He is coming, do not hide.
Daughter, daughter, Jeru’s daughter,
Let the king make you his bride.
Daughter, daughter, Jeru’s daughter,
Wait for him, his heart is true.
Daughter, daughter, Jeru’s daughter,
‘Til the hour he comes for you.
Boojohni stopped suddenly, his brush stalling in my hair as if he’d found a knot. When he didn’t continue singing or brushing after an inordinate amount of time, I opened my eyes and lifted my head. He was staring sightlessly at the silvery tumble of my hair, seeing something that wasn’t there.
Boojohni? I prodded. What’s wrong?
“Have you ever thought maybe it wasn’t a curse, Bird, but a prophecy?” he said oddly, refocusing his gaze on mine.
What are you talking about?
“The day yer mother died. The words she told ye. The words she told yer father.”
I swallowed, the memory making my throat close the way it always did.
“Maybe yer mother wasn’t forbidding ye to speak,” Boojohni hedged. “Perhaps she was just tellin’ yer father ye wouldn’t and tellin’ him to protect ye. To keep ye safe.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Meshara couldn’t do what ye do, Lark. Her gift was different. Her gift was one of knowing, of seeing, of warning. Ye are the one who can command.”
I shook my head, not understanding, but Boojohni only grew more adamant.
“That song . . . the maiden song. Yer mother used to sing it to ye. It reminded me of her, of the things she knew. The things she knew, Lark!” he repeated emphatically.
My mother was not the first to sing the maiden song, Boojohni. I felt dizzy again. I didn’t want to talk about my mother or the day she died.
“No. That’s not what I’m tellin’ ye. The song just opened me eyes.”
I waited, knowing he would explain.
“I heard the words yer mother spoke that terrible day. I was afraid the king would strike her again. I threw me-self over her.” Boojohni’s voice grew high pitched with suppressed grief, and emotion swelled in my chest.
“Do you remember what she said, Bird?”
She told me not to speak. Not to tell.
“Yes,” he whispered, nodding. “She did. She knew your gift was dangerous. She told ye to wait until the hour was right.”
When will the hour be right?
“Yer using yer gift now, Bird.”
Then why can’t I speak?
“Maybe ye . . . can.” Boojohni was almost pleading with me, and I could only gaze at him in disbelief.
“Ye were a wee child. Ye saw something terrible.”
I began to shake my head, but he didn’t stop.
“Ye blamed yerself. Ye became afraid of yer words.”
No! I can’t speak, Boojohni. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I can’t speak!
“Shh, Bird!” he said, wincing and patting my cheek. “There, there. Yer gonna make my head explode.”
I was going to make my own head explode. I laid it back down gingerly, focusing on slow, deep breaths, and after a moment, Boojohni resumed his gentle strokes with the brush, as if the conversation were over. I was too nauseated to pursue it, too troubled to dwell on it, and regardless of what Boojohni suggested, I still couldn’t speak.
He started to hum again, but this time I didn’t join him, letting the melody drift around me. Before long my stomach settled, and my drowsiness returned.
“What word did ye give the prince that day, Lark? I’ve always wanted to know,” he muttered.
I was sure I hadn’t heard him right, sure it was just the pull of dreamy sleep, but in my mind a memory swelled and kissed the backs of my lids, a memory of an enormous horse and a black-haired, dark-eyed prince.
I awoke to a different set of hands in my hair, hands that caressed with careful strokes and eyes that reminded me that time was fleeting.
“I should have let you sleep, but I missed you,” Tiras whispered, apology written all over his face. I would have smiled at his sweet remorse, but he looked so desolate I reached for him instead, pulling his mouth to mine and relaxing his bleak expression with soft kisses. He returned them eagerly, and for a time we lost ourselves in the desperate reacquaintance of our mouths.
“There is much to do,” he whispered finally, and I sighed against his lips, hating those words, hating even more that I could feel his anguish and his desire to remain exactly where he was, with me, lying in our shadowy chamber, hiding from everything but each other. There was much to do, and my king did not want to do it. Yet he did, and it was one of the reasons I loved him so desperately.
If there is much to do, then we must do it.
He pressed his forehead to mine, and his gratitude and relief billowed around me, making my eyes prick with tears.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
When do we leave for Firi?
He stilled, raising his head slowly. His relief became trepidation once more.
“I cannot take you to Firi, Lark. I will not take you into battle again.”
Tiras, you know you must.
“I won’t,” he shot back, adamant. “Do you really believe I would take you to Firi to face the Volgar? That I would let Lady Firi huddle in my castle whilst I sent my wife into battle?”
Yes.
“No, Lark.”
We dressed for dinner in silence, and when we descended the stairs toward the Great Hall, he held me back and drew me close for the space of a heartbeat before letting me go again.
Kjell was waiting for us, pacing restlessly, and when we entered the hall and Tiras pulled the heavy doors closed behind us, Kjell glowered and folded his arms across his chest.
“What is the plan, Tiras? Firi is under attack, and we dress for dinner? We sleep yet another night in our own beds?”
“Quiet, brother,” Tiras said without heat, and Kjell sighed heavily.
“I will go,” Kjell said. “I will take two hundred of my best men. The Volgar cannot have recovered their numbers in so short a time. We will secure Lord Firi’s fortress and gather what information we can on the Volgar’s numbers. We will burn nests and destroy eggs. And you will stay in Jeru City with the queen. It makes the most sense,” Kjell summarized neatly.
“I am going with you,” Tiras said, and Kjell’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He eyed me speculatively then searched his brother’s face once more.
“What if you don’t come back?” Kjell asked softly. Tiras closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if searching for the courage to continue. Dread coated my hands in perspiration. When he opened his eyes, they were as blank and hard as gold coins.
“Tonight I will acknowledge you as my brother,” he said to Kjell. “I will claim you. You will be Kjell of Degn, and as my brother, you will be in line for the throne.”
There was a moment of blaring silence. Then Kjell began shaking his head, and he took a step back.
“I don’t want to be king, Tiras. I won’t do it.”
“It is not about what we want, Kjell,” Tiras exploded, his calm sizzling in the face of his desperation. “Bloody hell! Save us all from our desires! None of us here can have what we want. None of us! This is about the future of Jeru. Do you want Corvyn or Bin Dar or Gaul to get their bloody hands on the throne?”
“I don’t care,” Kjell snarled. “I have never cared. My loyalty is to you, brother.”
“And my loyalty is to Jeru. I have sworn an oath to protect her. I can’t protect you or Lark if I don’t protect Jeru. I can’t protect my child if I don’t protect Jeru. Don’t you understand?”