Chapter 14
Fourteen
Hayle
I t was standard practice that when a Conclave was called, the current Barons brought their spare Heir. The official Heir to the Lines stayed in their seat of power, out of harm’s way, and acting as an underlying threat in case of betrayal from one of the other Lines.
Any Line could call a meeting of the Conclave, and we’d all have to journey to Fortaare and hear their grievances. Most of the time, it was tedious shit: taxes, land disputes, tariffs, that kind of thing. However, the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines had called this Conclave in conjunction with each other, and it was already proving more exciting than the sixteen other Conclaves I’d had to attend over the last six years.
Feodore Vylan waved a hand. “I understand that you’re facing hardships, Baron Abaster, but we govern our own Baronies. It has been that way since long before my time, and the times before my father. It is not the responsibility of the rest of the Lines to save you from poor planning.”
Jacob Abaster bared his teeth at the Baron of the First Line, our ruler, and if I hadn’t been able to scent the rage coming off him in waves, I’d almost think it was a smile. “I understand, Baron Vylan, but our people are starving. This drought is a once-in-a-hundred-year weather event. We need aid from the Capital.”
“A once-in-a-hundred-year event would insinuate that this has happened before. What did you do a hundred years ago?” Roderick Rovan asked haughtily, his nose scrunched as he took in the Lower Lines across from him.
Ingrid Ulsen glared at the man across the table. She was the only female Baroness at the table. “We died , Baron Rovan. The Eleventh Line barely survived the Great Drought 163 years ago, and we did it by seeking aid with the Eaglehoth, who graciously allowed the survivors refuge until the drought broke. Our numbers dropped into the hundreds, and it has taken a hundred years for our population to recover.”
Baron Rovan, of the Fourth Line, shrugged. “Can’t Eaglehoth come to your aid again then?” He looked at the Baron of the Eighth Line, like it was his fault he was sitting at the Council table with the rest of us plebeians.
If Ingrid Ulsen was the only female Baron at the table, then Zier Tarrin was the only Baron under the age of fifty. Zier had come into his Baronacy three years ago at the age of twenty-seven, when his father died in a hunting accident. The new Baron was a lot less patient with the bureaucracy of these events, and I couldn’t fault him.
“We would, as we don’t believe that we could just sit by and watch as our neighbors starve to death. However, we can’t take this many drought refugees without sending our own people into a famine.”
There was a not-so-subtle censure in his words, and honestly, I agreed. Having spoken to the Twelfth Line conscripts now, I was a little more sympathetic to their plight than if I’d been living it up over here close to the mainland, with bountiful access to hunting, the ocean and farm land. The food on the table at last night’s welcome dinner must have felt like a slap in the face to the Lower Line Barons.
I looked at my father. We should offer assistance. There’s power in the Lower Six Lines, despite what Vylan and Rovan think. I’d rather have six friends at my back than enemies all around.
My father inclined his head slightly to tell me he’d heard me and agreed. The fact that our family could speak mind to mind was a well-kept secret and had been the ace up our sleeve in many of these negotiations. “I believe that no matter our Lines, we have a duty to Ebrus to care for all its people. The Third Line will send what aid we can to the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines.”
“As will the Eighth,” Zier Tarrin agreed, and I saw some relief in his expression. I had a feeling that no matter what decision was made today at the Conclave, Tarrin would have provided aid to the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines.
I’d suggest to my brothers that perhaps a visit to Eaglehoth might be advantageous soon. My father was already talking about retiring to spend more time with family, and Remy and Lyle would step up sooner rather than later. Having good relations with a younger Baron would definitely ease the tension of these things.
Lunderov, of the Seventh Line—a small island Barony that sat in the middle of the Alutian Sea, almost directly between my home of Hamor and the western parts of Ebrus—offered to transport the goods from the eastern side of the country to the west, cutting weeks off the transport times. The Seventh Line had seafaring magic, and you could get from Hamor to the seaports of Teneby in four days.
Not everyone offered assistance—most notably the Fourth Line, whose very magic was the weather and could break the drought in a week, and the First Line, who were just asshats. However, almost everyone from Fifth Line down offered aid.
Vox Vylan looked tense as he left, which gave me a little satisfaction. If Vox was an asshole, then his father was a power-hungry megalomaniac. But he was powerful in magic, and no one could stand against him or his Line.
Baron Abaster came over and shook my father’s hand. “We appreciate you speaking up. Your position definitely influenced the outcome of today.”
Father’s eyes slipped to mine, and I could see pride there. “Of course. We are all one country; divisions help no one.”
They began talking about trades and logistics, and I wanted to shed my human skin and run. We would head back to Hamor tonight, and then I’d be on the ferry back to Boellium War College by the end of the week. I’d run all the way there if I had to; it had been a long time since I’d run with my hounds.
The more I thought about it, the more the idea excited me. That freedom to run and hunt had been denied to me for far too long. There were no good places to flex my skills on the tiny island of Boemouthe. If I didn’t want all the Lines knowing our powers, I had to stay constrained in my human skin.
I transmitted the idea to Alucius and Braxus, getting their enthusiastic approval, if the tail wagging was anything to go by. Decision made, I waited until my father was done with politics and we were in our carriage home.
We both sat in silence for a moment, lost in our thoughts, before my father broke it. “You’re heading back to Boellium in the morning then?”
I was no longer surprised about what my father knew. He’d been this way my whole life, always far more knowledgeable than he should be.
“Yes. I thought I might run back with my hounds. It’s been too long since the beast has been able to stretch its legs.”
My father arched a brow at me. “And it has nothing to do with the girl from the Ninth Line back at the college?”
I clenched my back teeth and shot a glare at my hounds. Braxus huffed, and Alucius glared right back. They both protested in my mind that it wasn’t them, and I reached out and scratched their heads in apology. I shouldn’t have doubted them. They were loyal to our family, but to me first and foremost.
My father had his own animal spies. It could have been a mouse in the kitchen, or a kestrel from above who’d seen me mooning over Avalon Halhed.
Taking in a deep breath, I steeled my spine, then raised my eyes to meet my father’s piercing gaze. “Avalon is my Soul Tie. My other half. She calls to me in a way I don’t understand, but she’s mine .”
My father stared at me for a long time, his eyes a blazing gold. His gaze had disconcerted many men before, but it was the same gaze that had watched me learn to shift forms, to ride a horse, to wield a sword. I knew beneath it was a love so deep that he’d lay down his life for me.
Finally, he nodded once. “When you choose to bring her home, we’ll be excited to meet your Tie.”
And that was it. No censure. No edict that she wasn’t good enough.
It was what separated us from the other Lines, what made our people so loyal. Family came first, and the honor of the Line came second. And every single person who was the Third Line was family to the Taemes.
We were as loyal as we were fierce.
I knew politically, this was a setback for the family. We couldn’t create bonds through my marriage anymore, and allying with the northerners was not beneficial to us at all. Besides, I’d barely held myself back from ripping off Baron Halhed’s skull already, after what Avalon had told me of him. I couldn’t make myself ally with him if I tried. So Avalon would bring nothing to the strength of the Third Line, not politically at least.
But to me, and to my family, it wouldn’t matter. A Soul Tie was something greater than marriage, something greater than even magic. It was the very hands of fate that made us for one another, and it was so rare that the last Tie had been my grandparents. It was respected and revered. The Line would cope without marrying me off to some Fifth Line golden child or First Line debutante.
A sea falcon slammed into our carriage with uncanny precision, coming to rest on the bench seat beside my father. Zephyr was my father’s eye in the sky. The sea falcon was as familiar to me as my own beasts and had been a constant in our household for as long as I could remember.
Whatever Zephyr was telling my father had him frowning, before he looked at me. My heart stilled in my chest. He flicked his fingers, and the horses slowed. There was no groom or driver. The horses pulled the carriage out of loyalty to my father.
“There has been an issue at Boellium. Someone attacked your Soul Tie, although Lucio was there to stop it. Quarry was injured.” I was already jumping from the carriage before my father had even finished. He leaned out the door, shouting at my retreating back, “ Do not change until you reach the Mistwoods, Hayle. I mean it.”
The Mistwoods were the edge of the Third Line lands, and the dense forest meant we could shift unseen. I held up my hand in acknowledgement, and took off through the trees. My hounds were already running alongside me. It would take me an hour to make it to the Mistwoods on human feet, then an entire day to get to Ovl if I ran as a beast.
I didn’t care. I’d swim the whole way to Boemouthe if I had to, and if anyone in that forsaken place had hurt my Soul Tie, I would burn the place to the fucking ground in retribution.