Destroy: (The Blades of Acktar 3.5) Page 7

  Addie opened her mouth, but before she could continue, a knock sounded on the door. Lord Alistair stepped inside a moment later. “Addie, please leave us.”

  Brow furrowing, Addie closed the book, stood, and slipped past Lord Alistair, shutting the door behind her.

  Lord Alistair turned to Keevan, and as soon as Keevan saw Lord Alistair’s face, he knew.

  His breath seized in his throat. His fingers froze into icicles.

  Lord Alistair sank into the chair, a piece of paper gripped in his hand. Red rimmed his eyes. “Keevan, I have…I have received word that your Uncle Laurence…” Lord Alistair’s voice choked off. He bowed his head, but not before something wet and shining trickled down his cheek.

  No. Keevan took the paper from Lord Alistair. The words blurred, but Keevan could make out enough.

  Uncle Laurence. Aunt Annita.

  Dead.

  Renna and Brandi in hiding.

  Keevan’s fingers shook. …one, a small, green-eyed boy, attacked the guards…

  The green-eyed assassin. He was behind this.

  Pain hardened in Keevan’s chest. Someday, he would track down this Blade that had destroyed his family. He’d track down them all. Any boy who could look down into Duncan’s face, see Uncle Laurence’s longsuffering expression, or witness Aunt Annita’s smile and still bring the knife down deserved to suffer.

  Keevan wasn’t a leader yet. But he would become one if that was what it took to wrest Acktar away from these killers.

  “I will not leave Renna and Brandi in danger.” Lord Alistair whirled. “Laurence…” His voice broke, and he had to clear his throat to continue. “Laurence wanted to send them to safety with Prince Keevan. I can’t disregard their wishes.”

  Keevan gripped the edge of his bed. No one seemed to doubt that he would have to leave. He had no choice.

  “I’m not happy with this either, but an Eirdon has to stay in Acktar if we are ever going to rally the rest of the towns to our cause.” Lord Lorraine crossed his arms. “To keep Prince Keevan safe, Renna and Brandi have to stay.”

  “I’m sorry, Henry, but it’s a risk we all are going to have to take. You agree that our best policy at the moment is to lure Respen into believing he has won?” Lady Lorraine quirked an eyebrow.

  It wouldn’t be hard. Keevan tightened his grip on the blankets beneath him. By all appearances, Respen had won.

  “Yes.” Lord Alistair slumped against the door.

  “That means none of us can flee because as soon as we do, Respen will know we have a place to run to and he will send his Blades to find it.” Lord Lorraine rested his hand on Lady Lorraine’s shoulder and squeezed. “We can’t send our wives and children to safety. Not my Jolene. Not even your baby Esther. I know it sounds harsh to leave the ladies Rennelda and Brandiline in danger, but it’s the same danger we all share.”

  A danger Keevan was fleeing. Like a coward.

  But what could he do? Lord Alistair and Lord Lorraine had agreed it was necessary. Keevan couldn’t stay here. It was only a matter of time before one of Respen’s Blades searched Walden Manor, and if they stumbled across Keevan, they’d finish what that green-eyed Blade started.

  “We’re planning a long war now. We have to play for time.” Lady Lorraine smoothed her skirt. “We have to look vulnerable, all the while sending men and supplies to a hidden base where we can train and prepare. We’ll have to be patient.”

  Addie spread her fingers toward one of the fires dotting the meadow, though she wasn’t cold. Even though the early spring air nipped at her nose and back, she huddled next to her sisters, keeping warm with their body heat. Her family arranged in a circle on the other logs, Mama sharing a log with Papa, Frank with Samuel, while Patrick and Brennen perched as far apart as they could on another.

  She let her eyes drift to the other campfires. There were about fifty of them making this first journey into the Sheered Rock Hills to carve out a hidden base somewhere only their guide Walter Esroy knew. Most were soldiers from Nalgar Castle and their families. Captain Stewart’s wife, son, and daughter, sat beside one of the nearby fires, though Captain Stewart had yet to arrive. Next to them, Walden’s healer, his wife, and his children with their families crowded the rest of the circle. Besides Addie, the healer was the only one in this entire meadow who knew that when Captain Stewart returned, he would have Prince Keevan with him.

  “Do you want your last piece, or can I have it, Addie?” Samuel was already reaching for the strip of meat hanging from a stick over the fire.

  “Go ahead.” Addie barely finished waving before the meat disappeared into her brother’s mouth.

  So far, her family had yet to ask why they’d been chosen to go along. Lord Alistair had told Papa it was because of his carpentry skills, which would be needed in building cabins. Perhaps a good enough reason on its own, but not the only one.

  No, the real reason they were a part of this group—near the top of the list Lord Alistair had shared with Prince Keevan before burning it—was her.

  Anyone besides Lord Alistair and Lord and Lady Lorraine who knew Prince Keevan was alive was being sent with this group, along with their families to make sure Respen would never have a chance to pressure them for information.

  Voices came from the treeline. The sentry called a halt; a deeper voice answered.

  Talk around the campfires stilled. Both Papa and Frank reached for logs from the stack by the fire. Juliana wrapped her hands around Addie’s arm and squeezed.

  This was the world they lived in now. One where every stray sound could be an enemy. Had any of them truly relaxed since the night Respen’s Blades drenched Nalgar Castle in blood?

  Captain Stewart stepped from the line of trees into the orange haze of firelight. His gaze was hard, unflinching, as it swept over them. “I am about to entrust you with our country’s greatest secret and hope, but before I can, I must know where each and every one of you stand. Do you stand with the Eirdon line? Will you give your life if necessary to see to it that the traitor Respen Felix doesn’t keep the throne he has stolen?”

  Addie rubbed her hands together, chills trailing down her arms. Captain Stewart’s words held a weight, so heavy that even the soldiers didn’t immediately jump up with bravado and shouting. No one did. Instead, a pause hushed the meadow, all except for the faint rumble of the waterfall in the ravine on the far side.

  Captain Stewart’s wife rose to her feet. Her long, straight brown hair fell past her shoulders, and her expression remained hard as the sword buckled to her husband’s side.

  A moment later, Captain Stewart’s eighteen-year-old son and fifteen-year-old daughter also stood.

  Addie didn’t pause to think until she was already halfway to her feet. But when her brain caught up with her actions, she forced herself all the way upright, even though fifty pairs of eyes now focused on her. No one else sitting around the fires, except for the healer, knew the depth of what Captain Stewart was asking besides her.

  Perhaps that made it easier for her, not harder. No one else knew who they were pledging their lives to protect.

  That made it even more amazing when one by one, the soldiers around the different fires clambered to their feet, their wives and children rising with them.

  Papa and Mama were gaping at her as if they couldn’t figure out why their daughter had been so eager to pledge her life. Patrick and Brennen shared a grin, and hopped to their feet like it was some kind of game they didn’t want to miss.

  Frank’s eyes had a searching look as he met Addie’s gaze and stood. Moments later, the rest of her family joined her on their feet. Soon they would know the reason why.

  Captain Stewart gave a sharp nod and waved his hand. A cloaked figure stepped from the treeline, paused, and tossed back his hood. The firelight played along his golden hair and the red-white scar across his cheek and neck.

  Six more men stepped from the treeline, and Addie could just make out enough of their faces to recognize the same six soldiers w
ho had helped smuggle Prince Keevan out of Nalgar all those months ago. Of course they would be leaving too. They knew too much, just like she did.

  Papa stiffened, and Mama gasped. Their actions mirrored the others in the meadow who had seen the prince enough times at Nalgar Castle to recognize him now.

  Frank crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “You don’t seem surprised, Addie.”

  She shifted, glancing between her family before focusing on the fire. “I might have kind of sort of saved Prince Keevan’s life.”

  It sounded pretentious when said like that. She hadn’t done all that much. Captain Stewart and his men had done the real saving.

  Addie glanced toward Prince Keevan as Captain Stewart led him deeper into the meadow. “Well, not all the way. I just staunched the bleeding.”

  Papa sat down. “I believe it’s time we finally heard the real story of what happened that night.”

  She didn’t have to ask which night. None of them did.

  Sighing, she reclaimed her seat on the log. It would be an immense relief to finally tell them the whole truth. As she began, her younger siblings all stared at her with wide eyes, almost like she was a hero or something. Her three older brothers exchanged glances, the muscles in their fingers and arms flexing like they intended to take on a Blade to protect her. Papa and Mama somehow managed to look proud and worried at the same time.

  A pang shot through Addie’s stomach, and for a moment, she had to pause and catch her breath in the telling. What caused that pang? And why did she have the urge to glance toward the fire where Prince Keevan now huddled, surrounded by his guards?

  She didn’t…miss him, did she? Now that the secret was shared, she didn’t have to be his caretaker any more. He wasn’t locked in a room with only her and Lord Alistair occasionally dropping by for company.

  No, he was the prince. Their future king. It was time he became that king.

  And she was nothing more than a scullery maid, so beneath his notice he shouldn’t even remember her name.

  It didn’t really matter, did it? It wasn’t like she’d ever thought of him as anything more than her prince.

  But she had long winter days reading a book out loud to him. Talking about her family. Listening to him struggle to make his throat form a simple question. What was the weather like today? How much snow was outside? How was her family settling into Walden Manor?

  Her prince. Her king. Her duty.

  That’s all he was.

  7

  Keevan huddled in his cloak next to a fire after their third day of traveling. Rain pattered against the roof of interlocking pine branches two of the soldiers had constructed over his head.

  The six soldiers who’d saved him that night were now his personal bodyguards. He probably should get used to having guards march behind and in front of him everywhere he went, ride alongside him on the trail, sleep in a circle around him at night.

  Instead, he was trapped. Just as trapped as he had been for five months in the tiny room in Walden Manor.

  He might have survived Respen’s assassination, but he was sentenced to prison just the same. A prison of guards, windowless walls, and solitude, yes, but also of the crushing weight of a country’s worth of expectations.

  “…rain will wash out our trail. A blessing, I think.” Walter Esroy’s voice boomed over their camp. “If any of those Blade vermin come this way, they won’t find us. Damp as it is, I hope the rain keeps up.”

  Keevan shivered and pulled his cloak tighter over his head. A trickle of water wormed its way through the branches and dripped a steady stream onto his back.

  In the rest of the camp, the others hunched under their own makeshift shelters. But many of them had laughter. Siblings teased each other. Friends played games or talked. Parents told stories to their children.

  But he was alone. His family was dead. And, he’d never had any friends. Aengus had been a friend, and that had always seemed enough growing up.

  But now, it wasn’t. Aengus was gone. Buried in a grave somewhere in the hills surrounding Nalgar Castle. Captain Stewart had promised, once they reclaimed Nalgar, that he would show Keevan where the captain and his men had buried Keevan’s family. Until then, their graves would remain a mystery to prevent Respen from desecrating their resting place.

  Even Keevan’s distant cousin Theodor was dead, killed while defending Keevan’s father and now buried in Keevan’s place with the rest of his family.

  A burst of laughter drew Keevan’s attention to one of the lean-tos. Addie leaned forward to lightly punch her brother’s arm, giving Keevan a brief glimpse of the Raiders board on the ground between them. One of her sisters said something and moved a piece.

  Keevan swallowed. Alone. No family. No friends. Just bodyguards and expectations he could never fill.

  Captain Stewart stepped past the soldiers on guard and into the shelter. Shaking droplets of water from his cloak, he sat on a log across from Keevan. “How are you holding up?”

  Keevan cleared his throat, gathered a breath, and forced the word out. “Fine.” The end of the word disappeared into a hiss of air when his throat failed to cooperate.

  Captain Stewart studied him and rested his elbows on his knees. “Permission to speak freely?”

  If Captain Stewart was asking permission, then he planned to be exceptionally frank. Not that Keevan cared. Truth or lies, they all hurt. Though, perhaps it was best to hear the truth and get it over with. “Go ahead.”

  Keevan winced. He no longer knew the sound of his own voice. It rasped like some horrible monster clawing its way from his throat, when it worked at all. Most of the time, it was easiest to say as little as possible to hide his shame.

  He should be grateful he had at least regained this much. He still had a voice. But perhaps it would’ve been better to remain mute and helpless rather than sound like a wretch only to be pitied.

  What kind of king sounded like this? Kings made grand speeches. They stirred people into action with the charm of their voice.

  Keevan’s voice only repelled.

  “You’ve had a hard few months, and as much reason as anyone to grieve. But…” Captain Stewart’s face hardened, his body braced as if he expected Keevan to lash out after what he was about to say. “The self-pity has to stop. You may grieve, but you have to step up and lead as well.”

  Keevan blinked and stared out into the rain, now pouring down harder and faster. Self-pity. Captain Stewart was correct about that. But what could Keevan do? “I can’t lead.”

  Captain Stewart’s gaze didn’t waver. “Can’t or aren’t ready?”

  Was there a difference? He couldn’t. It was too much. It was easier to sit here and let others do it for him.

  He closed his eyes, remembering the times his father had stared at the stacks of paper in front of him, paralyzed with the demands of the throne. The way he’d delayed making decisions, even the small ones, because even that one small decision had seemed like too much of a burden.

  Was Keevan just like his father? The weight of the kingdom was already breaking him, and he didn’t even wear the crown yet.

  No matter what anyone tells you, he did his best. It just wasn’t enough.

  Just like his father, Keevan wouldn’t be enough. Why even try?

  “Look at me.” Captain Stewart’s voice had a growl to it, a tone of voice he’d never used with Keevan before.

  Keevan dragged his head up. Perhaps he should be angry at insubordination or something like that. But, he couldn’t. Why quibble over an order when everyone knew Captain Stewart was the leader here. Keevan was just a boy who should obey.

  “A good commander works his way up the chain of command, gaining more responsibility when he has mastered the responsibilities he already has.” Captain Stewart waved out into the rain. “No one expects you to be king right now. You aren’t ready. But the thing is, you have time. Years, probably. Right now, the only people you have to lead are in this camp. That’s it.”

&nbs
p; Keevan found himself shaking his head. Even that was too much. “I don’t know how.”

  “So you learn how. You observe good leaders. You listen to good advice from those you trust. And, yes, you make friends so that you have people who aren’t afraid to tell you the truth. You notice the people under you so that you can serve them. You learn.” Captain Stewart picked up a saddlebag, drew out three books, and handed the first one to Keevan.

  Keevan took it. A book of Acktar’s laws.

  “This teaches you what laws you have to uphold. And this…” Captain Stewart held out the second book. A history of Acktar. “This is where you learn about the triumphs and failures of past kings.”

  As if Keevan’s father wasn’t enough of a warning of how to fail at being king.

  Captain Stewart held out the third book. “And this one is the most important one of all.”

  Keevan took it. A Bible.

  Over a year ago, he’d held his own Bible after Uncle Laurence’s lecture and resolved to be better than he was. Had all of that resolve bled out of him?

  He did his best.

  What was Keevan’s best? Shouldn’t he at least try long enough to find out? Perhaps it was his duty to give it his best effort before he declared himself a failure.

  Captain Stewart still studied him with dark brown, solemn eyes. “Practice the kind of leader you want to be now, and when the time comes to wear the crown, you’ll be ready.”

  Practice. The way a soldier practiced with his sword before he ever marched into battle. If things had been different, Aengus would’ve practiced for years at their father’s side before his time came to be king. Keevan wouldn’t be able to learn from his father, but he could practice leadership now.

  He swallowed and forced a full sentence from his throat. “Where should I start?”

  “Perhaps you could start by learning their names.”

  Learn people’s names. Keevan could handle that.

  Clasping his cloak tighter around his neck, he stood and stepped from the shelter into the rain. The fat drops pounded on the wool, some of it running off, but some sticking around long enough to seep through.