Chapter 18 #5
Brien nodded. “But once that was done, things went smoothly enough. Not any worse than harvest in an early winter.”
As though that could ever be described as smooth.
He lowered his voice. “It was weird, Nym. Not just the skirmishes—those weren’t anything like Serravia.
Like Sesta was a cat batting at mice, trying to figure out which one to eat.
Strike and retreat, strike and retreat, often not even at major ports.
And then . . . like I was in another country altogether.
My superiors would send word to Rove, information and requests for supplies, and it was like no one heard. This all before the sacking.”
I thought of the nobles and the winter ball and felt a shiver.
“They didn’t take it seriously.” Though I thought Prince Adrinn had.
Despite his obvious shortcomings, from what Eden shared with me, it seemed Prince Adrinn had cared.
He’d been investigating his mother. On his way to uncovering Adoel’s secrets, and Renn’s.
If the eldest Noblewight, original heir to the throne, had survived the sacking, how differently would this year have gone?
Would Cansere have struck sooner, and harder?
Would that have hurt us or helped us? Then again, Prince Adrinn had taken much of his advice from Renn.
Perhaps it would all be the same, but with a different figurehead.
And Adrinn would be the one negotiating peace with Antsan. He’d be the center of Azra’s focus.
Though I wouldn’t put it past Prince Adrinn to use his younger brother as a pawn for political gain, leaving me in the same tormented situation.
Yet how would Prince Adrinn have handled his younger brother’s awakening power?
Would he have celebrated it, or hated it?
On one hand, I could picture Cansere a more unified force under Prince Adrinn.
Deadlier, swifter, merciless. On the other hand, I could envision a civil war tearing the nation apart, half for the heir and half for the gods’ chosen, while Adoel sipped wine, waiting for us to destroy ourselves.
Only the heavens would ever know.
“And then Rove was sacked, and we marched there. It was awful.” Brien winced.
“Cold. Not a lot of food. We took out a small company of Sestan soldiers, then found His Majesty.” He let out a long breath that whistled past his teeth.
“Let me tell you, Nym. Seeing a god among men after that march was an answer to prayer. He actually cared what happened to us. Sesta killed all the rest.”
“Don’t,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Brien hesitated, an eyebrow slightly raised.
“I mean . . .” I sorted through my thoughts.
“They were imperfect people, but I lived with them, Brien. They were still people. There were good people, there.” I thought of Lonnie Swiftmore again, the kitchen maid who had extended kindness to me when all of Rove seemed to hate me.
I still didn’t know if she’d lived or died.
I had to assume the latter. But King Grejor had been a good man.
Even Queen Winvrin, for all her anxious unkindness, had meant well.
Had loved her son and fought for him for twenty years.
None of them deserved death. “Renn loved his family.”
Brien nodded slowly. “How long have you called him by his first name?”
My cheeks warmed. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him.”
Brien leaned back on his palms, taking in the horizon.
“He told me, at Serravia. Soon as someone called me ‘Tallowax,’ he asked if I was your brother.” He grinned.
Brien had marched in that day with the new wave of soldiers; Renn had wanted to ensure Brien’s safe arrival before enlightening me about his well-being.
“I had no idea, Nym. I didn’t even know you’d been drafted!
We knew it might happen eventually, but .
. . damn.” He glowed with pride, which made my cheeks warm all the more.
“The royal healer for our king. My sister. I bet you did it just so people would stop complaining about it.”
I snorted. “I did very little. I had every intention of failing and hurrying back home. But fate did not agree with my plan.” I told him my story, the overview of it, at least, for it would take too long to get into the delicate nuances of it all.
His eyes rounded with every sentence. It was the most still I’d ever seen him.
“I figured it out in Speth.” I did not detail the how of healing Renn; that truth was still safest not shared, even with Brien. “And then Sesta attacked and captured me.”
“I know.” His face went slack. “I knew that as soon as we met with the king’s forces.
That is, I knew the royal healer and the princess had been taken hostage.
I didn’t know one of them was you until .
. .” He clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Are you . . . all right?” His expression soured.
“What a stupid question to ask, but what else am I supposed to say? You were always better with words.”
“Ursa was always better with words,” I countered. “And Papa. But it’s over now, and I’m here. All ten fingers.” I held them up to demonstrate.
He nodded, accepting the simple answer. Lowered his hand. “What does she think of all this?”
I felt myself pale. Brien pushed himself upright. Got a knee under him. “What, Nym?”
The vision of him warped in my sight as healing cuts opened. “She’s gone, Brien,” I whispered. “She finally moved on, in Sesta. Our sister is well and truly dead.”
I talked to Brien for a good two hours before we grew sore on the ground and the lunch hour neared.
Since he’d been appointed my new guard, his commanding officer gave him leave, and I saw the ingenious move by Renn in the appointment.
Thank you, I thought, pushing gratitude through our link.
I led Brien across camp and into the bailey, sharing stories and reminiscences of home.
As luck would have it, Sten lingered just inside the portcullis.
“Sten, this is Brien,” I offered. “My brother. His company went to Serravia.”
Sten proffered a hand, and the two men gripped each other by the wrist. “We’ve met.”
I gave Brien a tour of Derren Castle, though the fortress was relatively straightforward.
Fatigue and satisfaction wove through the connection from Renn, and I wondered what had occupied him.
Training, perhaps, or more battling-of-contract with Sir Arquan.
I introduced Brien to those I knew when we saw them, such as Seln, Phin, and Geth.
He knew Commander Stonelay, of course, and was familiar with Physician Addsmuch, who had found himself with more and more free time as the castle collected healers.
Unlike Physician Whitestone, however, he appeared to be at peace with it.
Whitestone. I tried to picture the traitor within these walls, but my imagination couldn’t stretch far enough. How odd, that the man who’d once tried to murder me might be the key to my happiness, to my future.
The rest was a rather wondrous thing. Perhaps it was the proof that I belonged at the castle, knowing its people, nooks, and crannies, or perhaps it was the presence of my closest sibling in age, but I felt very much myself as I led Brien around, as we chatted about all we had missed.
We headed for the keep, approaching the east tower just as Quinn, Eden’s guard, exited it, with Eden and Piya close behind.
Upon seeing a large, travel-worn, and disheveled man at my heel, Eden stiffened.
“This is my brother Brien,” I quickly assured her, grasping him by the crook of his elbow. “The one conscripted.” We’d spoken at length of our families during our long journey from Rodsfell to Horgansten.
“Brien Tallowax, yes, I recall.” She relaxed and tipped her head toward him. “Thank you for your sacrifices for our country.”
He nodded back.
“This is Princess Eden,” I added.
Brien suddenly stood straighter, then bowed at the waist. “My apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t recognize you.”
“I take that as a compliment. Please, rise. Nym is a dear friend of mine, as are any kin of hers.”
My chest warmed at the endearment.
“Are you a crafter as well?” she asked.
That made Brien start. “No, Your Majesty. That was only Nym and Ursa.”
Someday, hearing her name wouldn’t hurt.
She nodded. I patted Brien’s arm in reassurance as Eden and her small retinue passed by, then led him into the keep.
“Why does she stay at Derren, instead of taking sanctuary farther south?” he asked after climbing the first story. I’d given him a basic overview of my time in Sesta. Sparing the unpleasant details made the story rather short.
“She leads the craftlock soldiers.” My step slowed as we neared the top.
“Tired already?” Brien jested.
I turned to him in the stairwell. “I didn’t tell you about Dan.”
His brow lowered. “Dan?”
Pressing my lips together, I climbed a few more stairs before unlatching and pushing open the door to the room there. Once Brien followed me inside, I explained, “Dan is a crafter. A mindreader.”
A chuckle escaped his throat. The second died on his tongue. “Dan? Our Dan?”
“I learned it when I returned to Fount.” I placed my mother’s knife on the bedside table. “I made him swear to me to keep it a secret, but I suppose that doesn’t matter anymore.” I met his eyes. “You had no inkling?”
“Honestly, for the last couple years, when I was home, he was at the tanner’s.” He scanned the room, taking it in.
Brien hadn’t been home often; he was always picking up work around town. Farmwork, labor, paving, whatever was hiring.
I softened and touched his elbow. “It’s a wonder you’re not an officer yet, Brien. If you put half the effort into soldiering that you put into taking care of us, you ought to be a general.”
He scoffed. “Maybe if I were noble.”
But his uniform had more black than red on it. He’d been promoted at least once during his time in the army. Yet Brien wouldn’t be one to make a fuss of it.
He crossed the room. Touched an ink vial and a ream of paper on a table. “Is this all yours?”
“I share with Eden.”
He snatched his hand back like the table had turned to an oven. “With the princess?”
“She wasn’t lying when she said we were friends.”
He whistled, turned, absorbing the space. “I guess so much time in Rove, and then Sesta . . . Never would have thought, people like us, and people like them.” He crossed to my side of the room. Touched our mother’s knife. Bent down and picked up two leather bracers.
“But these?” he questioned. They were obviously a man’s bracers, and obviously of fine make. More than that, Brien seemed to recognize them. “Guess it makes sense for the king to visit his sister, and his healer. But he seems cured. Guess not, if he still keeps you so close.”
My face warmed at the thought. “He is healed, more or less,” I answered softly, flushing deeper under his scrutiny. “He is whole.”
He turned the bracers over in his hands. “You don’t heal him in here, do you?”
“I don’t think I have.”
He set his jaw. Studied the bracers before dropping them on the table beside the knife.
“Nym. I . . . There have been some rumors. One rumor that I caught. And I thought it was just men being men, speculating, but . . .” He eyed the bracers, and I knew what he was going to ask.
Even if he didn’t, he’d sort it out eventually.
But he fumbled, awkward, practically begging me to rescue him.
So I played along. “What rumor might that be?”
He sighed. “That you and the king share . . . affections.”
I let the words sit in the air a moment, artless and tight, before giving in and quietly confessing, “We do.”
My brother’s eyes widened to saucers. “Are you out of your gods-damned mind?”