I lean on the side of my desk, ill at the mention of the Proclamation. It’ll forever be a dark stain on Malam.
“Have we not killed enough of our own women? Must we kill Shaerdan’s women as well?” There’s no masking my bitterness. The Proclamation passed in the first place only because I was a child, too young to rule, and the men my father had left to govern the country in the interim were fools. To pass such a contemptuous, ludicrous law was extremism in its most uneducated form. Their actions have caused a division in Malam that, I fear, is irreparable.
When Lord Jamis was king regent and my adviser, I spoke with him many times about abolishing the Purge Proclamation. Back then, he said he agreed with me. Then again, the man sought to control me and usurp my crown. Clearly, he’s a liar.
I press my hands flat against the desk, using the support to think through the issue. I think of what Hagan told me in the healer’s room. I’ve no doubts that Phelia is behind this, gathering girls to use as weapons. But knowing this doesn’t give me a clue as to where to find the girls, or what Phelia’s end goal is.
“I don’t think this has to do with carrying out the Purge,” I tell Omar. “Phelia herself is a Channeler. Why would she want to have all the others killed?”
Omar stares at the crumpled letter. “Even if she’s not doing the killing, the rumors of Channeler girls being brought to Malam has already spread. Soon enough we’ll have Purge zealots to deal with.”
Neighbor turning on neighbor would be the final blow needed to tumble this kingdom. I fear that, in trying to repair the broken country my father left me, I will be the man who destroys it.
Something else occurs to me, leaches the blood from my face. “Britta Flannery isn’t in danger, is she?” Zealots rising. Another Purge. Women burning at the stake.
I look to him, not caring about the disapproval writ across his face. He must always have Britta’s secret locked tight, her best wishes at the core of his actions.
His mouth tightens. “No, Your Grace.”
I compose myself. “See that it remains so.”
He nods and flattens out the creases on the paper. “And Lord Conklin?”
“The man was caught kidnapping five girls. He murdered one of their brothers when the boy attempted to stop him. Let Judge Auberdeen do with him as he sees fit.”
“They’ll execute him.” Omar watches me much like he used to when he taught me to meticulously pick apart the potential threat of a person. Build, facial expression, weapons exposed outside of clothes, and bulges in attire that might be hidden weapons. In the event I was ever unguarded, Omar wanted me to be prepared to defend myself. “This will be your first . . .”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. In the year I’ve been king instead of a ward beneath the regent, I never ruled in favor of an execution. Then again, I was subdued by a Spiriter for much of that time.
I take the missive from him and flatten it on my desk. “So be it.”
Chapter
19
Britta
LIRRA IS A WALKING BOOK OF CHANNELER KNOWLEDGE. Since she came to my cottage two days earlier, I’ve plied the Archtraitor’s daughter for Channeler information. She’s explained the Channelers Guild, how they govern themselves and oversee what’s taught in Elementiaries, how girls learn their ability in the Elementiaries and in their homes, and how all Channelers deal with the same consequences of using their magic—loss of energy.
Now as we sit on top of the roof, fixing the thatch for the winter, I tell her what Enat taught me. That I can sense others’ energy and I can give mine away, but I’m limited to the energy that I have. If I push too much of my energy into something or someone, I could die.
“There’s not much else to add.” She hands me a bundle of hay.
“You make it sound simple. But it’s not.” I bunch the hay together, shaking out the smaller bits. They float away on a snap of icy air.
“What else do you want to know?”
“How could a Spiriter kill two men without leaving a mark and knock another unconscious?”
She sits back on the roof. Blows fringe out of her face. “Pretty specific question. Care to explain?”
I shrug, wind hay into a knot to make a wangle, and then shove it into the hole on the roof.
Lirra studies me for a moment. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know, but only for a trade. You explain your question after I finish. Yes?”
Reluctantly, I nod.
Lirra plays with a piece of hay, running it around her fingers. “This is like a riddle. A Spiriter kills two men and knocks another unconscious. Hmm, I suppose she could’ve drawn out the men’s energy. But was she touching the men?”
I think back on the king’s account of what he saw before he blacked out, and shake my head to the negative.
“Well, that would only work if she was touching them.” Lirra rubs her chin. “Also that’s the blackest of all magic. It taints the Spiriter. So that’s probably not what you meant.”
I take another bundle of hay from Lirra and pause. “What do you mean by taint?”
“That kind of dark magic stains a Spiriter’s mind. When a Spiriter pulls the energy from another, effectively killing the person, that person’s last intent comes with the energy. It gets into the Spiriter’s mind and sticks.”
My face must be utter confusion.
“Think of it this way, if a Spiriter steals the energy of someone who, in their final moments before death, was intent on quartering a pig, then the Spiriter would want to find a pig and butcher it.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “That’s ludicrous.”
Lirra shrugs. She takes the hay from me, whips it into a wangle, and jams it into the thatching. “Aye, but it’s the truth.”
“How do you know?”
“I worked at an Elementiary. I had access to ancient tomes. And my aunt is one of the Guild.”
I blink at Lirra, stunned for a moment, though the warmth of her truth eases my shock.
“It’s not something I wave around on a flag. But I trust you’ll keep it to yourself.”
“You trust me?” I squeak.
“As much as you probably trust me. Besides, you’re keeping some intense secrets, so I’ve leverage over you in case you ever want to start sharing too much information.”
Lirra’s savvy and clever in a way that amazes me. I like her confidence and ease around others. But there’s an edge to her words. “You’re not very trusting.”
She laughs. “Neither are you.” Lirra shakes out a bundle of straw, letting the pieces fall between us. “Trust is an interesting thing. You don’t trust people because they’ve never accepted you. They’ve never shown you any kindness. Am I right?”
I shrug, bristle a little, even if she’s right.
She continues, “I know too many of the secrets my father’s garnered. I don’t trust anyone because I know they’re liars.”
A laugh bursts out of me at her candidness. “Not everyone lies.”