Page 70 of An Archer's Redemption

Chapter 29

Liam

Ireturned to the inn to find my parents alone in the common room whispering angrily and trying not to disturb our guests, though my father’s voice grew louder with every word.

“You can’t tell me what that man was saying isn’t treason!” Hershel slapped the table, then rubbed out his smarting palm.

I knew better than to jump into the middle but couldn’t help myself. I strode into the common room and plopped down in front of my father. “Father, he never said the Crown should go or anything like that. All he said was that it should coexist with his faith.”

My father fixed me with a sharp gaze and pointed one meaty finger my direction. “HesaidKing Alfred led us to disaster and needs a leash. Hesaidhis prophet should be a check on the Crown. Imagine that: acheckon the Spirits-anointed sovereign! Hesaid—”

I leaned forward and gently pushed his hand down, holding it once I felt it press against the table. “Father, I was there. Hewould never mean the Queen any harm. Iknowhim. He just believes in the prophecy and wants this One, whoever that is, to be respected and listened to. That’s all.” I leaned back, releasing his hand. “Have you seen all thegoodhe’s doing around town? There isn’t a widow or child who hasn’t felt his positive influence, mostly in the form of food or clothes.”

“Exactly!” he spat. “He shows up here in his shiny robe bearing pretty gifts. He’s just pure and innocent,I’m sure.”

“Hershel . . .” Ma said in a warning tone.

“Don’tHershelme. I know what I heard, and there’sno placefor folk who talk against our Queen, especially this new One who hasn’t even done anything yet! If I hear that nonsense again, you won’t be seein’ that boy anymore. You hear me, young man?”

I folded my arms and glared at my father. “I’m a grown man. I’ll see who I want.”

Hershel held my gaze a long moment, fire blazing between us, until his face softened. He sucked in a deep breath and looked down at his weathered hands. “Liam . . . I don’t mean to talk down to you. Of course you’re a grown man. I’m just worried you’re gettin’ mixed up with a bad sort, that’s all.”

My fire flickered out.

“I know, and I love you for it, but Seth is different. He’s a good man. I know it.”

Hershel grunted but didn’t say anything.

“Liam, go on upstairs and get some sleep. It’s been a long night.” Ma shooed me away from the table with a look that said,I need to talk to your father alone.I caught her meaning, hugged my father around his neck, then headed up the stairs to my room.

Over the next two weeks, Seth stood in the town square each night to ever-growing crowds and spoke his prophecy and of the return of the One. Most of his hour-long message centered on spreading good works, helping the poor, and turning one’s beliefs into actions. These ideas were met with universal approval, filling his donation bins to overflowing with each session.

And yet, woven within his messages of good faith and better works, he sowed seeds of loyalty to one’s faith over worldly concerns—and worldly leaders. He apparently learned from his first sermon and never again used the Queen by name or title, but his meaning was clear. The faith should be thefirstplace people looked to for guidance, not the Crown.

Hershel and several men and women of the town met each night around a large table in the back of the inn. Hushed tones contrasted with loud music from the stage and the cheering that accompanied it. As the players’ tunes swelled, anger festered in the back of the room. Ma begged him to focus on the inn and mind his own business, but his anger wouldn’t be pacified. The King himself had graced our inn, beginning a long span of prosperity for the town and our family. He wouldn’t repay that kindness with betrayal.

No, the King—and his daughter—deserved better.

So, what began as disgruntled griping evolved into plots and plans.

Some favored speaking in opposition to the Priest, offering a counterpoint for the people to consider. Hershel argued Seth’s carefully planted seeds had taken root far more quickly than anyone could’ve imagined, and, while talk might pluck a few leaves, it would do nothing to the roots as they twined ever deeper.

It was too late for talk.

It was time for action.

The evening was unseasonably warm, nearing pleasant springtime temperatures. Clouds dotted the sky, occasionally blotting out the sliver of moon and her chorus of stars. Seth’s evening presentation was well attended, drawing folk from surrounding communities and throughout the countryside. Warm smiles mirrored the warmth in the air as the people stood and listened to the Priest and his good words.

Seth paused once when a pack of children raced through the crowd, a wide smile parting his lips. A mother began scolding her son, but Seth called out, “Please, let them play so the sounds of their laughter may lift our spirits. Would that each of us had the heart of a child once again.”

The mother seemed unsure, but chuckles rang through the crowd as we watched the boy dart after his friends.

Seth didn’t mention the Crown, nor did he speak of mortal leaders and their failings. He spoke of green sprouts he saw everywhere he looked, tiny glimmers of hope rising above the field of winter white. He extolled the virtues he saw demonstrated by townspeople, from simple dockhands to wealthy landowners. He described how blessed he felt to be a part of our family.

I stood, transfixed, in the front row.

How had this man crept into town and stolen my heart?

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