The Guild provides me and Aodren with Beannach water and some Channeler paste for my arm. At first it stings the arrow wound but then leaves the area numb.
A couple of hours later, we’re a broken, ragtag group gathered around Katallia’s table. Omar sits upright in a dining chair, but judging by the pallor of his skin, I’d guess he’s missing his bed. Leif stands by the captain while Lirra and I sit on the opposite sides of the wooden slab, facing the men. Aodren takes the head of the table.
Cohen doesn’t sit down at all. He stands in the doorway, arms folded, mouth in a grim twist. The tension between us is like invisible hands pushing us together and simultaneously pulling us apart. Makes me wonder if anyone else in the room has noticed.
“What do we do now?” Leif asks.
“We find allies.” Aodren speaks first. “We build a competent army by drawing from the fiefs of lords who were killed in Jamis’s coup because we know they were loyal.” His shoulders settle and his expression hardens while he talks.
It must be difficult, knowing that he’ll have to talk to families of men and women who were killed. Unease is written in every line around his eyes. I’m sure the fiefs will rally around him. Anyone who knows him must realize that he’ll never be the kind of ruler his father was.
“Gathering that kind of army takes time,” Cohen argues.
“It can, but that is why we’ll split up.” Aodren taps the table. “You and Leif will head to the northern border. Captain Omar and I will head east after meeting with Lord Freil’s family. The northern tip of Lord Freil’s land is out of the mountains, but away from the main road. The flat land will give us a good place to set up camp and prepare to move on Brentyn.”
We talk for hours, everyone chiming in. In the end, though, Aodren’s plan demands we act quickly. Everyone will leave in the morning. Time is essential.
“What about Britta and myself?” Lirra moves to stand in the doorway.
Aodren pauses, and then turns to me. “Britta. I . . . had thought we would continue to travel together—”
Cohen’s cough interrupts him, but I speak at the same time. “Sounds good to me.”
“My apologies, Your Highness.” Cohen stares out the window, jaw hard. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to make preparations to leave.”
Aodren flicks a dismissive wave in the air, and Cohen exits the room.
Omar grips the table to stand up. “One more thing. We made an agreement with the owners of this home. We’ve sworn an oath to help them.”
I think Omar’s waiting for the king to pass judgment for aligning with an underground ring of Channelers. I know he expects punishment because, if their roles were reversed, Omar would punish.
Aodren glances up at Katallia, who’s popped her head through the doorway. He nods gravely. “An alliance has been needed for quite some time. Thank you for taking the lead on that, Omar.”
The captain stares at Aodren while the king concludes the meeting. Lirra is the first to exit the room. I assume she’s going to speak with Cohen.
I pretend as though I’m not watching her retreat, wondering what she’ll say to him.
In the morning, we dress and ready ourselves for travel. I could use a few more days of rest, but as Aodren pointed out last night, time is essential. Dagger in my boot and sword at my side, I still feel naked without a bow.
I follow Lirra to the main room, where we wait for the men to finish gearing up.
Seeva, the tall woman with skin the color of rich earth, stands just inside the door. Lirra introduced her last night. She seemed marginally pleasant then. Now she radiates tension that has me taking a step back, bumping into Cohen, who I didn’t realize was behind me. His hands touch my shoulders and then leap off.
I fight to keep my expression neutral. Pretend I’m not saddened.
“You brought them here . . .” The woman’s voice quakes. Her hands flick at her sides, and I swear flames leap between her fingertips. I glance around in confusion. The room fills with the rest of the men and Lirra’s aunt.
The woman growls, “You brought the king’s guard to our doorstep.”
My confusion multiplies as Lirra curses and rushes for the window. She spins around so fast, her dark brown braid smacks her face. “Jamis and half a dozen men have spread out around the cottage. We’re under attack.”
I dart to the opposite side of the window, keeping cover to view the field beyond the cottage. Six guards, bows drawn, stand at the tree line one hundred paces away. Jamis holds position on a small rise of hill to the left of the men, his gaunt equine features ghoulish in the early morning haze. Beyond him, movement breaks the shadows.
“There’s more than six.” I lean against the plaster, dread weighing me down. “They have more men in the woods.”
Chapter
45
Aodren
HOW DID THEY FIND US?
The snowstorm had to have covered most of our tracks.
As I stand there, baffled, Captain Omar hobbles toward the window. He’s in the poorest physical condition I’ve ever seen, and yet he straightens in preparation to fight. At least he’s a league better than he was last night.
“You must’ve led them here,” the woman named Seeva practically spits at me.
“He cannot have tracked us. There was too much snowfall,” I say, though it’s clear by the angry set of her jaw she’s not listening. I grip the hilt of my sword. I don’t know what’s facing us outside, so I cannot say we’ll make it through this alive. But I’ll die trying. “I gave you my word last night that you are under my protection. For as long as I live, I’ll keep my word.”
She scoffs and throws an arm out toward the window. “Protection? Is that what you call this? This is your fight, King Aodren.”
Agreed. Jamis is my fight.
Omar keeps one eye out the window, and one on those of us gathered in the room. Cohen moves to the opposite side of the window where Omar stands.
“What weapons are in this house?” Britta crosses to where Katallia stands tucked against the wall out of the window’s view.
“Can you shoot a bow?” The woman studies the bandage around Britta’s arm.
Confidence brightens in Britta’s eyes at the mention of her weapon of choice. She moves her arm in a demonstrative circle as if to say, Look, I’m healed. “I drank some Beannach water last night. My arm is much better than before.”
“Injury or no, the bounty hunter’s daughter can handle a bow better than probably any man in this room,” Cohen says.
“Even one that’s nearly her same size?” Lirra gestures to my height.
Cohen shrugs. “Aye. Seen it before.”
Katallia hurries from the room and returns momentarily with a longbow.
Britta takes the weapon without argument, her fingers pulling at the bowstring to test the tension. “This’ll do.” With the window in her focus, she adds, “Maybe it’ll give me some more distance.”