I heard Boojohni sniffing beyond the library doors and disengaged the lock with a weary word so he could enter.
“Bird?” he whispered from the doorway of the empty room.
I’m here, Boojohni.
“Where?”
Under the desk.
He didn’t ask why I was hiding. He just shut the library door softly, trundled over, and peered around the chair I’d moved in front of the opening. He was small enough he only had to tip his head. He pulled the chair away and crawled in beside me, patting my upraised knees.
“Ye’ve been cryin’. . . I’m glad. Grief is good. Ye can’t heal if ye don’t grieve.”
My father is here.
“I know,” he sighed.
I hate him.
“Ye can’t heal if ye hate, either. So let him go, little Lark,” Boojohni said, wiping at my tears with stubby fingers. I let him, needing to feel protected. In truth, I felt more vulnerable than I’d ever been in my whole life.
The lords are coming.
“Aye.”
My father knows what I can do. Only his fear for himself has kept him quiet, but he’s desperate. If he thinks he can expose me and have me removed from power without getting us both killed, he will. If he tells Lord Bin Dar or Lord Gaul, they will take the throne and the Gifted in Jeru will be rooted out and destroyed.
“Those who persecute the hardest usually have the most to hide,” Boojohni said, and we sat in troubled contemplation, resisting the responsibilities being foisted upon us. But hiding for very long was impossible, and it just stoked my apprehension.
I could go to Nivea before the lords arrive and warn them. I’m certain they’ve heard of the king’s . . . death.
Boojohni was shaking his head before I even finished speaking.
“No, Bird. Leaving the city right now would be almost impossible. The castle is filled with eyes, and everyone has a hidden agenda. I will find a way to warn the Healer; she will warn the rest.”
I’m afraid, Boojohni. I can’t fight the whole world by myself.
My dread grew with the admission, and Boojohni reached for my hand, taking it in both of his. After a long silence he spoke, his voice troubled.
“Ye need to get word to Kjell. Something’s amiss, Bird. It’s all happened too quickly.”
Tiras told me he wasn’t coming back. He told me it had to end.
“Aye,” Boojohni repeated. “But not like this. Not with you alone in Jeru City and Kjell and the army in Firi. It doesn’t make sense.”
My feelings of abandonment had been overwhelmed by my sorrow, and I hadn’t been able to separate one from the other. Boojohni’s suspicion made me pause, and all at once, my fear became terror.
It only made sense if something had actually happened to the king.
A solution came to me as I lay in the darkness, my eyes riveted beyond the balcony doors to the low wall where Tiras had perched and left me things—little gifts that let me know he was nearby, messages from a king.
I shot up in bed.
Birds delivered messages.
I threw off my covers, pulled on my cloak and my thin slippers, and stole down the hallways, dropping spells of distraction and diversion to clear my way through the castle and across the middle and upper baileys. I didn’t worry about being seen. I worried about being followed.
The mews were hushed and dim, the birds resting like pampered princesses on their little roosts. I took one step, then another, hoping Hashim hadn’t gone to his quarters for the night. Then I heard him descending the stairs from the pigeon coops above, and I tensed, awkward and second-guessing my decision.
He jumped a foot in the air when he saw me.
“My queen!” His eyes shot to the rafters, checking for winged strangers. “What . . . are . . .” He caught himself. “How can I be of service?”
I took a deep breath.
Can you hear me, Hashim?
His face was perfectly placid, but his eyes flared imperceptibly. Triumph flooded my chest.
I need your help. I don’t know where else to turn.
“Majesty?” he squeaked, his voice so tentative I flinched at the position I was putting him in.
I nodded somberly. Yes, Hashim.
He took several steps closer, his mouth quivering, his eyes glistening with awe.
“Yes, I can . . . hear you. How can I help you, my queen?” he whispered. I extended my hand, and he took it without hesitation. The nerves in my belly eased slightly. I did not scare him. I’d simply surprised him.
I need to get an urgent message to the captain of the guard. Can you send a carrier bird to Firi?
“Yes, Majesty. But the birds can only fly to and from a set location,” Hashim began, hesitant. “If the king’s army is camped beyond Firi, and the city is under attack, my birds may reach the mews in Firi, but the message may not be relayed to the captain for some time, if at all.”
My heart sank, and I dropped my eyes and released Hashim’s hand.
“What is the message, my queen?” he pressed gently.
I need to know from the captain himself if the king is dead.
Hashim’s face brightened. “Is there reason to hope he is not?” he asked.
There is reason to hope and reason to fear. But the captain needs to know what is happening in Jeru. The lords will seize the throne.
“I will go myself, Majesty. I will find the captain.”
My jaw dropped. But . . . it will take several days each way on horseback, and it will be dangerous. You are needed here.
His gaze was steady. Trusting. “It will not take me that long, my queen. And the mews will be in good hands. I have apprentices, and they are very able. I will go and be back in three days.”
I don’t understand.
“The king and I . . . we are the same,” he whispered. “I will . . . fly . . . to Firi.”
One by one the lords arrived, accompanied by small armies from every province, as if the king’s death meant war. They commandeered wings of the castle and set up council in the Great Hall. I was commanded to attend then summarily ignored as the lords from Bin Dar, Gaul, and Bilwick raged and quarreled with the lords from Quondoon, Enoch and Janda. Lady Firi watched it all with narrowed eyes and folded hands, and I wondered if she wasn’t taking her own advice, waiting until the time was right to make her move.
Tiras’s acknowledgment of Kjell had enraged them all, including the ambivalent southern lords, but the king’s advisors were quick to quote precedence and Jeruvian law. My father then proposed that the council appoint a regent and suggested, as father of the queen, that he be chosen. The king’s advisors looked to each other nervously, well-aware that Tiras did not want Lord Corvyn on the throne under any circumstances.
“Has the queen requested a regent, Lord Corvyn?” Lady Firi asked mildly, drawing the attention of all seven of the bickering lords.
“The queen’s wishes cannot be considered. She is unable to communicate and is therefore unfit to reign,” my father retorted.
“That has not been established, Corvyn,” Lord Janda boomed, and Lord Enoch, a cousin of my mother, concurred. Then the arguing began again, tempers rising, opinions swirling, and no one attempted to consult me at all.
I took out my book of accounts and turned to a blank page. Very carefully, I composed a statement for the council, for my father, and for those who had any question about my willingness or ability to rule. I dusted it with sand as the men rambled, let it dry as the men aired out all their grievances, and when I finally stood, the lords rose as well, but their conversation barely stuttered and their eyes never left each other.