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Chapter 3 ~ A King’s Job

Dàibhid

They’d said yes.

I gripped the arms of my chair, the wood pressing into my palms. I’d unceremoniously slumped myself there the moment the sellswords departed, the scent of ink and maps grounding me. Before the council meeting—where I’d received news on the state of Exile and rebel attacks, quelled concerns, and decided next moves for cities to take—I’d left behind two certain expressions and one reserved. Rígan’s skepticism was a good sign, as Cianán had said, that she’d think things through and question what people told her. And because of that single expression, I half expected the trio to tell me they weren’t interested.

But when I returned, Rígan’s determination was palpable. She said she couldn’t let innocent people continue to get hurt. None of them could.

I’d barely stayed upright. But I’d managed to, thanking them as profusely as I could without making things awkward and unseemly.

Now, with only Cianán in the room, I didn’t care about appearances. Every one of my muscles was heavy—from relief, from worry, who could say.

They’d said yes.

A lump settled in my throat, and I stood to work it out, making for the largest map in the room. I dragged a finger down the well-worn parchment, the material simultaneously rough and smooth from years of use. I traced a line from east to west, lingering over Tàlev’s Keep, where I was planning on sending the sellswords.

I’d asked them to come back tomorrow for the rest of the details; there were still a few I wanted to iron out. It also gave me the chance to steel myself a little longer before sending them into potential danger. No matter how much training I’d received from my parents growing up, being responsible for lives in the unique way a monarch was was not something I’d grown accustomed to. It was easier with those who made combat their livelihood, but even then, I struggled.

The extra time would also give the sellswords the opportunity to bow out if they decided to. I needed them to be sure of taking the risk, just as I needed to be sure of asking it of them.

I tried telling myself finding multiple sellswords who were already an established team was the best possible outcome. No need for them to get acquainted or feel each other out, learn each other’s styles. There might be countless potential problems they’d face during the mission, but their dynamic wouldn’t be one of them.

And a team like that might stand a better chance of getting through the mission unscathed. I took a deep breath, repeating it to myself once more in hopes that it would sink in. Some of the tension between my shoulders dissipated. They could do this. If they chose to.

My mouth twitched as I thought of Rígan. She was one of the most striking women I’d ever seen. Keen, sharp eyes the color of warm wood, freckled cheekbones, an air of easy confidence that didn’t tip into arrogance. She’d been intoxicating, and it had taken effort to drag my attention away from her.

“You’re thinking rather hard,” Cianán said. He’d come to stare at the map with me, his large presence somehow sneaking up on me. While at first glance he seemed intimidating, Cianán was a gentle giant. I’d never seen him fight, nor did I expect he ever truly had.

I refocused, the map returning in sharp lines. “Hmm?”

He chuckled before sobering. “These last few months have been trying.”

“To say the least.”

“Those poor farmers,” he muttered.

My throat constricted further. The Exiles and rebels had gone from a violent but containable threat to deadly overnight. Seven people gone. Dead. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind they were attacked because of me. Not just as a king, but as the great-grandson of a man who’d worked those very fields. My dreams had been taken over by screams I’d been too far away to hear, my great-grandfather’s ghost weeping over the losses. While I’d wondered since I was a child if I’d be a good king, I’d never been terrified of failing the job. But now, the main mandate, the mandate to protect my people, to ensure they never had to experience suffering, was being tested tenfold. Lives had been lost on my watch. I couldn’t let it happen again. Wouldn’t . I couldn’t fail my people.

My mother used to tell me to hold a sword in one hand and a quill in the other and remind me I was strong. Usually, the thought brought me comfort. Today, it made me feel like a fraud.

My father wouldn’t have failed like this. He’d always been so sure of himself, and the people had loved him for it. He’d been strong. So had my mother.

I stayed silent.

Cianán gestured toward Tàlev’s Keep. “Are we certain about this?”

I sighed. We’d already talked this through, and his uncertainty did nothing to ease my own. There was no viable alternative to this course of action. Not yet.

“If any of the warrior families get wind of this . . .”

“What choice do we have?” I said through my own unease. “We need information. We need to know what we’re dealing with so we don’t have a repeat of the last attack. So Balor will actually meet with me.”

Balor’s most recent letter, sitting on the table behind us, burned a hole through my back as the contents burned one through my skull.

Farmer’s boy,

Your people are tired of a weak king, and mine deserve a life owed. Mind your sheep and concede the throne. I’d hate to see more lives lost.

Balor

I shook my head, trying to scatter the words.

I untucked a list I’d written from my pocket, paper crinkling and near tearing, and read it again. Find out where the Exiles were concentrating their numbers. Discover how and where they were coming in. Where they planned on attacking next. And, double underlined, determine what would get Balor to meet with me. I’d already sent letters to Doaríc addressed to him condemning the violence, sent missives offering an exchange of Exile prisoners for peace, others promising to contain those prisoners—both Exile and rebel—for life, made offers to formally recognize Doaríc as its own nation, provided proof of new laws passed to keep Doaríc vessels from docking without prior permission—not that they ever docked in Cunlaran, anyway. I gave many of the same statements publicly. But little of what I threatened could be enforced without knowing locations, and none of what I offered was getting us anywhere. Short of reckless violence—which I could never condone—I didn’t know what else to do. Conceding the throne wasn’t something I was willing to consider, let alone to a man like him.

Still, Balor had never turned my ideas down, even when he hinted at them in his own letters; that had to mean he saw reason in them. It was clear he cared about his people and wanted what was best for them. It gave me hope that talks were possible.

It was just a matter of how to get those talks to happen. Surely he had a line he wasn’t willing to cross. I just had to find it. And it had to be something big enough that would make him say yes to meeting with me.

I needed him to say yes.

I stared back at the map and took in the few places we knew rebels to be. They were so spread out, mixed with the population that supported me, that it was hard to determine where the Exiles recruiting them were hiding and where they were going to spread their message next. Perhaps the recruiting effort was from the rebels themselves now, the Exiles back on Doaríc. But whether or not the Exiles were here now, they had been in Cunlaran at some point, that was certain.

“The warrior families have to know something.” I tapped Tàlev’s Keep. “Regardless of if the Exiles have garnered many allies there, there’s no way they wouldn’t have approached their most likely supporters.”

In truth, we didn’t know how many rebel allies they may have gathered in that city. The Keep had always been reclusive, more so since I’d taken the throne two and a half years ago. That was partly why I needed sellswords to go there; whatever information the warrior families had could be invaluable, and it was unlikely their lord would be forthright with me.

“I suppose so,” Cianán said, hesitant, and I suppressed another sigh. I wished desperately that my sister were here to talk sense into him. There was something about her powers of persuasion that worked on him where mine didn’t. Perhaps it was the commander in her.

“There are multiple places they could be coming in.” I scanned the coastline, fighting the rising doubts I’d been facing over the plan myself. “For all we know, they’re sailing around the whole island and coming in through the south.”

Cianán snorted. Despite my doubts, I had to agree—the attacks were happening more in the northern half of the country, particularly in places further north than Ardanna. Our city may have had the biggest attack to date, but the others had lesser hits far more often.

“Where better to gather information than Tàlev’s Keep and the surrounding farms?”

“I know, Your Majesty. Just . . .” He rubbed his face as though tired. I supposed we all were. It melted some of my frustration.

I made for the sideboard and poured us both a glass of whiskey.

Glass in hand, he quietly asked, “What if it goes poorly?”

I tried to hide my flinch. He knew I hated having to determine whose life was worth risking, but I knew he hated it just as much. We could be a dismal pair that way.

I dragged a finger through the condensation on my glass. The cool water coated the tip of my finger, contrasting the growing heat from the sun spilling through the high windows. I pulled at the neck of my shirt clinging to my skin. I needed fresh air.

“My apologies,” he said. “I’d just hate to see this result in violence. It’s rarely the answer.”

But sometimes it is , Brí would say. Part of our jobs is risking other people’s lives, no matter how much we dislike it. The people understand that .

I shot back my whiskey, spiced and smooth. Who’s to say either of them were right?

“It won’t go poorly,” I said, feeling more of the conviction I was searching for earlier. Brí spoke highly of Lou, and she was selective with who received her complete trust. If Lou was one such person, it meant their skills were more than adequate. And since they claimed their friends were just as talented, if not more so, then the three sellswords really did have more than a decent shot at making it through this.

“We send them to the Keep,” I said. “Have them gather what intelligence they can, with the order not to attack first. Defense only if the need arises. Then they bring the intelligence back, and we go from there.”

“And will you consider your council’s advice to enlarge your personal guard?”

I laughed. “Right, because I need more guards.”

“We’re simply pointing out the potential need.”

“I know. And I know you’re just looking out for me, but I’ll be fine. Liam is the best captain of the royal guard I could ask for, and the royal guard itself is trained for situations like the one you’re worried about. Besides, I start using sellswords to protect myself, and the people will worry more than they already do.”

“Please be open to the possibility, at the very least.”

I offered a wry smile. Sometimes he forgot I was capable of protecting myself amidst all my talk of peace. “I promise.”

He patted my shoulder, his large hand leaning into it with more force than he likely realized. “Good. I like to see my family safe.”

That got a true smile, even while my chest ached with pale grief. He’d been part of my family since I was fifteen, when he became my father’s advisor. And after my father died in a boar hunting accident, my mother passing away from grief six months later, Cianán had been there for me and Brí. He’d made sure we ate, talked me through my first few months as king, helped us find time to grieve properly. He became an uncle to us.

I wondered how much of his recent advice stemmed from blaming himself for my father’s death. For not doing more to stop him from going after the dangerous animal. From picturing a similar fate for me if he didn’t do everything he could to propose cautious avenues.

Not that I blamed him for it—envisioning the worst was another thing we shared.

“Everything will work out in the end,” Cianán said, though I wasn’t sure if it was for me or himself.

I took a steadying breath, the lettering on the map for Tàlev’s Keep boring into me. This could work. The sellswords would likely be back tomorrow, and I would provide them with the rest of the details. Make sure they would be as prepared as possible.

And then I’d pray to every god who’d listen that the mission runs smoothly.