CHAPTER 13 #3
“Of course he is my king,” she says fiercely.
“Then I don’t need to remind you to choose your words more carefully. Otherwise, some might think you are in rebellion of the crown. Or worse.”
Whispers break out among the audience of females lingering by the front door and Ishara’s confidence falters, as she takes another step in withdrawal.
“I will write to the king and tell him of what, I assume, is your mother’s request for a match between your house and the crown. Trust that I will explain in meticulous detail every word spoken here today.”
She pales at that, and I wonder what her king will do to her upon his return. There is no doubt in my mind that the general will send the letter, happily.
To my surprise, and judging by the look on Awri’s face, to hers as well, Ishara falls to her knee in a graceful flutter of silk. She holds her hands above her head, palms up as her gaze falls to the floor. An offering of submission.
I’m not entirely convinced the general will accept her defeat. His face holds no sign of being amused or even satisfied with his triumph. Only a small flicker in the line of his jaw and a hard glint in his eyes give any hint as to what the male might truly be thinking.
“Save your apology for the king,” he says in a measured, harsh tone.
Slowly, as if it pains her, Ishara rises to her feet. Her eyes take in the measure of the room, of those who have witnessed her shame. Defeated, but with a defiant stride, she steps toward the door, reaching for the handle.
“Ishara,” he says, and her eyes meet the general’s once more, “I suggest you disinterest yourself in your pursuit of me.”
She stiffens at the command but offers the general a small nod before issuing a command to the ladies who continue to watch nearby, “Forget everything you’ve seen here today.”
Though I can’t fathom anyone in the room simply forgetting the spectacle she’s made of herself, her threatening tone stands my arm hair on end, a chill rushing up my spine as she departs.
I nearly jump when Adora slaps her notebook closed beside me and with a cheerful smile announces, “All done.”
And as if Ishara were in fact the queen of A’kori, the ladies, who had only moments ago been witness to her social obliteration, begin bustling about the shop, examining the thick bolts of delicate fabrics.
Odd.
It seems there will be no end to my surprise when it comes to the social antics of the feyn. I begin toward the door, my feet slowing beneath me as I observe Awri and the general beside her.
Had I met them in this moment, I might have assumed Awri to be the military commander.
Her gaze never leaves Ishara as she disappears down the cobbled streets in a sea breeze billow of crimson fabric.
Perhaps it is her keen feyn sight that keeps her eyes lingering on the streets long after the female’s departure.
“We are done here,” she says to no one in particular, before offering Adora a warm smile and a quick embrace.
Somewhere between the shop door and the carriage there is a shift in the mood of my party. The general opens the door for Awri and, by default of my presence behind her, for me as well. Though the male does not so much as acknowledge my thanks as I slip into the seat beside her.
The carriage is in motion the moment the general shuts the door. A wide range of emotions play across the face of the female beside me. Anger. Speculation. Curiosity. When her turbulent features finally settle, she is clearly annoyed, waiting patiently for the general to meet her eyes.
When he does, it is only the tilt of her head and raise of her brows that beg an unasked question.
“Three weeks ago,” he begins, “Yshka approached the king, proposing an alliance of houses.”
Her brows pinch together. “And he declined,” she says with a fierce certainty, a thoughtful look passing over her features before she adds, “And then he left A’kori.”
The general nods in confirmation, Awri’s brow unfurrowing as she sighs the tension from her shoulders, her gaze growing pensive the next second.
“Yshka is Ishara’s mother,” she says to me, “Long ago, her grandsire was nearly crowned king of the feyn, and though her family has never expressly spoken out against the king, they remain a great power with a great deal of sway in the kingdom.”
“It sounds like a perfect match,” I admit.
The general’s mood notably sours and Awri chuckles as she says, “If the king wanted to wed a viper, it would be.”
“If they are dangerous, why would the king allow them to remain here?” I ask, immediately regretting the question when the general levels me with his disdainful glower.
“Spoken like a true La’tarian,” he says, “We do not simply murder anyone that doesn’t fall in line.”
It takes everything I have to school my features and bite my tongue. Leave it to the male across from me to take a simple question and turn it into the most horrific assertion.
As if to alleviate the growing tension in the carriage Awri places a hand on my arm, drawing my attention and asking, “You don’t mind if we make one more stop while we are in town, do you, Shivaria?”
“Not at all.” I force a smile. How can I tell her if I do?
Thankfully, the general seems content to glower out the carriage window for the duration of our journey.
A blissful, if not somewhat tense, silence falls over us.
Awri is clearly lost in thought, and in this moment, I am happy to remain forgotten.
My own thoughts attempt to unravel all that I have learned today.
I tuck away the knowledge that there are feyn families who would like to see the king dethroned.
While I learned many years ago that the enemy of my enemy is not always my friend, there are certainly ways to leverage such animosities.
If I play my hand well, I might be able to end the king without lifting a finger.
I lose track of time as we journey toward the outskirts of town, stopping outside a tall building nestled in a large, wooded grove full of playful children. We are greeted by a tall man in a navy waistcoat waiting outside the front door.
“I’ll wait here,” the general says, handing Awri a large sack before leaning back in his seat.
I half expect the male to demand that I remain with him, but he does nothing more than give me a cursory glance as I follow her.
Awri is quick to introduce me to Lias, the old man in the waistcoat. He has a thick mat of grey hair and a heavily wrinkled face.
“Boys are waiting just inside. Have been all morning.”
“I’m sorry to have kept them waiting,” Awri answers sweetly.
“Bah,” he balks, “Don’t you dare tell ’em that. They’re like to wait there every week if they think it’ll bring ya sooner. Ought to be out back playing with the others.”
Awri chuckles. “I think I may have the solution to your problem.”
She hoists the bag off the ground and Lias smiles, tipping his head toward the door. Awri glances back to see that I’m following before letting herself inside.
Three young boys chase after one another in a large room littered with all manner of toys, the walls lined with a colorful display of children’s artwork.
Their heads whip toward the door in succession, the boys beaming toothy grins when they see Awri enter.
Two call her name excitedly and rush to her side.
The fond smile on her face as she looks down at them is pure and genuine, adding a heightened beauty to the female that seems altogether obscene.
“Thom, Fandry.” She greets them each with a dip of her head and gestures to the thin feyn boy standing behind them. “Who is this?”
“Elian. He’s new,” says Thom, a young boy with a thick mane of dark brown hair and dark eyes. “He wants to meet the king.”
“Does he?” Awri asks, crouching down, closer to the boy’s height. “I’m afraid the king had business to attend elsewhere and doesn’t plan to return for more than a fortnight.”
The boys visibly slacken, their faces crumpling.
Thom scuffs his boot across the floor, sighing despondently, “I told Elian that the king would make him a sword, so that he could practice being a knight, just like us.”
“I will take your request to the king myself,” she says firmly, and their posture straightens a bit.
“I have no doubt that the king will craft another sword for your new friend.” Awri loosens the strings at the top of her sack and pulls out two small wooden swords, handing them to Thom and Fandry.
“Until then, perhaps you two can share with your new friend?”
The boys nod eagerly as they take hold of their new treasures. The swords are well made, carved from a wood much lighter and softer than those I’d been trained with at their age. Unlike the one I’d been handed as a child, these will not break bone if the boys get too carried away.
“And when the king comes back, you’re sure he’ll carve one for Elian too?” Thom asks, not the least bit shy.
I’m shocked by his question. Not because of his forwardness but by his assumption that the king himself carves the toys. I may have never ruled anything, but I imagine kings lack time for such things.
“I am sure of it. Now go play with your friends and I’ll see you next week.”
The boys wave to Awri as they run out the door, their shouts and laughter lost among the myriad playful voices coming from the woodland outside.
My feet are moving before I know where I’m going and Awri follows me to the back of the building where a large window looks out over the yard.
Children weave between the bases of the giant pines, chasing each other in a game of tag, while others swing on benches tied with long rope to the branches of a wide maple.
“What is this place?” I wonder.
“The orphanage. It is a place where children without families can live until we are able to find them good homes.”
“You find them homes?” I say, marveling at the notion.
“We do, and until then, they stay here. The crown supplies them with clothes and food, and they attend school, just like every other child in A’kori.”