Inside the inner gate, Leif informs the others that he’s taking me to be questioned by the captain of the guard. Leif and I take the hall leading away from the inner court, while the king and his men travel beneath the arcading.
The farther we walk from Aodren, the more his tug diminishes. It’s still there, but not as insistent as we pass the dungeon and take the stairs to the lower yard. With the chaos in the woods, I hadn’t noticed it till now. Even so, it’s nice to be free of the connection.
A span of emerald lawn runs from the stairs and the guards’ quarters, hugging the base of the castle to a low rock wall that edges the cliff. Here, the castle is free of the battering northeastern winds that tear through the Evers in the winter. Here, it almost could be spring for how the winter sun warms the side of the castle. It’s tempting to throw my head back and breathe in the sunshine, but I follow Leif to the guards’ quarters, where he stops at a door and knocks twice.
A whispery breeze manages to wind around the castle and whip strands of blond into my mouth. I rest my bow against my leg and weave my wayward hair into a braid. Just as I finish, the door swings open, handle grasped by Captain Omar. I pick up my bow, fingers flexing around the curved wood.
Don’t sneer. Do not sneer.
Severe scowl and a sleek graying beard give the captain of the king’s guard the look of a hawk. Hungry, ruthless predator. His gaze flicks over me, landing on my bow, before turning to Leif.
“News?” The man’s mouth pinches.
Leif explains my arrival, telling the captain the basics—King Aodren was attacked; I found him in the woods, protected him, and returned him to the castle. The tightening muscles around the older man’s eyes tell me he’s preparing to fire question after question at me.
“What happened? Who attacked him? What of his men?”
“One at a time.” It takes effort not to glower, considering the bitter taste in my mouth whenever he’s nearby. I reiterate what Leif said and end with “I don’t know how he was knocked unconscious or how his men were killed. I looked for injuries . . . There wasn’t a lot of time. But I know the person responsible was Phelia.”
Captain Omar’s hand clenches the sword fixed to his waist. “Phelia’s in Shaerdan.”
As if he could dismiss my information that easily. Apparently not is what I want to say. “She confirmed who she was to me.”
“Mother of stars, Britta.” Leif pushes off the wall. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I just did.”
“Yeah, you should’ve led with ‘the Spiriter killed the king’s men and knocked King Aodren unconscious.’”
“Is he under her control again?” Omar demands.
The king didn’t say much of anything on the way to the castle, but I would know if the Spiriter had bound him again. I would feel it. As of this moment, our connection is still intact. Still as infuriating as ever. “No.”
“Leif, you send word to Cohen. I will inform the men’s families and send guards out to retrieve their bodies.” His eyes drop, but not before I see a flash of something. Pain, perhaps regret. Captain Omar paces out of the doorway and back, turning to me. “Is there anything else?”
I know he means to take care of any questions people might ask. To control—as much as he can—what people say about the king, as I’m the last person anyone would expect to share a horse with royalty. And though I care little for Captain Omar, in this moment, I’m grateful for him. He’s the one who managed the story of what happened behind the king’s closed door a little over a month ago, making sure people know only what he wants them to know. What won’t reflect badly on the king.
And what’s good for the king, in this case, is good for me. No one has accused me of being a Channeler. No one knows the true cause for Jamis’s arrest or his dismissal from nobility. No one knows that the king was controlled by a Spiriter. For all his faults, Captain Omar is a loyal man. He would never allow information to leak if it might make the king look frail. I should confess what Phelia, or Rozen—if she truly is my mother—said, but disbelief and bile keep me from talking.
After Captain Omar dismisses us, Leif leads me up the stone stairs and through the web of hallways to the gate in the inner wall.
A guard steps into our path. “Miss Flannery, your presence has been requested.”
I yank my bow up. Leif holds his hand out, as if he’s settling a horse. Even so, the intrusion unnerves me. Makes me think of how easily Phelia got to the king today. How easily she could get to us anywhere.
The guard repeats himself, adding that the request is on King Aodren’s behalf.
I saved the man’s life and safely deposited him back at his castle. What more does he want?
I hand over my bow—no weapons are allowed in the king’s presence. Leif remains at my side as I follow the guard through the marbled halls that lead to the king’s quarters. The pull to the king grows with each step closer to his polished doors.
I swore I’d never enter the king’s private quarters again. Yet my boots dirty the lush carpet in his study, adjacent to the room where we both nearly lost our lives. I’ve gone this far; I don’t need to enter the king’s private sleeping quarters.
Leif gives me a questioning look when I refuse to go farther. I shrug and act as though my body isn’t crying to edge closer.
The guard who escorted us here along with the two who are stationed by the entrance to the king’s quarters cluster near the door.
“Leave us.” Aodren walks out of his bedroom. He’s wearing clean clothes, a change from what he had on in the woods. I glance to his shoulder, where the arrow scraped him. He moves it stiffly as he crosses the study to sit in a chair so large I cannot stop myself from guessing the number of trees cut down to make such a pretentious seat. Three? Four?
His royal head tips to the side, eyeing Leif after the guards exit.
“He can stay,” I blurt before thinking to censor myself.
Surprise flickers through Aodren’s eyes, turning them a brighter shade of ivy. They’re more alert than when we came to the castle less than an hour earlier.
“My apologies, Your Highness.” Leif bends at the waist, holding a hand over his heart. “I’ll be outside the door if you need anything.”
My glare swings to Leif, but the traitor has already turned his back on me. I curse under my breath, and Leif’s neck reddens as he slips out the door.
“He’s your friend.”
I spin around. Doesn’t sound like a question, but I nod anyway.
“Do you trust him?” All the scratchiness from earlier is gone.
“Yes.”
Aodren’s chin moves in the smallest acknowledgment and then his gaze drops, allowing me an opportunity to study him. Gold lashes contrast the dark smudges under his eyes. Earlier, he showed a bit of kindness. Something I never would’ve imagined from a king. It makes me wonder who Aodren really is. His shoulders aren’t as rigidly square as I imagine the shoulders of royalty should be. In a way, he reminds me of a lone wolf, a survivor, though managing poorly on his own.