Figurehead

thirty-five

He reaches out and takes my hand, holding it tight. "At least I'll finally be able to kiss you," he says in a low voice. I didn't expect there to be so much seriousness- or heat- in his tone. Then again, I didn't expect any of this. Ever.

"You might have to meet my kin first."

I have to laugh when he scowls at me.

My lips curl in a small smile. "They know now that I'm second heir. And Sret knows, sort of, about you."

He looks uncomfortable. "Your ama won't like me. I'm the reason you almost died."

"I'm the reason you almost died," I point out. "You lost a lot of blood trying to keep me alive."

"It was worth it," he squeezes my hand.

I frown. "It wouldn't have been if you'd died. If Lus had died too, then I'd have lost you both. And I'd have had to take the crown," I add pointedly. My life is not worth more than his.

I untangle my fingers from his.

He sighs heavily. "Lus would have tried to explain, right?"

I cross my arms. "Explain it again, then."

He sighs, rubbing his face tiredly with a hand. "After you left with Nirs-" and I notice the slight inflection of his voice at her name- "for Kalsemir, Lus and I had a meeting with the elder Escatin. That wasn't an uncommon thing, meeting with them every now and then."

"And?" I prompt, noticing he's fallen silent. He glances at me, then drops his gaze to his hands.

"Well, Lus didn't understand all of it, because some of them spoke in Janmier." He looks up, managing to smile at the look on my face. "I know. They like having few people understand them." His smile fades. "I'd already known the Sirdiu weren't fond of Escatin blood. Most of those elders would deny theirs in the next few days. But they told me how some of the Sirdiu had helped my afa access firewater, and-" he stops short, closing his eyes, fists clenched. The reiluan stuck in his neck bobs with his swallow.

Dread pooling in my stomach, I reach out and let him grip my hand, squeezing until it hurts. When his eyes flick open to meet mine, they are vivid blue rocks chipped with anger, grief and sorrow.

"They gave my brother enough krufid when he was injured, so that they knew he might get addicted. And when he did, they kept giving it to him." The pain in his voice is so raw it hurts to hear him. "One of the Sirdiu, a High healer, stood and watched my sister die, claiming she could offer no help. They wanted me to take the crown. They thought I would let them shove me in the mud because I was grieving and I was the youngest son of a man enslaved to drink, and I had no ama to help us."

Tears burn in his eyes and trickle down his cheeks now, and his grip on my hand aches, but it doesn't matter. "They were wrong," I say, and I surprise myself by the ferocity in my voice. It reminds me of when I first saw the battle and I ordered Med away. "They were wrong," I repeat, louder this time. "Your grief brought you closer to the Lord your Strength. They will never take your Strength."

He manages a strained and teary smile, his grip on my hand loosening. I shuffle over to him, ignoring the dirt beneath me as I move so I can put my head against his shoulder. I can feel him take a deep and shuddering breath.

"The elder Escatin," he continues after a long pause, "told me to appoint a second heir. If anything happened, which seemed likely because the Sirdiu seemed hungrier for power than ever, then there was a chance the crown would still be out of their hands. Not secure, but not in their hands."

"Did they think the second heir would ever actually come to power?" I ask when he stops again.

He sniffs, wiping at his face and taking a steadying breath before answering. "I don't think so. But if they did, then obviously they had to be someone we trusted. Somebody who didn't hunger for power." I purse my lips.