His head bobs a few more times. He mumbles Britta’s name. I try to tell him twice that Britta is alive, but he’s too incoherent. I suggest he go with Lirra to find a bed to sleep in. She’ll let him know the good news. Seeva mentioned that he would be giving up at least half of his energy. Which would in turn mean the man would need to sleep for days.
When Lirra walks to his side of the bed, Aodren’s arms flex, like he’s struggling to hold himself together. She gently guides him to the door, and then nearly collapses as his head falls against her shoulder. Once they’re gone, Britta and I are alone in the room.
The last time we were alone, I ended our relationship. What a fool I was.
I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. But when she wakes up, I’m determined to be the first person she sees.
As night draws closer, there are fewer scrapes and bangs of repair work on the cabin. The Guild members have put Leif to work to keep his mind off Omar’s death. We are all affected by the captain’s passing, but I don’t blame Leif. No one holds Omar’s death against him.
Leif doesn’t see it the same, however. I hope someday he’ll forgive himself.
Behind the closed bedroom door, I stay at Britta’s side. A thousand promises to the gods have passed my lips as I beg them to spare her.
She hasn’t moved a knuckle since the Channelers left. As when she risked her life to save mine and then the king’s, she lies, motionless, almost colorless. This time, however, she’s covered in her own blood.
When my head starts to bob and my lids dip, I allow myself rest, hunched in the chair beside her bed. Though I’ve never been a churchgoer, I say a prayer—that I won’t have another grave to dig in the morning.
I wake a dozen times in the night, full of aching muscles and creaky bones.
There is no change the next day.
Nor the day after.
The Guild women have come in to dress her wounds; wipe her face, arms, and legs; and drizzle Channeler concoctions over her lips. They’ve brought me bowls of pottage and water.On the third day, King Aodren comes to the room. I don’t know the extent of the man’s feeling for Britta, however, I took note of the many times he sought her out the morning before the attack. Like his eyes were homing pigeons and she was home.
His sallow skin takes a greenish-yellow tint under the lantern light. He moves like his bones are made of glass. The cost of returning Britta’s energy is apparent. He could pass for someone afflicted with the ague.
“You don’t look so good,” I tell him.
“I was about to tell you the same.”
I rake a hand through my unkempt beard and into my hair, which could use three solid washings. A quarter smile cracks my lips. “I’ve seen better weeks.”
The king leans against the wall and gazes out the window at the gray morning. “I’ve come to ask you to leave for Brentyn.”
My spine groans as I sit straight.
“I’ve received word back from Lord Freil. He has nearly one hundred men armed and ready to march.”
I stare at Britta and wonder if I’ll ever see her smile or smirk or glare at me again. I scrub my eyes and turn to face the king. “You need a commander.”
“Yes. I need you and Leif to take this army with me, and together we’ll march on Brentyn. I don’t believe we’ll meet with much resistance. Now that the rebels’ leaders have been killed, I suspect most will accept a deal. If they lay down their arms and accept defeat, they may live out their lives beyond the borders of Malam.”
“And if there’s strong resistance?” I ask, though it’s unlikely. The head’s been cut off the beast.
“The sons of two lords from the northern borders who were killed during the castle attack have pledged their loyalty to me. Should more men be needed, we can call on another hundred and fifty from the northern fiefs.”
At my hesitation, the king says, “The Guild said it might be weeks if not longer before Britta can travel.”
Though the thought of leaving her drives me mad, restoring harmony in the land will give Britta a home to return to. And perhaps she’ll have the freedom to live her life without fear of who she is.
“When do we leave?”
His eyes flick to her sleeping form and back to me, an apology written in the lines around them. “Immediately.”
My fingers find Britta’s, covering her hand as if I might secret away a prized possession. I nod, accepting my role to come in ending this dark time in our countries’ histories. “My heart, my blood, my life for Malam.”
Aodren exits, giving me a few moments alone. There’s a huge part of me that wants to tell him no. I want to stay by her side until she wakes. But I’ve made peace with the fact that I have a tendency to make choices that suffocate Britta. That’s something I’m not going to do anymore. My staying by her side might not make her feel like I’m trying to govern her. But it might. I have faith that whatever the king did for Britta will heal her. And once she’s on the mend, I want her to have the space and freedom to finish deciding what she wants in this life.
I drop a kiss to Britta’s forehead and then to the pale curves of her lips. “Come back to me, Dove.” My whisper washes over her mouth.
I hold for a moment, praying a miracle will happen, hoping for some sort of change that’ll confirm she’ll make it. That this isn’t our final goodbye. But nothing happens. Pain daggers through my heart as I turn and walk out the door.
Before leaving, I go to Finn’s side. The kid’s mottled face and weakened body threaten to break what’s left of my weak heart. I softly chuck his shoulder and tell him I love him. Then after bidding goodbye to Lirra, the Guild, and the Channeler girls, we travel to the camp outside Brentyn. There, King Aodren meets with the commander of Lord Freil’s soldiers. We spend two days organizing the men. On the third we march.
It takes four days for our army to seize control of Lord Jamis’s men. Many of them stand down as soon as their leader’s death is announced. Those who resist are subdued with little fighting.
Despite their betrayal, King Aodren offers a merciful punishment. The rebels are exiled from Malam. They may live out their lives in the Akaria Desert or north in the wastelands of Kolontia. But never again may they set foot in Malam.
In my opinion, King Aodren’s mercy is more than most of the rebels deserved. In the few days Jamis occupied Brentyn, the havoc he caused led to hundreds of deaths. The royal city, once called the heart of Malam, isn’t the same. Death stains the streets.
Time moves quickly over the next week as we see to the many grieving families.
With the rebels gone, we have the task of washing blood off the streets and wiping it from Castle Neart’s Great Hall. Graves are dug and filled. Cobblestones are scrubbed clean.