“A slave from Quondoon,” Kjell whispered.
“Yes,” Padrig said, a pained expression crossing his face. “The children have struggled most in the transition. They have aged, just as they would have done had they been children instead of trees. They went to sleep one way and woke another. Bedwin was four when he began hiding. He is eight now. And he doesn’t know how to read. Moira was eleven, still a child. Suddenly she is fifteen, with a woman’s body and emotions, and she doesn’t know how to act. She is too old for the school room yet too immature to be anywhere else. There are many like Bedwin and Moira. All their lives were interrupted, and they are all a little lost.”
They weren’t the only ones.
“We are looking for a permanent headmaster,” Padrig continued. “The old head schoolmaster was one who did not come back.”
“One of the trees?
“Yes.” Padrig nodded.
“I remember. His heartbeat was faint.” Kjell had felt no tossing or turbulence beneath the bark, and he’d almost moved on, believing the tree was simply that, a tree. It was the schoolmaster’s wife who made him listen harder, insisting the elm was her husband who’d gone into hiding beside her. But the man could not be saved . . . or healed.
“The schoolmaster will become like Grandfather Tree.”
“What does that mean, Spinner?” Kjell asked.
“He will die. But just like the stars in the sky, he will live on as long as his tree lives on. He has spun away and will never spin back.”
“My brother Gideon, the king’s father, died in his sleep. He did not know he was going to die. He did not take his place next to his father—Grandfather Tree—in the grove. Aren’s mother, Briona, is there. But not Gideon. It is something that grieves the king terribly.
“When I die, I will not become a tree of Caarn either. I will simply become dust again.” Padrig shrugged sadly. “But perhaps the Creator, in his mercy, will make me stardust.”
The children suddenly burst out the doors as if being chased by Architeuthis himself, and Padrig threw up his hands, pretending he was being tossed about by a great wind.
“Slow down, children! You are in the palace!”
“Good day, Master Padrigus,” they chorused, bobbing and bowing as they tumbled by him toward the castle kitchen. Three small boys of varying widths and heights came to a stumbling halt in front of Kjell and pulled at their forelocks dutifully.
“Good day, Healer,” one stammered. Another didn’t speak at all, but stared, wide-eyed. The third boy reminded him of Jerick, and the moment he opened his mouth, the resemblance was even more marked.
“Are you a Healer and a warrior like Queen Saoirse says? And are you terribly lonely like Architeuthis? I don’t think he’s lonely. He’s mean. He’s mean and nasty, and he likes to break bones and ships with his tentacles.”
Kjell stared at the small boy, unsure of which question to answer first, if he should answer him at all. He had to agree that Architeuthis was not nearly as sympathetic a creature as Sasha had made it out to be.
“Run along, boys. We will have the captain come to our lessons one day. He can tell us about one of his adventures then,” Sasha called from the door of the Great Hall. Kjell tried not to raise his eyes, knowing seeing her would hurt, but it was like holding his breath, futile and unavoidable. He filled his lungs as he met her gaze. Her cheekbones were flushed with two deep splotches of color, and Padrig sighed, bowing deeply as he excused himself.
“Where is your guard?” Kjell asked the queen softly.
“I am here, Captain,” Isak spoke from behind her. The queen stepped aside and let him exit the Great Hall.
“Two men are outside the front entrance, two at every other entrance. One there,” he pointed to the end of the long hall that extended from the foyer, “and one there.” A guard named Chet moved from beneath the broad staircase and bowed his head, greeting the captain. Kjell hadn’t even known he was present.
Kjell grunted in satisfaction. “Will the children return?” He asked Sasha.
“Not today. They were promised a sweet in the kitchens, but their studies are complete for the day.”
“Much has been accomplished in a month,” he said.
“Yes. And there is still much to do,” she replied.
Their eyes locked, drinking each other in, their words falling off as their hungry observations interrupted their stilted exchange.
“There is white in your hair, Captain. At your temples,” she breathed, and a radiant smile split her face. She reached a hand toward him before snapping it back, like she’d forgotten she wasn’t supposed to touch him.
Kjell tugged at his hair the way the young boys had pulled at their own, minutes before.
“That makes you smile?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, and he heard emotion in her throat.
“Why?” he questioned, incredulous.
“I have not seen you this way,” she replied.
She had not seen him this way. The memory of her fear in the alley in Brisson, of her dread that he would die in Dendar with a head of dark hair rose to his mind.
“I was not as pleased as you to note the change,” he confessed.
“Vanity is for the weak,” she teased, but her throat convulsed as if she swallowed back grateful tears, and he looked away, unable to abide her smile or her sweet relief without breaking his promises.
He turned to leave, but she stopped him.
“There is something you should see, Captain. Isak could . . . follow.” Her sentence rose on the end like a question. Kjell nodded, making sure Isak heard the request.
“At your service, Majesty,” Kjell said, inclining his head. Without further ado, she headed in the direction the children had gone, but instead of going to the kitchen she turned down the corridor that led beyond the huge galley. At the end of the wide hallway, she opened a door to a flight of stairs that disappeared into darkness after the first few steps.
“Isak? Light?” Kjell asked, pulling a torch from the sconce in the corridor. Isak obeyed and the sconce whooshed to life in Kjell’s hand. Sasha immediately began to descend, her hand against the rock wall. Kjell stopped her, grabbing her arm, not liking the darkness or the unknown destination, and instructed Isak to move past them, leading the way with glowing hands and curious feet.
Once Kjell touched her, he couldn’t let her go, and they stood for a heartbeat, his breath stirring her hair on the step above her before they began to descend behind Isak.
“There are twenty-eight steps to the bottom,” Sasha said softly. “I discovered this place when I was just a girl and thought it a den of witches. I had forgotten about it. But King Aren reminded me yesterday that this was . . . Princess Koorah’s . . . special chamber.” She said Koorah’s name carefully, as though she didn’t want to explain her significance to Isak.