Clearing his throat, it was Will who answered for them both. “That if we stand beside the Spryrix—Taeme—we will succeed. If we go against him, the Sixth Line is doomed.”
Well, that was pretty clear, and my shoulders relaxed just a little. We couldn’t trust them completely, but at least they weren’t going to capture Hayle and stick him in a zoo.
Lierick sighed. “We should sit down. There’s a lot to discuss.”
And some mental fog to undo. This was going to be… interesting.
Ten
Vox
The second meeting with the Baron of the Sixth Line and his Heir went better than the first; though we were careful to omit the fact that Lierick had wiped most of the important information of the original meeting from their memories. No good could come from that revelation.
Baron Lukas Marlee had pledged men and supplies when the time came for the Second Line to march on Fortaare, if it came to that.
I honestly hoped it wouldn’t.
I hadn’t told Avalon, because I didn’t want to see the disgust—or worse, pity—in her eyes when she learned that I’d known the last assassin, the one whose throat I’d slit. I’d trained with him in my teen years; he’d only been a few years older than me, around Yaron’s age.
He hadn’t been a bad person, quick with a grin and always making jokes. Once upon a time, I might have called him an acquaintance. You didn’t have friends in Fortaare. At least, I didn’t.
Shay was as close as I could ever come to a confidant, and that was only because she was both blood kin and useful to my father, rendering her safe from both him and Yaron to use as a“training” tool. Anyone else would have merely been leveraged, if I’d shown any preference toward them.
But killing Stiles had reiterated the truth that I’d be fighting, and most likely killing, people I knew. Maybe even liked. That to them, I was on the wrong side of the war—a traitor, like Stiles had said.
My greatest hope was that my father would be murdered in his sleep, along with my brother. Even if that made me Baron, I could hold the title until I could pass it on to someone more worthy. Someone who wasn’t a rotten apple from a poisoned tree.
Avalon squeezed my hand, and I suddenly realized everyone was standing and shaking hands. I’d let my thoughts wander, already failing at being the man that Avalon, Hayle, and Lierick needed me to be. This political maneuvering should have been my strength, yet I was caught up in self-flagellating thoughts.
I shook hands with the Baron and Will Marlee. The Baron held my hand a little tighter. “We aren’t our fathers, Heir Vylan. Goddess knows, I’m not my father, and Will is not me. You have the potential to be something great for Ebrus.”
Swallowing hard, I gave the man a tight smile. “If the Goddess wills it.” I cleared my throat. “We’ll be in touch. Until then, if you’re open to it, we may send you refugees from Boellium.”
Baron Marlee inclined his head. “Of course. We’ll get a supply route set up as soon as possible, and if we can, we’ll bypass Boellium altogether and head straight for Eaglehoth.” He hesitated, his eyes drifting to Lierick. “Our doors are also open to people fleeing the drought in the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines. I can’t say that it is an easy life here; the Darkwoods can be dangerous, if you don’t have a Third Line Heir holding back the predators. Our way of life is humble, and while food is plentiful, so is the labor needed to make it happen.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “We’ve never been about Line purity here. We’ve encouraged our young to leave if they wish. But an influx of new blood would bolster both our Lines, I believe. Nothing as barbaric as forced marriages, but we have many good men here and no prospect of wives. Without something happening soon, I fear we will die off in a generation or two.”
Lierick’s jaw flexed. “I will put the idea to the Baron and Baroness of the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines, but I can’t promise anything.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
A groom appeared with four horses, which were big, sturdy creatures. My father liked his stable to be filled with thoroughbreds, fast but delicate. Given the terrain around Doend, the horses from Fortaare would have broken a leg at the first ride out into the Darkwoods.
Avalon was riding with one of us, as she’d never been on a horse, though I doubted any of these mounts would throw her, especially not while Hayle was around. She’d start out with him, though, and he boosted her up into the saddle with gentle hands. Her eyes were wide as she perched atop the horse awkwardly, making me smother a smile.
Iker was clearly still pissed as he fixed his bags to his horse. He didn’t like being left out of the action, but honestly, he still looked a little pale from the pain and wounds.
Will Marlee nodded respectfully to us. “We’ll take our leave. You have a long way to go.” He hoisted himself up onto his own horse easily, as did the Baron Marlee, despite the fact that they were at least six hands higher than the largest horses I’d ever seen. “Stable the horses at the Barony Stable in Cyne, and they’ll find their way back to us. Lierick, Iker, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled softly at Avalon. “Miss Halhed. I’m glad to seethe rumors of your constitution were much exaggerated by the North. If you’re ever in need, the Sixth Line has a place for you.”
Avalon flushed red, and I once more remembered why I hated Baron Halhed so much. The ease with which he’d managed to spread the rumor that Avalon was some kind of psychopathic monster made me irrationally angry.
The sad look in her eyes as she murmured, “I appreciate that, Heir Marlee,” made my rage even worse.
“Vylan, Taeme. Until the next Conclave,” the Baron called by way of farewell, as they rode back up the winding mountain road at a slower pace than when they came down.
Fixing my bag to my saddle, I blew out a heavy breath, trying to let some of the tension bunching my shoulders dissipate, but I kept banging up against the fact that my father had tried to kill me. Without any proof of my wrongdoing. Without seeing my face or hearing my side, he’d decided I was guilty.
So guilty that he’d sent people to murder me in my sleep.
