Light Wielder (Fire & Metal #2)

Chapter 1

ACKER

“Where the fuck is he going?”

Hallis pivots from his watch point at the top of the stairs outside the palace’s front doors, eyes roving over my half-dressed state, brow raised. “Rumor has it he has female company awaiting him at the southern cottage.”

I finish buttoning my shirt as I descend the rest of the steps toward the carriage. “Father,” I announce.

He turns, fixing the gloves at his wrists, grin firmly in place despite my obvious displeasure. “Son, where are your shoes?”

“Tyreek called an urgent meeting. The entire council is waiting as we speak.”

“I have something important to attend to. I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle without me,” my father says.

“They won’t see it that way,” I argue.

My father’s calm expression doesn’t wane. “Then you make them.”

He taps me on the cheek. The gesture is meant to be placating, something he’s done ever since I was a child, and it’s condescending as fuck. Harold, the driver, holds the door open as my father slides into the carriage. He, at least, has the wherewithal to appear repentant.

I, along with the trainees in the courtyard, watch as the dark stallions parade the carriage toward the palace gates.

Unbelievable.

Hallis’s footsteps draw near and his gaze turns toward the sky. “Still odd to see the wall free of buzzards.”

My eyes shift to the parapets where the birds used to rest.

When Jovie and her pet shifter, Messer, fled from the palace after killing every last member of my father’s council, they stopped just long enough to disarm the soldiers at the gate, and as the birds above scattered into the night sky, Jovie stood under that iron fence and unleashed her magic.

A bolt of burning light so bright I had to shield my eyes from my place on the balcony.

She broke through the iron chains holding the cages aloft, sending the enclosures holding the bodies of the king’s prisoners to the ground in a clash of defiance.

It was the least of her transgressions, considering the blood-soaked floors of the dining hall, but somehow the most damning to my father’s crown. It sent a message to the people: the princess of Maile does not condone the oppression of anyone born of magic.

Since that day nearly four years ago, Jovinnia’s name has been whispered in dark alleys and back rooms of taverns.

The once-feared light wielder became a beacon of hope in the city for those with magic.

Apparently, a hidden seed of rebellion has been festering in my father’s city, and Jovie’s actions gave it the water it needed to grow.

It didn’t take long for people to grow brazen.

Protests erupted; mangi stones from the collars that magic wielders had been forced to wear littered the streets or were ground to dust under the hordes of marching feet.

They began calling for change; for release from oppression.

The image of my father’s hanging body painted on the outside of the palace walls is vivid in my mind.

The rope around his neck the same mottled orange as mangi stones.

The cages never went back up.

Hallis’s voice calls out to the trainee soldiers still lingering in the courtyard. “Quit your gawking! Back to work.”

The young faces of the boys make my stomach roil.

“Have Imen take over training and report to the war room,” I tell Hallis, brushing past him. “Have a maidservant send in the best wine they can find in the cellars. And something to eat. Maybe it’ll help smooth over my father’s absence.”

“Doubtful,” Hallis mutters under his breath as he turns to comply.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I reenter the palace and head upstairs to the spare bedchamber and quickly straighten the unkempt bedding to hide any evidence of my presence in the space.

The last thing I need is the maidservants gossiping about me not staying in my own bedchamber.

I retrieve the string of mangi stones from the bedside table.

In my haste to try and stop my father from leaving the city, I’d forgotten the necklace. A careless mistake.

As much as I despise the speckled stones, they serve a vital purpose in bringing comfort to the appointed council lords, buffering my magic in their presence.

A few of them have gifts, but none that can rival the lethality of mine, and that makes them nervous.

More importantly, however, the stones prevent my Match from eavesdropping.

Wrapping them around my neck, I let the ends hang across my lapels. They’re heavy and the way they smother my magic is exhausting. A constant reminder of her betrayal.

Not that I expect Jovie to bridge the gap of the Bond to spy on me. She’s only done it once since her departure that I’m aware of … and I’m positive she learned her lesson the first time. I made sure of it.

I put on shoes and make my way down to the war room, taking a deep breath before I enter. I’d rather face down an army of men twice my size before dealing with the council, but, alas, here I am. My father’s substitute.

Conversation comes to a halt as I enter, all heads swiveling in my direction.

The chandelier overhead shines down over the war map in the center of the room, kept lit at all hours during times of war in case of urgent business.

Although bright on the map’s topography, the light never quite reaches the walls of the chamber, keeping shadows lurking in the corners.

Lord Draken speaks first. “Where’s the king?”

“He won’t be attending,” I say, addressing the other fourteen men. I nod to Hallis. “Let’s go ahead and begin.”

Tyreek, the last to agree to take a seat on my father’s newly appointed council, leans forward, hands gripping the side of the table. “I stressed the importance of your father being here when I requested this meeting,” he says.

The formidable man is not one to be easily rattled.

After he served in my grandfather’s military as a boy, he returned to his life manning his family’s farm on the outskirts of Kenta.

He’s weathered droughts and dealt with the occasional troll trespassing his lands before I convinced him to sit on my father’s council, so the pinched frustration lining his features has my hair standing on end.

“What is it?” I inquire.

“We’ve been forced to retreat from the front line.”

I stalk around the table to his position. “Where?”

He points to the northern outskirts of his land where the planes of farmland turn into a rocky hillside. “Roison has pushed my men into the valley.”

It’s not ideal, but it could be worse. The land bottlenecks, making it difficult for any sized battalion to maneuver through it. My real concern is the crop of wheat beyond the small fjord. With the help of Alaha’s forces, they could demolish our food supply, starving the battalion out.

I look at Hallis. “How many men can we spare from nearby posts?”

He’s already shaking his head. “We’re spread thin across the front lines covering the increase in Roison troop movement. It’d be a waste to take men from more vulnerable areas just to save one battalion.”

I turn my gaze back to Tyreek. “Numbers?”

“We have five thousand to Roison’s thirty.” He drags his hand across the board. “If they take the valley, they can be at the palace walls within a few weeks’ time.”

Hallis shifts on his feet. “It would take weeks just for Roison’s thirty thousand men to move through the narrow passage. Months if the end of summer storms come early.” His tone is apologetic, clearly hating to vote against Tyreek.

“They’re more likely to die trying than actually succeed in breaking through,” I concur.

By the looks on the men’s faces, they’re not happy about our conclusion. They’re worried. If Roison is successful in pushing their forces through the fjord, it would set a terrible precedent. Being the first to lose ground is never a good sign.

“This is bullshit!” Lord Paul slams a closed fist on the table, rattling the pieces on the map.

He’s one of the few in the room with noble blood, and he sure as hell acts as though it gives his opinion more weight than the lower-born lords sitting on the council.

“I didn’t accept this council position only to take orders from two boys a fraction of my age. It’s insulting.”

“It’d be less disrespectful if the king spat directly in our faces,” another agrees.

This is what I’m not good at. Pacifying old men, playing babysitter in my father’s absence. I’m better suited for the battlefield where I can actually see the differences I make in this war.

Then you make them.

“Have you all forgotten?” My eyes land on each of their insolent faces in turn as I march around the table.

“I’ve fought for my land. Bled for it. My people.

As has Hallis.” I point to my friend, less his left hand from the battle we fought as children, and hence giftless.

“No one has sacrificed more than he has; the youngest in this room. How dare you question our authority? Our understanding of what it’s like to be outnumbered? ”

The silence that follows allows the last of my words to hang over the room.

They know the story of our survival, the tales of my lethality on the battlefield.

They may be able to question my authority in my father’s absence, but they cannot question my experience.

But the bitter truth is … they question my judgment because I’m the one who brought death and betrayal to Kenta.

It may have been my Match’s actions to cripple my father’s court, along with my sister’s, but in their eyes it may as well have been mine.

As anticipated, Paul is the first to dare a response. “And where are you now?” he slurs, rattling more pieces. “Standing in this room, far, far away from any battle of this war.”

“As are you,” Hallis drawls. “Go ahead and have another bottle, Paul. What an honor to your people.”