The Bird and the Sword (21 page)

He pulled at my hair again, tugging me back from his lips as if he needed to impart something of great importance.

“You will be my queen.”

Do I please you?
I mocked him even as I wished he would continue to kiss me.

He laughed, a harsh bark of disbelief. “You are not a lark. You are a great, shrieking harpy.”

All the better to keep up with an eagle.

“You will be my queen,” he insisted, setting me back on my feet, releasing me like the matter was settled. I felt almost bereft, until he tipped my chin up to meet his fierce gaze, forcing a response.

“Lark?”

I couldn’t say no.

I wanted it too much. He was right. I lied. Being a mere lark would never be enough for me. He’d ruined me. He’d made me want to be an eagle. I bowed my head in acquiescence and kept my joy locked away, allowing myself to agree, but not allowing him to know the exaltation that sang through my soul.

Yes, Tiras.
I will be your queen.

W
e remained camped near Kilmorda for two weeks, and we sought out the Volgar, pushing deeper into Kilmorda every day. I called to them, sitting in front of Tiras on Shindoh’s back, wooing them, coaxing them to me in small groups, only to watch them take the lure and be slain. When I grieved for the beasts, Tiras would take me to a field strewn with bones or a village where only rats, fat from human remains, resided.

“They will kill if they are not destroyed,” he would remind me, and I believed him, even as I suffered pangs of remorse for using my gift to lure them to their deaths.

Day after day we cleared the Volgar from the hills and valleys of Jeru’s northernmost parts, though there were stretches, sometimes only hours, sometimes two days at a time, when Tiras disappeared into the sky.

Boojohni remarked on his absence in the second week as I rode on Shindoh, following Kjell as he circled the valley on a patrol of the areas already cleared. Boojohni trotted beside me, always the diligent servant, without ever seeming to tire.

“Where does he go, Bird?”

Who?

“The king, Goose! You know who I’m talking about. The man ye are always watchin’ for, the man ye love,” he growled, as if he had no patience for protestations.

I don’t love him.

“Ye do.”

He wants to make me queen.

Boojohni tripped over his own feet, surprise making him clumsy. Then he began to hoot and clap, drawing the attention of the warriors around us. Shindoh whinnied in irritation, and I reined him in, halting as Boojohni celebrated my announcement.

“The king is clearly a man of great wisdom,” Boojohni chortled, and he did a little jig, making Shindoh toss his head.

I am of use to him.

“Ah, I see.” Boojohni stopped dancing and cocked his head. “And is he of use to ye, Bird?”

The question caught me by surprise, and I had no response. Was Tiras of use to me?

“He has freed ye,” Boojohni prodded gently. “Surely that is worth something to ye.”

He kidnapped me!

“True. But he has freed ye too. Admit it, lass.”

He taught me to read . . . and write.

“That he did. And he sees yer gifts.”

He is using me.

“That seems to bother ye, Bird. Why? He doesn’t have to make ye queen to use ye. He is king. He can take what he wants.”

He could. And he often did.

“He knows your secrets . . . do you know his?” This time Boojohni wasn’t smiling, and I remembered how the conversation began. I nodded slowly.

Yes. I know his secrets.

“Ye know where he goes?”

Yes. Do you?

“He is very careful. But I am very quiet. And curious.”

And protective.

Boojohni nodded, admitting as much. “That I am.”

Why do you ask if you already know?

“Because ye love him. And I needed to know if ye understand who . . . and what he is.”

I didn’t bother to argue with him. Boojohni was as stubborn as I, and he had convinced himself of my feelings.

“Are ye afraid of him, Bird?”

No.

It was Boojohni’s turn to nod, and he began to walk again, as if the matter was settled. I urged Shindoh forward.

I agreed to be his queen, Boojohni.

“Of course ye did! He’s a fine bit o’ man flesh.”

If I was capable of snorting, I would have done so, but Boojohni snorted enough for the both of us.

W
e traveled back from Kilmorda the way we’d come, moving quickly, Tiras disappearing one full day and two of the four nights, only to ride through the next day like nothing was amiss. Though I hadn’t admitted it to Boojohni, I worried at the amount of time he spent as a bird, the tale from my childhood seeping into my thoughts. The very first Changer had eventually become what he’d surrounded himself by; the more time spent as a beast, the harder it was to become a man again.

I tried to imagine how it would feel to be a bird, to fly above the ground, to surround myself with peace and air and freedom. I imagined it was particularly alluring to Tiras, who had so many people depending on him and looking to him for everything. Still, on the third day of our journey back to Jeru, I sought out Kjell, who stepped into Tiras’s shoes whenever the king disappeared. I was riding Shindoh, my stamina increasing every day, my body adjusting to the rigors of riding for long hours at a time. Kjell saw me coming, and his face tightened even as he slowed and waited for Shindoh to move into step beside his mount.

He is gone so much.

“Yes, he is,” Kjell said sharply, and anger curled around him. I ignored it, as always. I had never been particularly good at making people like me.

Has it always been like this?

“It is far worse.” He looked at me with such loathing that I gasped.

Why do you hate me?

“I hate what you are.”

And what am I?

“
You are Gifted.” He said the words quietly, but he spat them out, the way he always did when he said “Gifted.”

But you don’t hate Tiras.

“Tiras isn’t Gifted,” he said simply.

I stared at him in stupefaction, and he shook his head in disgust, as if I were incredibly slow.

“It’s not a gift. It’s a bloody curse.”

What’s the difference?

“He was not born this way.”

I wasn’t sure what Kjell was trying to communicate. I was guessing most Gifted didn’t fully-realize their abilities until they were older, though a few, like me, who had guidance from my mother, recognized their gifts earlier. Gifted or cursed, the result was exactly the same. Kjell seemed adamant about the distinction, as if one was internal and the other external.

“I was there the day your mother died. Do you know that?” Kjell said quietly, pulling me from my own thoughts.

I shook my head, stunned.

“I heard your mother curse King Zoltev. I saw him kill her.”

My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow, and I stared ahead, unable to fathom why he would want to hurt me this way.

My mother did nothing wrong. She did not deserve to die.

“She damned an innocent boy! Tiras does not deserve to die either, but he is losing his life little by little.”

King Zoltev damned himself and everything he touched. Fear is his legacy.

“My father was trying to protect his kingdom.”

I looked at him sharply, and he scoffed.

Your father?

“Don’t worry, Milady. I have no claim to the throne. I am a bastard son. You and your father can fight over it. I don’t want it. But Tiras is still my brother, and I will do everything in my power to protect him. Even from you.”

Tiras had not explained the relationship, but now that it had been pointed out, it was easy to see. Tiras and Kjell were each striking, though Tiras was darker skinned. Once his hair had been as black as Kjell’s, making me wonder if his gift had been the cause of the whitening of his hair.

We rode in silence for several minutes, the anger between us zinging in a hot arc. I had asked for none of this, but Kjell had already made up his mind about me. It would do no good to attempt to change it.

“He told me he is going to make you queen. Queen Lark of Jeru. It’s fitting really, isn’t it? Tiras has always kept his friends close, and I see now he is keeping his enemies closer.”

I didn’t respond.

“Now your father will never be king. If something happens to Tiras, you will rule the remainder of your life. As long as you are living, you will be queen. If your father were to have you killed . . .”

He would die.

“Yes. Tiras told me that as well. He has outflanked your father, hasn’t he?”

Again I was silent. When I pulled up, reining Shindoh around, Kjell met my gaze with a smirk. He was confident he had bested me.

Don’t worry, Kjell. I will keep your secret.

His brow lowered and his mouth tightened. “And what secret would that be, Milady? My paternity is known by most.”

It has come to my attention that
I can only communicate with the Gifted . . . and animals. So you are either one or the other. You know my opinion on which it is.

T
iras wasted no time. The announcement was made the very night we returned to Jeru. Bells rang all over the city, and the royal crier stood on the wall and read the bans for two solid hours, repeating himself as people gathered and scattered, then gathered again, eager to spread the news.

“Lady Lark of Corvyn, daughter of the noble Lord Craig of Corvyn, will wed King Tiras of Degn. So it is written, so it will be done on the first day of Priapus, the month of fertility. May the God of Words and Creation seal their union for the good of Jeru,” the crier shouted into the night, singing the words into my mind and heart and into the consciousness of every citizen of Jeru.

I stood on the balcony of my room, listening to the bans being read, still half shocked that it was the truth. In response, the cry went up again and again, “Hail, Queen of Jeru, Lady Degn,” and I welcomed it, even as the words hung in the air like childish taunts and teasing truths.

I would be Queen of Jeru, Lady Degn. No longer Lark of Corvyn. No longer a daughter of a lord, but wife of a king. But only on the outside. On the inside I would still be little Lark, brittle bones and sharp feelings, certain that I would never be able to fulfill the duties before me. When the people learned I couldn’t speak, they would talk, they would say all the words I couldn’t say, and their words would follow me, mocking me, reminding me every day that I was not up to the task.

A message had been delivered to my father, conveyed by three members of the royal guard who’d gone directly from Kilmorda to my father’s keep in Corvyn. A royal invitation would be sent to all the members of the Council of Lords in the days to come. I was not so foolish as to believe I’d been chosen for love, but I’d been chosen, and I reveled in that, even as I trembled in fear at what was to come.

When Tiras attempted to lock me in my tower upon our return, I warned him that I would not be a captive any longer, and he began to argue that it was for my safety. I reminded him that I could move haystacks and scale walls, not to mention open locks and control the minds of beasts.