Chapter 11
Lor
Metal clanged against metal as I trained with Wolfe in the courtyard, the backside of the castle standing tall behind us, partially blocking the sun. Sweat rolled down the sides of my face, tendrils escaping the loose bun that held my hair back.
I yelled out as Wolfe and I pushed our swords together, at a standstill, both of us straining, muscles taut until finally I kicked out a foot, attempting to trip Wolfe, but my older brother jumped and spun. He jabbed an elbow in my gut, and I bent over wheezing.
“You’re distracted,” Wolfe said.
Of course I was distracted. Things between Aoife and I were tenser than ever, and I couldn’t even talk to her about it because she was avoiding me. Like she always did.
We dropped down onto the grass, and Wolfe handed me a canteen of water.
“Thank you,” I rasped.
He looked over at me, breathing still labored. “I’m not good at this,” he said slowly. “But . . . do you need to talk about it? This thing with Aoife?”
“Did Niamh tell you to ask that?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe. She told me if I didn’t she’d kick my ass.”
I choked on my water, banging my chest until I cleared it from my throat.
That would certainly be an image, watching Wolfe’s sweet-tempered librarian wife, who also happened to be pregnant, “kicking his ass.” Before Arthon, Wolfe had been the one instilling my morals in me.
Wolfe had never been as extreme as Arthon in his methods, but like Arthon, he was principled, and I’d always strived to be as good as him.
Wolfe wiped sweat from his brow. “Look, Lor, Aoife is clearly taking Castle’s edict seriously. She’s going to do everything she can to get you to give up the crown.”
I heaved a sigh as a bead of sweat dripped from my chin to the grass. “I know, but I won’t stoop to her level. I refuse.”
The gargoyles both leapt to a stand, opening the castle’s back doors, and Fargus flew out, a scroll clutched in his talons.
“Your Majesty, a message from the queen.”
I straightened. Aoife never sent me messages and ignored most of mine.
She was up to something, as usual. I stretched out a hand as Fargus dropped the scroll so I could catch it. He landed in front of me, blinking, head tilting.
“Oh, is that a love note from the queen?” Barty asked from his position next to the door. The gargoyle was sitting again, hunched over, wings spread out behind him.
Tal looked over at his twin from the other side of the door. “Have you been living under a rock?”
Barty’s mouth turned down into a frown, sharp incisors peeking out. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Tal crossed his arms. “They hate each other.”
I winced. Even the gargoyle statues knew of the problems between me and my wife.
“They do?” Barty asked, shooting me a look.
“They argue worse than we do. Makes our arguments look like child’s play.”
My jaw clenched at that description, though I couldn’t even defend myself. The gargoyles bickered all the time, but at the end of the day, it was nothing like the heated fights Aoife and I got into.
“How do you know this?” Barty asked.
“Because unlike someone I know, I actually pay attention. You’re always daydreaming or dozing off. Plus I like to eavesdrop,” Tal said. “Breaks up the monotony of this job.”
“Okay.” Wolfe stood. “Off with you two.” He shooed the gargoyles away.
“Hey,” Barty said, gesturing to where he sat. “This is our stoop.”
“And now I’m telling you to go make somewhere else your stoop.”
The gargoyles huffed but listened, spreading their stone wings wide and flying up and over the castle out of view.
I looked at my advisor. “Do you know what this message is all about?”
“When Meera handed it to me she mentioned something about an invitation? That’s all I know, Your Majesty.”
An invitation? Knowing Aoife it would be an invitation to throw myself off the mountain. I unrolled the parchment, staring at the message.
“Well?” Wolfe asked. “What does it say?”
My brows furrowed as I studied the scroll. “She wants me to make bread with her.”
“What?” Fargus squeaked.
Wolfe’s lips twitched. “If Cillian were here, he’d ask if that’s a euphemism.”
“It’s not,” I said, sharper than I intended. Aoife had absolutely no interest in exploring that part of our relationship.
“Okay,” Wolfe said, instantly sobering. “So . . . she wants to make bread? That doesn’t sound like the worst thing.”
I thought of the castle kitchen, of that last time Aoife and I were in that kitchen together. “She’s up to something.”
“So don’t go,” Wolfe said.
Then I’d be just like her. Making zero effort to try and come together, to find some common ground.
I lay down the scroll, leaning back on my hands, thinking.
“May I make a suggestion, Your Majesty?” Fargus hopped forward.
“Of course,” I said. I’d welcome any advice at this point.
“Maybe you don’t have to play the same game as Aoife. Maybe you can play a different, but equally effective, one.”
“How?” I asked.
Fargus spread out his wings. “Tell her you’ll only participate in her activities if she’ll start attending all meetings and attending to her duties as queen.”
I straightened at that. It would make her furious, but it could also be a chance to show her how we can work together. It could be a chance for her to finally get involved in the politics of this job. It would force her to spend time with me, which could be a disaster.
“So what game is he playing, exactly?” Wolfe tossed his head toward me.
Fargus spoke in his matter-of-fact voice. “While Aoife is trying to convince Lor there’s only one person right for this job, Lor will be showing her that’s not true. That they can work together.”
“Fargus,” I said slowly, “that’s genius.”
“I was only inspired by your own words, Your Majesty, about the importance of community and working together.”
I stared down at the invitation, then looked back up at the owl. “Tell my wife I’ll be there.”
Wolfe stared at me with his rich brown eyes, the same dark shade as mine. “What is it you’re not telling me? Why do you look like you’re going to be walking to your death?”
I sighed, unwanted memories flooding me. “It’s a long story.”