Untethered Page 4

  I picked up my pen and brought the first blank page in front of me from the stack I’d requested always be refilled after meetings. “Kaldur will oversee the inquiries.”

  The mysterious notes in my room called to me. Had Isarr been one of Leland’s contacts in the castle? The assassins would talk, but could I trust their information?

  The councilor frowned and someone not in my line of sight grumbled. When I turned to see who it was, everyone was silent. Perhaps I’d have to move to my father’s chair soon so I could have a better view of the table.

  We’d met daily in the month since the coronation, and most of those meetings involved me removing men and women from the room and stripping them of their title for their involvement in the attempted invasion of Turia. Now wasn’t the time to turn against our allies. Not with two power-hungry mages on the Plateau seeking revenge.

  Edda continued the meeting, calling for concerns, and the council members took off like wolves after their prey. The men and women spoke to me and around me. Edda handled most questions. She was the only one at the table who seemed to have common sense.

  I wrote down the main concerns, scribbling notes so I could ponder them later. One councilman had said I should employ a scribe for such work, but I wanted my thoughts, not a scribe’s, so I continued even though my hand always ached by the end.

  Villages along our northern border, near the Ice Deserts, were still recuperating from the destruction the mages had caused—herds destroyed in the north, mines collapsed in the west. The port city of Osta we’d promised to allow Turia to use free of import charges for the next ten years was not yet equipped to handle the extra traffic. And there were ships harassing those coming into port. The ships didn’t fly Riiga’s colors, but they could only be Riigan.

  Hálendi had existed for centuries, yet I felt like I was starting from nothing.

  “Sire, I believe we need to discuss the issue of an heir,” said the councilor at the end of the table, chin in the air. “And possible marriage candidates.”

  My eyebrows shot up and ink blotted on the page. “We will address that later. Next topic, please.”

  “But, Your Majesty, with the question of your heir unanswered, it leaves room for uncertainty and…”

  And assassination attempts, I finished for him in my head. The thought of uniting myself to someone in marriage, someone who could roll over in bed and shove a knife into my heart without me even waking…

  “Next. Topic. Please.” I relaxed my grip on my pen when I realized I was holding it like a weapon.

  “Fine. You’ve sent a refusal—a polite refusal—to King Janiis already?”

  Ah, glaciers. I’d forgotten. “Yes, of course,” I answered. I jotted a note to send the missive today. Janiis was unhinged if he thought I’d leave my kingdom just for his wedding. I couldn’t leave affairs as they were, especially since I wouldn’t be able to return before the pass closed for the winter. Especially not if I wanted to have my kingdom ready for when I would have to leave—for Jenna’s wedding in the spring.

  As if I’d summoned the topic, a councilor at the end of the table leaned forward. “I think we should insist that Princess Jennesara return home for a time.” Finally, something we could agree on. If she were here— “I feel it unwise to allow the princess to wed the crown prince of Turia. Her magic is powerful; we should keep that power within Hálendian bloodlines.”

  The Medallion at my chest went cold. It had never been cold like this before, but I didn’t care what it was trying to communicate. I pressed the pen’s tip into the paper until a giant blot stained the page. Better the page ruined than that councilor’s face.

  “I agree,” another councilman spoke up. Edda leaned closer, her hand brushing against my arm. A casual motion, but grounding enough to help me act the part of king.

  “First of all,” I announced in a deadly-calm voice, “you will not speak of the princess as some expendable piece in your game of politics.” I looked around the table, and even the fire had stopped crackling. “You sent her away. She is fulfilling her duty to her kingdom and doing more to repair our relationship with Turia than any of you. So I suggest you leave her out of your machinations.”

  And she’s happy, I added silently. She’d managed to find people who accepted her as she was; who loved her. I knew how rare that was, and I would fight anyone who threatened that.

  I cleared my throat and sat back. “Anything else?”

  The meeting flowed on, more complaints of low crop yield, more issues at the borders. We’d been sorting through a massive list of needs from the western towns for an hour when the Medallion—still uncomfortably cold—warmed.

  You must leave, it seemed to whisper. You must help.

  My brow furrowed, and I traced over the lines I had just written about sheep’s wool. Help? Help with the sheep? No, that didn’t feel right.

  “Your Majesty?” the councilor directly across the table from me asked, probably not for the first time.

  “Yes, what is it?” I stared at my notes. An entire line was filled with I must leave. I dropped my pen.

  The councilor pursed his lips. “I said, we need to address the terms of the treaty with Turia.”

  I shook my head, taking my pen up again. Edda glanced at my notes. She frowned before I could cover the last lines I’d written.

  “We’ve already discussed this,” I said. “We attacked them. The terms hold. We will need our alliance with Turia in the coming days.”

  “Because of the mages,” another councilor spoke up, three seats down from the other. A murmur flittered along the table.

  I went perfectly still. They lifted me above everyone else, kept me separate, held me to a higher standard as king, yet also deemed it acceptable to ignore and belittle what I said?

  “Yes,” I snapped, pressing my pen into the paper around the word leave. “There are threats on the Plateau you do not understand.” I swallowed, and the Medallion seemed to grow heavier, the thoughts in my head louder.

  Everything I’d read about the ancient artifact suggested it was more than what my father had taught me. It supposedly connected to the land’s magic, which made sense considering it had originally belonged to the first king of Hálendi, Kais, who had been a land mage. But interpreting it wasn’t something extensively covered in the texts.

  Help. How was I supposed to help when I didn’t know where or how or who? And were these my own thoughts? Or was the Medallion finally communica— “Leave,” I whispered, the word falling out before I could catch it.

  “What was that?” Edda asked, leaning closer, scanning me as if she’d see some sign of illness.

  I licked my lips. “I must leave.” A thrill shot through me at finally understanding something. The castle? No, farther. South. A tremor passed through my hand. Turia.

  A frisson of fear laced through my aching head. Why would the land warn me about Turia? Could it be Jenna again? The Medallion had been the only thing pushing me forward when news of her “death” had reached me.

  Edda tilted her head. “Leave the meeting?”

  “No.” I tapped the paper and leaned back. “Never mind.”

  It didn’t matter what the Medallion wanted me to do—I couldn’t abandon Hálendi in its current state. The kingdom was on the verge of collapse, both economically and politically. And if I left now it would look like I was running—from the problems, from my duty, from the assassins in the crypt. It would only make my enemies bolder, would only leave Hálendi adrift to be taken by whoever snatched enough power.

  Edda cleared her throat with one last side glance at me. “Let’s continue on, then. What are your proposals to fortify Osta to handle the extra load Turia will bring?”

  South, the Medallion whispered again, though not in words. I shook off the feeling.

  By the time the meeting ended, an endless
loop of complaints and demands circled through my head until my eyes throbbed. Always something more demanded of me. Always a greater weight to carry.

  I’d have to hope the Medallion calmed, because if I left now, I wasn’t sure I’d have a throne to come back to.

  Ren

  “Your Majesty?” Edda murmured. I refrained from startling, but only just. I thought she’d left with the other councilors.

  I rubbed my temple and forced a light expression. I was king. The king could shoulder the burdens of his kingdom. “Yes, oh wise tutor?” I asked, and nodded to Kaldur, who stepped into the hall, leaving us alone.

  Edda’s lips pinched to one side, but she chuckled. “Tell me what you meant when you said you needed to leave.” She folded her arms and sat back.

  I leaned my elbow on the armrest, my head in my palm, studying her. She never held back—Jenna had good taste in tutors. “It’s nothing. I can’t leave now.”

  She put her hand on my arm, and it was surprisingly warm, like I’d forgotten what it was to have contact with someone else. Well, someone not trying to kill me.

  “Atháren, you assigned me to this position to assist you, but I cannot help if I do not have all the facts. Why do you feel you should leave? Because of the attack?” She leaned back and stared right through me, like I was a boy in trouble and not the king of a warrior nation.

  I couldn’t sit still under her gaze. I pushed away from the table and paced. She was right—I’d placed her on the council because I trusted her, or at least trusted Jenna’s trust in her.

  She wanted the facts? I rubbed my hands on my trousers. “My father gave me the Medallion of Sight before he died,” I started. Edda sucked in a breath, but didn’t interrupt. I’d let everyone assume the artifact had been stolen from my father. “He told me it would keep my mind free of deception, but it’s more than that. I found out it connects to land magic, but beyond that, I’m unsure how to decipher its meaning.”

  Edda leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table in a move I was sure she’d used to teach Jenna for years. “Connects to the land?” I nodded and she gazed into the distance. “Long ago when I traveled to Turia’s library to study, I read that magic began awakening in the Plateau when Kais enchanted the border of the Ice Deserts. And ever since, the land has been striving to regain its balance.”

  “Balance?” I asked. “Like the Wild that keeps everyone out, and the Ice Deserts that keep everyone in?”

  She nodded. “But it’s more than that. For all the evil, there is good to combat it. The mages came, but so did Kais. Balance isn’t always about good and evil, though, or about what would benefit you—or Hálendi, for that matter.”

  I shook my head. “So…the Medallion isn’t helping me?”

  Edda chuckled. “Like a wildfire, for example. By outward appearance, it’s bad, correct? Loss of life and home for plants and animals, which turns to scarcity for us as well. But fire also nourishes the soil and encourages new growth that revitalizes the land, creating homes for wildlife for years to come.”

  “Balance,” I repeated. The Medallion had been warning me of deception with the poisoned cider. Warning of the assassins. Because Hálendi was part of the balance of the Plateau. And now it urged me south with increasing intensity. Back to Turia.

  What was upsetting the land’s balance there? And what would my departure bring to the Plateau, unless it was meant to let my kingdom fall into chaos?

  “The Medallion has been…nudging me for weeks now. I haven’t always understood its warnings, and I thought it was about the assassination attempt, but today”—I took a deep breath and shrugged—“well, you saw my notes.”

  “The Medallion is telling you to leave?”

  I resumed pacing. “Except I can’t leave now. Everything would collapse.”

  Edda started laughing, a sound I’d never heard from her before, one that stopped me in my tracks and pulled a smile from me as well. “Oh, Atháren, I forget how young you are. No matter how you might wish it, a kingdom does not rise or fall on the shoulders of the king alone.”

  I shoved my hands into my pockets, all levity gone. “It feels like it does.”

  She patted the chair next to her and I sat, stretching my legs in front of me. “I’m sure it does. But all kings have opposition. All kings rely on those they trust.”

  “But who can I trust? I found a stack of letters in Leland’s belongings. Proof that there were more than just Leland who disagreed with my father’s policies, with Hálendi’s long-standing duty.” I clenched my fists in my pockets. “And now there are people trying to kill me within my own castle.”

  “Why did you place me as your advisor, Your Majesty?”

  I stared at a spot of dust on my boot. “Because you smell better than the other advisors.”

  She snorted a laugh, then wiped her hand over her mouth, controlling her expression. “Try again.”

  I sighed and tipped my head against the back of the chair. “Because I trust you.”

  “Good,” Edda said, scooting her chair closer and pulling a scrap of paper toward her. She wrote her name. “Who else?”

  Kaldur. Cook. The girl from the kitchens. There was a handful of other nobility and advisors who I knew had backed my father and the line of kings resolutely and would back me as well. Another handful who supported me, but I wasn’t sure how easily their loyalty could be bought—like that of the steward.

  The list, when Edda had finished, was longer than I expected, though not nearly long enough.

  “You see, sire? You have more on your side than you thought. Now, tell me again what the Medallion is telling you.”

  I tapped the wood table, the pads of my fingers catching on the rough surface. “That I need to leave. South. To Turia. That’s the only clear direction I understand. I don’t know specifically where or why.”

  Edda tilted her head and clasped her hands on the table. “What do you think, Your Majesty? Regardless of what the Medallion says or does not say.”

  I pressed my lips together and stared at the table. “I…I don’t know.”

  She frowned. “Your father used the Medallion as a tool. To assist him. Not to rule for him.”

  I touched my chest, a move I’d seen my father make countless times. She was wrong, though. How could I be letting the Medallion lead for me if I couldn’t understand it fully? If I wasn’t as strong as my father?

  “Do you know what it means if the Medallion turns cold?” I finally forced myself to ask.

  “I do not.” Edda traced a stray line on the page, turning it into a swirling line. “Maybe it’s for the best if you leave,” she finally said after a too-long silence.

  I couldn’t speak for a moment, like the wind had been knocked out of me. “I might not make it back before the pass closes. What if everything crumbles because I’m gone?”

  She cocked her head. “If the Medallion is telling you to leave, maybe everything will crumble if you stay. We made this list of people you trust, people who will keep your throne safe in your absence. And if you’re away, your enemies won’t be trying to assassinate you. Maybe they won’t be so subtle about their dissent.”

  The corner of my mouth lifted. It was an interesting way to weed out the unloyal, but perhaps it would work.

  Edda folded the paper in half and slid it toward me. “If the Medallion were warning you something bad was happening to Jennesara?”

  I brushed my thumb against the paper. “I’d already be gone.” It felt different from last time, when it had urged me into Turia after Jenna instead of back home when my father had been killed.

  But now I’d worry about Jenna, too. Wonderful.

  “The Medallion wouldn’t guide you to Turia if it weren’t important,” Edda said, her voice quiet and firm.

  She made a good point, yet the sense of duty my father instilled in me
from childhood rebelled at the thought of running away. And there was the smallest worm of doubt wriggling in the back of my mind—if Edda wasn’t trustworthy, there was a good chance I might not have a throne to come back to. I’d need a contingency plan. Luckily, the council had given me the perfect idea.

  The Medallion pulsed. If I did go, it would have to be now. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  I could learn more about the Medallion in Turia—how its magic worked, and maybe find out more of its purpose as a key to the Black Library. Leaving my kingdom as it was would be like ripping my soul out. But maybe it would be better for Hálendi if I left.

  * * *

  Edda and I stayed in the council room for hours. We decided she would tell the council I was attending King Janiis’s wedding after all. That I’d received word King Marko would attend, and didn’t want Hálendi to be left out of any political maneuvering. I had heard no such thing about Marko, though there was a chance it was true, as the pile of unopened correspondence on the desk in my father’s study grew every week. I flipped through the letters only briefly, looking for anything from Jenna.

  “Just don’t actually go to Riiga,” Edda said, raising an eyebrow at me.

  I laughed. “I can safely promise that.”

  So I would go to Turiana to consult with Jenna and King Marko. Perhaps there were pieces I was missing, reasons the Medallion flared against my chest that I wasn’t yet aware of.

  I also left orders for the assassins and Isarr, to allow the council final ruling over them. Edda thrust a paper in front of me from the bottom of her hefty stack, a document filled with official writing.

  “Are you certain?” she asked.

  I went to the door and asked Kaldur to join us. “I’m certain.” I filled in the blanks, my pen moving easily over the page. This was a decision I felt good about, for once. I signed the paper with a flourish fit for a king and set my pen alongside it.

  Edda signed as witness, then I held the pen out to Kaldur. He glanced at the paper, brows furrowing deeply, but signed without comment. My contingency plan was as good as I could make it. I hoped no one would ever have to see this document.