Chapter 56
Chapter fifty-six
The Fracture
The world went still.
“The Speaker has returned to the conclave,” said Jor. “I have sent with her an escort of six men.”
“Six men?” Skyre scowled. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—that the order was given, or that it wasn’t his.
“If they should be beset and the priestess killed, it would hardly be forgiven. You wouldn’t disagree, I hope.” The prince set the words like a snare.
“Of course not,” Skyre muttered, and Jor gave him the names. Five were of no great significance, but the sixth…
“I have sent Laird Houel away.”
Skyre glanced at the druid. Though he remained quiet, his eyes flickered in relief.
Korv was gone.
An inconvenient blessing.
But an inauspicious air hung like trapped smoke. What had begun as endless revelry had contorted. Now, there was not a smiling face amongst them.
“Never before has the Aardm?t been split. It is ill omen,” said Old Borrach. Heads nodded in solemn agreement and a grim realization wormed in Skyre’s heart.
No one would believe their truth. And now, no one could speak for them.
With the Oracle dead and none yet in her place, their plan had met with a wall of ice. Guilt gnawed at the part of him that felt relieved the druid no longer had reason to leave. But every moment they did not speak would be a moment lost.
Yet, Skyre couldn’t imagine telling his men now. The prophecy said he would live forever. It did not say he would do so sane.
To say the druid had foreseen their end days’ coming would be to confirm the worst fears amongst them: The druid was a witch with unknowable power.
The An’Atherin would never allow it.
Skyre said, “We have had a long journey. Let me tend to my consort. Summon the village healer.”
“For the last time, I am fine. We have much bigger concerns.”
Skyre carefully excused himself from his Féin, steering the druid aside. “I beg of you this once, allow me to lead. We cannae sow uncertainty now. Please.”
Pale eyes searched his own. What they found there… what they didn’t… Skyre didn’t know. But it frightened him.
The druid conceded with a small nod. “Yes, alright.”
“How pleasing to see our anointed rulers have taken to one another. Perhaps the gods have not abandoned us after all.”
Skyre tensed at the grate of Jor’s voice, and he saw those amber eyes fixed upon him.
The men mulling about the square slowed at the prince’s words. Skyre glanced at Greyv, who watched askance as he unsaddled his horse. A dark cloud had followed their heated encounter, and neither had spoken much since. Skyre wondered if he wasn’t just waiting to see the king get the whip.
“And how did the excursion fare? You went with purpose after all,” Jor continued. “After these unfortunate circumstances, I would hope you bring good news. Yet, you return with our Queen looking most unwell. Tell me, did the woodwalkers accept your proposal?”
Skyre felt a hundred blades pointed at his back. Nacht watched on, waiting for his answer, and all the men there gathered turned their ears.
It was dangerous, but to speak false would only damn him further. He could say nothing of the womb tree or the Naém—not yet. But the rest…
“The druids offered me a comfortable place. And my time spent amongst them was not unenjoyable.”
Medhin looked stricken and Rask’s lips twisted.
“How do you explain the injuries?” Jor pressed.
“The druids do not engage in war and you well ken it,” Skyre's voice dropped low. “I did not go to fight and they did not receive me in violence.”
“Then bandits, mayhaps? Deep in the green?”
Skyre sneered. “You aren’t entitled to know everything!"
“So you have something to hide?”
“No, I—”
“A simple hunting accident,” said the druid, and Skyre went still. “I asked to accompany His Majesty, and thus it was my fault. I am still unused to riding and hunting is the providence of better men.”
Jor looked as jilted as a scorned wife and he bowed his head. “Then I am most relieved to see His Majesty has not suffered further.”
“The healer, sire!” someone called and Skyre relaxed, if only somewhat.
“Let her through,” he said as the woman jostled past the crowd. She was young, but stern in the face.
She gave a swift and clumsy curtsy. “You requested my services, my liege?”
“See to it my consort is made comfortable and given the best treatment you can provide. You’ll be paid handsomely for your efforts.”
“Yes, sire.”
The druid looked unhappy with his predicament, but Skyre urged him gently on. “Rest,” he said quietly. “Please.”
Another reluctant nod followed and the druid allowed himself to be led off. Skyre watched him go with a growing ache, but turned his attention back to the vultures.
“Maybe one of you will be so kind as to show me the fighting pit. Since you all have something to say.”
Jor scoffed, but Nacht came forwards.
“We are quartered at the inn.”
Skyre followed, letting his council fill in around him. The inn was large, with a closed upper story, and a gambling room off the dining hall, which they repurposed now into their council chamber.
The cramped space made him agitated, and for an instant, he missed being no one.
“After all your posturing, you come back empty-handed,” said Jor as soon as they were out of earshot. Nacht and Rask had followed, but Greyv had vanished upstairs, leaving Skyre to the pillory.
“Whether I did or did not, it isnae for you to interrogate me before my men. Or have you forgotten yourself in a matter of days?” said Skyre.
“Someone had to give orders while the laird was away,” Jor said.
“And of course you think it ought to be you, though there’s a swath of better men here to take lead. But aye, you fell from a great royal sack and so you think yourself king.”
“Answer the question!” Rask barked. “Two weeks of gallivanting in the wood for nothing but flesh sport.”
Skyre glared. “Flesh sport? Do you think so little of me? I meant what I said on the day that I left—and the prophecy kept me as promised. Yet here is a room full of men who should respect me and all I see is doubt.”
“Then tell us of your dealings with the druids,” said Nacht. “Did they care to listen?”
“They were accepting of me. It was far more than we have done for them. But in the end I…” Skyre’s fists clenched, the scathing image of the torn womb raging before his eyes.
“We did not reach an agreement. Too long have we besieged their kind. Now, they see only violence. And they… they ken only the land. But the druids are no threat to us. And henceforth I forbid any brutality against my Queen’s people.
If we are to change their minds… to be invited back…
then we will show them we are not the fiends they see in us. ”
“Invited?” Jor chuckled. “This is the end of the Vaich. Where is your dominating spirit now?”
“War willnae solve everything,” said Skyre. “Your father kent it.”
“What a valiant new leaf for you. The woodsingr really has enamored you with his song.”
“And we’ll see you crashed upon the cliffs because of it,” growled Rask storming from the room.
“Athair—”
“Let him go,” said Nacht, resting his large hand upon Skyre’s shoulder.
“The Féin questions their king’s priorities,” said Jor. “How long do you think these men will tolerate your fancies? If you can’t make decisions from a place of propriety. Be sure they will be made for you.”
“The Vaich’s power is not shared,” Skyre said darkly.
Jor laughed. “Your mentors did a foul disservice to tell you so. You will be their puppet, whether you like it or not. Haven’t you realized?
You’re an instrument. And if you cannot be played properly, they will discard you.
I would look to the conclave, Your Majesty.
The next Oracle might find herself receiving many strange prophecies, indeed. ”
Jor sent a final, withering look before leaving Skyre alone with the holler and those haunting words.
“Even when I try to be good… it all goes wrong in their eyes,” muttered Skyre. “I never do anything right.”
“When a man has dug his path so deep, even seeing over the trench can fill him with fear,” said Nacht. “Offer him a hand up and all he’ll do is bury himself in dust.”
Skyre shook his head. “Rask is a great man. He wouldnae be so willfully stubborn.”
“Hm.” Nacht glanced at him. “And some men like to watch others burn.”
That was easier to believe.
Jor would place himself at the king’s opposite, even if he had to crawl across a field of bones to do it. He hadn’t gained an advisor, but a contrarian.
“And you?” asked Skyre. “What do you think of me? Shall I bathe myself in your disappointment, too?”
Nacht gave his half-grin, half-sneer, but at least it was honest. “I expected little would come of this endeavor.
If, indeed, that was your purpose for going.
I am not unfamiliar with the woodkin—not least of all their stubbornness.
For you to spin such an elaborate plan… whatever you're defending must be worthwhile.”
Skyre was flabbergasted.
“Am I really so obvious?”
The holler chuckled. “Aye. But to see a king’s heart… it’s a good change.”
Skyre wondered what Nacht might say if he told him the truth. Or if that was simply his desperation weaseling its way out. He wanted someone—anyone—to be on their side. But the fact was, he was terrified.
Once, he had feared the druid’s threat; A challenge he had imagined in his mind. But the danger of falling from favor hadn’t left.
The prophecy had always named and killed its kings. But what did it mean to be left unclaimed?
People died all the time, and no one announced their death’s coming. Suppose he wasn’t fated to live forever.
But to die a mortal man.
The room swum with smoke; the scent of incense clawed at his nose. Skyre sat at the foot of the bed, head in his hands as a distant voice teased…
I want to be a good king.
He had once imagined his life, drenched in courage and victory. A man upon his great steed, decorated in gold. And wherever he would go, the people would sing in praise, safe and strong beneath his shadow.
That image, like most things in his life, had proved illusion.
The door creaked open, and soft footsteps pattered the floorboards. He did not look up until he felt her weight beside him.
“My heart?”
Words clogged his throat.
“Please, talk to me.”
From the moment the crown touched his head, he had walked a path of fire, but not in glory. His feet bled. The ground turned to rot beneath them. He was a son of Sun. And yet all around him the flame burned cold. Instability… mistrust… now, even the heaven’s eyes closed.
“All my life,” he whispered, “I was your golden boy. But the Sun has never felt so far. Máta, I fear we’re on the eve of something terrible.”
“Do not be overrun by dark thoughts,” she said, stroking back his hair. “The Sun is forever behind you, even as you walk into shadow.”
He wanted to tell her all that he knew. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to be as close to God as she made him seem.
“The An’Atherin… They wouldn’t… betray me, would they?”
“Betray you?” she gasped. “Oh, my darling, who has filled your mind with such things?”
He looked away. “The Oracle dying… the way it all happened… If there was something wrong, you would tell me. Wouldn’t you?”
“Mirín, rid yourself of these quandaries. Your mind has been muddled by foul air.”
“Muddled?” His mouth was dry and fists tight. He knew of what she spoke. Of whom. And maybe… she was right. He had been led astray. The druid… He’d allowed himself to fall and gone crawling at his feet.
And he did not regret it.
“My mind has never been more clear,” he said. “For a moment, in that forest, I grasped at goodness. Yet here it is being bled from me again.”
Her eyes widened, but she did not speak, even as he felt her hand tremble on his.
“Why should I hate them? Why should I fear their way of life? Why did I justify doing what I did to him?”
“Skyre…”
“I ken it. They’re heathens. And yet, for a moment, no one judged me.
Not until I… showed them what I really am.
” He shook his head, weak and woefully weary.
“I dinnae want to destroy anymore, but build. Yet, my hands have never sown. My words have never tilled. Can I truly be a king who sutures wounds… or will the fire bury me for my duplicity?”
He met her watery gaze.
“Are you afraid of me?”
She shook her head. “No, my darling. Never of you. Only for you. As I have always been.” She brushed his cheek.
“When you were young, a wee bairn in my arms, they told me you would never die, and still, too precious you were to risk. Why do you think I never let you train with fire? I was too afraid to take that chance.”
He chuckled weakly. “And would you urge me against him? For my safety?”
Her arms wound around him and he sank into the embrace.
“I would urge that if this be your hill… then go and set your stones.”
“Hill?” he asked, puzzled.
“Aye. Find a place amongst the rolling green. A place where you can see the sun. Where it be warm, and strong against the wind. And there you must build.”
“And what if I do not choose the right hill?”
She said, “When those stones be lain, you guard them, come whatever may. Many a man should die at his door, but a good man dies on the hill he chose.”
Maybe he could still be a good man.
“Máta?”
“Aye, Mirín?”
“Will you sing to me the Odes, like you used to?”
“Aye,” she said, with a smile in her sound. And she sang, the words lulling him back to a time of ease, a time of no wrong, when all his hope was golden and all his smiles sure.