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Chapter 25 ~ To Rule or to Die

Dàibhid

The day leading to a blue moon is said to be auspicious, that it should be savored for all it can offer. But I stared at the sun from the war room, willing time to move faster as I paced.

A jab went through my thigh as I walked into the edge of the center table for the third time that morning.

“Patience, my king,” Cianán whispered.

I rubbed the back of my neck. It was clear in the days since the attack on the lower district that we needed whatever information the team could gather even sooner than before. A few solitary windows had been broken since, some minor thefts, but too many drawn weapons at the slightest provocation. The tentative hope that Ardannians had been cultivating was once again brittle.

I’d hoped to use the prisoners from that night for information, learn what they knew while the Shadow Swords gathered what they could in Tírdorcha. It was supposed to make me feel useful, like I wasn’t sitting on my ass while others did the work for me, my people suffering yet again.

Except the morning after the attack, every one of the captives had turned up dead. No clues as to who had done it, though whoever it was clearly wanted us to believe they’d all died by their own hands. It was plausible; no sounds had been heard, and their deaths seemed self-inflicted. But something didn’t sit right with me. No prisoners we’d taken previously had died except for one, a rebel with an illness developed before being locked away who passed despite our best efforts to help.

No, something was different this time. These ones had been murdered. But by who? And without their knowledge, what was I supposed to do?

The promise of the information the team was gathering, the continued worry over their safety, the knowledge that I couldn’t do much for my people before their return, all compounded into a crackling log in my chest, sending pops and bangs through my limbs at every possible moment. The pacing didn’t help.

Nor did discussing potential courses of action without anything concrete to back them up. Moving on to talk of ally aid wasn’t helping much, either.

“We’ll have Fenwald’s help if needed.” Thomas pointed to our eastern ally on the giant wall map. “Perhaps you should draft a letter to them so we’re prepared to alert them at a moment’s notice.”

“And write what, exactly?” Liam asked. “We can’t draft a letter if we don’t know what we need to warn them about or ask them for.” He cut an apologetic glance my way. But he was right; it was what had me on edge, after all.

“It is a good idea, Thomas. But Liam is right. While I want to strategize for outcomes, writing a letter at this point may not be the best use of time. But I can make a list of things I may need to apprise King Wilhelm of.” And what requests I might need to make of him. If it came to needing outside help, supplies would be beneficial, as would people, depending on Exile numbers.

I ground my teeth. We’d need to know Exile numbers before I could even speculate that sort of request. And what of the matter of not having any idea where they might strike next? For that matter, how did they choose the timing of any of their attacks?

“Has there been a pattern to the attacks?” I asked.

Cianán rifled through the papers in front of him, checking records we’d made of Exile activity. “The smaller attacks don’t seem to.”

“The ones Balor never claimed.”

“Precisely. None of those resulted in letters from him. The bigger ones all did, which make them appear sanctioned.”

“Agreed,” Liam said.

“The farms were attacked partway through growing season,” Cianán said. “That one was as disruptive as it could have been for livelihoods and food supply. Hmm.”

“What?” I said.

“I had thought I would find a connection with the other attacks. I’m not actually sure there is one.”

“Balor is calculating, though,” Thomas said. “That’s always the impression I’ve gotten.”

“Which means there could be a pattern we don’t see or understand,” I said. More blank spots in the scheme. I tried to breathe normally.

“Perhaps it’s not so much a pattern as a strategy,” Cianán said. “The tactic of letting fear simmer is an efficient one. As is the ebb and flow of said fear. The Exiles are doing what they can to ensure the people are always scared. And if the people are scared, they’re in the enemies’ grasp, even if they don’t realize it.”

I gripped the edge of the table, hoping my shaking wasn’t visible. How could I fight against fear itself? The panicked faces I’d witnessed after the last attack drew deep scores in my mind, impossible to escape.

I couldn’t let an attack like that happen again.

I snagged a piece of charcoal and a smaller map from the table, drawing a thick black line around Ardanna, Tírdorcha, and the Keep.

“Based on reports, the Exiles are rumored or confirmed to be in these locations, where they’re trying to take control of my kingdom.” I put the charcoal down before I could snap it. “What we’ve heard from the nobles in the south doesn’t suggest much rebel activity, but there is some. Regent Farrow is building more defenses in Tàs. Lady Flaherty is increasing Aronamara’s city guard to reinforce existing numbers.”

“Lord Penny is throwing more parties like each will be his last,” Thomas added dryly.

I rolled my eyes. “I trust his wife is doing what she can to protect Cathair Bua.”

“I imagine so. She always does.”

I scraped a hand through my hair. The Exiles were effectively separating the cities from one another, encouraging them to wall off and defend themselves. I’d need to see what I could do about bringing everyone together.

“The Exiles might have sway,” I said, “and might be forcing people into action through fear, but we still have more in number.”

For a moment, no one spoke, not daring to voice what we all knew: there was no way of knowing who was a rebel at any given moment.

I longed for Rígan to be in the room—she had a way of keeping me from going too deep into worry. I refrained from looking back at Tírdorcha on the map.

Instead, my gaze darted to Fenwald.

“Say we can’t get help from Fenwald,” I said. “What would you suggest then?”

“It’s not as if they’re our only ally,” Cianán said. “But why wouldn’t we get help? They’ve always sided with Cunlaran.”

“They have. But we’re exploring all options.”

“Well, we’d write to other countries. Your family has worked to maintain good relations with many continental powers. And now we have more personal connections through some of the sellswords.”

Liam hummed. “Birrin Isles are small—barely able to hold a contingent of their own. And they’re largely neutral ground, thanks to their position. Nibari, however, is strong, has a good military—”

“Yeah, and the emperor is a piece of shit.” Thomas cleared his throat, reining himself in. “Sorry, but he is.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” I said. “He is, most definitely, a piece of shit.”

Thomas’s face contorted. “Have you heard Maya talk about him?”

“Unfortunately.” I took a seat, feet screaming to give them a break. The emperor’s penchant for viewing his subjects as less than dirt, treating Maya like some incompetent insect, sickened me. Still, I forced acquiescence out. “But, like Liam said, they have a strong military. If it comes to seeking their aid, we will.”

“And Qianhú?” Thomas asked.

“Perhaps. Though it would take a month for a letter to reach them at best, a month before we’d get their response should they reply immediately, and even longer before they’d arrive. I doubt there would be much point, at least right now.”

“Resources, perhaps. Their steel is more durable, smoother, deadlier than anything we’ve got. A small contingent bringing better weapons could be done.”

“Something to consider.” I steepled my fingers under my chin. “We’ll need to examine allies closer to home, on the chance we—”

BANG.

Staff screamed from the hall. We all rushed for the door.

“Breach!” A guard rounded the corner, halting before us. “Your Majesty, there’s been a breach. Exiles destroyed a wall south of the kitchens. They’re spilling in as we speak.”

I went cold. “Exiles, not rebels?”

“They all carry Doaríc weaponry bearing the double swords, as far as I could tell.”

The chill deepened.

Ebb and flow. This was the flow.

“The staff, are they being harmed?” I asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. At least, not terribly.”

“So they are being harmed.” He seemed lost as to what to say. “Shit.” I ran back into the room and grabbed my sword.

“We need to get you into the tunnels,” Liam said, grabbing my elbow and trying to steer me away from the direction of the explosion.

“I’m needed here.” My people expected me to be here for them. Relied on me to be here. What kind of king would I be if I walked away?

“There are guards, trained guards, who have prepared for this, most of them long before the Exiles were ever a threat. Guards I trained to protect you and everyone in this castle. Tunnels, Dàibhid.”

Internally, I planted my feet. I was meant to protect these people. They were mine to look after. And now they were under threat, again, and I was being told to abandon them. But Liam looked panicked, lines framing his taut mouth. Behind him, Thomas wore the same expression.

I’d follow them to the tunnels. I could make my case there.

Shouts followed us as we moved toward the closest tunnel entrance. Shouts that claimed the Exiles knew their way around the castle, and that they were searching for me.

“If what they’re saying is true,” Thomas said as we picked up the pace, “there must be someone on the inside.”

I swore again, using an old Fenwaldan word I learned when I was much too young to know it. Somehow, it made me feel a little more grounded.

Liam hastily pulled back Danna’s tapestry, she and Morrígan staring at us as though urging us to move.

Once deep enough inside, we paused for a breather, thick air pressing down on us. We’d had no time to grab anything, though Liam, Thomas, and I all had our weapons. Other than that, it was the clothes on our backs.

But we wouldn’t be in here for long.

Before I could make my case, Cianán spoke.

“You need to leave the capital.”

“My people need me here—”

“You’re no good to them dead.” I flinched, but refused to concede the point. Cianán straightened, his hands trembling. “When the monarch is in danger, the monarch is relocated. It’s protocol that has gone back centuries, a protocol you’ve been trained on. The castle is, at least for now, compromised. You are being hunted. You cannot remain. Your people need you to rule them—it doesn’t matter from where.”

“Cianán, Ardanna could come under siege, they need me—”

“Cianán is right,” Liam interrupted. I swiveled toward him. “It’s more important that you live to fend them off than die hidden in these walls. Like Cianán said, this is protocol.”

“I wouldn’t hide,” I bit out. “I’d help them, you know that—”

“We need to be smart right now, Dàibhid, you know that.” Liam huffed. “I know you care. It’s why people are still rallied behind you instead of the Exiles. But take one step back for a moment. How can you best protect all of your people?”

I leaned my head against the cool wall. I inhaled deeply, thinking about what my father would do. What my mother would advise. I knew, deep down, that they both would have wanted to stay and fight, protect who they could. But would they have stayed in truth? Or would they have taken Cianán and Liam’s advice?

But if I followed it, I’d be leaving my people. They’d know I’d left, fled for safer ground, while they remained here to face the Exiles without me. My parents never had to make a decision like this. Salt prickled the back of my tongue.

“I don’t want to abandon them,” I whispered.

Cianán placed a gentle hand on my arm. “You won’t be.”

“Even if the Exiles take the city, you’re still the king,” Thomas said. “We stay in the country, make sure it doesn’t look like you’re abandoning the throne. The people will understand.”

Liam cut right to it. “Your choices are live to rule or risk dying. Your call.”

I swallowed thickly. I tried to imagine what Brí would tell me. Likely that I was being a damn fool and that I needed to prioritize my life in that moment. As any good commander would tell me. That opinion clearly wasn’t helping right now, given Liam had claimed it, too.

Rígan, though. She’d be pissed off with me for considering staying, if only because I could die here and actually abandon my people. She’d stare me down until I listened, even if she knew how hard the choice was. She believed in me. So did the others, the ones who mattered. And, if I put aside my doubts, I could admit that maybe the subjects who came for my aid did, too. The ones who smiled at me and put their trust in my hands. What would happen if I died here, too stubborn—too scared—to leave them, not to fend for themselves, but to ensure they kept having that person to trust and work to get them through this?

I let loose a shaky breath and spared a glance back the way we’d come. The sounds of the breach couldn’t reach us here, but I could imagine them all the same. The shouting. The crying. The screaming. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“The guards will look after them,” Thomas said. “I have faith in them.”

“So do I,” I said softly. And I did. I’d have to trust them to do this without me.

I turned to Cianán. “Alright. I’ll go. But you need to write a message for the guards first. Tell them their king is no longer in the capital, but will not give up this fight.” I tightened my hands into fists. If the Exiles, if Balor, hoped that this move would make me cower and concede, they were wrong.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” He always had paper on him for taking down notes, a charcoal pencil wrapped in a once-white cloth tucked beside it. “I’ll deliver it to a city guard once we’re outside the tunnels.”

“Actually.” I held my hands out for the materials. “I’ll write it. We’ll make sure it gets to Commander Lochlin.” Liam nodded, confirming his counterpart, city guard commander Ruairi Lochlin, was a good call. “And I’ll write one for the Shadow Swords,” I added. “To be given to them upon their return before they even enter the city.”

With the last swipe of the charcoal, I sent a prayer to Soral to keep them all safe.