Light Wielder (Fire & Metal, #2) — Chapter 17

Chapter 17

JO

“Where are you two going?”

Beau and I freeze in place, turning to find my mother in the door leading to the kitchen. Dressed in a nightgown, hair falling in waves around her shoulders, one would believe she just rolled out of bed if it were not for the flour dusting her fingers. Her favorite time to bake is late in the day, sometimes well into the night, but it appears she’s calling it quits early tonight.

“To the tavern,” I answer. “We’re meeting with Drake.”

“Oh,” she sounds. “How’s the new commander doing?”

“Sam is impressed,” I say.

Drake used to be second to General Samasu, but my mother convinced Sam to hand the reins to his successor so he could follow me to the border.

While young, Drake has proven himself to be a skilled leader.

“Good,” my mother says. “Anything interesting on the docket?”

Beau offers a casual shrug. “The usual.”

There’s a long pause where all three of us trade glances, and I already know what’s coming before my mother asks: “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Word is already spreading of my return.”

“It’s only been a week’s time,” she reassures me, stepping closer.

“You’re allowed a period to settle.”

I’m steadfast in my response. “The people need to see me.”

The conflict in her expression is evident. The pride of a ruler who agrees with my decision, having had to put her title before her own well-being

many times, battles for precedence with the worry of a mother for her daughter who has only just come back from battle.

My reliance on the sleep aid tea hasn’t helped to alleviate her worry either.

A small grin pulls at her mouth, regardless. “Let me at least pack some of my toffee cakes. Messer loves them.”

This time my smile is genuine as we watch her scurry to the pantry. She adores Messer, always saying he’s like a puppy you don’t have to train, which is mostly true. He still could use a bit more edifying.

She returns with a basket and a bottle of champagne. “To celebrate your victory at the border,” she explains, handing the bottle to me and the basket to Beau. “The people will be excited to see their champion.” Then she pinches my side, and I yelp, rubbing the sore area. “Quit sneaking out.

You’re too grown for that nonsense.”

Beau’s eyes slide to me, the smugness radiating from her. When I knocked on her door and told her to schedule the meeting, she advised me to inform my mother of my intentions to venture into the city. I didn’t, obviously, but only because I knew she’d worry.

I confess as much as I embrace my mother. “And don’t wait up,” I tell her, finally.

She pulls back, cupping my face in her hands as she stares at me. “Much like yourself, I am also grown and will do as I please.” Smiling, she swats me away. “Go have fun. Tell everyone I said hello.”

And by everyone, she means Messer.

I grab a fistful of sugar snap peas from the bowl by the door on our way out. The rabbits hiss as soon as we step into the courtyard, and we sprinkle the peas like confetti, which subdues them with relative ease and allows us to weave along the winding paths toward the door at the front of the courtyard.

We wait for a carriage to pass before crossing to the other side of the street. I pull my woolen coat closed to ward off the chill in the air, knowing that any effort to remain anonymous is futile. No one in Maile wears overcoats this early into winter unless they’re new to the city.

Tonight is particularly busy. People are out to enjoy the weather before the first snowfall. And while I was used to living in a bustling community in Alaha, it’s vastly different in Maile.

Here, magic intensifies everything.

A family spills from a nearby eatery onto the street. Two parents and three kids; there’s nothing particular about them except for the youngest of the children, a girl who can’t be any older than six. She skips alongside her sister and when she glances both ways to check for buggies before crossing the street, her eyes reflect off the lanterns, flashing a ghostly white before returning to a more normal color. An early indicator that she has the gift of foresight—the same as Greta’s.

There’s a pastry vendor on the corner and he delivers the desserts to the customer’s hand on an invisible gust of wind. Across the way, one of the city’s fire starters stands on a ladder, refilling a burned-out lamp with oil before reigniting the flame with a strike of his finger. And a little further down, a resident is tending to her rose bushes by her front stoop, the petals unfurling just the slightest at the touch of her fingers.

The term Heir isn’t used here much, if at all. There are simply people who have magic, and others who do not. Having magic is still considered a blessing from the Mother, but the religious association has waned with time. At least, that’s how my mother explains it. It’s undeniable that the land still holds secrets because even those who are giftless suffer from their eyes leeching of color when traveling at sea.

It doesn’t take long for people to really take notice of me and my bulky coat, and I try not to appear too hurried as Beau and I maintain our steady gait toward the tavern a few streets away. I wave and give thanks to compliments and congratulations for the battle won at the border. Kids are the boldest, running up to me to bow, sometimes wrapping their little arms around my middle before their parents wrest them away with apologies.

My mother loves being in the heart of the city, to be accessible to her people. She’s the type of queen I aspire to be. The smile she gives me is the same she gives to her people: honest and open. She radiates joy and kindness, making anyone that comes across her feel seen just by being in her presence. It’s a skill I’ve yet to master.

Sensing my discomfiting thoughts, Beau takes my hand and squeezes it.

“I’m fine,” I reassure her.

“You know better than to lie to me of all people, Jo.”

I suppress a sigh. “Can’t you let me get away with it every now and then?”

My question brings a begrudgingly small smile to her mouth. “Never.”

She looks beautiful in a pleated skirt that reaches her ankles. Hair twisted into a braid, with gold strands woven in and out and a tiny golden butterfly ornament at the end. Maile’s symbol and my family’s crest. Many of the refugees fleeing the spreading war also wear the butterfly as a symbol of appreciation for the safe harbor, but Beau wears it simply because she loves Maile. And my mother.

“I received word from my mother late last night,” she says.

I lift a curious brow. Beau has kept regular communication with Greta since we left Kenta, but she rarely mentions it to me unless there’s news worth sharing.

“She said there’s tension in the palace. A rift between the king and my brother.”

She’s long since quit referring to Edmond as her father, but she hardly ever mentions her brother unless there’s something particularly noteworthy, and my heart stutters in my chest. “Any idea why?”

“One can only speculate. The reasons could be endless, considering … well, everything.”

Even though it’s little more than nothing, it’s something. A morsel of hope.

“It wasn’t supposed to take this long,” I mutter under my breath.

Beau tilts her head, looking at me from under her lashes. “Four years doesn’t undo a lifetime of manipulation, Jo.”

“I thought the king would have shown his true colors by now.” That Acker would see through his father’s manipulation tactics.

“Edmond doesn’t need magic to be persuasive,” she says.

I hear the unspoken words she refrains from tacking on. I need to give Acker the same grace I would ask in return. Not that I have or ever will ask him for forgiveness for my betrayal, but that’s irrelevant.

“It takes people years to come to terms with who their parents are, even without being the subject of heavy magical influence,” she says.

Our spies have informed us of Acker’s reluctant participation in leading the council during his father’s frequent absences. It was due to his orders alone that forced me to the northern border to defend against the Strou.

Meanwhile, Edmond’s been biding his time while he rebuilds his power,

and there’s nothing I regret more than not ending his existence when I had the chance.

My dagger was there, poised to sever his lifeline with a single slash, something none have been close enough to even try before, and … I failed.

I thought that ignoring Acker’s plea for his father’s life would make me as evil as the man I was trying to kill, but being merciful was just as selfish as any self-serving action the king himself has taken. I knew if I killed his father that Acker would never look at me the same way again. That adoring gaze I’d grown accustomed to would be forever twisted into disgust. The mere idea of that gutted me. And with one hasty decision fueled by the hope that Acker could one day forgive me, I damned the lives of countless

innocent people.

A day, I realize, that will never come.

It took me entirely too long to admit to myself that Acker never loved me, not truly. He only wanted me because of the connection we share, the Bond that Mother Nature forced upon us. What he thought he felt between us as children before I went missing. But what he really wanted was someone like Irina. A placid placeholder in his life. A trophy. A prized horse.

And I hate that I proved just how useless I am by not fulfilling my promise to Kai. To the rebellion. To myself, in the process.

Since I betrayed Acker and left Kenta, I’ve regretted not killing the king every single day. It’s because of my cowardice that the continent has been thrust into chaos.

“Maybe it’s best Acker never realizes who his father really is,” I say, admiring the gulf in the distance, the moonlight sparkling off the glassy water. The boats dotting the horizon are a reminder of the life I left behind in Alaha. “Sometimes ignorance is better than facing the guilt.”

She doesn’t disagree.

Considering all the time that has passed and everything that has transpired, maybe I need to come to terms with the idea that Acker may see his father for who he is and agree with him. That maybe Beau’s and my betrayal pushed him so far that he no longer cares, and corrupting Acker’s pure heart might be my worst crime of all.

The tavern is tucked into an alleyway not far from the wharf. Patrons linger around the entrance, smoking tobacco before heading inside, and I spot Fredrich leaning against a nearby lamppost as he waits.

“You invited him?” Beau asks.

“I did.”

Her gaze swings from the soldier, then to me, then back again. “You trust him?”

When we left Kenta, I told Beau I’d never use her gift as a tool, but there’s something in her expression that gives me pause. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Something she’s able to see that I can’t, perhaps … “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “He doesn’t have an aura.”

What?

“How is that possible?”

“I think it’s another level of protection his shielder gift offers him, but I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about. Your mother wouldn’t put anyone in charge of your guard that she wasn’t sure of.”

He straightens when he sees us approaching and it’s strange to see him outside of a war camp after months of being at the border. He wordlessly offers to take the basket from Beau’s hands, and she pulls it from his reach.

“Nice try, but as the new guy, you don’t get first dibs.”

He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough.”

He grins, and I’m slightly taken aback by the gesture, but it’s not unpleasant to look at. Matter of fact, he should do it more often and I tell him as much.

“Duly noted,” he says with a slight uptick at the corner of his mouth.

The tavern looks like just a dingy hole in the wall, but as soon as we step through the entrance, the room beyond opens into something warm and inviting. A lone fiddler plays on stage against the far wall and bustling tables fill the space to one side of the room, with a dance floor taking up the other half. Servers weave between the patrons with giant pitchers of ale and platters of food. For the first time in what feels like ages, my stomach rumbles with hunger at the scent.

Beau takes the lead, Fredrich at my back, and I can’t help but wonder if they consciously realize they’re buffering me from the public’s eyes. It doesn’t work, of course. It takes one drunk soldier recognizing me to make my presence known to all. Acknowledgments ring out from all sides of the

room, and I’m momentarily taken aback by the cheers. Fredrich urges me to keep moving as a chorus of chanting begins. I recognize the song instantly; it’s one of the few I remember from my childhood in Alaha, about a siren who enchants an entire fleet of ships.

I motion for the crowd to calm with a wave of my hand, and the volume in the room lowers just enough for me to tell the server who approaches us to put the next round of drinks on my tab. The cheers become deafening and when another young man escorts us to the room tucked at the far end of the bar, we duck inside the moment the door slides open.

Messer rises from his seat at the round table to greet us, pulling me into a hug first. “I figured it was you causing all the ruckus.”

As if on cue, the sound of celebration erupts again through the wood paneled door. Maybe buying another round wasn’t the brightest idea … “And Beau, this is a nice surprise,” he continues. “Looking as delectable as always.” By the glassiness of his eyes and the level of mischief in his smile, I can tell he’s already tipsy as he leans in to kiss Beau on the cheek.

“Save your efforts for someone else, you pigeon,” Beau snarks.

Not one to be deterred, Messer sets down his cup of ale to take the basket from her hands. “But you brought me gifts.” He eyes the contents before beaming at her. “Are these toffee cakes?”

“From my mother,” I say, forcing him to take the bottle of champagne from me as well. “She says ‘hello.’”

“She knows me so well,” he says, his grin becoming more salacious, and I know I’m going to despise whatever comes out of his mouth next. “I’ll have to stop by one day soon so I can return the favor.”

I shake my head at his teasing. “I hate you.”

His laughter dies in his throat when he sees Fredrich. “You brought your

stalker with you?”

“Messer,” I warn.

“What?” he asks, face the picture of innocence. “I’m just surprised to see him indoors, is all. Usually, he does his stalking from a rooftop nearby.”

Fredrich doesn’t take offense. If anything, he finds the assessment amusing. “Best vantage point,” he says, dryly.

“Everyone, sit.”

The order comes from Drake, the youngest man to ever captain the Maile navy, but he’s also a damn good archer and military strategist. He has

served us well since General Samasu decided to step down. Or, rather, he was forced to step down at my mother’s insistence that he accompany me to

the border.

“It’s good to see you,” I tell him.

He tilts his head forward in a pseudo-bow and I narrow my eyes as I slide into the chair beside him. I’ve harped on at him enough that he knows I hate bowing, especially outside of formal situations. My mother insists that it’s a sign of respect I should graciously endure, but Drake isn’t in uniform, and I consider him my friend before my liegeman. And because he’s my friend, he takes after Messer and loves to goad me.

Messer begins to twist the cork in the champagne bottle. “Who else are we waiting on?”

“The general,” Drake answers. And, as if summoned, Sam appears beside Drake, making the young captain nearly leap out of skin. “Good gods,” he shouts. “I wish you came with a warning.”

The cork Messer’s been working on finally pops and everyone opposite ducks to avoid being hit by the flying object. “My question is, how are you the one who’s always late?” he asks right before he drinks directly from the bottle.

“I’ve been busy,” Sam replies. “Lots to be sorted. Soldiers to disperse.

Camp to relocate.” He settles in next to Drake and palpable exhaustion lines his face as he watches Messer take another swig. “Unlike some of us.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing my share,” Messer protests, pointing at himself.

Drake makes a face. “All you do is eat people until you look like a stuffed turkey.”

“You failed to mention how I puke up belt buckles and shoelaces afterward. Very useful bits of equipment, those.”

Beau wiggles her fingers for Messer to pass the champagne her way.

When I lean around Fredrich to eye her, she says, “You can’t expect me to be sober in the company of so many insufferable men.”