Thirty-Two
C in was growing increasingly aware of the crowd circling him and Lorenz.
A ring of Cin’s flock—now even larger than it had been in the kitchen—guarded them as the crown’s watch members waited beyond, weapons drawn.
Edging closest was the queen. Her husband had a hand on her shoulder, like he might try to pull her into the protection of his arms if the birds descended, though his eyes were locked on Lorenz.
“Ren…” Queen Idonia’s voice was desperate, and she inched forward as if Cin were a wild beast who’d pounced upon her son only to miraculously set him free.
Lorenz did not smile at her, his expression dipping toward sadness. Cin squeezed his hand.
The queen’s gaze flickered between them, and for all her obvious doubts, she seemed to interpret one thing clearly. “Is this who you’ve chosen to lead our kingdom with you, my son? A killer?”
“No Mother,” Lorenz said, rising slowly to his feet.
He pulled Cin up with him. “This man whom I’ve chosen as my partner is not a killer—he’s a good man, a man of integrity and justice, who has struggled to fill the gaps we left in our kingdom when we allowed our grief and fear to keep us from caring properly for our people…
” He took a breath, and Cin could feel his prince’s—his partner’s —confidence waver, then return, brighter and more certain.
Cin caught his previous smile sparkling deep in his eyes, his hair fluttering, for once, in a very real breeze.
Somehow, that same wind sent smoke billowing around the house without spreading it toward any of them, as Lorenz continued, “My dearest dove and I will not be leading anyone. Neither of us is going to be Hallin’s next king. ”
Despite all of Cin’s hope and yearning for a future where Lorenz sought his own happiness, his own life, he still faltered from shock. Under the light of this announcement, the world felt ethereal. Lorenz’s parents looked less thrilled by the idea, however.
“What will happen when your father and I are gone, Ren?” Queen Idonia floundered. “There is no one in the direct line but you—”
“We will find someone else,” Lorenz said. “You may have claimed you were looking for a partner to help me rule, but we all know you were hoping to entrust the kingdom primarily to them, not to me. I am not the son who was meant for that.”
The queen took a step toward him, seeming no longer to notice the horde of watchful birds still circling. She held out her palms pleadingly to her son. “You could be! With practice—”
“I don’t wish for practice!” Lorenz shouted.
There was no cruelty in his voice, but his expression stayed firm as he met his mother halfway, taking her hands in his.
“I want to travel our kingdom, without a crown or a watch. I want to see and learn all that I’ve missed keeping myself away in the castle.
I want to know our people, as a fellow person, not as sovereign.
And perhaps, there may be a time, long after that, when it means the crown feels the correct weight for my head, but I can make no promises.
I can only serve our people in the way that feels right for me now, and let the future come when it may. ”
Queen Idonia seemed to be taking this explanation like it was a raw lemon, her face contorted and her eyes watering, but she inhaled deeply, and her gaze shifted to Cin. “And you wish to do all this with him?”
“Yes, Mother.” Lorenz looked at her sternly, the expression only slightly marred by the upward quirk of one lip.
“Throwing my love in the dungeons won’t stop it, you know.
Even I can’t seem to properly cage my own heart.
” His voice grew more solemn as he added, “I believe there is a great good that the Plumed Menace can do for Hallin. We need someone who understands the suffering of the least fortunate in our kingdom and has fought, if crudely, to alleviate that. You had Father for your council in that, once—he spurred you to create the watch in the first place, did he not? But now you are both far too isolated to fully realize what must be done next.”
The queen flinched at that, diverting her gaze. Slowly, though, she looked behind her, locking her eyes with her husband. Her voice was barely a whisper as she asked, “Would you pardon him?”
Cin’s heart seemed to stutter, a thousand eyes still peering down around him as though waiting to know whether they’d need to sweep him up and whisk him and Lorenz into a new life or not.
“Should he agree to Ren’s ideas, then I certainly would,” the king confirmed, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “But I only want you to agree to this because you believe in it.”
It was fascinating to watch a man so soft and quiet as Lorenz’s father speak with such reassuring confidence. He would not have burned beside his wife, Cin thought. King Warner would have, just as calmly and gently, found her corpse, and carried her out.
Queen Idonia sighed. “Ren loves him, and if I am being truthful, I have known you and he to be a finer judge of character than myself.” She looked to her son as she said it, giving him a small, proud smile. “If he cares for Lorenz as much as he ought, then I’m certain we can reach a consensus.”
“I do,” Cin said. He found there was no hesitation in him, no circles he needed to run around the thought of giving up the Plumed Menace—not when there was other change, broader change, he could instill.
He had never needed the Menace, he found.
What he had needed was justice. If the crown was open to seeing that through, then he’d take the opportunity and run with it.
“See,” King Warner said, and kissed his wife’s temple. “You are a fine enough judge. You picked me, after all.”
“Oh, stop,” the queen grumbled, but it was with the softest smile Cin had ever seen.
Her face fell into a weary despair in moments though, her gaze returning to Lorenz and Cin.
“If you are truly so committed to giving up the crown, then in the coming months we may begin to discuss—all of us—who we might train up in your place.”
As she said it, Cin’s body was flooded by the sensations he’d first felt from Lorenz’s bonds: the sense of life, of pain, of transformation, and then…
Cin shuddered. It fit so well with everything he’d already wondered at, it almost scared him. But those bonds were not just the cage around Lorenz’s heart—they’d been more, too, once. They’d been Adalwin’s crown. They’d witnessed his death, if death was what it had been. Cin wasn’t so sure.
He had no desire to give Lorenz or his parents false hope, but it all seemed too much of a coincidence to not at least warrant attention.
Before he could let his worries convince him otherwise, Cin spoke up.
“We may already know who the best person for the kingdom is.” He waited as the queen and king’s attention fixed on him, searching for the balance between reason and desire.
“When I drew Prince Adalwin’s mangled crown from Ren’s chest, I felt the memory of the dark magic that imbued it when Adalwin was attacked. ”
Lorenz had believed he cast the dark magic on himself, but Cin thought otherwise.
It seemed to have been in the crown already, placed there by the villain who’d attacked Adalwin’s party.
Perhaps it had been intended to take over the heart of its victim, or maybe Lorenz had simply pulled it forth with his grief, but it had existed there before Lorenz’s journey into the forest, and through it, Cin knew he’d sensed the truth.
“I don’t believe Adalwin was killed with his party,” Cin continued. “Whoever attacked him was a skilled sorcerer who might have inflicted him with all manner of curses. He may still be out there somewhere, unable to return to you.”
Lorenz nearly stumbled, his pupils so wide that the sparkle of brilliant green in them was nearly overtaken. His voice came out hoarse. “My brother is alive?”
“I can’t promise anything,” Cin admitted. “But I think we should look for him.”
“Alwin…” the queen whispered. A single tear slipped down her cheek, but her expression was pure hope.
Lorenz laughed, a deep, sobbing sound, and threw himself at his parents, all three of them wrapped in each other’s arms as they cried. “He could be out there—”
King Warner stuttered, “But we’ve looked—”
“We’ll look again!” Queen Idonia exclaimed. “If there’s even the smallest chance we missed him…”
The sight of their little family together, sharing their joy and grief so openly, made Cin’s heart ache.
He could never have had that with Louise and Penrod, not even over the lives of his own siblings.
But there was still someone he loved enough to mourn with, even if they hadn’t yet discovered how to rejoice together.
Leaving the royal family to their joy, Cin walked awkwardly back through the garden, noticing his missing shoe far more now that all eminent danger had passed.
Those of the watch who remained parted for him.
Whether it was from the crown’s promise of a pardon, or their fear of the birds that still circled Cin from a distance, he wasn’t sure.
Most of the watch members had moved on, though, a few preparing Floy and Manfred for transport—to the nearest doctor, Cin assumed, though he wasn’t sure how much good it would do them—while the rest attempted to fight back the fire that still raged within the Reinholzes’ estate.
It seemed to have no desire to burn beyond the house, not even to the tree growing from the grave of Cin’s birth-mother, no matter how many sparks rained through its branches.
Father was still in there, burning along with Louise’s corpse, but Cin only felt the slightest grief for that.
He had been given his chances, to stay or to leave, to make a difference, to be kinder, even if he couldn’t be stronger.
He’d chosen to stand silently by instead, the same in life as he was in death.
A part of Cin would miss him—would miss Louise, even, and Floy and Manfred too, if they didn’t survive the shock of their wounds—but that feeling was so tiny compared to the satisfied beast of his hatred, now curled contentedly around his chest, purring like a cat.
Cin found Emma sitting at the edge of the garden, her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.
She barely looked up as he settled on the ground beside her, the heat close enough to leave a glow on Cin’s exposed skin.
What a pair they must have made: Cin covered in soot, and Emma in her torn and dirty church-best, bare feet bloody—though gratefully un-stretched—and the deep cut on her cheek closing over in an angry red scab.
Her eye seemed all right but for a single red line in the white.
Cin said nothing, just sat with her, waiting. It felt good to simply feel. To ache. To want. So much had been taken from them in such a short time, and so much offered up, yet untouched. He barely even noticed when Manfred and Floy were finally taken away, one of them still moaning.
“Did I deserve that?” Emma whispered, so sudden that Cin almost didn’t register the words. He nearly thought she meant the scratch on her cheek, but then she lifted her finger to the fire instead.
Cin cupped his hand around hers, lowering it. “No,” he assured her.
And, he thought, perhaps neither did their parents—not all of what had come for them, anyway.
If he were going to be helping his kingdom find a new method of justice, one that didn’t rely on his birds or his blade, he had to grant his family that grace, too, if only in retrospect.
That hardly meant he regretted the present outcome, though.
Earning and deserving were two different things, and his family had certainly earned this.
Cin wrapped his arm around Emma’s shoulder and pulled her nearer, resting his chin on her head. It felt like it had been ages since he’d last held her so close in such quiet.
Too long, at least.
Emma glanced up, her brow tight despite the hope in her voice. “Will I get to visit you at the castle?”
Cin hesitated, brushing back the stray hairs that had fallen from her lopsided styling. “I don’t know where I’ll live, whether it will be the castle or someplace else, but wherever it is, you can always come too.”
Emma hugged onto him. Into his chest, she whispered, “What if I keep ruining things?”
“You have never ruined anything, Emma,” Cin said. And he found he meant that.
He held her like that, the fire uncomfortably close as it raged, then dimmed, the wood of their family home crumbling in on itself, until Lorenz and the queen finally approached with their horses alongside both of the Reinholzes’, Cin’s flock-creature already forming into its equine shape behind them.
Cin stood, offering Emma help onto one of their family steeds. After one tiny sniffle, she took it.
All those times he’d dreamed of the hearth flame twirling out and up, searing into wood and taking them all with it.
He’d always anticipated it would feel good, but this was nothing like the sanctification he’d imagined.
This was hope. It was a future, unfolding in front of him with each crackle and split of the Reinholz estate’s aging wood.
And whether under the smile of God or a sullen frown, Cin could not wait to step into it.