Page 71 of A War of Three Kings

Horns blast through the keep, the sound long and low, repeated three times, announcing an approaching army. My heart stops, and I lift my narrow skirts and run out the door.

I reach the top of the battlements, panting hard. Caitlin stands at its center point, wearing her usual attire of narrow-cut britches, a long tunic and boiled leather armor that covers her entire chest and back, with panels extending over her hips. The bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back make me feel naked in comparison.

“Is he here?” I gasp. “Has Finan’s army arrived?”

Caitlin frowns at me. “Yes, and no.”

She points to the rolling lands that sprawl beyond the fortress, hedged on both sides by the craggy bases of themountains. There is a black column darkening the horizon, but it doesn’t stretch on for leagues as his entire army surely would.

Far ahead of it and galloping fast is a cluster of horsemen, perhaps two dozen, with white banners trailing out behind them.

“My guess is that King Finan has arrived with a small force for negotiations, and Prince Niall is in that band at the forefront, probably planning to speak a few words of sense before his brother comes in and derails the entire thing,” Caitlin says.

Gwyneth approaches, the metal plate of her full suit of armor clanging with each step. She gives me a curt nod, then places a hand on the bulge of Caitlin’s belly, right where the laces of her leather bodice are stretched and the seam distorted.

“How easy it would be to shoot the king from here and avoid hearing his bullshit,” Gwyneth muses.

“Gods, I would love to be the one to fire the arrow.” Caitlin glances up at her. “But it would only make the war worse.”

We stand in muted silence as we watch that advance party grow closer, until individual riders resolve and the clumps of grass the horses’ hooves kick up become visible. The purple capes billowing behind them, the royal guard’s trimmings and badges on their armor—it all makes my stomach roll and sends ice-cold dread through my blood as it triggers the traumatic memories of my time in the royal palace.I grip the rampart so hard my knuckles turn white.

The riders only slow as they enter the range of our archers.

Caitlin gives the call, and they nock arrows and aim, holding the threat. It isn’t until the royal party reaches the immense gate that now barricades the way into the North that my father and Aldrin crest the top of the stairs and join us. My father’s face is flushed, and his lips are pressed into a thin line. Aldrin smirks at his back. The exchange tells me they have been training together again to break through my father’s block.

“Whatever he says, do not show any weakness and do not back down,” my father murmurs into my ear as he stands by my side. “We show a strong, unified front.”

The soldiers pull up to a sudden stop, their mounts prancing beneath them. The man in their center captures my attention immediately. He is lean of build and short in stature, with a thin golden circlet molded around his elaborately engraved steel helmet.

My heart stops as he pulls it off his head, and blue-black curls tumble out. My eyes show me Finan, right there beneath me, and it sends me into a spiral of panic. Then I register the harder, gaunter lines of his face and the seriousness of his eyes. Prince Niall is before us, white flags flapping around him.

“I come here in peace, to speak with the Lord Protector Edmund and Lady Keira.” The prince’s words echo out.

“I am listening if you wish to speak.” My father uses a wield of magic to project his voice. “But there is no Lady Keira. Not anymore. The Mother of Magic Keira stands beside me.” My father takes my elbow and leads me to the edge of the parapet, where we can be seen.

Niall’s eyes scan us for a long moment, then he leans toward the man beside him and they exchange a few words. The druid Murdoc is with him, the king’s adviser. It is hard to read their expressions from such a distance, but their bodies seem so rigid.

“King Finan has accepted your request to meet for negotiations for a peaceful resolution,” Niall shouts. “He hopes to reach terms and avoid war.”

I glance at my father. “Did we request a negotiation with the king?”

“No, we did not.” He frowns down at the prince.

“Niall and his games.” Caitlin tosses her head. “That one is as wily as a snake.”

“He is clearly desperate for these negotiations, but he couldn’t suggest them to the king himself,” I muse. “Finan is hostile toward Niall having any political involvement. He has to pretend we requested them, then subtly encourage it.”

My father flicks a wrist to project his voice again. “We are glad to hear the king has accepted our request for negotiations.”

The tension melts from the prince’s shoulders. “The king will arrive and have his pavilion erected by midday,” he calls up to us. “I will return to personally escort you to the meeting.”

Niall turns his steed and canters away, his guard immediately moving as one with him.

We look to each other with varying levels of confusion.

“At least the king is willing to talk,” Gwyneth mutters.

“I fear we won’t like what he has to say,” my father replies.

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