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Chapter 33 ~ Heavy Is the Head

Dàibhid

I emerged from my tent the next morning, stretching my arms over my head as a cool breeze shook the leaves. I hadn’t danced like that in a long time, my muscles unused to the movement. Guards milled about our encampment, eggs and sausages piled in bowls and shoved into mouths. I caught sight of the Shadow Swords sitting together, one more bit of relaxation before we’d dive back into planning on how to deal with the Exiles. I’d barely given the planning another thought since before the festival, but now, with the distraction over, I was anxious to get back to it. Not anxious enough to pull them from their breakfast, though.

I took one step in their direction before halting. Rígan smiled politely at me, but the warmth from the previous night was gone. Had I misread her during the dance? Perhaps I truly had done something, despite her reassurance that I hadn’t. I smiled back, but with all the emotion churning in me, I decided to keep my distance until I woke up a little more.

I was about to join Commander Lochlin when a trumpet sounded from the far edge of camp, and a guard galloped in on horseback. Liam came to my side as the man approached. He couldn’t have been much younger than me, if at all. Limp, sandy blond hair fell into his eyes as sweat poured down his face.

Rígan approached, steps hurried. “Nial?”

A cold dread settled in my gut. Nial was supposed to be infiltrating Bailanín, learning what he could. It was possible he’d already accomplished that mission, but from the wild look about him, something told me it hadn’t gone according to plan.

Nial gave Rígan a cursory nod before turning to me. “Your Majesty.” He extended a sealed piece of paper. The words Bailanín to Dàibhid were etched in dark ink. The lack of my title gave me pause. Nial glanced at Lochlin with something like regret, and my unease grew.

I tore into the letter. Each word was scrawled elegantly, but it didn’t match the unfamiliar handwriting of the address. This one, I knew. It had become as familiar as my own, seared into my very being. My stomach roiled, and I was glad I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“You weren’t followed?” I asked.

“No,” Nial said.

“What’s all this?” Cianán came over, straightening his robes. I hadn’t seen him since five days previous; he’d accompanied a Grove citizen on a fishing trip for his moment of relaxation, dances not much his scene.

“Let’s take this to a more private spot, shall we?” Liam suggested. He turned to one of the soldiers. “And get our new arrival some food.”

Liam led us to the empty camp firepit, the other Shadow Swords, Commander Lochlin, and Thomas jogging to catch up.

“Where did this come from?” I asked Nial. “What happened to the plan?”

“What is ‘this’?” Lochlin asked.

I silently read the words one more time.

Farmer’s boy,

How did I know you’d send someone in for intelligence? Perhaps you’re too predictable for your own good.

Here’s what you should know: I’ve taken your entire staff hostage, as well as twenty-three civilians and children. They’re safe, for now. Every guard in the castle is mine. Yours are trying in vain to reclaim the walls. I promise you, they will not last long against my forces. Many have already fallen, and I’ve put them on display as a warning.

The people are crying in the streets. Just think, a peaceful transition of power would have saved them all so much sorrow. No hostages would be under my care, no guards would have been put down. Bloodshed could have been avoided if only you’d acted sooner.

But this situation has given me a change of heart; I’m willing to have that meeting you’ve been pushing for. Meet me by the ruined watchtower between the Stone Fortress and Tàs in three weeks’ time.

Balor

“It’s a letter. From Balor,” I said. The words sounded distant, as though rising from a dream I hadn’t quite parsed through. “He’s willing to meet with me.”

Brí’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s admitting he’s in the country?”

“I think so.” Unless it had been sent to Bailanín from somewhere else, after Balor got a full report, before getting into Nial’s hands. Then who knew where Balor truly was. I looked at Nial. “How did you get this letter?”

“Jonah, the farmer, gave me the order from Commander Lochlin. I made it inside the walls through the tunnels two nights ago. But shortly after I got inside, an Exile jumped me. Like they were waiting for me. Three of them got some hits in.” He shifted, likely remembering the encounter. My ears rang. “Then one of them gave me the letter. Said Balor had been expecting a spy.”

“You didn’t see him?”

“No. No sign of him.”

Then he might not be in the country.

“Can I read it?” Rígan asked.

I handed it over, and her face flushed as she read.

“He believes he has the upper hand,” she seethed as Liam reached for the letter and read it himself. “Even pointing out this letter came from your castle is a sick power play. So is demanding the time and location for the meeting.”

I took a deep breath as Rígan’s words settled in. The ringing in my ears died abruptly as the sounds of the woods flooded in, the chirping birds and rustling leaves, swords being sharpened around the bend.

I could work with this.

“We can use this to our advantage,” I said, trying to hold on to a tenuous confidence. “We’ll be face-to-face. That’s what I’ve been after since the start.” I paced, refusing to voice the flaw in my logic. I couldn’t voice it if I wanted that confidence to remain.

“If he even wants to talk at all,” Rígan said. “What if it’s a ploy? He knows this is what you want. It could easily be bait.”

I gripped my arms, the flaw out in the open and tapering my confidence. My steps turned heavy, crunching newly fallen leaves.

It could be bait.

Bait meant fighting. Bait meant ambush. Bait meant death.

I closed my eyes and wished it were my parents standing here instead of me.

“You going to tell them the rest?” Rígan asked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. With the focus on Balor proposing a meeting, I’d overlooked a massive piece of information.

“Balor wants to meet south of here,” I said.

“ South ?” Brí said.

“There was one bit of information I heard at Bailanín before I was caught,” Nial said. “A couple of Exiles walked by the tunnel entrance while I waited for the coast to clear. They said something about more numbers arriving weekly in the south.”

Cianán swore, a note of underlying anger creeping in. We’d put all our focus on the north, trusting the south was safe for the time being. How many people were quietly suffering because I’d made the wrong call?

“Did you hear where they’re arriving?” I asked. Perhaps something could be done if we knew locations.

“Not exactly. But it sounds like they’re being looked after. They’re probably in at least one of the cities.”

“If there are Exiles being looked after in southern cities, someone must be harboring them,” Thomas said. Another rebel eluding our grasp. How many were down there? How many had I failed to see?

“Who could that be?” Bryn asked, looking at Rígan, Maya, and Lou. Right. They used to work for Lord Penny.

“Lord Penny was a bastard, but he wouldn’t do that,” Maya said. “Too self-centered to be a player in someone else’s war.”

“I have to agree,” Lou said.

I swallowed. A war. If Rígan was right and this was a trap, Balor would try to start a war. More people really would die, my good intentions be damned.

“Lord Penny isn’t devious or subtle enough, anyway,” Brí said. “I’d say Cathair Bua is safe.”

“I doubt any of the other nobles are protecting Exiles, either,” I said. “Nothing has transpired in the south like in Tàlev’s Keep. If any of them were harboring Exiles, we’d have noticed something amiss.” I hoped.

“None of that matters right now,” Rígan said. “What does matter is there are Exiles building in a part of the country we hadn’t looked into yet.”

“You’re right.” While my feet needed to keep moving, the rest of me was so, so tired. I wanted to sit and never get up again. But despite the doubts and fears, my people needed me to act. I contented myself with leaning against a tree, the rough bark against my thin shirt grounding me, my foot scuffing the dirt.

“What are we going to do about that?” Lochlin asked.

I looked at Brí, steel in her gaze. I didn’t need her advice, and she knew it. I knew what we had to do, even though everything in me rioted against the idea.

So I looked at Rígan. Though the warmth wasn’t there, the strength was. Like she was physically pushing it toward me, urging me forward. It helped push through the riot enough to get the words out.

“We need to anticipate that this is a trap, likely leading to a fight. Brí, get the soldiers stationed at the Stone Fortress to prepare themselves. We’ll need backup, and they’re the closest we’ve got. You can send my response to Balor from there.” To Bailanín. Our home, overrun with Exiles.

“So you’re willing to meet him?” Cianán asked.

“I don’t see much of a choice.” If I didn’t meet with him, I’d be passing up the opportunity to end this the way I’d wanted to from the start. I’d put an end to the fear and hurt my people were subjected to at the Exiles’ hands and get my home back without further bloodshed. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try.

Though I wasn’t sure how I’d live with myself if the alternative happened, either.

“Will that be enough people?” Maya asked.

“It should be more than enough,” Brí said. “Provided none of my soldiers are compromised.”

“You need to find out,” I said. “Take a few of the guards with you. Leave today for the Fortress and get who you can, even if it’s only those you trust most. And don’t deplete the ranks. The Fortress still needs to be guarded, and this still can’t be seen as an act of war. While you do that, we’ll prepare everyone here.”

“Whoever is helping them in the south,” Rígan said, “they’ll have rebels of their own. Give the Exiles more numbers.”

“It’s doubtful to be too many, or else we would have heard about more rebel violence by now,” Cianán noted.

“Then we plan for a reasonable number of rebels to join them,” I said. “We can’t anticipate small now, not with what Nial heard.”

“And what of planning for negotiations?” Cianán asked.

“We had those planned out months ago.” It had been one of the first things I’d done when the attacks started, and I’d revisited them over and over again, committing them to memory and adjusting as things unfolded. “We’ll go over them again, see what needs altering. Because I’m not giving up on talks. I can’t.”

“As long as we remain prepared for the alternative,” Rígan said.

I dug my nails into my palms. I wished, desperately, that I could go into this by myself, without need for backup, without planning for a fight. I wanted to make sure I was the only one in harm’s way. If I could draw Balor out, get him to talk with me one-on-one, perhaps soldiers wouldn’t be needed. But if it came to a fight, it was unlikely the Exiles would be content with single combat. Which meant backup was the smarter course of action. But backup meant risking more lives than ever before.

A tangled mass swirled inside me. I wanted to rage, cry, and throw up as the image of those around me impaled on Exile swords came on so strongly it could have been real.

It took everything in me to push it aside.

“We will,” I said.

The responding silence was palpable. I was keenly aware of Rígan watching me closely.

I pushed off the tree. “I’ll write my reply to Balor.” If what Nial heard was right, and there was a sizable force building in the south . . . “I’ll pen a letter for Fenwald, too, to be sent should the need arise, asking King Wilhelm for whatever aid he can send.” Thomas blew out an audible breath, a finally all but spoken aloud. Everyone’s expectations pressed in on me, and everything I’d been pushing aside forced its way back in. My lungs constricted painfully. “We’ll start planning more thoroughly soon.”

I left them to their discussions, needing a moment to myself. I flung the flaps of my tent open, the whoosh of wind from their closing hitting my back. I gripped the nearest chair, fighting that mass again, fighting the images of death, death, death, all because of me.

My parents would have done this better. My father would have sent people south as well as north. The people wouldn’t have risen against him. My mother would have instilled too much confidence in them for that to happen. Balor would already be a thing of the past. The Crown wouldn’t have burned, the farms wouldn’t have been destroyed, the Keep wouldn’t have gone through whatever the fuck it was dealing with, people wouldn’t have been killed.

None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been me sitting on the throne.

A strip of sunlight appeared across the floor.

“Dàibhid?”

My knees threatened to buckle at the sound of Rígan’s voice. I glanced over my shoulder to see her there, alone, concern lining every part of her.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I just need a minute.”

Her voice was the gentlest I’d ever heard it. “You’re doing what you have to.”

“Peace talks were all I ever wanted. I had hopes of going to Doaríc, meeting with the Exiles, talking to them about coming back. Or recognizing the isle as a new nation. Whatever they wanted, whatever made sense for both our peoples. And if that doesn’t happen . . .” I hung my head until my hair fell over my eyes. Brí would comment that I needed a haircut.

Rígan, who’d approached silently, rubbed a hand along my shoulder. I shivered.

“Your people will forgive you if you need to go to war.”

“How can you know that?” My voice strained, fear and doubt lacing every part of it.

Her hand stilled, tense. Like she wanted to be angry. Like she was angry. But she took a shuddering breath and said, softly, “I just do.”

I stepped out of her reach, needing her to see the turmoil this was putting me through. “I fucking hate it. Making these choices. I tried to prepare for the time when I might need to, but no amount of preparation works. I can’t—” I shook, a string plucked horribly wrong. “I can’t stand the idea of people being hurt because of me. I don’t care if the alternative is the smarter choice. I can’t stand to see people I’m supposed to protect in danger.”

“Sometimes being the ruler means you have to make those hard calls. Sometimes people are going to get hurt no matter what you do.”

I shook harder. She wasn’t helping. She sighed like she knew it.

“You aren’t alone in this, Dàibhid. You have people to support you.” She crossed her arms. “That’s why we’re all here. Being king isn’t a solo job.”

“I’m still the one who ultimately has to decide. The one who has to condemn.”

“Or the one who gets to save . And sometimes saving can’t include everyone.” She laughed incredulously. “You spend so much time making sure every damn decision you make is in the best interest of your people. Much more time than half the world’s rulers ever will, and yet you think you’re shit at it.”

“People could die based on my choices!”

“And that’s fucking hard, I get that. I don’t want anyone to die, either! But sometimes that’s the price you need to pay to make sure as many people as possible get to be safe.”

“It’s a bullshit price.”

“Don’t you think I get that?”

“Gods, you’re a sword for hire! You literally kill people for a living.”

She flinched, and I wanted to take it back.

“I protect people for a living,” she bit out. “I only kill when it’s necessary. You should know I care about people, too.”

“I do know that,” I said, heat rising up my throat, strangling me. “Shit, I do. You’re loyal and kind and caring and one of the best people I know.” She glanced away. “I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . Fuck, Kit, I—”

“What did you call me?”

I stopped midsentence, mouth hanging open. She was wide-eyed, pale. Panicked.

I didn’t respond. Didn’t show signs of confusion, didn’t apologize or take the name back. Because it was her name. The one I gave her when we were children.

When she got nothing from me, her knuckles turned white against her arms.

If I thought I’d seen her angry, I was so very wrong.

“What. Did you. Call me?” A fire lurked under her skin, daring me to run, but I stayed. I almost broke at the way her eyes turned glassy, stubbornly holding on to tears she wouldn’t trust me to witness.

“Kit,” I said. “I called you Kit.”