Page 68 of An Archer's Redemption

After our third week of market strolling, I allowed him to take my hand.

I’d never understood the magic in that simple touch. Sparks prickled my arms, and my chest swelled. Seth squeezed my hand, and the world stilled.

In our fifth week, Seth invited me to hear him address the people in the town square. Neatly printed flyers had been strewn about town, calling all to hear theman of the Orderspeak.

By then, everyone knew him.

He would have no trouble drawing a crowd.

I dreaded facing the tittering biddies and smirking boys who already spoke of me with jealous or derisive barbs, but I wouldn’t dare miss supporting Seth as he spread his warmth and works among my neighbors. No one spoke of whatever grew between us, but looks told stories of their own. I struggled within but held my chin high and tried to ignore any who might frown on seeing us together.

Seth never faltered.

If he noticed the glances or heard the rumors, he strode above them like the stars soaring in the heavens. His eyes only ever found mine. His hand gripped my own. His fingers laced and squeezed, leaving no doubt about his heart’s true intent.

“. . . the weak, those who cannot do so well for themselves.”

I stifled a yawn. I’d heard this speech from Seth so many times I could recite it from memory.

The whole town was gathered.

Spring was poking its shy head above the surface, and heavy cloaks were no longer needed. Farmers in coveralls and fishermen in rough leggings stood beside women and girls in their finest gowns and dresses. I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling at the obvious contrast and the townswomen’s desire to impress at the largest public gathering of the year.

Seth’s voice drew my attention once more.

“. . . the Queen.” Murmurs trickled through the crowd at whatever he’d just said. I couldn’t tell if the crowd agreed with him, but Seth’s words had drawn a reaction.

He held his arms out, asking the crowd to calm. “We respect the Crown and its role in keeping order among our people.They maintain laws and keep us safe, preserve our roads, and encourage trade with our neighbors.”

The murmurs turned to nods and grunts of assent.

“And yet, who declared war on our neighbor?” Seth paused and looked from face to face. “Who spread the false tale of then-Princess Jessia’s kidnapping at the hands of our Melucian brothers? They were innocent of this charge, yet this vile accusation was the bedrock on which our righteous anger was built. Who laid that foundation?”

He paused again, and I felt the mood of the crowd shift.

The bitterness was palpable.

He’d struck a nerve.

A man’s voice several rows back from Seth called out, “The one who wore the crown, that’s who!”

Seth held up a hand again to quell the rising tide.

“That’s right. It was the Crown itself who led our husbands and brothers to defeat and death. The Crown discarded a thousand years of peace in exchange for personal power. The King himself, Spirits rest his soul, was fooled into ordering our boys east. Is there a family present who hasn’t lost a son or brother or husband? How many widows and orphans must the Crown create before we challenge their right to absolute power?”

I glanced around.

Even society’s finest had forgotten their silk and lace in favor of brewing anger and resentment.

Every family knew loss from the war.

Every mother knew the ultimate grief and pain, the agony no parent should ever know.

He was striking the flint, lighting the flame, and drawing it skillfully into his palm.

Seth, what are you doing?

The Priest allowed the flame to catch before begging for calm once more.

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