Page 1 of The Shattered King

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry when I watched my brother walk away from our family.

It was late spring, which made the day quite lovely—the few trees near our small property bore crowns bristling with green.

Flowering weeds grew along the fence and the foundation of the house we eight—now seven—shared.

The air smelled of grass, bread, and manure, and a few songbirds chirped at one another, completely unaware of our devastation.

But Brien, my closest sibling in age and the eldest boy of the family, had been called by the draft, and so to the war camps he went.

North, to report, which gave us only three days to prepare for his leaving, for the loss of his good humor and strong shoulders—the loss of half our income with his working hands.

I didn’t even understand why we teetered on the brink of war at all.

Why Sesta—our neighbor across the strait—picked pointless border skirmishes miles and miles from Fount, our home, when we’d survived centuries together in peace.

Brien didn’t know, either, only that he had to report.

Had to fight for nobles who couldn’t care less for his life. A life I desperately needed at my side.

But I kept my promise. I did not cry. I was certain I’d hid my tears all week, namely from Heath, Pren, and Terrence—the youngest of my siblings.

I put up a strong front for them, leaning on the fact that they understood war even less than I did.

Terrence, at only eight, surely thought Brien was going on a trip or adventure of sorts.

The twins had picked up sticks and played “battle” just yesterday.

I was content letting them think it all a game.

They shouldn’t feel heavy just because I hadn’t yet sorted out how we’d make up the funds.

I was only glad the other boys were not old enough to be conscripted.

Not unless the ruling Noblewight family changed the draft age to include children.

I supposed we were lucky that it set the floor at twenty.

I watched Brien’s figure disappear into the distance until I couldn’t see him anymore and stood in front of the house a little longer yet.

Lissel, at seventeen, stood silently beside me, her hands fisted as tears rolled down her cheeks.

She understood what it meant. Were Fount a bigger place, she might be able to take work as a laundress or seamstress, but the people here were humble and self-sufficient. Poor, like we were.

Dan, my next brother at fifteen, turned to go back to the house first. “I’ll be late,” he said by way of excuse, his expression closed.

He had an unpaid apprenticeship with the local tanner, and he had eight months left to go.

I didn’t think it time for him to report yet, but I understood.

I, too, preferred to stay busy when distressed. I, too, preferred distraction.

Colt, my next sibling at thirteen, kicked a rock, dug his hands into the pockets of his patched trousers, and said, “Whatever.” He took off down the road, likely to wander town as opposed to being put to work at the house.

I sighed. Had Colt the self-reliance and respectability Brien possessed at thirteen, he could get a job to help us out.

But he tended toward trouble more often than not, and harvest was still a full season away, when even the most desperate could find work in the fields.

“He’ll be back before autumn,” I tried, barely able to push the words past a hard, sore lump in my throat; I swallowed it down.

Stood there until Pren and Heath started up a game again, bickering with Terrence about whether or not he’d be included.

Lissel went to scold them, so I took the opportunity to turn away, to grasp the edge of the weathered fence and suck in a few deep breaths, steeling myself.

Autumn was just to make Lissel feel better.

Gods knew how many months or years it might be until we saw Brien again. If we saw him again.

Eyes burning, I blinked rapidly. I could cry later. Hem, please protect him. Please bring him back to us.

I nearly prayed to Alm to bring sickness to Fount so I might have more work outside of the apiary, but even in grief, I could not be so callous. Ursa would never forgive such a prayer.

Steps up the lane had me dabbing the corners of my eyes with my sleeve before turning to see who approached, hoping to find someone in want of honey or beeswax, or with a family member at home in need of healing.

But it was the letter carrier, a half-empty bag slung over his shoulder.

I nodded at him, thinking he would pass by on his way to the Millstones’, but he reached into his satchel and handed me a single letter. “For you, Nym.”

I cleared my throat. “Thank you.” Took the letter. He went on his way.

I turned the missive over, my heart sinking as I saw the red wax seal on the back. Thin and not quite a full circle, as though a letter to a peasant wasn’t worth the cost of the wax.

The same seal that condemned Brien to war.

Deep in my heart, I knew what I held. I knew it. For years I’d been waiting for it. But, I thought, surely the gods would not be so cruel. Surely the Noblewights would not be so cruel .

I broke the seal with numb fingers and opened the weather-stained paper. Short and to the point.

Another conscription. This time, for me.

Not for possible war, but for the healing program.

A directive to report to the capital and try my hand at curing the Noblewights’ perpetually ailing son, sick these last twenty years.

The only reason my magic had been legalized—because the royal family might benefit from it.

I couldn’t help it. Crumpling the letter in my hand, I screamed, frustration and anger pouring out of me like steam from a kettle. Tears blurred my vision. My throat constricted until I could force only the barest trickle of air through it.

From across the yard, Lissel asked, “Nym?”

Another voice questioned me, but I ignored her, too.

I stormed toward the back of the house, past the buzzing hives and soaking laundry, through the back door, away from the others’ game. Straight to the coals of the hearth, still warm from breakfast. I stooped over them, ready to cast the letter into the embers.

We had already lost our parents. Already scraped and pinched and prayed to get by these last eight years. I was the only mother the youngest remembered ... and now the queen wanted me to leave too?

I fell to my knees, overwhelmed with sorrow, with rage. Dug my nails into my palms to control myself, to—

Someone tugged the letter from my hand. I looked up through wild curls to see Dan standing there, reading it. His expression remained cool, save for the twitching of his eye. He swallowed. “You, too, then?”

I shook my head. “Burn it.”

“You think they won’t know, if you don’t appear in court?” Dan asked quietly. I could not tell if he lowered his voice to keep from alerting the others or to prevent his own emotion from leaking into his words. “They’ll consider you a deserter, just like a soldier.”

I dropped my head. I knew it. Of course I knew it. The turmoil I might bring down upon this family if I did not report when summoned would ultimately outweigh the strain of my absence.

“ It might be an adventure. ”

I did not reply.

The front door opened and shut. I forced myself off the floor, feeling separated from my body. Lissel asked, “What’s this?”

I didn’t look back. But when she gasped, I knew Dan had handed her the letter.

“No!” she cried out, running to my side and embracing me, like she might chain me where I stood. “No, Nym! You can’t! What ... what will we do? I can’t ... I can’t do it by myself!”

Her tears soaked my sleeve. I stood as a statue, trembling, trying to rein myself in. Trying to be the mother again. Calm, confident, direct. You’ve survived worse, I reminded myself. This was only a drop in the bucket, in the grand scheme of things.

“The gods have a sense of humor,” Dan offered.

I thought of the long journey ahead of me, for we had no horse, no cart, no money for fare.

The conscription stated I would not be reimbursed for the expense of traveling to the other side of the country—it was my duty to the crown and an honor to serve.

An honor to serve where so many healers before me had failed.

Yet the thought bolstered me. I straightened. Lissel released me and wiped already swollen eyes. Sniffed. “Wh-What?” she asked.

Squaring my shoulders, I met her eyes, then Dan’s. “I’ll be gone a month at most,” I promised.

But Dan shook his head. “You can’t possibly know—”

“A month at most,” I assured him. “Time to travel there and back. I’ll fail just like all the others have.”

The question of whether or not I could heal Prince Renn Reshua Noblewight was moot.

I would fail, intentionally, and I would come home.

Then, maybe, our family would be just a little less broken.