Chapter Eighteen
H e had to tell Jem.
Not only the truth about the disease, but all of it. The whole tale from top to bottom, as much as Cador dreaded it. He’d been the worst kind of fool to take Jem into his bed. To allow himself that glorious indulgence. He should regret it, yet he couldn’t.
While Jem fussed over Derwa in the barn the next morning, Cador paced the cottage, stone cold under his feet. Muttering, he threw another log onto the fire, welcoming the kiss of sparks on his bare toes.
Seeing Eseld’s agony was unbearable. A stark reminder of what was at stake. Cador hadn’t allowed himself to think of his nephew and the disease claiming him by inches like a bog of thick quicksand. Other children had had their legs amputated to halt the disease’s progression. It had failed.
It seemed nothing could stop the suffering, and he was a coward to look away. It was beyond shameful how he’d avoided Hedrok since returning from the mainland. Shameful that he couldn’t face the horror of it. Shameful that he’d married an innocent man knowing he was merely a pawn.
Of course Jem was so much more. When Tas first announced his plan, it hadn’t occurred to Cador to ask the prince’s fate. He hadn’t even known Jem’s name until that day at the Holy Place, laughing at this defiant little prince jumping to his feet to insist he was a man. It seemed an eternity ago.
He paced to the wall of spears and ran his fingers over the deadly wood. The weapons were like old friends in his grasp. Yet was he a warrior? He was a hunter, but he’d never been to battle. None of them had. What did they know of war?
Still, they must find a way forward without giving in to the clerics’ demands.
Tas was right that they sought control, for wasn’t that what they all wanted in their own ways?
Ergh must retain its independence. If they allowed temples and permanent enclaves of clerics, what was next?
Would they be “tamed” and molded into the mainland’s idea of civility?
He thought of carriages and silks and indulgent sweet cakes shaped like butterflies and shuddered. Perhaps those were meaningless things not worth a second thought, but he could envision a future where bit by bit, Ergh became unrecognizable.
Yet what of Ebrenn and its people? How would it be changed if Ergh and Neuvella and Gwels joined forces to conquer it?
Ergh only wanted control of the sevel fields, but what would that control look like?
There were so many questions Cador had buried, letting Tas lead, being an obedient son as always.
Priding himself on Tas’s trust and favor.
If only the sevels would grow on Ergh again, but they’d tried for years.
Ebrenn was now the only place they flourished.
And now the healers were certain it was the sevels that held the key to preventing this vicious, merciless disease.
Eseld’s heartrending screams echoed in his mind, and he desperately wanted to muffle them.
But he’d been doing that far too long. Avoiding his nephew as if not seeing him waste away could make it untrue. Blocking it out like a child sticking his fingers in his ears. Like a fucking coward.
Oh, how he longed for life to be simple again. To go back to the way things were before the terrible sickness and playing politics and planning war.
Yet he’d never have met Jem. Living his simple life in his little cottage, he’d never have even set foot on the mainland. Never have spared so much as a fleeting thought for distant royalty and a Neuvellan prince who loved books and birds.
He didn’t know what was right anymore. All he knew was he had to confess to Jem, but if he simply blurted it all out before he had a solid plan of his own, he was sure to say the wrong things.
Cador couldn’t tell Jem, By the way, there’s a plot to have you kidnapped and chop off your hand to spark a war. I’ll die before I let anyone hurt you, but I’m not quite sure what we’ll do instead. Nothing to worry about!
He had to be certain. He had to be confident. If he was to be a warrior, he must act like one. Jem would need assurance. Cador could vow to keep him safe, but wouldn’t those words be hollow without some meat behind them?
He had ideas, but he needed to mold them. Make them stone. He paced to the fire and back to the spears and it came to him. He’d seek his sister’s counsel. Of course! Delen knew how Tas thought. They could hatch a new strategy that would protect Jem and still provide the children’s salvation.
It was handling Bryok that would be the problem. Bryok would do anything for his son. For his infant girl who might any day show the first terrible signs of the disease stealing Hedrok from them. Cador couldn’t blame his brother for that. Still, there had to be another way. A better way.
Delen was close to Creeda. They could work together to make Bryok understand Jem wasn’t the enemy. If they could get Bryok on their side and make him see Jem could help them, that was to the benefit of all.
For Jem would surely sympathize with their plight. He was good and kind and would do all in his power to help. And perhaps he could wield more power than they’d imagined. Cador had certainly underestimated him, as had Tas. Jem could be far more valuable than as a pawn.
Cador paced so quickly he was almost running the length of the cottage like a caged animal.
There had to be another way, and he would find it.
Delen was on the hunt today, and since Cador had begged off, he’d speak with her tomorrow.
He’d tossed and turned all night, but later he could sleep well and be at full strength in the morning.
There. It was settled.
The energy that had tumbled through him madly subsided the way it did in the aftermath of a good fuck.
He was drained, but satisfied. He and Jem could relax now.
Enjoy one more day together before they faced it all.
Surely not too much to ask for. A day of peace and coupling would be too rare soon enough.
They lunched on smoked boar and roasted turnips, and Cador was feeling quite satisfied with himself when Jem said wistfully, “If only I had my books.”
Cador groaned inwardly. Of all the subjects to raise. He tried to wave it away like a pesky fly. “You know the stories by heart anyway. You tell them so well.”
Jem smiled. “Thank you.” He sipped his ale as they sat at the table. “I still treasure the pages. I wish I knew they were in safe hands.”
Guilt flared like thorny vines encircling Cador. Here was one more to add to his list of betrayals. He was powerless to right this wrong. All he could do was stew in his dishonor for acting so childishly. So cruelly.
Jem didn’t seem to notice his agitation. “Santo and my parents would have been sure to pack them. Even my brothers wouldn’t have been so vindictive to make me go to Ergh without them. Perhaps—”
“It was me!” The shame erupted with his words, blood heating Cador’s face. As Jem stared, eyes wide, he confessed in a helpless rush. “I saw servants struggling to load your trunk. It was too heavy.” He exhaled sharply in disgust at his own attempt to pardon his treachery. No more.
Clearing his throat, he admitted the rest. “I felt burdened with you. I knew you were blameless, yet I punished you. I removed the books from your trunk. It was… petty .” He spat the word as though it tasted of sour milk. “I have no excuse. I’m sorry.” For that and so much more.
For endless heartbeats, Jem only stared at him, blinking the hint of tears from his honey eyes. Cador ached to turn back time and erase his own stupidity, to rescue Jem from this pain. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “What can I do?”
Jem didn’t answer. Instead, he croaked, “What did you do with my books?”
“I…” Hadn’t he already told him? Must he say it again? Cador hated himself as he repeated, “I removed the books from the trunk.”
“Yes, but where did you put them?” Jem’s voice grew louder, his hands shaking. “Where?”
Cador couldn’t recall ever feeling so low and disgraceful as he admitted, “I left them on the ground.”
Jem sucked in a sharp breath. “You left my books in the dirt? Like nothing but…trash?”
He nodded miserably, for what else could he do?
“Beat me black and blue. I deserve it.” If Jem only knew how very much he deserved it.
Perhaps he should confess it all now and be done with it, but he’d surely make everything worse piling hurt upon hurt, especially if he blundered through it without a calm, rational strategy.
Jem shook his head, his anger deflating. “I don’t want to beat you.”
“But you should! I acted no better than a sarf slithering on its belly.”
“It won’t magically make my books appear.” Shoulders hunched, he kept his eyes down.
This shocked, disappointed hurt was even worse than anger and disbelief. “No, you should punish me!” You must.
Jem only turned away from him, and Cador wanted to beg. He slumped as Jem bundled into his cloak and left, likely escaping to the barn and his hatchling whose only betrayal would be to one day fly free.
*
“Jem!”
The gray sky grew darker as the afternoon went on.
When Cador discovered Derwa hopping alone in the aviary, his heart had sunk.
But surely Jem hadn’t returned to Austol’s cottage?
Had he gone alone into Rusk? No. Cador was sure he wouldn’t.
Though he’d become popular with some of the children and their parents, he was still an outsider.
His trail had been easy enough to find once Cador searched. He’d been oddly proud that Jem had ventured into the trees. Now his stomach was knotted thinking of the dangers facing Jem within, and he gripped his spear so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised to leave finger marks in the ancient wood.
This spear was shorter than those he used on horseback. He typically wore it slung over his back unless he had his sword, but he was too on edge, every muffled sound of the forest tightening the iron band around his lungs. He wanted his spear ready in his grasp.