‘Don’t marry him,’ Blake called, following her. ‘We’ll find another way to help these people.’
Astin stepped in front of Blake. ‘If you make a scene, your sister will pay the price.’
When Eda went for Astin, Blake blocked her with one arm. ‘Easy, sister. He’s just doing his job.’ Though she stared daggers at him as she spoke the words.
‘Ladies,’ Astin said, turning to mount his horse.
A strangled cry made them all look in the direction of the square. One of the men was being hoisted up, the soles of his shoes scraping stone in a vain attempt to ease the pressure around his neck. Then came the familiar cries of a heartbroken family. Loved ones were shoved back as a barrier of defenders stood their ground.
When Lyndal looked at her sisters, she saw their trauma matched her own. Nothing was going to change unless someone actively tried to change it.
She could be that person.
She could win the king’s trust, become a puppeteer.
Filled with a newfound determination, she watched Borin stride back to his horse, completely unaffected by the scene behind him.
Her sisters retreated to the safety of the crowd, watching her with heartbroken expressions.
Stand tall and strong, warrior, Blake signed to her.
It was what their father used to say to them when they were young, and she imagined him saying those words to her now.
The king trotted past with his circle of guards, not bothering to check if she was ready to depart.
‘Ready?’ Astin asked in his place.
I love you, she signed to her sisters before turning her horse away. ‘Ready.’
The king’s guards fell back when they entered the farming borough, enabling Lyndal to ride at the king’s side. Astin followed a few paces behind them, listening as Lyndal asked Borin questions about the farms they passed. The king edged his horse closer to hers as he explained things as though she were an imbecile. She nodded along to everything he said, like he was the most interesting man alive. And even though he understood the game, jealousy reared inside him.
Every now and then, she would look over her shoulder, checking that he was still behind her. It showed she was afraid—and that fear was justified. King Borin was the one man Astin could not protect her from.
The first farm they called upon had once been known for its barley. Now chickens roamed in place of failed crops. Borin presented Lyndal to the farmers like she was a prize sheep, watching their reaction as she moved between them, smiling and asking questions. She even crouched down to speak with the younger children. She was pure sunshine, the epitome of everything missing from their farming lives.
Satisfied, the king went to speak privately with the owner. Lyndal wandered along the boundaries of the paddocks with the owner’s wife, nodding thoughtfully as she absorbed each response. Astin tried to give them as much space as was safe for her, as the farming borough was considered neutral territory for both her and the king. But that was not to say the farmers were content with how things were being run.
When the king returned to the horses, they all mounted and rode out.
‘Would you consider that one of the larger farms in the borough?’ Lyndal asked the king as they exited.
‘I would say average in terms of size and produce. Why do you ask?’
She looked to the mass of chickens scratching in the muddy fields. ‘I was just curious.’
When they headed west instead of north, dread filled Astin. The next farm they would arrive at washis. King Borin had failed to mention it was on the agenda. It was probably because people no longer connected him to the farm. He was a defender now, and the farm had fallen into Cooper’s hands long ago.
The moment they entered the property, his stepfather exited the house, squinting in their direction. His mother remained by the door as she removed her apron and smoothed back her hair. It had greyed considerably since the last time he had seen her.
‘Home sweet home, right, Fletcher?’ the king said over his shoulder with a smirk.
Lyndal looked back at Astin. ‘This is where you grew up?’
‘He was not much of a farmer,’ Borin said. ‘Or so I have been told.’
Astin wet his lips and kept silent. Cooper Brooke had likely painted a picture of him, and now was not the time to correct it. Astin met his stepfather’s eyes as he dismounted, the darkest shade of brown he had ever seen on a man. He had always thought them black as a child.
‘We just passed your lambs,’ King Borin said, walking over to him.
