The Deliverer Page 2

  Kieran’s jaw tightened. “You of all people should understand why I can’t leave.” He rubbed his shoulder—one of the old scars that bothered him at times. “The One asked me to stay. Nothing else would have kept me from Lyric when I heard what Cameron was doing.”

  “I know.” I wrapped my arms around my embroidered silk cloak, wishing instead for the rough woven textures of a handmade cape from Braide Wood. “But keeping this secret from Zarek is dangerous.” I stepped closer. “We should sit down with him and explain what’s happened. I’m sure he’d understand—”

  Kieran’s bark of laughter sounded harsh in the quiet emptiness outside the city. “Right. Serve him some clavo, recite a few Verses, and tell him I’m a fraud. That’s a great plan.”

  His sarcasm stung.

  Be patient. He’s the One’s chosen. “Would you at least consider it?”

  “Consider taking strategic advice from a songkeeper? And a barely grown one, at that?”

  His taunt was so unexpected I couldn’t form an answer.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Linette, I was exploring Sidian when you were still playing cover-and-ambush in Braide Wood. I know what I’m doing.”

  If he’d thought I was too inexperienced and naïve, why had he asked for my help in Sidian? I struggled to gather the strands of my dignity. “I’m not a child. I was old enough to be life-pledged.” The words brought a familiar stab, a twisting pain behind my ribs.

  Kieran’s condescension instantly changed to pity. I wasn’t sure which reaction I hated more. He rested a hand on his sword hilt, as he often did when uncomfortable. “I know. I didn’t . . .” He shook his head. “Let’s go.” His restless energy propelled him toward the gates. “Nolan will be awake and hungry—as always.”

  I followed, relieved at the change in subject. “He’s a growing boy.”

  Kieran’s snort showed what he thought of that description. “If I’d known he’d be as hard to keep fed as a herd of lehkan . . .”

  I scurried to keep up with his long strides. “Yes?”

  He rubbed his neck and hid a smile. “I’d still take him in and count myself lucky.”

  “He is sweet.”

  “Sweet? Yesterday he sneaked into Zarek’s armory and stole a dagger. Said he needed a spare. He’s reckless, devious, suspicious. Always into something.”

  Like someone else I knew.

  By the time we reached the palace, I had forgiven Kieran’s latest flare of annoyance with me. In the past seasons, I had learned that his temper blew from major to minor keys as quickly as the music of a spice-wood flute. The weight of his calling pressed him night and day. He needed support, and if that meant enduring his cutting words, I simply needed more patience.

  “Will you stop by after the rains?” His tone was offhand, but he paused in the front hall, waiting for my answer.

  I pushed back my hood and twisted a strand of my silver-blonde hair. I hadn’t found time to put it into traditional Hazorite braids this morning. “If you like. Nolan arranged another meeting for me with the messengers this morning. I can give you a report later.”

  His eyes narrowed in calculation. “If they could learn the Verses and travel to all the villages, we’d make real progress.”

  “I’ll do what I can. At least they’ll be ready if King Zarek allows it.”

  Kieran gave a curt nod. “He’s holding court today and wants me there. I’ll ask him again.”

  “Go with the One,” I said quietly. But Kieran was already striding away.

  I walked toward the wing of the palace that housed the king’s messengers, slowing my pace. Change comes gradually to hearts and countries. Rushing wouldn’t alter that. Years of songkeeper training had formed patience in me that Kieran would never have—patience that seemed to annoy him. In fact, everything I did seemed to annoy him lately, and I hadn’t figured out why.

  I shook off the dark mood and entered the gathering hall to find that Nolan had faithfully spread word about this morning’s meeting. Clusters of youths surrounded the tables. The boys looked up from table games. A few frowned and slouched back in a show of disinterest. Others smiled, bringing light and eagerness to their faces. They were so young. Most hadn’t seen their families in years—given or sold to the king as disposable commodities. Their self-reliance and loneliness tugged at my soul.

  Dylan and I had talked often about the children we’d hoped to have one day, young lives to be treasured and guided and loved. Another pang of loss twisted my heart. The attack at Cauldron Falls still cast a long shadow over me, for there I’d lost not only the man I loved but also the children we would never have.

  A tapestry of a bloody war scene covered the back wall, so I pulled out a bench and settled facing the doorway. I greeted the children warmly—the children who might not be my own but needed my love—as they gathered around me.

  When I’d begun meeting with them a few weeks ago, Nolan’s endorsement had eased the young messengers’ wariness. My attempts to play a Hazorite long-whistle helped them accept me even more. The mouthpiece was tiny, and the holes were covered and uncovered in complex combinations to change the pitch.

  Two of the boys pulled out their whistles and brandished them over their heads. “A reel!”

  Time to endure some good-natured teasing. I took my whistle from a pocket of my tunic. Grinning, the boys drew deep breaths and dove in to the music. They had taught me the melody yesterday, but I struggled to keep up. By the time the song ended, I was breathless and laughing.

  The other boys cheered and called for another song. For a wonderful moment their faces lit with the innocent energy of children, instead of the grim, fearful expressions they usually wore.

  I lowered the long-whistle. “Time to review our lessons.”

  Young voices groaned and muttered protests. A couple of the boys wandered off and made a point of resuming table games at one side of the room; but several settled around me. One boy who couldn’t be more than ten plopped down near my feet. “Let’s sing the one about getting power.”

  I ruffled his dark hair and smiled into his eager eyes. “It’s not about getting power. It’s about honoring the One for His strength and kindness.”

  The messengers exchanged looks. A few rolled their eyes. The boys were glad to learn new songs, and their skills at memorizing made them ideal students. But though they mimicked the words, they viewed the Verses as little more than stories to tell around a heat trivet on a cold night.

  Holy One, show me how to lead these boys to You.

  I played an introduction on the whistle, and the boys cheered and applauded. Then I set the instrument aside, and they joined me in singing one of the songs of feast days.

  Awesome in majesty, perfect in power,

  One to Deliver us, He is our tower.

  Enemies circle us, darkness descending;

  He is the Morning Light, love without ending.

  Lord of the Verses that teach us Your way,

  Guardian of seasons and Chief of each day,

  Looking with mercy on each need we bring,

  You give us strength through the Songs as we sing.

  Their voices rose with enthusiasm. Some throats cracked as they wavered between the lighter registers of boyhood and deeper tones of approaching adulthood.

  “Will singing these Songs really give us power?” one teen asked as the last note faded from the hall.

  A younger boy bounced up to his knees. “Or speed? Will it make us faster?”

  Another messenger gave him a playful punch. “Nothing will make you faster.” He turned toward me. “Besides, you have to sing at the Lyric tower. That’s where the One lives, right?”

  I fought back a sigh. Like their king, these boys were intrigued by what magical powers the One might grant them, what advantages He offered over their hill-gods. “He lives everywhere
. The tower is just a special place where we gather to worship Him.”

  “Like a shrine,” one of them asserted.

  Movement by the doorway caught my eye. Nolan slipped into the room and lounged against the back wall, observing my efforts with a grin. Slim build, eyes framed by dark lashes, and a black thatch of hair that needed trimming—in recent seasons, Nolan had grown to look even more like his father.

  I beckoned him forward. “Nolan has seen the Lyric tower. Let’s ask him. Is it like a shrine?”

  A hint of red brushed across Nolan’s cheeks, but he sauntered in and planted himself next to me on the bench. “It’s not like our shrines at all. Or like the hill-gods.”

  The boys listened to him intently. As part of the agreement to serve Zarek and the people of Hazor, Kieran had bargained for Nolan to be freed from his role as a messenger. But to these boys, Nolan was still one of them—a messenger who had survived capture by the “barbarians” of Braide Wood, endured Zarek’s prison, traveled to the mysterious city of Lyric, and now had been claimed as son by the Restorer.

  “Messengers! Report to the king’s court.” A herald in the doorway barked out the command, and the boys scrambled from the room.

  My brief opportunity evaporated. Once again, I’d made scant progress. Who knew whether they would all return safely from their tasks?

  Nolan seemed to sense my melancholy. “They’ll be fine.” He ducked his chin down and peered up at me through his bangs. “He was grumpier than usual this morning. Is he worried about his sister?”

  “He has a lot on his mind.”

  Nolan shrugged. “He’ll be happier tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s agreed to spar with Zarek after court this morning.”

  My breath caught. “He can’t do that.”

  A grin stretched slowly across Nolan’s face. “You’re welcome to tell him.”

  I winced. “You know he won’t listen. But if Zarek learns the truth . . .”

  Nolan’s smile disappeared. “I know.” His hand moved to the dagger tucked in his boot sheath. “That’s why I plan to be there.”

  Even worse. I had as little control over Nolan as I did over Kieran. “All right. Then I want to be there too.”

  Nolan opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “The One sent me here to help, and I can’t help Kieran if he’s dead.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” His jaw clamped shut with a stubborn thrust.

  I gave him a sweet smile. “Then I’ll have to tell him you were gambling with the other messengers last night.”

  Nolan gaped at me. “How did you know?”

  I held my smile and waited.

  Finally his eyes narrowed and he gave a grudging nod. “I’ll find you when court is over.” He hurried toward the door and disappeared down the hall.

  I sat down and pressed my hands against my face. I’d blackmailed him to get my way. He and his father were rubbing off on me.

  The old songkeeper proverb said it best. If you want to blend into the chorus, sing in the same key. Here in Hazor, it seemed that deception and manipulation were the keys of choice. How long could I remain here before the music of my soul completely changed?

  Chapter

  3

  Linette

  Scrapes and clangs echoed in the training hall below us. Crouched behind storage containers on a small balcony, Nolan and I watched as Kieran dodged another vicious swing of Zarek’s blade. His sword blocked a heavy overhand blow, then he jumped back and waited for the king’s next move, feigning nonchalance.

  I bit my lip. Bracing my hand on a crate, I leaned to the side to follow the action. Why had I insisted that Nolan bring me along? This dangerous sparring squeezed my lungs until I couldn’t breathe.

  “So the messengers could travel through Hazor.” Kieran sidestepped in a relaxed crouch. “Share the Verses. That will cut down on the disagreements you’ve been dealing with.” He feinted to Zarek’s left side, then attempted to slice past his opponent’s guard but failed.

  “The messengers are busy with my work.” Zarek charged forward. Steel flashed as if he planned to carve Kieran into one of the sculptures on the city walls. For a time neither man spoke, as the sparring grew more intense.

  Beside me, Nolan’s muscles were tight and alert. If Zarek’s intent turned lethal, he’d probably leap from the balcony to help his father. I rested a hand lightly on the boy’s back, trying to steady us both.

  The two men below us pulled apart, both breathing hard. Zarek propped his sword against a bench, removed his gold-embroidered tunic, and wiped his shaved head. Gleaming with sweat, the powerful muscles of his upper body displayed his strength.

  Kieran blotted the loose sleeve of his tunic against his forehead. “You could . . .” He took a few breaths. “… spare a few messengers—if you’re serious about steering your people in a new direction.”

  Zarek frowned at the challenge and picked up his sword. “If I weren’t serious, you wouldn’t be here. Your body would be buried in small pieces in the fields outside of Lyric.” He traced a small pattern in the air.

  Kieran raised his weapon. “Funny. That’s not how I remember it. I recall having my blade to your throat.”

  Why did Kieran insist on taunting him? Did he have a death wish?

  Zarek’s teeth flashed. “And I seem to remember having your city surrounded.”

  Kieran dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgement. “But the One had other plans.”

  “Let’s see whom he favors today.” Zarek exploded forward and their swords engaged. The tempo became more aggressive as they circled around the practice room.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, grabbing Nolan’s arm. A loud series of clashes ended in a sharp hiss of indrawn breath, and my eyes popped open.

  A red stain spread across the white linen of Kieran’s tunic where it clung to his ribs. I gasped, and both men glanced upward.

  Nolan pulled me back into the shadows.

  Zarek frowned. “I think we’ve got voles in the rafters. I’ll have to send someone to clear them out.” He turned back to Kieran, resting his sword irreverently over one shoulder like a farmer’s test gauge. “Are you going soft? You used to give me more of a challenge.”

  Kieran winced. “Maybe you’ve improved.”

  Zarek’s laugh rumbled through his chest. He clapped Kieran on the back, causing him to stumble a step forward. “I’ll consider your request for messengers.” Abruptly, he grabbed his tunic and left the room, hurrying to the next thing that drew his attention. Kieran often complained about Zarek’s boundless energy. I could see why, though at the moment I could summon only relief.

  As soon as the king’s steps faded, Kieran staggered to a bench and slumped down. He hugged his ribs and let loose a string of curses.

  I quickly covered Nolan’s ears, but he pulled back, whispering a protest.

  “Nolan.” Kieran’s voice was as sharp as his blade. His upward gaze blasted in our direction, seeming to see through our hiding place. “Get down here.”

  Nolan swallowed hard and straightened, looking over the top of a crate. “Coming.”

  He placed a finger over his lips and motioned for me to stay hidden, but I wouldn’t let him face Kieran’s temper alone. I followed him down the ladder.

  When he saw me, Kieran’s frown darkened. “Have you completely lost your mind? What are—? No. Don’t answer that.” He moved his hand away from his side. Blood soaked the fabric. “Since you’re here, I could use some help.”

  The floor seemed to wobble, and the walls of the room shrank inward. Over the buzzing in my ears, I barely heard Kieran’s words.

  “Nolan, grab her. She’s going down.”

  I fumbled for a bench and sat, trying to breathe. “Don’t be . . . silly. I’m . . . fine.”

  “You
look kind of funny,” Nolan said with adolescent bluntness.

  I shook my head, but the effort made my stomach lurch. “It’s nothing.”

  “Help her back to her rooms.” Kieran’s tone flattened.

  “No.” I stared at the floor, avoiding the sight of blood, and worse, the ridicule in his eyes. “You can’t leave here dripping blood all over. Someone will tell Zarek.” I turned to Nolan. “Find something to use as a bandage.”

  Nolan dug through a storage cubby and unearthed a towel. I unwound my fabric belt. “This should work to hold it in place.”

  I glanced toward Kieran, who calmly blotted blood from his side. Dizziness prickled my head like the needles of a pine branch. I shoved the belt into Nolan’s hands. “You bandage him. I’ll keep watch.”

  I stumbled to the doorway, leaned against the frame, and checked both directions of the hall, drawing in slow, deep breaths.

  “You worked at the healer lodge in Braide Wood,” Kieran said.

  I couldn’t tell if he sounded exasperated or simply puzzled. “I helped. Mostly with the mind-poisoned. I’m not a healer.”

  Nolan coughed to cover a laugh at my queasiness. “I’ll patch this up better when we’re back at our rooms. He’ll be fine.”

  I’d seen the wounded after the battle of Morsal Plains—helped them without a qualm. Delivered Kendra’s baby without a problem. Yet Kieran’s relatively minor injury made me woozy. Why couldn’t I maintain my composure now? I kept my gaze on the hallway, humiliation heating my skin. “The way is clear. You can go now.”

  The men slipped past me. “Sure you’re all right?” Nolan paused in the hall.

  “I’m fine. Take care of your father.” And leave before I embarrass myself further.

  “I still want to meet after classes this afternoon.” Kieran’s tone was unreadable. “Unless you’re not well.”

  “I said I’m fine.” My snappish tone surprised me.