“And of course you think it ought to be you, though there’s a swath of better men here to take lead. But aye, you fell from a great royal sack and so you think yourself king.”
“Answer the question!” Rask barked. “Two weeks of gallivanting in the wood for nothing but flesh sport.”
Skyre glared. “Flesh sport? Do you think so little of me? I meant what I said on the day that I left—and the prophecy kept me as promised. Yet here is a room full of men who should respect me and all I see is doubt.”
“Then tell us of your dealings with the druids,” said Nacht. “Did they care to listen?”
“They were accepting of me. It was far more than we have done for them. But in the end I…” Skyre’s fists clenched, the scathing image of the torn womb raging before his eyes.
“We did not reach an agreement. Too long have we besieged their kind. Now, they see only violence. And they… they ken only the land. But the druids are no threat to us. And henceforth I forbid any brutality against my Queen’s people. If we are to change their minds… to be invited back… then we will show them we are not the fiends they see in us.”
“Invited?” Jor chuckled. “This is the end of the Vaich. Where is your dominating spirit now?”
“War willnae solve everything,” said Skyre. “Yourfatherkent it.”
“What a valiant new leaf for you. The woodsingr really has enamored you with his song.”
“And we’ll see you crashed upon the cliffs because of it,” growled Rask storming from the room.
“Athair—”
“Let him go,” said Nacht, resting his large hand upon Skyre’s shoulder.
“The Féin questions their king’s priorities,” said Jor. “How long do you think these men will tolerate your fancies? If you can’t make decisions from a place of propriety. Be sure they will be madeforyou.”
“The Vaich’s power is not shared,” Skyre said darkly.
Jor laughed. “Your mentors did a foul disservice to tell you so. Youwill be their puppet, whether you like it or not. Haven’t you realized? You’re an instrument. And if you cannot be played properly, they will discard you.I would look to the conclave,Your Majesty. The next Oracle might find herself receiving manystrange prophecies, indeed.”
Jor sent a final, withering look before leaving Skyre alone with the holler and those haunting words.
“Even when I try to be good… it all goes wrong in their eyes,” muttered Skyre. “I never do anything right.”
“When a man has dug his path so deep, even seeing over the trench can fill him with fear,” said Nacht. “Offer him a hand up and all he’ll do is bury himself in dust.”
Skyre shook his head. “Rask is a great man. He wouldnae be so willfully stubborn.”
“Hm.” Nacht glanced at him. “And some men like to watch others burn.”
Thatwas easier to believe.
Jor would place himself at the king’s opposite, even if he had to crawl across a field of bones to do it. He hadn’t gained an advisor, but a contrarian.
“And you?” asked Skyre. “What do you think of me? Shall I bathe myself in your disappointment, too?”
Nacht gave his half-grin, half-sneer, but at least it was honest. “I expected little would come of this endeavor. If, indeed, that was your purpose for going. I am not unfamiliar with the woodkin—not least of all their stubbornness. For you to spin such an elaborate plan… whatever you're defending must be worthwhile.”
Skyre was flabbergasted.
“Am I really so obvious?”
The holler chuckled. “Aye. But to see a king’s heart… it’s a good change.”
Skyre wondered what Nacht might say if he told him the truth. Or if that was simply his desperation weaseling its way out. He wanted someone—anyone—to be on their side. But the fact was, he was terrified.
Once, he had feared the druid’s threat; A challenge he had imagined in his mind. But the danger of falling from favor hadn’t left.
The prophecy had always named and killed its kings. But what did it mean to be left unclaimed?
