By morning we’d collected our prisoners’ stories, and they all said the same thing. The numbers of guards in specific locations were similar. They all pinpointed the castle and training grounds on our old maps, even going so far as to update them to the best of their knowledge. And they all confirmed the same story: the Kadierian king wanted to meet us, discuss the future, and make peace.
I handed my report to Kawan, written in my unpracticed hand. At least the lines were mostly straight.
In my mind, the first logical questions from him would be along the lines of “When are we to meet?” or “Is everything consistent?” But Kawan had his own priorities.
“Who gave you this paper?” he asked.
It only took those five words for me to understand that what I’d guessed was true: he did not want us reading or writing.
“I rummaged through the storage. There wasn’t much paper, and the ink was dry. I apologize if I unnecessarily used resources, but I thought a development of this magnitude might be worth recording.”
He looked at me for a long time and then at the pages. His eyes moved jerkily across the rows of information all pointing to the same thing, but no light of understanding crossed his face.
Could . . . could he not read?
He cleared his throat. “You both have done a good job here. I can see you want to make up for the mistakes of your last mission.” His voice was still dark, the words laced with bitterness, but I was too busy taking in the first kind words he’d ever spoken to me to be bothered by it.
There was only one reason he would pay me a compliment: he was hiding something. If he could read, it was at a rudimentary level. I had a decision to make, and quickly. Either I could expose him and watch as he was taken down a notch in front of his most trusted henchmen, or I could cover for him. For now.
“Thank you,” I started. “As you can see, they’ve all given consistent answers. And they’ve updated our maps, giving us a clear location for their palace, the training grounds for their army, and the few protective outposts they have.
“The location for our meeting will be here,” I said, pointing to a block of land labeled “The Island.” It would take some work to get there, but Kawan was too stubborn to ask them to find someplace new. “Apparently the weather there is temperamental, so it’s laid unused for ages. The king wants to discuss trading and a potential joint venture in building a road between our lands for easy transport of goods. They say he has a treasure of gifts to bestow as a means of making amends.”
What the envoys didn’t speak of was the kingdom itself; everything else was meaningless in my eyes.
“When is this exchange to take place?” he asked.
I shuffled my feet, trying to steady myself. “In a few days. The king will meet us there and do his best to . . . appease.”
“Appease,” he scoffed, smiling to himself. “We will decimate them. We will end them as surely as they thought they ended us.”
I could see the greed washing over him.
“We’ll kill him,” he went on. “We’ll kill their king on that island and toss his body in the sea. Once we’re rid of him, marching into Dahrain will be easy.” He scratched at his beard. “We’ll take everyone, the entire army. In fact,” he exclaimed, a smile growing across his face, “we won’t let him get to the Island. We’ll attack at sea, show him what we’re capable of. Then they’ll regret taking my crown.”
This plan didn’t sit well with me. We had a few boats for fishing, but no vessels that could carry the entirety of our army. Where would we obtain such a number of boats? How would a group of people trained for land battle fare on the open sea? Or, most obviously, why not avoid violence altogether? It seemed we were intimidating the king into submission; it might be possible to simply walk in once we were that close.
“Sir, are you certain that’s the best course of action?”
Kawan’s eyes slowly came up from the paper. He might not be able to read the words in front of him, but I could read that gaze. It was a demand for silence, for obedience.
“First, you two will question the men again. I want the size of their false king’s party confirmed, and I want the exact time they expect to meet. Do not fail me,” he warned. “In the meantime, we will plan our celebration.”
“Celebration?” I asked. His mind, as always, was going in vastly different directions than it ought.
“Naturally. If our people are taking their home back, we shall feast.”
I nodded and turned, knowing Blythe would be two steps behind me. She closed the door as I stood in the hallway, stunned.
“That . . . was not what I was expecting,” she admitted quietly.
“Nor I. Why would he force us into battle?” I couldn’t think of any reason for his decision that made rational sense. He was endangering us all.
“A celebration?” Inigo asked. “For what? To celebrate going into battle?”
We were outside, sitting on rocks and staring at the sea. It was windy enough that no one else wanted to be here and loud enough that our complaints would be lost to the air. I needed a breath, a moment away from anger clouding my mind. So far, I wasn’t having much luck.
I nodded. “You know what absolutely kills me, though?”
“What?”
“The day after we’re supposed to meet, when we’ll either be settling in or traveling back home . . .”
Inigo sighed. “It’s Matraleit.”
“Exactly. And he hasn’t said a thing about that. No feast, no celebration. If our people are what we’re fighting for, he should at least remember our traditions.”
Inigo stared at the distant sky. “I’m thankful for you. You keep track of things. I knew some of our history, but half of what I know came from others in the castle after we got here.”
“I don’t know why we don’t have it written anywhere. It would have been helpful more than once.” I shook my head, asking the question that I wished I’d asked before my father died. If Kawan found us—if he knew to be looking for certain families—where did he learn that from? My family knew about Matraleit, but there were other things he taught us. Other families corroborated his stories, and between all of us, we’ve built the most complete history we can. But he knew so much when he walked up to our steps . . . how?
“Don’t worry,” Inigo said, pushing the question away. “Just because Kawan isn’t marking the occasion doesn’t mean the girls aren’t.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you making a bracelet for anyone?”
He laughed. “Nah. Don’t think anyone wants one from me. And I’m not expecting any. You, on the other hand, need to be on the lookout.”
“Don’t start.”
“You know it’s coming. Might as well embrace it.” He looked far too happy to find something to tease me about.
“I don’t embrace things. Nothing.”
Inigo chuckled, but now that he mentioned it, I looked over my shoulder, scanning the distant fields. Sure enough, there were people gathering straw.
I swallowed hard. Matraleit was all about binding, entwining. It was about permanence. Somewhere in our past, people started weaving bracelets and giving them to the person they liked. The men did it sometimes, but it was really the ladies who enjoyed it the most. You’d see people wearing a collection of them, proud they could steal so many hearts. Sometimes they were given very seriously, like a precursor to marriage vows. Sometimes they were left anonymously, and the recipient had to riddle out who made it. The bracelets had become the symbol of the holiday itself.
I’d never received one. If I did this year, there was only one person it could have come from.
“Listen,” Inigo began, “all jokes aside, don’t let Kawan get under your skin. A time will come when we need to act with precision, with planning. You can’t do that if you’re distracted by anger.”
I looked away, clearing my throat. “I know.”
“So, it might be worth considering embracing something. If only to have anything else in your heart.”
I stared at him. “I’ll consider it if you promise never to speak to me like that again.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
I slapped him playfully on the shoulder and started my way back to my room. There were many other things crowding my head, but my thoughts turned to his advice. I didn’t want to disappoint him . . . but I didn’t think I was capable of heeding it.
