The Bird and the Sword (15 page)

“That is why you fall asleep so deeply when you try to heal me?”

Yes. It’s . . . exhausting . . . forcing my will on others.

“But not on objects?”

There is no resistance with inanimate things.

Tiras nodded, as if that made perfect sense, and I relaxed further, enjoying myself.

“I want you to try again, but don’t let me hear. I want to see what you are capable of,” he urged, and my joy became reluctance once more.

I was allowing him to hear my rhymes, the little spells I flung into the air. If I instructed him to act and kept it from him, could I actually influence him in some way?
Could I make him love me?
The thought whispered through my heart and mind unbidden, and I turned away, embarrassed and rather surprised at myself. I wouldn’t want that.

“Try again,” he demanded, as if he’d heard my inner monologue.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I shook my head. Compelling someone was repugnant to me.

I don’t want that much power. I don’t want to bend people to my will.

“I give you permission,” he murmured. “Don’t you want to know what you can do?”

Not knowing is so much easier. So much safer.

“Focus,” he commanded, ignoring my misgivings. I wondered briefly if his power to compel wasn’t a great deal stronger than mine. I always seemed to obey him.

“What do you want, Lark? What do you want me to do?” he pushed, waiting, his posture tense as if he expected me to send him careening into a wall. As if I
could
.

I closed my eyes to create some distance and, keeping my feelings in my belly rather than my head, pushed outward, urging Tiras without even knowing specifically what I asked of him. I was trying so hard to hide my words from him that the command was more a base desire than a neatly formed spell. I hardly knew what I was attempting, when suddenly Tiras was looming over me, pressing his mouth to mine. I froze and opened my eyes.

The brush of his chin was slightly rough, his mouth insistent, almost angry, as if he sought to conquer rather than convince. He held my face as he had before, fingers splayed into my hair, but when I failed to respond, he immediately pulled back, but not much. His eyes glittered, and his hands stayed buried in my hair.

“Why ask for something you don’t want?” he whispered, the words tickling my lips.

I didn’t ask. I would never, ever ask for something like that.

His eyes narrowed further, and his hands fell to his sides, releasing me as suddenly as he’d kissed me.

I hadn’t asked . . . had I? I would never, ever ask, no matter how much I wanted something. Or someone. I’d thought about love. That was all. Then he’d kissed me. I didn’t know how to kiss, and I had responded with all the ardor of a rock wall.

I didn’t ask,
I repeated.

Tiras looked puzzled for a moment, then contemplative. He folded his arms across his chest, and I could feel him listening intently, like he was trying to peel back my protestations and uncover all the things I wasn’t saying.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he murmured finally. “Unless you tell me no.”

My mind was a huge, white wall. No protestations. No thoughts. No words at all.

“Breathe,” he whispered, and I obediently sipped the air. “Come here.” Again. Immediate compliance.

He didn’t reach for me or pull me to him, didn’t crush me against his chest. He simply tipped my chin up and brought his mouth down.

Then he coaxed cooperation with gentle conviction.

Sweet
rose from his consciousness, and wonder limned the word.

He wheedled entry, pulling my top lip between his, tugging and tasting, only to slide past it to seek my timid tongue, plying me and playing me, until I was matching the pressure of his lips and exploring the heat of his mouth with eager strokes and breathless wonder.

I heard his decision to cease before he pulled away, leaving me with my chest heaving and my lips wet. Bereft and immediately embarrassed, I couldn’t meet his eyes, but could feel him considering me, even as a decision was reached. Then he spoke, drawing my gaze.

“Kjell is right. You
are
a dangerous little bird. But I think I will keep you.”

T
he king escorted me back to my chambers and put four guards at the door.

“For your protection, and for mine,” Tiras explained. I didn’t respond, and I still couldn’t look at him. My heart felt strange and my hands shook beneath the long drape of the bell-shaped sleeves. I could still taste him, heady and strong, and though I longed to run my tongue along the seam of my lips to relive the moment, I felt claimed without being wanted. It was a feeling I knew well. It was a feeling that made me long for Boojohni, the only soul on earth who loved me.

I waited up, trying to read, trying harder to listen, but the castle was quiet and when Pia and Greta came to attend me, removing my dress and brushing my hair, they seemed tired and irritable, but nothing seemed amiss, and they chattered over the evening’s events and the work that still needed doing. I didn’t know whether my father had crept away, fleeing to Corvyn without me, or if he, like the rest of the delegation, had retired to his chamber to plot again.

The castle was full of secrets and schemes, full of people hungry for power and afraid of magic. Much like me, the castle hadn’t learned to speak. I listened to the walls and collected random words until the dawn crept in and the city awoke.

The following evening, I was primped and adorned and escorted to the hall once more, seated to the left of the king as if all was well. The delegation seemed slightly less travel-weary, and eyes were sharp and conversation stilted. My father hadn’t left for Corvyn. His face was just as drawn, his gaze as fleeting, but the death that had hovered around him the day before had fled.

The king neither ate nor drank, but engaged the gathering in trivial conversation and mild discussion of the happenings in the kingdom. As the meal was consumed and the hour passed, Lord Gaul rose, and with a weighted look around the gathering, he addressed the king with false solemnity.

“There are ten provinces—Kilmorda, Corvyn, Bilwick, Bin Dar, Enoch, Quondoon, Janda, Gaul, Firi and of course, Degn.” He inclined his head toward the king when he said Degn. Degn was the province of Tiras’s family, the province that surrounded the capital, the province of kings. “There are five representatives here tonight.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Firi, Corvyn, Bilwick, Bin Dar, and Gaul.” He inclined his head again. “Six, if we count Degn. If we count you.”

The king waited.

“The representatives from Janda, Quondoon and Enoch, to the south, don’t feel as threatened by the Volgar as those of us farther north. They weren’t interested in . . . attending . . . this summit.”

“They weren’t interested in a coup?” The king asked, his mild voice dripping with false calm. “And the rest of you?” Tiras moved his eyes around the table, lingering on every member of the council, one by one, demanding a response.

“If this is a coup, then I have no interest in it either,” the lovely ambassador from Firi interrupted, rising from her chair. “I am here to support King Tiras in his efforts to push back the Volgar. I am here to commit my province to the defense of Jeru. All of Jeru.”

The king rose to his feet, bowing slightly to the young ambassador. Kjell rose alongside him, his hand on his sword, his eyes on the woman. When the king started to speak once more, Kjell’s eyes swung back to Tiras. I wanted to stand too. It would have been ridiculous. I was no one. But still, I wanted to stand. If there were sides, I did not want to be on the side of people like Bilwick and Gaul and the smug ruler of Bin Dar who even now, was rising at the far end of the long table. I did not want to be on the side of those who thought people like my mother, people like me, were the real enemy.

“Kilmorda is in ruins,” Tiras said, pinning the gathering with his black gaze. “Lord Kilmorda and his family are dead. The Volgar have been pushed back, but they’ve left behind destruction. The people of Kilmorda have fled to Firi, some to Degn, a few to Corvyn, though it is harder to access due to the mountainous terrain. The valley stinks of rotting corpses, and the waters are tainted with death. Unless you want all of Jeru to share the same fate, you will leave your political machinations for another time.”

“But Your Majesty, that is why we are here,” Lord Gaul insisted with cloying sweetness. “I think I speak for Lord Corvyn, Lord Bilwick, Lord Bin Dar, as well as myself, when I say your leniency on the Gifted has given rise to these attacks. The Gifted have fled north, and they have bred with beasts, giving rise to the monsters that now attack Jeru.”

“One would think that if I were truly lenient on the Gifted they would have no reason to flee. Wouldn’t they just stay here if I am so welcoming?” Tiras snapped.

“They must be destroyed, Majesty. And you have failed to destroy them. Now they rise against us with the Volgar. Lord Bin Dar stood beside Lord Gaul. Slowly, one by one, every lord was standing, including my father. Those of us who had no influence or title remained seated. I fought the urge to stand once more.

“How do you know this, Lord Bin Dar?” The king leaned forward, his arms bracketing the plate of food he’d hardly touched. “I have been in Kilmorda fighting winged beasts, killing them by the hundreds, and I’ve never seen what you allege.”

“We have questioned the Gifted, Your Majesty,” Lord Bilwick shot out, his voice a self-satisfied sneer.

“What Gifted?” The king’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“The Gifted we’ve captured, of course. The Gifted in our own provinces. Before they are put to death they are questioned. Extensively. They all tell us the same thing. They are in league with the Volgar,” Lord Gaul supplied smoothly.

Satisfaction rose from Lord Gaul, Lord Bin Dar, and Lord Bilwick like the cheap scents the vendors sold at the weekly bazaars. Their line of attack had been clearly orchestrated. My father exuded greed, his avarice creating a stench almost as thick as the plotting of his fellow lords.

“You’ve captured and tortured people, your own citizens, until they confessed to your allegations,” the king bit out.

Lord Bin Dar’s oddly-shaped brows rose until they disappeared into the sweep of his black hair. It was a flat, bluish black, a color achieved through tonics and dyes, and it only succeeded in making his pale face look older and more lined.

“Your father, King Zoltev, struck down Corvyn’s wife without a trial . . . over nothing more than a kerchief fluttering in the air!” His hand mimicked the fluttering with an effeminate wiggle of his fingers, and he sighed as if the memory pained him. “At least we allow the Gifted trials before we put them to death.”

Deception. Blame. Power. Destruction.

The words made a thick soup in the air, and I wasn’t sure which words belonged to whom. My head began to swim, memories of my mother, of her blood on the cobblestones, of her body pressing into mine as she breathed her warning into my ear. I closed my eyes and bowed my head. Lord Bin Dar’s voice echoed oddly, like I was submerged in water.

“The people are losing confidence in you, Tiras. The council is losing confidence in you. If you will not protect Jeru from the Gifted then we must protect Jeru from you.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, and something dark skittered across his face. His jaw was granite, and his hands gripped the edge of the table so hard the ends of his fingers were white like talons.

“I see. And who will protect all of
you
from
me
?” the king hissed, his eyes glowing fire. Lord Bin Dar blanched, and there was a collective gasp around the table.

“We are simply concerned!” Lord Gaul huffed. “It is our responsibility, our duty as Council of Lords to see that Jeru does not fall into enemy hands.”

“It is my duty as king to vanquish Jeru’s enemies. Whoever they might be.”

“We will reassemble in one month’s time. If the Volgar have not been defeated, the lords from every province will ask you to relinquish the throne. Corvyn is next in line, so Corvyn will be king. You will be Lord of Degn, a member of the Council of Lords, but you will not be king,” Lord Bin Dar shouted, and the protests and dissent, along with cheers and jeers, rose as well.

“Corvyn is in line for the throne upon my death, and only upon my death. Do you mean to kill me? So far your attempts—all of your attempts—have failed. You have sought to take my life.”

“You have taken my daughter!” My father cried out, finding his courage amid the clamor.

“And I intend to keep her, Lord Corvyn,” Tiras roared, and my father visibly quaked even as my insides trembled. “I intend to keep her close by, to keep her next to me at all times. She will drink from my cup and eat from my plate to protect me from your poisons. She will sleep beneath me and hover over me and never leave my side. In fact, I leave in three days for Kilmorda, and she is coming with me. She will ride in front of me, astride my horse, clinging to me as I go into battle, a human shield against those you send against me.”

Heat rose in my cheeks, and flames licked at my breast. I spelled out the word I-C-E, focusing on the slick, cold shape of the word, building a frozen barrier between my heart and the roaring cauldron in my chest, willing myself not to flinch, not to care that I was a pawn in a very dangerous game.