her forearm, but before she could turn to face Fidel, the Radichi warrior had moved into the doorway before her.
His light eyes took in their shocked faces before he spoke. “The King has laid his offer before you, and he has been reunited with his wife as he requested. He is now returning to his troops outside your walls and will await the Laowyn response there.” He raised a fist over his heart and bowed his head. Ikara didn’t recognise the gesture, but she understood it as a sign of respect.
The Radichi then followed after his King. Ikara could hear the Elders debating the truce, questioning the new alliance and the sanctity of the Laowyn race. Their voices descended on the hall like the buzz of swarming bees.
Fidel caught Ikara looking at him. “You knew,” she said, a whisper in the midst of the storm.
“I only suspected.” He drew a hand over his stubble - he’d been clean shaven when he’d left for Emril City. “It was Zeb who first guessed.” Ikara took in Zeb’s advancing figure.
Of course he knew - he was always trouble and he’d probably put Kiara up to all this. That story of him being knocked out in the woods was probably as false as Ikara had always deemed it to be. She didn’t trust him at all, and yet he had helped the Resistance for a long time now. When he had turned up just over a year ago, he had treated her for an arrow wound - now she carried a silver scar on her arm just like the one Kiara bore on her thigh. But that kind of charity didn’t make the questions surrounding Zeb disappear. She knew he had a past, and somewhere in that past was a woman he had loved, a woman who was dead.
“Zeb.” She turned, folding her arms across her breastplate and looking down at the elf.
“Commander,” he inclined his head. “Fidel.” There was the shadow of a smile on his face when he spoke to Fidel. They had never been close, but that movement was the closest Zeb would get to proclaiming friendship. When had that happened?
“It seems that we can look forward to a marriage truce between your people and the Reluwyn?”
Ikara snorted. “Do you seriously believe that?”
Zeb raised an eyebrow questioningly, and she felt a check in her mind at that look.
“Are you seriously going to let your prejudice prevent your people from forming a lasting, equal peace with the Reluwyn?”
She didn’t have anything to say to that.
“Is it possible?” asked Fidel.
“It depends.” Zeb waved a lazy hand over at the Elders who were still immersed in discussion. “Will your Elders allow the reconciliation?”
“Reconciliation? Do you even think Kiara wants that?”
“She looked pretty happy to me.” The corners of Fidel’s mouth curled up slightly, and Ikara watched those lips for a second. She shook herself.
“Can’t you see love when it’s in front of you, Commander?” Ikara saw an almost imperceptible slump take over his shoulders. “Did Kiara speak to you?” Fidel turned to Zeb.
“Yes.” The elf sighed. “Kiara just made an incredibly brave decision that will lift he
r up to derision on every front, but her act of courage will be of no value if the Elders don’t make their minds up soon. We have to prepare for an attack.”
Ikara felt an irritating chaffing at the statement. Maybe Kiara was brave, but she was also stupid. She had just put herself completely in the power of another.
“She has given everything of herself away all at the same time.”
“You don’t know her.” Zeb shot back with a hiss. “She has sacrificed everything for her people, and it’s time they stopped judging her for supposed crimes and started thanking her for single-handedly bringing about the best ally the Laowyn Resistance could ever have asked for.” He left the words hanging as he stalked away.
Fidel was scratching his beard again. “Falling in love is not something to be controlled Ikara, you know that.”
The words hung between them for a moment like fuel above a fire. Ikara felt the heat sweep through her body. She was always in control – there were responsibilities.
“I want to say one more thing before I leave you. You asked me what the Great Spirit had done to save His people, didn’t you?” He continued without waiting for her answer. “Do you not think that the King falling in love with one of our people is some kind of miracle?” He gave a slight shake of his head as if throwing off a spell and went towards the door.
Ikara watched him speak to Zeb who had paused in the doorway. When Zeb responded with his usual deadpan expression, Fidel gave a broad smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen that smile. He shouldered against the elf, and then they fell in step beside each other leaving the hall.
“She’s gone,” Zephenesh was behind her. “We must take the truce - perhaps the Great Spirit did not want us to fight before, until this could happen, now he has provided an army. We must ally with the King.”
Ikara glanced between Zephenesh’s anxious eyes and the Elders.
“Yes,” she nodded slowly, hardly believing she was saying the words. “We must ally with the King.”
Chapter 26
The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1) Page 26
